The Camp-fires of Napoleon

At daybreak the camp-fires of the army were extinguished, and the order of retreat given. It was a masterly exploit. With his small army, the Emperor retreated through the difficult defiles, in the face of a whole Austrian army; and though pursued and annoyed, sustained but little loss.

But what availed these miracles of generalship? The struggle was quickly decided, by irresistible numbers and sickening treachery.

Paris was surrendered by Marmont, while still capable of defence, and the enemy gained possession of Lyons by the same means. All hope was lost, and the Emperor was advised by Macdonald and others of his most faithful friends, to comply with the terms of the allies and abdicate his throne. He resisted as long as there was a shadow of hope, and then obeyed stern necessity. The enemies of France were supreme. The sovereign of her choice was consigned to the little island of Elba, and the detested Bourbons were restored in the person of Louis XVIII.

We will not dwell upon the leave-taking of the Emperor—how he kissed the eagles, and embraced the veterans of Fontainebleau. It is not within our scope. It is enough to know, that such victories as Montereau, Arcis and Montmirail, won in the last hours of his imperial power, sustained the glory of Napoleon’s genius, and proved that no treason, “coming like a blight over the councils of the brave,” could annihilate his title to immortal remembrance.

THE CAMP-FIRE AT WATERLOO

Napoleon had returned to France. He had landed at Cannes with but a few soldiers as a guard; but he had been swept up to the imperial throne of Paris upon a mighty wave of popular enthusiasm. All Europe had arisen in arms against the choice of the nation. The campaign of the Hundred Days had commenced. At the head of a hundred and twenty thousand men, the Emperor had advanced to attack Wellington and Blucher, with two hundred and fifty thousand.

In order to escape from the danger which might result from too great an inferiority of numbers, Napoleon strove, from the commencement of the campaign, to separate the English from the Prussians, and manœuvred actively to throw himself between them. His plan was strikingly successful on the 16th at the battle of Ligny; Blucher, being attacked alone, was completely beaten, and left twenty-five thousand men on the field of battle. But this enormous loss did not materially enfeeble an army which had such masses of soldiers in line, and behind, still more numerous reserves. In the position in which the Emperor found himself, he required a more decisive advantage, a victory which should annihilate the army of Blucher, and allow him to fall upon Wellington next, in order to crush him in his turn. This successive defeat of the English and Prussians had been most skilfully prepared by the orders and instructions he dispatched on all sides. But, we cannot too often repeat it, his destiny was accomplished; and fatal misunderstandings deceived the calculations of his genius. Moreover, he had himself a presentiment that some unforeseen incident would disarrange his combinations, and that fortune had more disasters in store for him. “It is certain that in these circumstances,” he said to his suite, “I had no longer in myself that definitive feeling; there was nothing of former confidence.” His presentiments were too soon realized.

At daybreak on the 17th, Grouchy, at the head of thirty-four thousand men, was dispatched in pursuit of the enemy, who had fled in two columns by way of Tilly and Gembloux, with orders to proceed to Wavres. About seven in the morning, the Emperor galloped forward with Count Lobau’s cavalry towards Quatre-Bras, which place he expected to find in possession of Ney; the latter, however, had not been able to retrieve his error of the 16th, and remained facing the position of the British, although now occupied only by their rear-guard, which made off as soon as its commander perceived the approach of Lobau’s horsemen. Pursuit was immediately given, Napoleon hoping that he might yet be able to overtake and defeat the English. In consequence of the state of the roads, from the heavy rains, it was near four o’clock before the retreating column reached the plain of Waterloo, and nearly seven before the troops were in position on the rising ground in front of Mount St. Jean.

That night the English bivouacked on the field they were to maintain in the battle of the morrow. Between six and seven, Napoleon reached Planchenois; and perceiving the enemy established in position, fixed his head-quarters at the farm of Cailloux, and posted his followers on the heights around La Belle Alliance. The reinforcements received by the Duke of Wellington during the 16th and 17th, had raised his army to seventy-five thousand men, who were supported by two hundred and fifty pieces of cannon. Napoleon’s forces have been estimated at seventy thousand men, and about two hundred and forty pieces of cannon; it must, however, be borne in mind, that the Duke could not depend on the Belgian, Nassau, and Hanoverian troops.

