19th.—The cool air of the morning lasted not long; the rising sun soon burst in all his glory over our bloody bivouac, and all nature arose into renewed life, except the victims of ambition which lay unconscious of his presence. I had not been up many minutes when one of my sergeants came to ask if they might bury Driver Crammond. “And why particularly Driver Crammond?” “Because he looks frightful, sir; many of us have not had a wink of sleep for him.” Curious! I walked to the spot where he lay, and certainly a more hideous sight cannot be imagined. A cannon-shot had carried away the whole head except barely the visage, which still remained attached to the torn and bloody neck. The men said they had been prevented sleeping by seeing his eyes fixed on them all night; and thus this one dreadful object had superseded all the other horrors by which they were surrounded. He was of course immediately buried, and as immediately forgotten. Our first care after this was to muster the remaining force, to disentangle our carriages from each other, and from the dead and dying animals with which they were encumbered. Many sound or only slightly-wounded horses, belonging to different corps of both armies, were wandering about the field. Of these we caught several in the course of the morning, and thus collected, with what remained of our own fit for work, sufficient to horse four guns, three ammunition-waggons, and the forge. Of men we had nearly enough for these at reduced numbers, so we set to work equipping ourselves without delay. Although supplies of ammunition had been sent to us during the action, yet little remained. The expenditure had been enormous. A return had been called for yesterday evening just as we were lying down to rest, but, fatigued as we all were, it was impossible to give this correctly. As near as I could ascertain, we must have fired nearly 700 rounds per gun. Our harness, &c., was so cut to pieces, that but for the vast magazines around us from which we could pick and choose, we should never have got off the field. Soon after daybreak an officer came from headquarters to desire me to send all my superfluous carriages to Lillois, where a park was forming, and to inform me that a supply of ammunition would be found in the village of Waterloo. Accordingly the carriages were sent without delay; but this requiring all the horses, they were obliged to make a second trip for the ammunition. Whilst this was doing I had leisure to examine the ground in our immediate vicinity. Books and papers, &c., covered it in all directions. The books at first surprised me, but upon examination the thing was explained. Each French soldier, it appeared, carried a little accompt-book of his pay, clothing, &c. &c. The scene was now far from solitary; for numerous groups of peasants were moving about busily employed stripping the dead, and perhaps finishing those not quite so. Some of these men I met fairly staggering under the enormous load of clothes, &c., they had collected. Some had firearms, swords, &c., and many had large bunches of crosses and decorations; all seemed in high glee, and professed unbounded hatred of the French.
I had fancied we were almost alone on the field, seeing only the remains of Major Bull’s troop of horse-artillery not far from us (the Prussians had gone forward about, or a little before, daybreak); but in wandering towards the Charleroi road I stumbled on a whole regiment of British infantry fast asleep, in columns of divisions, wrapped in their blankets, with their knapsacks for pillows. Not a man was awake. There they lay in regular ranks, with the officers and sergeants in their places, just as they would stand when awake. Not far from these, in a little hollow beneath a white thorn, lay two Irish light-infantry men sending forth such howlings and wailings, and oaths and execrations, as were shocking to hear. One of them had his leg shot off, the other a thigh smashed by a cannon-shot. They were certainly pitiable objects, but their vehement exclamations, &c., were so strongly contrasted with the quiet resolute bearing of hundreds, both French and English, around them, that it blunted one’s feelings considerably.
