Wellington, on the contrary, was as anxious a man as ever bravely faced a foe. He had not believed himself equal to the combat with Napoleon, man to man, and had only resolved to give battle after having been assured of Blücher’s aid. Whether the Prussians could arrive in time, was Wellington’s great doubt. He felt that his only salvation lay just there; and it was not until Bülow’s corps, at 4.30 P.M., had drawn away from Napoleon at least sixteen thousand of his best troops, that Wellington, feeling the French onset in his front relax, exclaimed: “By God! I believe we will whip them yet.” Stronger evidence than that of the Prussian military expert, Muffling, is this Wellington exclamation, that he was a lost man had not “Old Blücher” come.
Against Wellington’s left the corps of D’Erlon was hurled; and at Papelotte and La Haye Sainte the struggle was as bloody, as desperate, as full of quick turns of fortune, ebb and flow, success mingled with failure, as any known to history. The English line was terribly shaken, the losses frightful, but the French finally were driven back.
The Emperor had intended to support Reillé with Lobau’s corps; that corps had been sent from the field to meet the Prussians.
Ney asked for a cavalry division to support the renewed attack he was about to make with D’Erlon’s corps. Owing to some mistake, Ney got not only the cavalry division which he had asked for, but the entire cavalry reserve, so that he took with him some twelve thousand horse.
This mighty mass was not launched at the weakened English left, but at the centre. How the French host rode down into the valley, up the hill, and charged upon the English guns and the English squares, repeating the assault time and time again, all readers know. Made with a heroism which the world can but admire, these charges were repulsed with a courage which nothing could shake. The English squares stood unbroken against French horse, as the French themselves had stood against the Mamelukes. Twice, thrice, the British cannoneers were driven from their guns; twice the British artillery was in the hands of the French. Why were not the guns spiked? Why at least, were not the sponges broken, or the caissons destroyed? In the melée no one gave the order. So the cannon and its ammunition and its rammer was left there ready for the British gunner, when the retreat of the French cavalry made it possible for him to return to his battery. The attack had been premature. The Emperor himself exclaimed, “This is an hour too soon, but as it has been done I must support it. The day may be lost by this mistake.”
It is true that Wellington’s army was fearfully battered; that, between his rear and Brussels, the road was full of panic-stricken fugitives, not all of whom were Belgians or Hanoverians. It is true that English officers had almost despaired, and that frantic riders flew to Bülow imploring him to save the British army. It is true that there was a gap in the English line into which Ney frantically sought to throw infantry, and so win the day. But Napoleon had already been forced to send ten thousand other veteran troops to hold in check the thirty thousand Prussians. When, therefore, Ney’s messenger came, asking for infantry, the Emperor petulantly answered, “Infantry! Where does he expect me to get them? Can I make them?” There are those who say that had he thrown in the few reserve battalions of the Guard, the day might have been won.
So the great opportunity passed. La Haye Sainte was taken; but the English line was mended by reënforcements where it had been broken, and the Prussians, under Ziethen, joined Wellington on his left. It was now seven o’clock. The French were about to be taken in the flank by the entire Prussian army. Napoleon might have drawn off in good order, but the junction of Blücher and Wellington would spoil all his plans. There was a chance yet for him to crush the English by a final charge into which every available man should be thrown. If it succeeded, all was won; if it failed, all was lost. It was the superb risk of the daring gambler: everything upon a single cast.
The orders flew, lines were formed, the great captain rode among his men, and spoke to them. The sound of their shouts of “Live the Emperor!” reached the English lines where the charge was expected, a deserter from the French ranks having brought warning. Ney was put at the head of the columns, and the march began. Through the mud of the valley, and up the slippery hill they went, under the murderous fire of all the English guns. Through the dense ranks, too closely crowded in that small space, great lines were cut by cannon balls, and so hot was the musket fire that they could not deploy. Ziethen’s Prussians were now in the fight, coming with full force on the right. Ney’s men, taken front and flank, had yet advanced to within fifty yards of the English line; but unable to open their ranks and charge, under such a terrific fire, they fell into confusion. The Emperor was watching them through his glass. “They are all mixed up; for the present, all is lost.” At the moment when Napoleon was saying this, Wellington was ordering the advance of his whole line; the Prussian guns were thundering on the French flank; and over the lost field ran the cry: “The Guard recoils! We are betrayed! Save himself who can!”
In vain Ney struggled to hold the rout; in vain the Emperor hoarsely shouted to his men to rally: it was dark; confusion was everywhere; and the French army, a mighty wreck, was swept from its moorings. English cavalry made furious charges, crying “No quarter!” and Napoleon had no cavalry reserves to meet the shock.
Note.—In reference to the disputed incident of the British demand for the surrender of the Old Guard, and Cambronne’s reply, the truth seems to be, that such a demand was made, and that Cambronne did reply, defiantly, though nastily; and that his language shot out in the disgust and exasperation of the moment, can more accurately be rendered into the English phrase, “Go to hell!” than in the classic terms, “The Guard dies: it does not surrender!”
Immediately after his scornful response, the heroic Cambronne was shot full in the face, and was left for dead on the field.
Readers of Thackeray will remember how he jeers and laughs at the defiance of the Old Guard; just as they will remember how he jeers and mocks at the second funeral of Napoleon,—so sure is the professional fun-maker to overreach himself, now and then.
The truth is, that the French troops were badly handled in the actual fighting at Waterloo; and that Napoleon stated no more than the fact when he charged Ney with having acted like a madman.
The troops, cavalry, and infantry were massed in such dense formation, on such contracted area, that they were in each other’s way, had no fair chance to do what they should have done, and were sacrificed horribly to the British artillery. At the very moment when Ney was clamoring for reënforcements, he had forgotten a part of his own troops,—who were not engaged, who could have been used, and who might have decided the day in his favor.
The mismanagement of the troops still further demoralized them, as it tended to confirm their suspicions that they were being betrayed.
It has been claimed that Napoleon intentionally deceived his own troops, toward the last, by sending word along the line that Grouchy had come. This is by no means certain. The Emperor could hear the guns of Grouchy, who was engaged at Wavre, just as Grouchy had heard, during the afternoon, the guns at Waterloo. Napoleon doubtless believed that Grouchy was at last going to show up on his extreme right.
The old road of Ohain seems not to have wrecked the French cavalry in the tragic manner Victor Hugo alleges. Romance, tradition, and patriotic painting represents the Emperor’s squadrons as being engulfed in the ravine made by the road where it passed through the high ground—over which ground the cavalry is alleged to have charged, in ignorance that the ravine, or “hollow way,” was there. Mr. Houssaye who has studied the matter thoroughly says that there is no historic foundation for the story.