The next day we went to Ramsgate, and had hopes of passing a night there; but were marched through the town, put on board ship, and not allowed to pass the sentry without leave from the commanding officer. As I and the rest of my comrades could not get leave, I was resolved to get the better of them; so when night came I pulled off some off my clothes, slipped over the side, and swam on shore. I had a good “spree” that night among some friends I had been living with, as I thought it might be my last in Great Britain. The next morning I went on board, and was confined in the chain locker, which I did not mind, since I was happy there as on the quarter-deck. We set sail the following day, and soon came in sight of Ostend. We had to land in boats; and before the last men were on shore, the first were quite uproarious from drinking Hollands. The colonel, in “falling us in,” said he would work us for that. We then marched to Ghent, and were quartered in some old outlandish buildings for that night.
We then proceeded to Bergen-op-Zoom, to which our army was laying siege. After the town had been taken, additional troops were placed to keep possession of it, whilst other regiments had to march to the rear. We next marched to Cotterie, from there to Ypres, and then (in 1814) to Dixmieux, and quartered at a house in the town. The people were very sulky; they obliged me to cook in my canteen, and gave me a pretty piece of work to make it look smart on field-day, which was not so whenever I found people desirous to attend on me and treat me as they ought. But these people were so bothersome and troublesome, that I bothered them in every fashion, by marching into their clean rooms with my dirty shoes, till at last I forced them to pay me proper attention. Notwithstanding, I went to the billet-master to procure a fresh billet; and he asked me where I would like to go. I was fortunate enough to get a billet on a shop. I went with the billet to a house in the Market-square, knocked at the door, and two beautiful girls made their appearance, one about my age (seventeen years), the other about nineteen. They kindly accepted the billet, and in I walked; and they sent me down good refreshment, which I required. I was very thankful to get into such good quarters, and assisted them in all the little jobs about the house, such as cooking and serving other men.
Our rations were drawn from the town butchers and bakers, and our grog issued by the non-commissioned officers of companies. Some used to take the bottles and canteens “after,” but I used to take the right sort of canteen (when once down my throat I thought it was the best place for it), consisting of a half-pint of good Hollands gin. One afternoon, after the gin had been served out, some of us soldiers assembled and decided that we would have some sport with snowballs. There were a dozen or fifteen round it, and we consulted as to what we had better do with it. It would not do to leave it in one of the public streets, and the colonel not being a favorite with us, we rolled the snowball up to the front door of his quarters, which obliged him to go out at the back of the house. He laughed at the trick, but was never after without a sentry. Sometimes the inhabitants gave us a challenge (arranged to be outside the town) to have some sport with snowballs. There we commenced the battle with officers and soldiers. We beat the inhabitants up and down, the snow congealing over the ditches and houses; and down it was with many a one: plump they went into the ditches, roaring out for help. The windows that day had a bad time of it. After all was over we offered to pay for the broken ones, but the inhabitants would not permit such a thing; as we accepted the challenge they would pay all expenses.
What with skating, sliding, and drinking “schnapps,” we spent our time pretty merrily; and then had orders to advance into the frontiers of France (1815). We marched to Louis, and brigaded with the 52nd Light Infantry, the 71st Scotch, and the 15th Hussars attached to our brigade (the 1st Brigade, 2nd Division), commanded by General Sir Frederick Adam. Our field-days (two in the week) were Tuesdays and Fridays; the French occupied the ground on Mondays and Thursdays. Our brigade sent out daily 100 rank and file, one captain, two subalterns, and a portion of the squadron considered on piquet duty. The river divided the small town called Munge. The 15th Hussars, with their horses, occupied the Market House; the sentries were on a portion of the bridge (a division across it), the French sentry on one side, and the British on the other; the 7th Black Horse had the barracks, opposite the French side of the river; fourteen sentries by day and twenty-eight by night, a portion of the 15th Hussars, patrolling on the banks of the river, looking out for any alarm. Two companies of the Rifles were ordered to take the advance post. We marched to Turp, two leagues from Louis, head-quarters, there to remain till further orders.
Our field-days were as usual. We had a league further to go. I was very badly off for clothing at the time, and the colonel told us we could patch our clothing with any thing of a dark nature, as our rifle uniform was supposed to be of a dark green. I went to the quarter-master’s stores to procure two pairs of pantaloons, at eighteen francs per pair; I also drew a pair of boots at the same price. I put on a pair of pantaloons to go to field-day in. In jumping of ditches in skirmishing order, I split the first pair of pantaloons into pieces; the other pair went in the same manner; I then had to put on my old patched friends, while I could get one pair made out of the two damaged ones; my boots went in the same way,—coming home from field-day the weather was very severe, the soles parted company from the upper leathers, so I had to tread along on my bare toes.