I tried in vain to pacify them; so walked away amidst a volley of abuse as a hardhearted wretch who could thus leave two poor fellows to die like dogs. What could I do? All, however, though in more modest terms, craved assistance; and every poor wretch begged most earnestly for water. Some of my men had discovered a good well of uncontaminated water at Hougoumont, and filled their canteens; so I made several of them accompany me and administer to the most craving in our immediate vicinity. Nothing could exceed their gratitude, or the fervent blessings they implored on us for this momentary relief. The French were in general particularly grateful; and those who were strong enough, entered into conversation with us on the events of yesterday, and the probable fate awaiting themselves. All the non-commissioned officers and privates agreed in asserting that they had been deceived by their officers and betrayed; and, to my surprise, almost all of them reviled Buonaparte as the cause of their misery. Many begged me to kill them at once, since they would a thousand times rather die by the hand of a soldier than be left at the mercy of those villanous Belgic peasants. Whilst we stood by them, several would appear consoled and become tranquil; but the moment we attempted to leave, they invariably renewed the cry, “Ah, Monsieur, tuez moi donc! Tuez moi, pour l’amour de Dieu!” &c. &c. It was in vain I assured them carts would be sent to pick them all up. Nothing could reconcile them to the idea of being left. They looked on us as brother soldiers, and knew we were too honourable to harm them: “But the moment you go, those vile peasants will first insult, and then cruelly murder us.” This, alas! I knew, was but too true. One Frenchman I found in a far different humour—an officer of lancers, and desperately wounded; a strong square-built man, with reddish hair and speckled complexion. When I approached him he appeared suffering horribly—rolling on his back, uttering loud groans. My first impulse was to raise and place him in a sitting posture; but, the moment he was touched, opening his eyes and seeing me, he became perfectly furious. Supposing he mistook my intention, I addressed him in a soothing tone, begging he would allow me to render him what little assistance was in my power. This only seemed to irritate him the more; and on my presenting him the canteen with water, he dashed it from him with such a passionate gesture and emphatic “Non!” that I saw there was no use in teasing, and therefore reluctantly left him. Returning towards our position, I was forcibly struck by the immense heap of bodies of men and horses which distinguished it even at a distance; indeed, Sir Augustus Frazer told me the other day, at Nivelles, that in riding over the field, “he could plainly distinguish the position of G troop from the opposite height by the dark mass which, even from that distance, formed a remarkable feature in the field.” These were his very words. One interesting sufferer I had nearly forgotten. He was a fine young man of the grenadiers à cheval, who had lain groaning near us all night—indeed scarcely five paces from my bed; therefore was the first person I visited as soon as daylight came. He was a most interesting person—tall, handsome, and a perfect gentleman in manners and speech; yet his costume was that of a private soldier. We conversed with him some time, and were exceedingly pleased with his mild and amiable address. Amongst other things he told us that Marshal Ney had led the charges against us. In this, however (if we understood him rightly), he must have been mistaken, since that Marshal is an infantry general. Be that as it may, we all felt deeply interested for our unfortunate prisoner, and did all in our power for him, which consisted in kind words and sending two careful men to lead him to the village—a most painful undertaking, for we now found that, besides one ball in the forehead, he had received another in his right thigh, which, together with his being barefooted, could not but render his journey both tedious and painful.
I now began to feel somewhat the effects of my long fast in a most unpleasant sense of weakness and an inordinate craving for food, which there were no means of satisfying. My joy, then, may be imagined when, returning to our bivouac, I found our people returned from Lillois, and, better still, that they had brought with them a quarter of veal, which they had found in a muddy ditch, of course in appearance then filthy enough. What was this to a parcel of men who had scarcely eaten a morsel for three days? In a trice it was cut up, the mud having been scraped off with a sabre, a fire kindled and fed with lance-shafts and musket-stocks; and old Quartermaster Hall, undertaking the cooking, proceeded to fry the dirty lumps in the lid of a camp-kettle. How we enjoyed the savoury smell! and, having made ourselves seats of cuirasses,[25] piled upon each other, we soon had that most agreeable of animal gratifications—the filling our empty stomachs. Never was a meal more perfectly military, nor more perfectly enjoyed.
