The uncertain outlines of the Waterloo monuments, commemorating heroic deeds of the past, in the grey half light have a sinister look. How soon will the sordid squalor of these new fights be in its turn converted into such memorials, to entrap new generations into dreaming that there is glory in war?
The Last of Brussels. The Flight, and the Flood
Thursday saw the ending of doubt. Although we did not know it, the floodgates were already opening; the Belgian army was retiring upon Antwerp, fighting only a gallant rearguard action at Louvain. The French advanced force, with its tentative claw outstretched towards Louvain, was beginning to wheel back rapidly to avoid leaving its flank exposed. Brussels was uncovered; and through the opening between the armies the torrent of grey troops was beginning to pour.
With the first light we made a circle towards Sombreffe, and came upon some retiring French cavalry. It was a puzzling spectacle, as at Waterloo we had not yet heard of the rapid change in the situation.
Thursday, Wavre.
It should have been a quiet day. A quiet wandering through picturesque lanes, well behind the supposed fighting lines of the armies.