“Never,” says Alison, “was a more melancholy night passed by soldiers than that which followed the halt of the two armies in their respective positions on the night of the 17th of June, 1815.

“The whole of that day had been wet and cloudy; but towards evening the rain fell in torrents, insomuch that, in traversing the road from Quartre-Bras to Waterloo, the soldiers were often ankle deep in water. When the troops arrived at their ground, the passage of the artillery, horse, and wagons over the drenched surface had so completely cut it up, that it was almost every where reduced to a state of mud, interspersed in every hollow with large pools of water. Cheerless and dripping as was the condition of the soldiers, who had to lie down for the night in such a situation, it was preferable to that of those battalions who were stationed in the rye-fields, where the grain was for the most part three or four feet high, and soaking wet from top to bottom. The ground occupied by the French soldiers was not less drenched and uncomfortable. But how melancholy soever may have been their physical situation, not one feeling of despondency pervaded the breasts either of the British or French soldiers. Such was the interest of the moment, the magnitude of the stake at issue, and the intensity of the feelings in either army, that the soldiers were almost insensible to physical suffering. Every man in both armies was aware that the retreat was stopped, and that a decisive battle would be fought on the following day. The great contest of two-and-twenty years’ duration was now to be brought to a final issue: retreat after disaster would be difficult, if not impossible, to the British army, through the narrow defile of the forest of Soignies: overthrow was ruin to the French. The two great commanders, who had severally overthrown every antagonist, were now for the first time to be brought into collision; the conqueror of Europe was to measure swords with the deliverer of Spain. Nor were sanguine hopes and the grounds of well-founded confidence wanting to the troops of either army. The French relied with reason on the extraordinary military talents of their chief, on his long and glorious career, and on the unbroken series of triumphs which had carried their standards to every capital in Europe. Nor had recent disasters weakened this undoubting trust, for the men who now stood side by side were almost all veterans tried in a hundred combats: the English prisons had restored the conquerors of Continental Europe to his standard, and for the first time since the Russian retreat, the soldiers of Austerlitz and Wagram were again assembled round his eagles. The British soldiers had not all the same mutual dependence from tried experience, for a large part of them had never seen a shot fired in battle. But they were not on that account the less confident. They relied on the talent and firmness of their chief, who they knew, had never been conquered, and whose resources the veterans in their ranks told them would prove equal to any emergency. They looked back with animated pride to the unbroken career of victory which had attended the British arms since they first landed in Portugal, and anticipated the keystone to their arch of fame from the approaching conflict with Napoleon in person. They were sanguine as to the result; but, come what may, they were resolute not to be conquered. Never were two armies of such fame, under leaders of such renown, and animated by such heroic feelings, brought into contact in modern Europe, and never were interests so momentous at issue in the strife.”