We had not yet finished our meal, when a carriage drove on the ground from Brussels, the inmates of which, alighting, proceeded to examine the field. As they passed near us, it was amusing to see the horror with which they eyed our frightful figures; they all, however, pulled off their hats and made us low bows. One, a smartly-dressed middle-aged man, in a high cocked-hat, came to our circle, and entered into conversation with me on the events of yesterday. He approached holding a delicately white perfumed handkerchief to his nose; stepping carefully to avoid the bodies (at which he cast fearful glances en passant), to avoid polluting the glossy silken hose that clothed his nether limbs. May I be pardoned for the comparison: Hotspur’s description of a fop came forcibly to my mind as we conversed; clean and spruce, as if from a bandbox, redolent of perfume, he stood ever and anon applying the ’kerchief to his nose. I was not leaning on my sword, but I arose to receive him from my seat of armour, my hands and face begrimed and blackened with blood and smoke—clothes too. “I do remember when the fight was done,” &c. &c. It came, as I said, forcibly to my mind as I eyed my friend’s costume and sniffed the sweet-scented atmosphere that hovered round him. The perfumed handkerchief, in this instance, held the place of Shakespeare’s “pouncet-box”—the scene was pleasant to remember! With a world of bows my man took leave, and proceeded, picking his steps with the same care as he followed the route of his companions in the direction of Hougoumont.
Having despatched our meal, and then the ammunition-waggons to Waterloo, and leaving the people employed equipping as best they could, I set off to visit the Château likewise; for the struggle that had taken place there yesterday rendered it an object of interest. The same scene of carnage as elsewhere characterised that part of the field over which I now bent my steps. The immediate neighbourhood of Hougoumont was more thickly strewn with corpses than most other parts of the field—the very ditches were full of them. The trees all about were most woefully cut and splintered, both by cannon-shot and musketry. The courts of the Château presented a spectacle more terrible even than any I had yet seen. A large barn had been set on fire, and the conflagration had spread to the offices, and even to the main building. Here numbers, both of French and English, had perished in the flames, and their blackened swollen remains lay scattered about in all directions. Amongst this heap of ruins and misery many poor devils yet remained alive, and were sitting up endeavouring to bandage their wounds. Such a scene of horror, and one so sickening, was surely never witnessed.
Two or three German dragoons were wandering among the ruins, and many peasants. One of the former was speaking to me when two of the latter, after rifling the pockets, &c., of a dead Frenchman, seized the body by the shoulders, and, raising it from the ground, dashed it down again with all their force, uttering the grossest abuse, and kicking it about the head and face—revolting spectacle!—doing this, no doubt, to court favour with us. It had a contrary effect, which they soon learned. I had scarcely uttered an exclamation of disgust, when the dragoon’s sabre was flashing over the miscreants’ heads, and in a moment descended on their backs and shoulders with such vigour that they roared again, and were but too happy to make their escape. I turned from such scenes and entered the garden. How shall I describe the delicious sensation I experienced!
The garden was an ordinary one, but pretty—long straight walks of turf overshadowed by fruit-trees, and between these beds of vegetables, the whole enclosed by a tolerably high brick wall. Is it necessary to define my sensations? Is it possible that I am not understood at once? Listen then. For the last three days I have been in a constant state of excitement—in a perfect fever. My eyes have beheld nought but war in all its horrors—my ears have been assailed by a continued roar of cannon and cracking of musketry, the shouts of multitudes and the lamentations of war’s victims. Suddenly and unexpectedly I find myself in solitude, pacing a green avenue, my eyes refreshed by the cool verdure of trees and shrubs; my ear soothed by the melody of feathered songsters—yea, of sweet Philomel herself—and the pleasing hum of insects sporting in the genial sunshine. Is there nothing in this to excite emotion? Nature in repose is always lovely: here, and under such circumstances, she was delicious. Long I rambled in this garden, up one walk, down another, and thought I could dwell here contented for ever. Nothing recalled the presence of war except the loopholed wall and two or three dead Guardsmen;[26] but the first caused no interruption, and these last lay so concealed amongst the exuberant vegetation of turnips and cabbages, &c., that, after coming from the field of death without, their pale and silent forms but little deteriorated my enjoyment. The leaves were green, roses and other flowers bloomed forth in all their sweetness, and the very turf when crushed by my feet smelt fresh and pleasant. There was but little of disorder visible to tell of what had been enacted here. I imagine it must have been assailed by infantry alone; and the havoc amongst the trees without made by our artillery posted on the hill above to cover the approach to it—principally, perhaps, by Bull’s howitzer battery.
