THE BATTLE OF WATERLOO.
(From the Private Correspondence of a Woman of Fashion.)
Bruxelles, June 24, 1815.
On the first day we had so little idea of the vicinity of the engagement, that I drove out with a Belgian family in an open carriage towards the Bois de Soignies. But we were obliged to retreat precipitately, and take another direction across the country, and pass through a different barrière through the town to my residence. They wished me to accept an instant asylum with them. The house of Monsieur D'H---- was built over part of the old palace; and he had prepared one of the extensive caves for his family, in the event of the town being given up to the sword and rapine. I promised to avail myself of their kind offer, should the peril become more urgent; but I resolved to remain another day in our villa. Towards five the following morning, I was roused from the sofa on which I had thrown myself, by the trampling of horses, and the cries of the people of the suburbs. I flew to the window and beheld a troop of Belgians in full flight, covered, not with glory, but with dust, galloping towards the town! I heard the gates close against them, and saw them scamper over the plain towards Lacken. The mob increased; their shrieks of terror rent the air,—"Les François sont ici! Ils s'emparent de la porte de la ville!" mingled with the cries of the women, and with those of my little household, who all rushed into my chamber, expecting me to save them. In the midst of this terror, I heard the well-known voice of the commander of the town, Colonel Jones, vociferating with all the energy and passion of a Welchman. In my distraction, I ran out to him; he stormed, and explained in no gentle terms, that it was a false alarm, caused by the sudden nervous affection of the troop of Belgians I had seen in flight. He commanded me to quit my house, and kindly sent me a carriage to secure my entrance into the town. We were cheered in the hurry of quitting our rural abode, by the arrival of some thousands of British troops; many of the poor fellows, heated and languid, entered asking for water to quench their thirst. From them I learnt that they had returned to England from America, and, without being permitted to land, were immediately ordered to Ostend. I felt what might be their influence on the fate of that day, and selfishly partook of their impatience to arrive on the field of battle. The whole of Saturday we believed the battle lost; and there are those who think that it was, but for the mysterious conduct of Grouchy, or the treason of the estafettes sent to summon him to advance.
The English families continued to fly towards Ostend: the roads and inns were crowded; the living bewailing their temerity, close to the chambers of the dead! Your brother and sister were at Antwerp, in the next room to the unfortunate Duc de Brunswick. The awful hours passed tardily with me, in pangs for the soldier and his chiefs. On Saturday the 17th, to add to the accumulating horrors of our critical situation, the very elements vented forth their wrath, in the most tremendous thunder and lightning; the rain poured in torrents; all nature was at fearful strife, and God's anger was apparent; for it seemed as if the very heavens were warring against man's quarrel; and in my agony I exclaimed with Macbeth—
"'Twas a rough night—"
as I listened to the pelting storm, crouching on a mattress by the side of my weeping émigrée, imploring me for words of comfort. Towards morning the rain abated, but gloomy clouds ushered in that eventful day. At two o'clock I dined with Monsieur D'H----, whose daughter-in-law, la Comtesse de P----'s first-born son, had seen the light of this world only a few hours before—while at dinner, the servants rushed into the room in disorder, exclaiming, "All is over!" A detachment of dragoons, which passed a few hours ago to join the enemy, are returned! We rose precipitately; Mr. D'H---- took a key from a drawer, and commanded us to follow him. We traversed rapidly the chamber of the invalid lady, each inconsiderately repeating to her—"All is lost!" We ascended a dilapidated staircase, and passing through a small trap-door, what was my astonishment, when I found myself in the Park! There we beheld the said detachment of dragoons—an affrighted mob; and many sinister-looking persons, who seemed well satisfied at the evidence of our fears. The gentlemen rushed out of the adjoining café, the English calling for their servants and horses, (many of whom, by the way, who had never possessed any;) one of these fainted—no heart of oak was he, when our ancient Briton, the commandant, Colonel Jones, again presented himself, vif et emporté. The spectators exclaimed—"que cela venoit de la trop rapide circulation de son sang." N'importe: the choleric Colonel, blustering, restored us to comparative tranquillity, as he brandished on high his sword, giving it an after-sweeping movement, as if to moissonner nos têtes; my valiant compatriot extended on the pavement was the only head in security. The Colonel commanded the misled dragoons to return; and it appeared that they had encountered some miscreants, disguised as British officers, who gave them a forged official order to retreat "the battle being lost!" We descended through our trap-door, and re-assured our friend the Comtesse, who seemed to have received our intelligence (en passant) with as perfect calmness as that in which lay her new-born babe.
To add to my discomfort, deep and loud were the murmurs on Sunday against the Duke. The merchants said his Grace ought not to have lingered in the salons of amusement one instant after he had been apprised that Napoleon had quitted Paris, whose gigantic strides all Europe had experienced during many long years. They even denounced his life; while others, more moderate but equally incensed, had commenced a written remonstrance to the British Government: in such an excited state were men's minds!—Victory silenced these despairing murmurers—success casts its vivid radiance over the hero's fame; what so potent as its influence!
I took leave of my Belgian friends, who promised to come for me (in case of a fatal termination), to share their safety, and partake of the good cheer they had prepared for our seclusion in the devastated caves of that palace, which in olden time were filled with the finest produce of Rhenish vintages. At three o'clock entered the good Abbé Bernard, holding up to view a paper with large characters imprinted—"The French flying!—the City saved!—Victory!" Never shall I forget my sensations at that joyful, yet awful moment of restored peace to mankind! The bells of the different churches chimed the exhilarating note of victory! The good priest announced that Te Deum was celebrating, and invited me to accompany them to the noble cathedral, St. Gudule. "What signify forms?" the good man said: "let us lift up our hearts in grateful thanksgiving to the only true God!" That noble temple of the Almighty was already thronged. Voices, so late stricken in terror, now soared aloft in celestial sounds to the throne of Heaven!—all was congratulation. But, alas, profound regrets soon mingled with my joyful sensations, as I cast my eyes around, and encountered only mangled objects, who, chilled and exhausted, were crowding into the town (and are still arriving on this, the 6th day). We were addressed, with solicitations, by enfeebled heroes, to be shown to hospitals. We found it impossible to return to our villa, from the confusion of military baggage, &c. &c., while the English, even females of rank, with eager curiosity were hastening to the scene of carnage! The noise of their chariot-wheels, mingling with the moans of the dying, and the cries of parents and relatives in search of their sons and their kindred, formed a scene that must have moved the coldest heart, and that never can be effaced from my memory!