“A few more sentences were exchanged, doubtless of very crooked construction, as far as I was concerned,—for I was a good deal embarrassed; and then I received my dismissal.
“The Géographe de sa Majesté Britannique told me, some weeks afterwards, that the Duke had been to him, had bought several military maps and plans, and, as if casually, had spoken of mine, which hung in the shop, had said that he knew me,” &c.
Notwithstanding the Duke’s kind notice and patronage, Captain von Rahden takes occasion to attack his grace for an expression used by him in the House of Lords in 1836, during a debate on a motion for the abolition of corporal punishment in the army. The Duke maintained that such punishment was necessary for the preservation of discipline; and on the Prussian army being cited as a proof of the contrary, he referred, in no very flattering terms, to the state of discipline of Blucher’s troops in 1815. There was some talk about the matter at the time, and an indignant answer to the Duke’s assertion, written by the German general, Von Grolman, was translated in the English journals. Baron von Rahden himself, as he tells us, took advantage of being in London on the anniversary of Waterloo, 1836, to perpetrate a little paragraph scribbling, in certain evening papers, with respect to the battle, and to the share borne in it by old Marschall Vorwaerts and his men. That the campaigns of 1813-15 were most creditable to Prussian courage and patriotism, none will dispute; that the discipline of the Prussian army was then by no means first-rate, is equally positive. Nay, its mediocrity is easy to infer from passages in Baron von Rahden’s own book. Without affirming it to have been at the lowest ebb, it was certainly not such as could find approval with one who, for five years, had ranged the Peninsula at the head of the finest troops in Europe. As to who won the battle of Waterloo, the discussion of that question is long since at an end. The Baron claims a handsome share of the glory for his countrymen, and insists, that if they were rather late for the fight, they at least made themselves very useful in pursuit of the beaten foe. “If their discipline, had been so very bad,” he says, “they could hardly, on the second day after a defeat, have come up to the rescue of their allied brethren.” The arrival of the Prussians was certainly opportune; but, had they not come up, there cannot be a doubt that Wellington, if he had done no more, would have held his own, and maintained the field all night: for he commanded men who, according to his great opponent’s own admission, “knew not when they were beaten.”
“Old General Blucher was a sworn foe of all unnecessary wordiness and commendation. ‘What do you extol?’ he once said, to put an end to the eulogiums lavished on him for a gloriously won victory. ‘It is my boldness, Gneisenau’s judgment, and the mercy of the Great God.’ Let us add, and the stubborn courage and perseverance of a faithful people and a brave army. Without these thoroughly national qualities of our troops, such great results would never have followed the closing act of the mighty struggle of 1813, 1814, and 1815. General Gneisenau’s unparalleled pursuit of the French after the battle of La Belle Alliance, could never have taken place, had not our troops displayed vigour and powers of endurance wonderful to reflect upon. The instant and rapid chase commanded by Gneisenau was only to cease when the last breath and strength of man and horse were exhausted. Thus was it that, by daybreak on the 19th June, he and his Prussians found themselves at Frasne, nearly six leagues from the field of battle, which they had left at half-past ten at night. Only a few squadrons had kept up with him; all the infantry remained behind; but the French army that had fought so gallantly at Waterloo and La Belle Alliance, was totally destroyed.”
The battle won, a courier was instantly despatched to the King of Prussia. The person chosen to convey the glorious intelligence was Colonel von Thile, now a general, commanding the Rhine district. From that officer’s narrative of his journey, the Baron gives some interesting extracts.
“In the course of fight,” Von Thile loquitur, “I had lost sight of my servant, and of my second horse, a capital gray. The brown charger I rode was wounded and tired, and it was at a slow pace that I started, to endeavour to reach Brussels that night. A Wurtemberg courier had also been sent off, the only one, besides myself, who carried the good news to Germany. Whilst my weary steed threatened each moment to sink under my weight, the Wurtemberger galloped by, and with him went my hopes of being the first to announce the victory to the king. Suddenly I perceived my gray trotting briskly towards me. I wasted little time in scolding my servant; I thought only of overtaking the Wurtemberger.
“At Brussels I learned from the postmaster that my fortunate rival had left ten minutes before me, in a light carriage with a pair of swift horses. I followed: close upon his heels every where, but unable to catch him up. At last, on the evening of the third day, I came in sight of him; his axle-tree was broken; his carriage lay useless on the road. I might have dashed past in triumph; but I refrained, and offered to take him with me, on condition that I should be the first to proclaim the victory. He joyfully accepted the proposal; and I was rewarded for my good nature, for he was of great service to me.”
Von Thile expected to find the king at Frankfort-on-the-Main; but he had not yet arrived, and the colonel continued his hurried journey, by Heidelberg and Fulda, to Naumberg.
“Five days and nights unceasing fatigue and exertion had exhausted my strength, but nevertheless I pushed forward, and on the following morning reached Naumberg on the Saal. In the suburb, on this side the river, I fell in with Prussian troops, returning, covered with dust and in very indifferent humour, from a review passed by the king. At last then I was at my journey’s end. They asked me what news I brought: all expected some fresh misfortune, for only an hour previously intelligence of the defeat at Ligny had arrived, and upon parade the king had been ungracious and out of temper. I took good care not to breathe a word of my precious secret, and hurried on. In the further suburb I met the king’s carriage. We stopped; I jumped out.
“‘Your majesty! a great, a glorious victory! Napoleon annihilated; a hundred and fifty guns captured!’ And I handed him a paper containing a few lines in Prince Blucher’s handwriting. The king devoured them with his eyes, and cast a grateful tearful glance to Heaven.