I had satisfied my curiosity at Hougoumont, and was retracing my steps up the hill, when my attention was called to a group of wounded Frenchmen by the calm, dignified, and soldier-like oration addressed by one of them to the rest. I cannot, like Livy, compose a fine harangue for my hero, and, of course, I could not retain the precise words, but the import of them was to exhort them to bear their sufferings with fortitude; not to repine, like women or children, at what every soldier should have made up his mind to suffer as the fortune of war, but, above all, to remember that they were surrounded by Englishmen, before whom they ought to be doubly careful not to disgrace themselves by displaying such an unsoldierlike want of fortitude. The speaker was sitting on the ground, with his lance stuck upright beside him—an old veteran, with a thick bushy grizly beard, countenance like a lion—a lancer of the Old Guard, and no doubt had fought in many a field. One hand was flourished in the air as he spoke, the other, severed at the wrist, lay on the earth beside him; one ball (case-shot, probably) had entered his body, another had broken his leg. His suffering, after a night of exposure so mangled, must have been great: yet he betrayed it not. His bearing was that of a Roman, or perhaps of an Indian warrior, and I could fancy him concluding appropriately his speech in the words of the Mexican king, “And I too; am I on a bed of roses?” I could not but feel the highest veneration for this brave man, and told him so, at the same time offering him the only consolation in my power—a drink of cold water, and assurances that the waggons would soon be sent round to collect the wounded. He thanked me with a grace peculiar to Frenchmen, and eagerly inquired the fate of their army. On this head I could tell him nothing consolatory, so merely answered that it had retired last night, and turned the conversation to the events of yesterday. This truly brave man spoke in most flattering terms of our troops, but said they had no idea in the French army we should have fought so obstinately, since it was generally understood that the English Government had, for some inexplicable reason, connived at Napoleon’s escape from Elba, and therefore had ordered their army only to make a show of resistance. After a very interesting conversation, I begged his lance as a keepsake, observing that it never could be of further use to him. The old man’s eyes kindled as I spoke, and he emphatically assured me that it would delight him to see it in the hands of a brave soldier, instead of being torn from him, as he had feared, by those vile peasants. So I took my leave, and walked away with the lance in my hand.[27] Ever since my groom (Milward) has been transformed into my lancer-orderly; and I propose, if ever I return to England, consecrating it to the memory of the interesting old hero. In passing Bull’s bivouac it was my fate to witness another very interesting scene. A wounded hussar had somehow or another found his way there from another part of the field, and, exhausted by the exertion, had just fainted. Some of those collected round him cried out for water, and a young driver, who, being outside the throng, had not yet seen the sufferer, seized a canteen, and ran away to fill it. Whilst he was absent the hussar so far recovered as to be able to sit up. The driver returned at this moment, and, pushing aside his comrades, knelt down to enable the hussar to drink, holding the canteen to his lips, and in so doing recognised a brother whom he had not seen for years! His emotion was extreme, as may be supposed.
On regaining my own bivouac I found the ammunition arrived, and, what was still more satisfactory, Mr Coates with his whole train of Flemish waggons—our baggage and provisions. He had got intelligence in time of the battle of Quatre Bras and its results, and therefore altered his route to meet us on our retreat. On approaching the Charleroi road he had been swept away by the torrent of fugitives, and actually carried, malgré lui, beyond Brussels, some way on the road to Antwerp, before he could succeed in disentangling his train from the rabble rout, which he described as exceeding all imagination. As he brought the wherewithal, &c., of course his joining was hailed with joy by every one.
