Gambier, then an officer of the 52nd, gives a graphic description of how that famous regiment fought at this stage:—
"A short time before, I had seen our colonel (Colborne), twenty yards in front of the centre, suddenly disappear, while his horse, mortally wounded, sank under him. After one or two rounds from the guns, he came striding down the front with, 'These guns will destroy the regiment.'—'Shall I drive them in, sir?'—'Do.'—'Right section, left shoulders forward!' was the word at once. So close were we that the guns only fired their loaded charges, and limbering up, went hastily to the rear. Reaching the spot on which they had stood, I was clear of the Imperial Guard's smoke, and saw three squares of the Old Guard within four hundred yards farther on. They were standing in a line of contiguous squares with very short intervals, a small body of cuirassiers on their right, while the guns took post on their left. Convinced that the regiment, when it saw them, would come towards them, I continued my course, stopped with my section about two hundred yards in front of the centre square, and sat down. They were standing in perfect order and steadiness, and I knew they would not disturb that steadiness to pick a quarrel with an insignificant section. I alternately looked at them, at the regiment, and up the hill to my right (rear), to see who was coming to help us.
"A red regiment was coming along steadily from the British position, with its left directly upon me. It reached me some minutes before the 52nd, of which the right came within twenty paces of me. Colonel Colborne then called the covering sergeants to the front, and dressed the line upon them. Up to this moment neither the guns, the squares of the Imperial Guard, nor the 52nd had fired a shot. I then saw one or two of the guns slewed round to the direction of my company and fired, but their grape went over our heads. We opened our fire and advanced; the squares replied to it, and then steadily facing about, retired. The cuirassiers advanced a few paces; our men ceased firing, and, bold in their four-deep formation, came down to a sort of elevated bayonet charge; but the cuirassiers declined the contest, and turned. The French proper right square brought up its right shoulders and crossed the chaussée, and we crossed it after them. Twilight had manifestly commenced, and objects were now bewildering. The first event of interest was, that getting among some French tumbrils, with the horses attached, our colonel was seen upon one, shouting 'Cut me out!' Then we came upon the hollow road beyond La Belle Alliance, filled with artillery and broken infantry. Here was instantly a wild mêlée: the infantry tried to escape as best they could, and at the same time turn and defend themselves; the artillery drivers turned their horses to the left and tried to scramble up the bank of the road, but the horses were immediately shot down; a young subaltern of the battery threw his sword and himself on the ground in the act of surrender; his commander, who wore the cross of the Legion of Honour, stood in defiance among his guns, and was bayoneted, and the subaltern, unwisely making a run for his liberty, was shot in the attempt. The mêlée at this spot placed us amid such questionable companions, that no one at that moment could be sure whether a bayonet would be the next moment in his ribs or not."
It puts a sudden gleam of humour into the wild scene to read how Colonel Sir Felton Harvey, who led a squadron of the 18th, when he saw the Old Guard tumbling into ruins, evoked a burst of laughter from his entire squadron by saying in a solemn voice, "Lord Wellington has won the battle," and then suddenly adding in a changed tone, "If we could but get the d——d fool to advance!" Wellington, as a matter of fact, had given the signal that launched his wasted and sorely tried battalions in one final and victorious advance. Vivian's cavalry still remained to the Duke—the 10th and 18th Hussars—and they, at this stage, made a charge almost as decisive as that of the Household and Union Brigades in the morning. The 10th crashed into some cuirassiers who were coming up to try and relieve the flank of the Guard, overthrew them in a moment, and then plunged into the broken French Guard itself. These veterans were retreating, so to speak, individually, all formation wrecked, but each soldier was stalking fiercely along with frowning brow and musket grasped, ready to charge any too audacious horsemen. Vivian himself relates how his orderly alone cut down five or six in swift succession who were trying to bayonet the British cavalry general. When Vivian had launched the 10th, he galloped back to the 18th, who had lost almost every officer. "My lads," he said, "you'll follow me"; to which the sergeant-major, a man named Jeffs, replied, "To h——, general, if you will lead us!" The wreck of Vandeleur's brigade, too, charged down the slope more to the left; batteries were carried, cavalry squadrons smashed, and infantry battalions tumbled into ruin. Napoleon had an entire light cavalry brigade still untouched; but this, too, was caught in the reflux of the broken masses, and swept away. The wreck of the Old Guard and the spectacle of the general advance of the British—cavalry, artillery, and infantry—seemed to be the signal for the dissolution of the whole French army.
Two squares of the French Guard yet kept their formation. Some squadrons of the 10th Hussars, under Major Howard, rode fiercely at one. Howard himself rode home, and died literally on the French bayonets; and his men rivalled his daring, and fought and died on two faces of the square. But the Frenchmen kept their ranks, and the attack failed. The other square was broken. The popular tradition that Cambronne, commanding a square of the Old Guard, on being summoned to surrender, answered, "La Garde meurt, et ne se rend pas," is pure fable. As a matter of fact, Halkett, who commanded a brigade of Hanoverians, personally captured Cambronne. Halkett was heading some squadrons of the 10th, and noted Cambronne trying to rally the Guard. In his own words, "I made a gallop for the general. When about cutting him down, he called out he would surrender, upon which he preceded me to the rear. But I had not gone many paces before my horse got shot through his body and fell to the ground. In a few seconds I got him on his legs again, and found my friend Cambronne had taken French leave in the direction from which he came. I instantly overtook him, laid hold of him by the aiguillette, and brought him back in safety, and gave him in charge of a sergeant of the Osnabruckers to deliver to the Duke."
Napoleon himself, from a spot of rising ground not far from La Haye Sainte, had watched the advance of his Guard. His empire hung on its success. It was the last fling of the dice for him. His cavalry was wrecked, his infantry demoralised, half his artillery dismounted; the Prussian guns were thundering with ever louder roar upon his right. If the Guard succeeded, the electrifying thrill of victory would run through the army, and knit it into energy once more. But if the Guard failed——!
VIII. THE GREAT DEFEAT.
"And while amid their scattered band
Raged the fierce riders' bloody brand,
Recoil'd in common rout and fear,
Lancer and Guard and Cuirassier,
Horsemen and foot—a mingled host,
Their leaders fall'n, their standards lost."
—SCOTT.
Napoleon watched the huge black echelon of battalions mount the slope, their right section crumbled under the rush of the British Guards. Colborne and the 52nd tumbled the left flank into ruin; the British cavalry swept down upon them. Those who stood near Napoleon watched his face. It became pale as death. "Ils sont mêlés ensemble" ("they are mingled together"), he muttered to himself. He cast one hurried glance over the field, to right and left, and saw nothing but broken squadrons, abandoned batteries, wrecked infantry battalions. "Tout est perdu," he said, "sauve qui peut," and, wheeling his horse, he turned his back upon his last battlefield. His star had set!