The field of Waterloo, rendered immortal by the battle which was fought on the following day, extends about two miles in length from the old chateau, walled garden, and inclosures of Hougoumont on the right, to the extremity of the hedge of La Haye Sainte on the left. The great chaussee from Brussels to Charleroi runs through the centre of the position, which is situated somewhat less than three quarters of a mile to the south of the village of Waterloo, and three hundred yards in front of the farm-house of Mount St. Jean. This road, after passing through the centre of the British line, goes through La Belle Alliance and the hamlet of Rossomme, where Napoleon spent the night. The position occupied by the British army, followed very nearly the crest of a range of gentle eminences, cutting the high road at right angles, two hundred yards behind the farm-house of La Haye Sainte, which adjoins the highway, and formed the centre of the position. An unpaved country road ran along this great summit, forming nearly the line occupied by the British troops, and which proved of great use in the course of the battle. Their position had this great advantage, that the infantry could rest on the reverse of the crest of the ridge, in a situation in great measure screened from the fire of the French artillery; while their own guns on the crest swept the whole slope, or natural glacis, which descended to the valley in their front. The French army occupied a corresponding line of ridges, nearly parallel, on the opposite side of the valley, stretching on either side of the hamlet of La Belle Alliance. The summit of these ridges afforded a splendid position for the French artillery to fire upon the English guns; but their attacking columns, in descending the one hill and mounting the other, would of necessity he exposed to a very severe cannonade from the opposite batteries. The French army had an open country to retreat over in case of disaster; while the British, if defeated, would in all probability lose their whole artillery in the defiles of the forest of Soignies, although the intricacies of that wood afforded an admirable defensive position for a broken array of foot soldiers. The French right rested on the village of Planchenois, which is of considerable extent, and afforded a very strong defensive position to resist the Prussians, in case they should so far recover from the disaster of the preceding day as to be able to assume offensive operations and menace the extreme French right.

This is an admirable picture of the position and condition of the respective armies which were to decide the fate of Europe. It could not be improved.

The farm-house of Cailloux, in which the Emperor was busy with his maps and plans, and surrounded by his celebrated marshals, was surrounded with the meagre fires which the guard had kindled; but the rain frequently extinguished them and drove many of the veterans to seek the shelter of sheds.

Napoleon displayed all his usual activity and dispatch. He dictated orders to be conveyed to the different commanders of columns with the rapidity of lightning. Every body near him was kept in a state of feverish excitement, except the calm and steady Soult, whom it seemed impossible to move. There, too, was the stalwart Ney, whom the storms of battle could not even scar—ready for any duty, no matter how hopeless the performance. There also was the brave but reckless Jerome, who was destined to earn a high fame on the morrow. Berthier, who had so long been a fixture by the side of Napoleon, was not there, he had deserted the man from whose glory he had borrowed beams. But there was Maret, Bertrand, the steady Drouot, of the Old Guard, Gorgaud and Labedoyere—a galaxy of bravery and talent—such as was wont to surround the Emperor. All were busy noting down instructions, and replying to the swift questions of the tireless man whom they obeyed. Without, the rain was heard dripping incessantly. Drouot let fall an expression of opinion that, in consequence of the deluge, the ground would be impracticable for artillery.

“We shall see, it is not yet morning,” replied the Emperor. Then he leaned his head upon his hand, and thought—perhaps in the way of presentiment of disaster—but no expression of apprehension escaped his lips. Grouchy would keep Blucher in check, and Wellington would be crushed. Fortune might yet be favorable. But the heavens had quenched the last camp-fire of Napoleon.

About ten o’clock at night, Napoleon sent a dispatch to Grouchy, to announce that the Anglo-Belgian army had taken post in advance of the forest of Soignes, with its left resting on the hamlets of La Haye and Ohain, where Wellington seemed determined on the next day to give battle; Grouchy was, therefore, required to detach from his corps, about two hours before daybreak, a division of seven thousand men, and sixteen pieces of artillery, with orders to proceed to St. Lambert; and, after putting themselves in communication with the right of the grand army, to operate on the left of the British.

Meanwhile, the Duke of Wellington being in communication with Blucher, was promised by him that the Prussian army should advance to support the British on the morning of the 18th.

The rain, which had not ceased during the night, cleared off about five o’clock in the morning; and at eight it was reported by the officers who had been sent to inspect the field, that the ground was practicable for artillery. The Emperor instantly mounted his horse, and rode forward towards La Haye Sainte, to reconnoitre the British fine.

By half-past ten o’clock the two armies were arrayed, and impatient for orders to commence the battle. The Emperor proceeded to the heights of Rosomme, where he dismounted to obtain a clear view of the whole field; and there stationed his guard, as a reserve, to act where emergency might require. Meanwhile, the English remained silent and steady, waiting the commands of their chief; who, with telescope in hand, stood beneath a tree, near the cross-road, in front of his position, watching the movements of his opponents.