Since the order to send away my carriages I had received none; but as my diminished troop was completed as far as could be done here, I resolved to move off this horrid place; and accordingly, at three P.M., we joyfully took to the Nivelles road—by instinct, perhaps, for I knew nothing of the movements of the army, nor by what road they had gone forward.[28] About a mile or so from the field I formed our bivouac for the night in a sweet and wholesome orchard near the road, with a turf-like velvet, and perfectly dry. This in itself was a luxury; it was a luxury to breathe pure uncontaminated air; it was a luxury to be out of hearing of groans, cries, and lamentations. This was not all. Mr Coates brought us a ham and a cheese; the neighbouring farmhouse supplied us with eggs, milk, and cider: so that in due time we sat down to an excellent dinner, seasoned with that sauce which no cook, however scientific, has yet learned to equal—hunger. Hilarity reigned at our board—if we may so term the fresh turf at the foot of an apple-tree; and over our grog and cigars we managed to pass a most pleasant evening. Previously, I had caused my servant to bring me a bucket of water, and prepared myself for our repast by the enjoyment of that first of luxuries, a thorough wash and clean clothes. This was the first time I had undressed since leaving Strytem—four whole days and three whole nights. It may be imagined with what joy I got rid of my bloody garments. Like the birds, we all retired to rest with the close of day, and the delicious sleep I enjoyed it is impossible to describe.
20th.—Awoke early, and at first could not imagine where I was. The cheerful sunbeams were playing amongst the leaves and branches overhead. The farmer’s people were moving out with their cattle to commence their daily labours. All was peace and rural tranquillity. The events of the last four days passed across my recollection, and I could for a moment scarcely believe them other than a troubled dream; but I raised myself on my elbow, and there was the battle-field, still encumbered with the slain. Ah! there it lay, bathed in the full blaze of sunshine. Starting up, I roused our people, and would have immediately recommenced the march, but upon inquiry, found that, although the farriers had worked throughout the night, they had not yet completed the shoeing. It was ten o’clock before they did so; and then we put ourselves in movement on the road to Nivelles, amidst crowds of stragglers, sutlers, &c., all pushing forward to overtake the army. It was like the highroad to some great fair. Every one appeared light-hearted, and it was delight to leave that field behind one.
Arrived at the gate of Nivelles, we found such a throng that there were no hopes of passing for at least some hours. I therefore drew up my troop in a pretty meadow by the roadside, where, besides being out of the dust, we could enjoy the cool shelter of the fine umbrageous elms by which it was surrounded, and water and feed our cattle. Mr Coates had preceded us and procured a fat cow, which one of our men slaughtered and cut up; and the meat being distributed, we were provided with the needful wherever we might bivouac. Up to this point I had no orders, nor did I know anything of the armies—English, Prussian, or French. We knew, to be sure, that the latter had been defeated on the 18th, and retired, followed by the other two; but we had no notion of the extent of the defeat, and therefore expected to find them again in position. Here I expected to get some information when I could get into the town; but the gate still continued so choked with waggons that it was impossible even for an individual to enter except in turn.
An order overtook us here to send back an officer to take charge of the guns and carriages we had left behind, until they could be rehorsed and forwarded to us again. Lieutenant Hincks, who rejoined us yesterday, being far from well, and suffering much from his contusion, I with some difficulty persuaded him to take this duty. On the opposite side of the road was a neat house, standing in a shrubbery, apparently deserted. Some of my men, wandering into the yard, discovered here three privates of the Guards. I forget what account they gave of themselves, but remember they complained of having eaten nothing for three days. We gave them a lump of beef and some bread, not reflecting at the time on the strange circumstance of their being thus left behind. I have since thought they remained here with the intention of deserting as soon as the coast was clear.