I went on guard on the 15th day of June: it came to my turn at eleven o’clock at night to relieve a soldier on outlying sentry. The sentry, in giving up the orders to me, said that “I was to keep a sharp look out betwixt those two trees, and when you see the beacon guard blaze up, you are to set fire to this.” I said, “What do you mean, you gapes? Do you mean to set fire to a turnip field as the seed of the turnips is up to our heads?” I found out by his winks and words that I was not to set fire to any such sort of thing, but to retire to the guard-house and give the sergeant information when I saw the beacon blaze. About one o’clock on the sixteenth morning the sergeant of the guard informed the colonel what the sentry had seen. The colonel gave orders to the orderly bugler who was on guard, to sound the assembly; I got permission, after changing the guard, to go and take leave of the people I was quartered on. The woman of the house filled my haversack with bread and cheese, etc. I fell in, marched off about four o’clock on the morning. We marched on during the sixteenth day, and on the sixteenth evening came into a long town called Tourwee; halted outside the town to take a little refreshment, and proceeded on during the night with a guide. After some distance, about three leagues (nine miles), the guide left us, giving the colonel instructions which way he was to take, but the latter, missing his way, came upon a battery occupied by the French: the sentry on the ramparts called out, “Qui Vive?” (Qui Vive—English, “Halt! who comes there?”) The colonel gave orders to the men to retire in double time; the sentry challenging three times, and no answer in return, fired a round shot from the battery after us; but, fortunately enough, without doing any harm. We came into a village which we had passed through during the night: the colonel thought it was requisite to put the men into the different houses till the following morning, till the seventeenth approached. Accordingly, myself, with eleven others, were put into one house together. We kept the old man (Pizan) busily employed in bringing wine out of the cellars during the remainder of that night; so we had an excellent “chevot.” The following morning the bugle sounded “turn out the whole,” just at the dawn of day. We formed companies, marching off in sections from the right, down a hill in the breadth of the township. At the foot of the hill there was a rapid stream of water, and a narrow bridge over it, wide enough for about one rank and file to go over abreast. The colonel waded through the river on horseback; it took him up rather higher than the flaps of his saddle; the men began to file march over the river, officers and soldiers. The colonel observing the men coming over the bridge, he called out, “Advance through the water;” I saw a great many of my height up to the armpits; I put up my pouch over my shoulder, and also my rifle—I had a hard struggle to stand against the stream. After we had crossed the river we formed companies; we marched off up a lane and through a wood, and passed by our old friends, the 52nd, lying down half dead at the top of the hill, from fatigue; they gave us three cheers, and we turned and saluted the same; we marched on to where the French had been encamped on the fifteenth night, and our army had driven them back on the sixteenth morning. The ground was covered with dead and wounded—we marched on to Mount Reveille; from there to Quatre Bras, and from there to Mount St. Jean, in which place the French lay in the rear. On Saturday, the seventeenth, we took up our position in the meadow at the foot of the hill of Mount St. Jean, when the commissary butchers were ordered to kill and cut up for the Light Brigade—some having got wood, others muddy water from the ditch—hanging our camp kettles, we lost no time in cooking it, when we were not a little astonished by a volley of shot rattling about us; but being loathe to lose our beef, some of which was cooked, and some quite raw, we tore off a few morsels, stuffing what we could into our haversacks, quickly ready to advance. Great was our disappointment, however, to find that we had been disturbed by the Brunswickers, who never having seen a rifleman in our dark uniform, took us for French. We still kept on the advance, and came into the hard road turning towards Brussels, to the left, passing by the Coldstream Guards on our present right; they gave us three cheers, and returned a salute. We marched leisurely towards Brussels, within four leagues, or twelve miles, turning towards Brussels to the left, coming into Moret Reveille early in evening.
THE BATTLE OF WATERLOO.
