This may be said to be the language of a florid writer, depicting the event long after its occurrence. But Count Drouet, who witnessed the whole scene, thus described it in the Chamber of Peers, just six days after the battle:—
“The (first) four battalions of the Guard, when they arrived on the plateau, were received by the most terrible fire of musquetry and grape. The great number of wounded men who separate from the column, cause it to be believed that the Guard is routed. A panic terror communicates itself to the neighbouring (or second) column, which precipitately takes flight.”
Count Drouet, witnessing the repulse of both the columns, from the height behind, might suppose that the dispersal of the second arose from panic; but in so thinking, he did injustice to his countrymen. The second column came into action as gallantly us the first; but, although it was the stronger of the two, it had to contend with two English brigades instead of one; and its chance of success was therefore proportionally smaller. Clearly, it was bad generalship to send the two columns, one after the other, to be beaten separately. Had they reached the British position at the same moment, they would have brought against the two British brigades a force outnumbering them by two to one. Gourgaud thus describes the fate of this second column: “The eight battalions of the Guard which were in the centre, after having withstood for a long time all the attacks of the enemy, and contended for every foot of ground, were at last completely disorganized by the mass of the fugitives, and overwhelmed by the numbers of the enemy.”
With the failure of this, his last attack, Napoleon’s hopes, and his empire, ended. His fall, when it came at last, proved a crash which left nothing for destruction to do. At the moment when the Imperial Guards were sent back in confusion, the Prussians under Marshal Blucher had come into action. His cavalry had supported the English left, and two brigades of English cavalry, which guarded the extreme left of the Duke’s position, had been released from this duty, and had moved to the support of the British centre. And now, the Prussian infantry of the first corps, commanded by General Zieten, rushed upon the villages of La Haye and Smohain, and instantly carried them at the bayonet’s point. A third column renewed the attack on Planchenoit, which was almost in the centre of the French position. The moment was come for a general advance, and the Duke, with that wonderful perception which distinguished his whole career, instantly seized it. He himself describes this critical moment, in the account written the very next day. He says:—
“Having observed that the troops (Imperial Guard) retired from this attack in great confusion, and that the march of the Prussians on Planchenoit had begun to take effect, I determined to attack the enemy, and immediately advanced the whole line of infantry, supported by the cavalry and artillery.”
An eye-witness thus described the scene at the time, “The Duke, who had been attentively observing what was passing in the French and Prussian armies, suddenly shut up his telescope, and exclaimed to the officers near him, ‘Now, every man must advance!’”
Long had this order been eagerly expected. The British troops had stood for more than eight hours under a terrible fire. They had seen more than one-fourth of their numbers struck down by cannon-shot, and they longed for one final struggle, which should end the whole contest. The order flew to the right and to the left, and loud were the shouts with which it was received. Everywhere the lines of infantry were formed, the cavalry mounted and rode on, and a scene of triumph and exultation commenced, of which none who witnessed it could ever lose the memory.
We have observed, a few sentences back, that only half an hour before, two brigades of light cavalry, Vivian’s and Vandeleur’s, had been moved from the extreme left of the English line, and brought nearer to the centre. These six regiments, numbering about 2000 sabres, were now of the greatest possible service, in driving before them the broken and scattered French. They charged and dispersed various bodies of cavalry which attempted to form and make a stand, and continued pressing upon the fugitives of the infantry till the whole mass of Napoleon’s army melted into a chaotic crowd. And now were seen, on all sides, “unfurled colours raised aloft, bands striking up, the soldiers cheering tumultuously, as, with one simultaneous movement, they quitted the height on which they had so long stood, and descended joyfully into the plain, over which the French, on all sides, were now retreating in disorder.”
Their great commander himself was naturally among the foremost in this magnificent advance. Napier says, “The Duke, who was stationed on the left of the guns and the right of the Guards, gave the order to advance, and like lightning rode to the rear, and brought up the light cavalry, cheering them on, with his hat off—his cheers most cordially echoed by my brave fellows and myself.” He rode in front of Adam’s brigade, cheering it forward, speaking joyously to the men, and receiving their hearty shouts of congratulation. At last one of his staff ventured to hint to him that they were getting into the enemy’s lines, and that his life ought not to be thrown away. “Never mind,” was the reply, “the battle’s won, and my life is of no consequence now.”
Down the slope of their own heights, across the valley, up the face of the enemy’s hill, marched the British line triumphantly. Here and there a remnant of a French battalion or squadron offered a brief resistance; but the cry of “Sauve qui peut!” had been heard, and the French knew that the battle was lost, and that the Prussians were already in their rear. Hence Fleury de Chaboulon, Napoleon’s own secretary, thus describes the close:—