At length I effected my own entrance into the town, hoping to gain some information, or even meet some one who could give me orders. The first thing that struck me on passing the gates was the contrast the present aspect of the streets presented to that when we passed through on the evening of the 16th. Then all was sadness, despair, and lamentation; now all joy, confidence, and revel. The countenance of every one you met beamed exultation and triumph, Belgians as well as English. Men came up with frankness, took our hands, and paid us some compliment. The women, by smiles and kind looks, testified their sympathy; whilst the lower orders, in the joy of their hearts, would slap one on the thigh, en passant, with an emphatic “Bon!” “Brave garçon!” “Brave Anglais!” “Bon!” Or, if a number were collected at some corner, they would demonstrate their feelings by a cheer of “Vivent les Anglais!” The numerous cafés and cabarets (of which every door and window was open on account of the oppressive heat) were crammed with officers and soldiers of every arm and of every nation, eating, drinking, swearing, singing, and smoking. Music of some sort increased the bouhara in most of them. In many private houses, too, of the first appearance, large parties of officers were regaling themselves; and even in the streets many little assemblages of soldiers were to be seen enjoying their pipes and their beer in some shady corner. It was one complete scene of festivity. The streets were, moreover, crowded almost to suffocation with scattered soldiery: columns on their march; long files of country waggons laden with forage or provisions; together with the pretty little, low, light baggage-waggons of the German infantry, with their snow-white tilts. Here quartermasters and their attendants were running about chalking the doors of the houses (the headquarters were here to-night) with the names of those who were to take up their temporary abode in them. “Lieutenant-Colonel ——” on one; “Deputy-Assistant-Adjutant-General” on another; “1st company of such a regiment” on another, and so on. Then several commissaries (followed by a swarm of Flemish waggoners) hurry along in search of the Magazin des Fourrages. Further on, officers of the general staff are arranging the march of troops. Suddenly a loud shout announces something extraordinary even on this day of excitement. Every one hurries to the spot, pushing each other, jumping, shouting. “What can it mean?” I inquired. “Monsieur l’Officiere, c’est un convoi des prisonniers que vient d’arriver,” replied my man, doffing at the same time his bonnet de nuit and making a most respectful salaam. I stopped to see the convoy pass. The prisoners, dressed in grey capôtes and bonnets de fourrage, march steadily on. Some vieux moustaches look very grave, and cast about furious glances at the noisy crowd which follows them with the perseverance of a swarm of mosquitoes, sacréeing and venting all kind of illiberal abuse on them and their b—— of an Emperor. Many, however, younger men, laugh, joke, and return their abuse with interest, whilst the soldiers of the escort (English) march doggedly along, pushing aside the more forward of the throng, and apparently as if only marching round a relief. The crowd passed on, and so did I, until, meeting some of our own people, I learned that Sir Augustus Frazer was here, and soon after found out his billet. To find one’s self in a quiet, genteel, well-furnished room, after such scenes of bustle, &c., as had occupied our last few days, is a pleasing change. Exactly such was that in which I found Sir Augustus engaged with his adjutant. He was in his slippers; his writing materials were arranged on the table, and on another were some books and maps. The open windows looked into a little shady garden gay with flowers and flowering shrubs. There was an air of cheerfulness, of home and home’s comfort, about the place that was quite refreshing. My visit was necessarily a short one. I learned much more of our battle and its consequences than I had known before, and that I had better push on with the crowd until I got orders, or fell in with Lord Edward Somerset’s division. Frazer and Bell told me many flattering things about G troop, and considered it a certainty that I should get the brevet—nous verrons!