The village clock of Nivelles was striking eleven when the first gun was fired from the French centre. Then followed a tremendous rattle of musketry, as the brave Jerome led the column on the left to the attack on Hougomont, and drove the Nassau troops before him. The chateau and gardens, however, were bravely defended by a division of English guards, who were not to be dislodged. The fight, raged here more or less during the day, till at length the chateau was set on fire by the shells of the French, and it was found necessary to abandon it.

Napoleon, who was anxiously watching the first movement of his troops, was interrupted by an aid-de-camp, sent by Ney, who had been charged to attack the enemy’s centre, arriving at full gallop to announce that every thing was in readiness, and the marshal only waiting the signal to attack. For a moment the Emperor glanced round the field, and perceived in the direction of St. Lambert, a moving cloud advancing on the left of the English: pointing it out to Soult, he asked whether he conceived it to be Grouchy or Blucher? The marshal being in doubt, Generals Domont and Subervie were dispatched with their divisions of light cavalry, with orders to clear the way in the event of its being Grouchy, and if Blucher, to keep him in check.

Ney was then ordered to march to the attack of La Haye Sainte; after taking that post with the bayonet, and leaving a division of infantry, he was to proceed to the farms of Papelotte and La Haye, and place his troops between those of Wellington and Bulow. With his usual promptitude, the Prince of the Moskowa had in a few moments opened a battery of eighty cannon upon the left centre of the English line. The havoc occasioned by this deadly fire was so immense, that Wellington was obliged to draw back his men to the reverse slope of the hill on which they had stood, in order to screen them from its effects. The Count d’Erlon, under cover of the fire, advanced along the Genappe road; but as they ascended the position of La Haye Sainte, the Duke of Wellington directed against them a charge of cavalry, which speedily drove one column back into the hollow.

The English guards were in turn repulsed by a brigade of Milhaud’s cuirassiers, and galloping onwards, attacked the infantry; the horsemen not being able to make an impression on the squares formed for their reception, while they were themselves exposed to an incessant fire of musketry. One of D’Erlon’s unbroken columns pushed forward, meanwhile, beyond La Haye Sainte, upon which it made no attack, and charging one Belgian and three Dutch regiments, drove them from their posts in disorder, and took possession of the heights. Sir Thomas Picton was now sent to dislodge the enemy, and being supported by a brigade of heavy cavalry, the French, after firing a volley, paused, wheeled, and fled in confusion. Many were cut down by the guards; while seven guns, two eagles, and about two thousand prisoners were taken. The British, however, pursued their success too far; and becoming involved among the infantry, were attacked by a body of cuirassiers, in their turn broken, and forced to retire with great loss.

Although for the time, Ney was deprived of his artillery, he continued to advance upon La Haye Sainte. For three hours, this important position, and the part of the field which it commanded, was hotly contested by both parties, the hill being now held by the English, and now by the French. The contest, which shortly extended itself along the whole front of the British line, became of the most desperate character. Whole battalions fell as they stood in line; and the cries and groans of the wounded and dying were heard even above the incessant roll of the musketry, and the thunder of the artillery.

