But, panic-struck and disorganized, the French resistance was short and feeble. The Prussian cannon thundered in their rear—the British bayonet was flashing in their front—and unable to stand the terror of the charge, they broke and fled. A dreadful and indiscriminate carnage ensued. The great road was choked with equipages, and cumbered with the dead and dying; while the fields, as far as the eye could reach, were covered with a host of helpless fugitives.[315] Courage and discipline were forgotten; and Napoleon’s army of yesterday was now a splendid wreck—a terror-stricken multitude! His own words best describe it—“It was a total rout!”
Never had France sent a finer army to the field—and never had any been so signally defeated. Complete as the déroute at Vittoria had appeared, it fell infinitely short of that sustained at Waterloo. Tired of slaughtering unresisting foes, the British, early in the night, abandoned the pursuit of the broken battalions and halted. But the Prussians, untamed by previous exertion, continued to follow the fugitives with increased activity, and nothing could surpass the unrelenting animosity of their pursuit. Plunder was sacrificed to revenge—and the memory of former defeat and past oppression produced a dreadful retaliation, and deadened every impulse of humanity. The væ victis was pronounced—and thousands, besides those who perished in the field, fell that night by Prussian lance and sabre.
What Napoleon’s feelings were when he witnessed the overthrow of his guard—the failure of his last hope—the death-blow to his political existence, cannot be described, but may be easily imagined. Turning to an aide-de-camp, with a face livid with rage and despair, he muttered in a tremulous voice—“A présent c’est fini!—sauvons nous;” and turning his horse, he rode hastily off towards Charleroi, attended by his guide and staff.
* * * * *
In whatever point of view Waterloo is considered, whether as a battle, a victory, or an event, in all these, every occurrence of the last century yields, and more particularly in the magnitude of results. No doubt the successes of Wellington in Spain were, in a great degree, primary causes of Napoleon’s downfal; but still the victory of Waterloo consummated efforts made for years before in vain to achieve the freedom of the Continent—and wrought the final ruin of him, through whose unhallowed ambition a world had been so long convulsed.
As a battle, the merits of the field of Waterloo have been freely examined, and very indifferently adjudicated.[316] Those who were best competent to decide, have pronounced this battle as that upon which Wellington might securely rest his fame—while others, admitting the extent of the victory, ascribe the result rather to fortunate accident than military skill.[317]
Never was a falser statement hazarded. The success attendant on the day of Waterloo can be referred only to the admirable system of resistance in the general, and an enduring valour, rarely equalled and never surpassed, in the soldiers whom he commanded. Chance, at Waterloo, had no effect upon results;—Wellington’s surest game was to act only on the defensive—his arrangements with Blucher, for mutual support, being thoroughly matured, he knew that before night the Prussians must be upon the field. Bad weather and bad roads, with the conflagration of a town in the line of march, which, to save the Prussian tumbrils from explosion, required a circuitous movement—all these, while they protracted the struggle for several hours beyond what might have been reasonably computed, only go to prove that Wellington, in accepting battle, under a well-founded belief that he should be supported in four hours—when single-handed he maintained the combat and resolutely held his ground during a space of eight, had left nothing dependent upon accident, but, providing for the worst contingencies, had formed his calculations with admirable skill.
The apologists for Napoleon lay much stress on Ney’s dilatory march on Quatre Bras, and Grouchy’s unprofitable movements on the Dyle. The failure of Ney upon the 16th will be best accounted for by that marshal’s simple statement. His reserve was withdrawn by Napoleon—and when the Prince of Moskwa required and ordered it forward, to make a grand effort on the wearied English, the corps “was idly parading” between Quatre Bras and Ligny; and during the arduous struggle at both places, that splendid division had never faced an enemy or discharged a musket. Ney’s failure in his attack was therefore attributable to Napoleon altogether—for had his reserve been at hand, who can suppose that the exhausted battalions of the allies, after a march of two-and-twenty miles, and a long and bloody combat, must not have yielded to fresh troops in overpowering masses, and fallen back from a position tenable no longer? To Grouchy’s imputed errors, also, the loss of Waterloo has been mainly ascribed both by Napoleon and his admirers. But that marshal’s conduct was not obnoxious to the censure so unsparingly bestowed upon it—for, had he disobeyed orders, and acceded to the proposition of his second in command, would a movement by his left have effected any thing beyond the delay of Napoleon’s overthrow for a night? By following Girard’s advice, and marching direct on Waterloo, the day would have ended, probably, in a drawn battle—or even Wellington might have been obliged to retire into the wood of Soignies. But in a few hours Blucher would have been up—in the morning the Anglo-Prussian army would have become assailant—and with numbers far superior, who will pretend to say that Napoleon’s defeat upon the 19th, would not have been as certain and as signal as his déroute at Waterloo, upon the fatal evening that closed upon a fallen empire and a last field?
The allied loss[318] was enormous, but it fell infinitely short of that sustained by Napoleon’s army. Of the latter nothing like an accurate return was ever made—but from the most correct estimates by French and British officers, upwards of five-and-twenty thousand men were rendered hors de combat; while multitudes were sabred in the flight, or perished on the roads from sheer fatigue, and in deserted villages for want of sustenance and surgical relief.
On the 19th the Duke of Wellington was again in motion, and having crossed the frontier, he marched upon the French capital by Binch, Malplaquet, and Château Cambresis. Colville’s division, composed of part of the sixth British and sixth Hanoverians, took the advance of the army, and carried Cambray by assault on the evening of the 24th. Peronne la Pucelle was on the following day stormed by the Guards—and on the 30th, the Duke of Wellington’s light cavalry were close to the walls of Paris.