Quitting them, I plunged again into the crowd and fought my way towards the gate by which I had entered, but was agreeably surprised at meeting my people in the street, Newland having pushed on the moment he observed the crowd at the gate get somewhat thinner. Traversing the town with our carriages proved a tedious operation; for in addition to what I before found to struggle with, we now fell in with an endless column of Belgic infantry marching the same route as ourselves—a most annoying obstruction. The march of these people was a sort of triumphal procession: colours displayed; bands, with their clattering jangling cymbals, making a most martial noise; officers and men prancing along with short quick steps, bended knees, and stamping the pavement as if they wished to break holes in it, swaggering like turkey-cocks, and trying to appear indifferent, which was belied by the frequent upward glances at the fair dames in the windows, who certainly were doing all they could to blow up the vanity of these their brave countrymen by throwing out flowers on them, waving of handkerchiefs, clapping of hands, and faintly crying “Viva!”
We crept along the flank of this column of heroes, unnoticed and unknown, and soon after, clearing the Porte de Binche, got ahead and clear of them. The road was almost as much crowded as the streets of Nivelles, and I found it useless to expect to make rapid progress. For the first few miles the country was prettily wooded and interspersed with villages and neat houses; but then it began to get less wooded, less thickly inhabited, and in every way less interesting. Continued struggling on until towards evening, when our adjutant (Bell) overtook me with a little scrap of paper, on which was an order for me to bivouac either at Rœulx or Binche; but as we could not very well learn where these places were, and no guide was to be procured, and the evening began to close in, I determined on halting on a high and rather exposed piece of ground where we then happened to be. The bivouac was badly chosen—no water near, no house near, no wood near, no shelter of any kind near, and we were somehow all cross and out of humour. Set the men to work, scrubbing and cleaning appointments, this being the first opportunity of so doing. Went to sleep at nightfall. I think the nearest village to us was Haine. Some rustics who came to gape at us from a neighbouring farm told us that the King of Westphalia and another French general had passed the night of the 18th there with a few attendants, but that early on the morning of the 19th they had departed in a great hurry, evidently afraid of being overtaken.
21st.—Paraded early, and, considering all things, tolerably clean and neat. Descended to a lower country, equally dismal and uninteresting, without the one advantage which the other possesses—viz., that of commanding a distant prospect, always more or less pleasing. At noon arrived in the neighbourhood of Mons, where we overtook the Greys, Inniskillings, Ross’s troop of Horse-Artillery, and several other corps, both of cavalry and infantry. We had, in short, now rejoined the army. The Greys and the Inniskillings were mere wrecks—the former, I think, did not muster 200 men, and the latter, with no greater strength, presented a sad spectacle of disorganisation and bad discipline; they had lost more than half their appointments. Some had helmets, some had none; many had the skull-cap, but with the crest cut or broken off; some were on their own large horses, others on little ones they had picked up; belts there were on some; many were without, not only belts, but also canteens and havresacks. The enemy surely had not effected in a single day so complete a disorganisation, and I shrewdly suspect these rollicking Paddies of having mainly spoilt themselves. The other corps all looked remarkably well, although they, too, had partaken in the fight. We overtook these corps about a mile from Mons, on a hill, whence that place, with its old fortifications, looked venerable and picturesque. Descending thence, the road crossed a broad, flat, marshy piece of ground, which appeared nearly, if not entirely, to surround the place. Here our further progress was obstructed by a number of trees felled across the road, and forming a sort of abatis, and we were consequently obliged to make a detour through the meadows, and cross a rivulet by (I think the Trouille) a mill-dam, over which the cavalry were obliged to file. This rendered it a very tedious operation; and that part where at the mill we had to pass our guns, &c., over a bridge of planks barely broad enough, was a rather ticklish one. We crossed after the Greys, and came with them on the main road to Maubeuge at the moment a Highland regiment (perhaps the 92d), which had come through Mons, was passing. The moment the Highlanders saw the Greys an electrifying cheer burst spontaneously from the column, which was answered as heartily; and on