On the 17th of June, 1815, the Duchess of Richmond gave a little tea entertainment at Brussels, with dancing in the programme, and for which latter purpose the Brussels’ carpets had to be taken up. A few hours previous to this eventful festivity, the commander of the British regulars had been taking pot luck with the Prince of Orange and Count Von Schwillensweiper, of the German embassy. Scarcely had the apples and nuts been placed upon the table, when an aide-de-camp, all stuccoed over with rural mud, rushed into the apartment, and placed before his Grace a dirty despatch, sealed with a pipe stem. “Take a chair and a nobbler,” said the Duke to the muddy young gentleman, after which he opened the tobacco-scented missive, and, then, with his characteristic determination, said nothing more. The fact was, that Bonaparte had begun hitting Blucher, who had immediately sent to tell his big brother. “He’s at him again,”—ce coquin Bony—quietly remarked the Duke, when the messenger had quitted the room, and then he placed a lot of nut-shells to show the position of the armies; “very simple,” continued his Grace, “It lies in a nutshell—in for a penny, in for a pound, and to-morrow we shall pound away.” The ball was brilliant in the extreme, but it did not escape attention that the Duke wore thick boots before midnight. The commander-in-chief slipped out, pretending he wanted a smoke. Picton, whose presence of mind never forsook him, put a truffed sausage in each pocket. The Prince of Orange whispered to the Duchess that “Ney had turned up, and was teasing the Prussians.” “Ney turned up,” replied her witty Grace of Richmond—what Nay retrouse. They kept up the capering till daylight, long before which the Belgian belles couldn’t imagine what had become of the red coats. The famous engagement of the 18th of June—it must be borne in mind, that June is summer-time in Belgium—was fought in a corn field, to the great injury of the crops. The rival armies were considered as two of the best teams that had ever met. It began, some historians say, at ten o’clock sharp, while others contend that the Emperor had not breakfasted at that time, but the fact is, that the battle seems to have resembled many quarrels. It is difficult to say exactly, how it commenced. Charges were made from either side in turn, and there was a good deal of recrimination, and bad language followed. Sir Thomas Picton, at the head of his gallant men, who were all picked ones, fought till he was out of breath. Hundreds of poor fellows cut about till they had’nt a leg to stand upon, and the brave Lord Uxbridge found himself with only one. To heighten the horrors of the scene, it came on to rain in the afternoon, and the smell of gunpowder is described as having been most oppressive. “Sire,” exclaimed a distinguished general officer, as he stood upon a looking-out arrangement, like a fire escape, “I see troops in the distance. They must be Prussians—they look blue.” “Sacre bleu,” roared the Emperor, “blue be confounded.” His Imperial Majesty spoke polite English with fluency. “They’ll all look blue before I have done with them.” It was the Prussian blue notwithstanding. At last somebody told the French emperor that the Prussians were coming up to have a finger in the pie. “You be hanged!” (allez rous faire pendre) roared Napoleon; “Its Grouchy, but he knows better,” and fancying that his Grenadiers had got their second wind, he ordered them to charge like mad. With a tremendous shout of “Vive le Empereur,” which means “hoor-oar,” and sounds just like it. They came on the British columns crouched in the mud, and the Frenchmen fancied they had gone down to avoid punishment. “Ces coquins boutiquiers,” sneered the Emperor, as he began to cut up a pipe of tobacco. At this moment, the iron Duke, whose ferruginous nature made him turn rusty at times, got quite out of temper, and gave his celebrated order for his men to get up and “Give it ’em hot.” This, of course, decided the whole business. “Confound it,” said the Emperor, looking through his opera-glass, “There some mistake?” He was right. In a few minutes an “aide” galloped up to tell him “that his men were demoralised, and turning like red-shanks.” “It’s all up”—tout est en dessus—cried Napoleon, blowing his nose from excess of emotion. “Your orders, sire,” anxiously continued the staff officer. “My carriage!” was the mournful utterance of the unfortunate commander, still busy with his pocket handkerchief. It was Bonaparte’s last order on the field of Waterloo!—
James Richardson,
18th Royal Irish Regiment, Melbourne.
From the severity of the weather during our march our men were constantly falling; our shoes came off, and we had to walk in our stockings; our bed at night was a corn field; our covering, blankets soaking in wet. Some setting out to forage, picking up a little wood and putting it on the fire, we had a little rest; and much we needed it. Awaking early next morning (Sunday, 18th), we wrang our blankets, folded them up, and put them under our straps on our knapsacks. We had orders to remain there until further orders, when we had an order to take up ground as a reserve, and there to remain under an expectation of the French coming down the lane to cut off our rear. We lay there until eleven o’clock, when we had orders to advance and to cover the 52nd lines in skirmishing order; in case of being driven in by the cavalry, to form on the right of the 52nd lines, and to the left of the artillery; and to remain there to fire in line until the bugle sounded the advance, firing in skirmishing order. About half-past four o’clock, observing some heavy cavalry charging down to cut off the Light Brigade—supposed to be 800 of the “Cuirassiers,” who charged up within about 500 yards on to the field of artillery—General Adam called to the officers commanding the artillery to commence firing on the French Cuirassiers. From the first round of the artillery they made a roadway between the columns; the second round from the artillery we could not observe them for smoke; and from the third round we were completely masked by smoke and darkness, as the smoke contracted along the right of the lines. The trumpet sounded from the cavalry, and the Light Infantry Corps of bugles and drums rolled for the charge; and on we stepped, cheering and charging. We made the infantry give way, and took possession of thirty-two field pieces of artillery and a number of prisoners belonging to Napoleon’s army. The 42nd Highlanders charged the French into the wood of Genappe, just at the back of a farm called Hugenot,—the farm that was taken and re-taken seven times during the 18th; very heavy slaughter round the wood and farm; the 42nd were nearly cut to pieces; about 200 came out of the wood out of 700 engaged. Wellington gave orders to retire, to bring the French out of the wood after us.