Napoleon, who had returned to the rising ground to watch the progress of the battle, fancying he beheld indications of the enemy’s retreat, ordered Kellerman to advance with all his cuirassiers immediately, to support the cavalry between Mount St. Jean and La Haye Sainte. The dragoons galloping forward, drove the English from their guns, and furiously charged the squares of infantry behind. Notwithstanding the deadly shower which thinned their ranks, the cuirassiers appeared determined to succeed in their purpose; and returned again and again, riding round the squares, and penetrating even to the second British line; the infantry, however, was immovable: and after sustaining frightful carnage, the cuirassiers were compelled to retire. The conflict now rather abated, until near six o’clock, and the chiefs of each army were anxiously expecting reinforcements. Domont, Lobau, and Subervic had effectually checked Bulow on the French right; but there was no sign of Grouchy making his appearance, and it was soon discovered that Blucher had come up with the main body of his army, and that the French opposed to him could not long maintain their ground. News was received from Grouchy, that instead of leaving Gembloux at day-break, according to his previously stated intentions, he had delayed there till half-past nine, and then pursued the road to Wavres, being unacquainted with the Emperor’s engagement at Waterloo. The crisis of the battle now approached, and Napoleon saw that nothing but the most consummate skill and desperate valor could save his army from ruin. His preparations were, therefore, commenced for the final struggle. A series of movements, changing the whole front of his army, so as to face both Prussians and English, was the result of his first orders. Napoleon next formed the infantry of the Imperial Guard, which had not yet been brought into action, at the foot of the position of La Belle Alliance, into two columns, and led them forward in person, to a ravine which crossed the Genappe road, in front of the British lines. Here he relinquished the command to Ney, at the entreaty of his officers; the Marshal, who had had five horses shot under him during the day, advanced on foot. A heavy discharge of artillery announced that they were in motion; the British guns soon commenced a most destructive firing on the troops, which committed dreadful havoc. Although their numbers were thinned at every step, the guards continued to advance, and soon gained the rising ground of Mount St. Jean, where the English awaited their assault. The French hands played the Imperial march, and the troops rushed on with loud shouts of “Vive l’Empereur!” The Belgian, Dutch, and Brunswick troops gave way instantly, and the Duke of Wellington was compelled to rally them in person. Before the Imperial Guard could deploy, he gave the word for the British infantry to advance; the men, who had been lying prostrate on the hill, or resting on their arms on the slope, sprang forward, and closing around Ney, and his gallant followers, poured into their ranks a continuous stream of bullets. The guard attempting to deploy, were thrown into confusion, and rushed in a crowd to the hollow road in front of La Haye Sainte, whence they were speedily driven. In this desperate charge, Ney’s uniform and hat were riddled with balls. In the meantime, Blucher had pressed forward, and driven the few French from the hamlet of La Haye; and his advanced guard already communicated with the British left. Bulow, who had been repulsed from Planchenois, but was now reinforced, was again advancing. Wellington, having assumed the offensive, was advancing at the head of his whole army. It already grew dusk; the French had every where given way: the guard, never before vanquished, had been routed by the stern troops of Britain; and night brought with it terror and despair. It having been reported that the Old Guard had yielded, a panic suddenly spread throughout the French lines, and the fatal cry of “Sauve qui peut!” was raised, and becoming universal discipline and courage were forgotten, and a wild flight ensued. The cavalry and artillery of the English and Prussians now scattered death on all sides. The vengeance of the latter was unsatiated, and these scoured the field, making fearful carnage, and giving no quarter. The Old Guard was yet unbroken, and Napoleon lingered on the ground. Prince Jerome, who had fought bravely throughout the day, urged him to an act of desperation. “Here, brother,” said he, “all who bear the name of Bonaparte should fall!” Napoleon, who was on foot, mounted his horse, but his soldiers would not listen to any proposal involving his death: and at length, an aid-de-camp seizing his bridle, led him at a gallop from the field. He arrived at Genappe shortly before ten o’clock at night, where he again attempted to rally; but the confusion was so great as to be utterly irremediable.

The pursuit of the French was continued far into the night by the Prussians. Nine times, the wearied fugitives halted, kindled fires and prepared to bivouac. Nine times they were startled by the dreadful sound of the Prussian trumpet, and obliged to continue their flight. The star that had arisen at Toulon, and shone resplendent over Lodi, Marengo, Jena, Wagram, Borodino, and a throng of other sanguinary fields—had sunk forever. It is painful to trace the career of fallen greatness. We will not follow the Emperor, shorn of his purple, to his prison at St. Helena, where a deadly climate did the work that the leaden storms of a hundred fights had refused to perform. We will not go to that bed of death, from which, while the elements were at terrible war, that stormy spirit was carried away. Leave Hannibal at Zama, and Napoleon at Waterloo.

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Thiers.