reaching the road the two columns became blended for a few minutes—the Highlanders running to shake hands with their brave associates in the late battle. This little burst of feeling was delightful—everybody felt it; and although two or three general officers were present, none interfered to prevent or to censure this breach of discipline. A few hundred yards further on I found Lord Edward Somerset, with his brigade, formed in a field of clover by the roadside; and now, for the first time, I reported myself to him, and requested orders. These were simply to proceed straight to Malplaquet, and there bivouac for the night. Accordingly I continued my route independent as heretofore of my brigade. Nothing could be more horridly uninteresting than this country. Well cultivated, yet no habitations, or very few—no enclosures, or rather no hedges, there being banks to some of the fields; no trees, and hills just high enough to prevent an extended view, without adding one jot of beauty to the landscape. Most dismal country! To add to our wretchedness, the clouds which had been collecting all the morning began to drop their contents, so, snugging ourselves under our cloaks, on we jogged sulkily enough. We had left the great Chaussée de Maubeuge, and had been marching some time on a cross-road, occasionally confined between bare banks—not such ramparts as one sees in the county of Cork, but low clay banks about knee-high, with the ditch whence the material has been taken. In this way we had reached a point where a greater elevation of the ground allowed some scope of vision; and when emerging from between the banks, we came on something like a heath, bordered on one side by a large wood. Here an assemblage of rustics appeared awaiting us. Their principal object, no doubt, was to gaze at the strangers; but they gave themselves infinite trouble to make us comprehend that we were about to cross the frontier and enter on the soil of France. Drawing a long line in the mud, right across the road, and vociferating altogether, “Ici, monsieur!” “Voila, monsieur!” “Regardez, monsieur!” “C’est ici, monsieur, que vous entrez en la France!” and when we crossed their line, they grinned and jumped about like so many monkeys. I could not divine what pleasure they derived from seeing strangers violate the sacred territory, nor what could induce the energetic “Voici, monsieur, la France, voilà la Belgique!” which they roared in chorus. How different would have been the feelings and actions of Englishmen on a similar occasion! Frenchmen, however, draw amusement from everything—even misfortune. But did they look upon our invasion as a misfortune? From what I have seen of these people, it appears very doubtful whether they care a farthing who reigns over them. Be that as it may, we undoubtedly entered France amidst cheers and greetings of the populace.
Soon after this we arrived at Malplaquet without being able to see it—the truth is, that it consists of a number of large farm-houses, &c., all standing isolated, and surrounded by thick orchards. In one of these we established our bivouac. A beggarly-looking old house, built of wattles, plastered with clay (which in many places had fallen off), windows without glass, and doorways without doors, stood in one corner of our orchard, and as this was very cheerless from the heavy rain, we agreed to do comfortable and dine in the house. Accordingly, our prog and materials were conveyed thither, and the dame was desired to make a fire in her best salon; yet, after all, it was a matter of doubt whether we should not have been more comfortable under the apple-trees, barring the droppings. The place was a perfect picture of misery; rooms disgustingly filthy, and besides, blackened with smoke; floor of earth, broken into all sorts of holes and inequalities; ceiling of loose planks and full of large holes, as were the partitions; furniture—a rickety table, two or three as rickety chairs, and a sort of chest of walnut, serving the place of a chest of drawers, black as ebony from age and dirt. The mistress, a grown-up daughter, and three or four young children, were the only inmates of this wretched mansion we saw—filthy as their dwelling, their clothes all in rags, and without shoe or stocking. These poor creatures were so alarmed at us that they scarcely seemed to know what they were doing. Our dinner, of course, was none of the most comfortable; but some hot grog and cigars afterwards put us all in good-humour, and we passed the evening admirably. In due time we retired to the nests our servants had provided for us in the orchard, and I was soon sound asleep, but was aroused about two o’clock by the sergeant-major, with a lantern in one hand and a paper in the other, which a dragoon had just brought from headquarters. This was an order to march at four A.M. Raining hard.
END OF THE FIRST VOLUME.
PRINTED BY WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS, EDINBURGH.