THE HIGHLANDERS AT WATERLOO
Anton's account of the retreat from Quatre Bras to Waterloo, of the camp on the historic ridge through the falling rains and blackness of the night before the great battle, and of the tumult and passion, the perils and the triumph, of the memorable day, has many merits. But it is marred by a perfect paroxysm of apostrophes to posterity, to the spirits of the fallen, to freedom, to all sorts of more or less heroic and non-existent abstractions. In describing the struggle in which he was a microscopic and almost nameless actor, Anton feels it necessary to mount on the tallest literary stilts available, and walking on stilts is not usually a very graceful performance. Anton's account of the battle, in a word, recalls the famous description of a Scotch haggis. It contains much good substance, but in a very confused and planless state. His story, indeed, only becomes intelligible by virtue of generous omissions. Here is Anton's tale of the march from Quatre Bras:—
"On the morning of the 17th the unclouded heavens began to present the approach of day, our usual signal to rise from our sky-canopied bed. We started to arms and took up a new line on the field, facing our yet silent foe. Here, after arranging our ranks and equalising the companies, we piled our arms, and commenced to prepare our yesterday's dinner, which served us for an excellent breakfast.
"The men not thus engaged were now busily employed in burying the dead, and those who had been attending the wounded in the adjoining houses had not neglected the interest of their respective messes. Besides our own allowances of meat which we had brought from Brussels, there was not a mess without a turkey, goose, duck, or fowl floating in the seething kettle; and an abundance of vegetables from the neighbouring gardens helped to add to the richness of the soup which was preparing, and which we got good time to take, and for this we were truly thankful, for we were very hungry.
"A passing fog hung over the plain a short time, but soon disappeared, and left us with a cloudless sky. A general retrograde movement now took place, and we retired on the main road by which we had advanced from Brussels.
"It was with regret that many of us left that field, on which some of our men lay breathing their last. Among this number was a young man whose wound was in his forehead, from which the brain protruded. In this state he had lain on the field during the night; his eyes were open, with a death film over them; two of his comrades were watching the last throb of his expiring breath before they would consign his body to the grave, already opened to receive it, when the call to arms made us leave him on the field to the hands of strangers.
"The sun shone brightly on our arms as we left the fields of Quatre Bras, and passed the farms round which the remains of some thousands of brave men, British, Brunswick, Belgic, and French, were interred; and many yet lay scattered over the fields, and may have remained hidden amidst the grain which still continued standing, until the sickle or the scythe laid the fields bare.
"The enemy did not as yet seem to notice our movement, and we continued our march until we had passed the village, half-way to Waterloo. Here we turned off the road to our right, formed in columns, and halted; and, short as that halt was, it afforded time for one of our regiments to hold a drum-head court-martial and carry the sentence into effect on the spot. Examples of this kind are absolutely necessary, whatever philanthropists may say to the contrary. They tend to preserve regularity, order, and discipline; and although an individual may suffer a punishment which is debasing and cruel, yet it is better that this should be awarded and inflicted than to see hundreds fall victims to the rapacity that might ensue from not timely visiting the aggressor with punishment.
"We had now attained the undulating height of Mont St. Jean, and Wellington said, 'We shall retire no farther.' The thunder ceased to roll its awful peals through the heavens, the thick embodied clouds deployed, spread wide, and half dissolved in drizzly mist, but, as if doubtful of man's resolves, resumed again their threatening aspect, as if to secure our halt."
At Waterloo Sir Denis Pack's brigade—the 1st, 42nd, 44th, and 92nd—formed part of Picton's division, and held the line immediately to the left of the great Brussels road. It was on this part of Wellington's battle-front that Napoleon launched his first great infantry attack—D'Erlon's corps, four close-massed columns—over 13,000 bayonets in all—with the fire of seventy-four guns sweeping the path in their front as with a besom of flame.
The story of how Picton's slender lines met this mighty onfall, shook the French columns into retreat with actual bayonet push, and how the Life Guards, Inniskillings, and Greys swept down the slope and utterly wrecked D'Erlon's swaying battalions is one of the most dramatic passages in the story of the famous day.
Anton's account of the night before Waterloo is graphic:—
"Our lines now formed behind the long-extended ridge of Mont St. Jean, having the village of Waterloo a mile or two in our rear, and at no less a distance the dark forest of Soignes, which extends to Brussels. The right of our front British line extended beyond Hougoumont as far as Merke Braine; the left is said to have extended to Wavre! Sir T. Picton's division consisted of the 28th, 32nd, 79th, and the 95th (rifle corps), under the command of Sir James Kempt; and the 1st, 42nd, 44th, and 92nd Regiments, under the command of Sir Denis Pack, extended from the left of the Brussels road to a copse on a rising ground which probably overlooked the whole field. The extensive farm-houses and offices of La Haye Sainte were to the right of the division, but in front and on the right side of the road.
"Before us was a line of Belgic and Dutch troops; a narrow road, lined with stunted quickset hedges, runs between this line of foreigners (or I may, with more justice, say natives) and us. This road commands a view of the enemy's position, and the side next to us is the artillery's post; the hedges in front form a feeble cover from the enemy's view, but no defence against his shot, shell, or musketry.
"Our line, being on the slope next to Waterloo, was hidden from the enemy, who took up his position on the heights of La Belle Alliance, parallel to those of St. Jean: a valley corresponding to those wavy heights on either side divides the two armies, a distance of about half a musket-shot intervening between the adverse fronts.
"We piled our arms, kindled fires, and stood round the welcome blaze to warm ourselves and dry our dripping clothes. Midnight approached, and all the fields towards the artillery's post were hid in darkness, save what the fitful gleams of our fires cast over them. Silence prevailed, and wet although we were, we were falling asleep sitting round the fires or stretched on scattered branches brought for fuel. At this time a very heavy shower poured down upon us, and occasioned some movement or noisy murmur in the French army or line of Belgians. This induced our sentries to give an alarm. In an instant each man of the brigade stood by his musket; the bayonets were already on the pieces, and these all loaded, notwithstanding the rain. We stood thus to our arms for nearly an hour, sinking to our ankles amongst the soft muddy soil of the field, when the alarm was found to be false, and we again sat or lay down to repose.
"Long-looked-for day at last began to break; we stood to our useless arms for a few minutes, and then began to examine their contents. The powder was moistened in the piece and completely washed out of the pan. The shots were drawn, muskets sponged out, locks oiled, and everything put to rights."