On the night of June 17th Wellington’s army reached the heights at Mont St. Jean, on the northern edge of what was destined to be the most talked of battle-field in modern times. His retreat, masked by a strong body of cavalry, with some horse-artillery and a single infantry division, had been slow and regular, being retarded somewhat by the heavy rain. Ney had held his position at Frasnes, well aware that what was before him was far more than a rear-guard—in fact, owing to the arrival of strong reinforcements during the night, it was the larger portion of the Anglo-Belgian army. But the instant the French marshal was informed of his enemy’s retrograde movements he threw forward a strong force of cavalry to cooperate with Napoleon.
When reunited, the French army numbered 71500 men, with 240 guns, excluding of course, the whole of Gerard’s corps, which had been left at Ligny to cooperate with Grouchy. That Wellington was far on his way to the defensive position chosen by himself was probably in accord with Napoleon’s calculations; his only fear was lest his foe should have withdrawn behind the forest of Soignes, where free communication with Blucher and the junction of the two allied armies would be assured, as would not be the case at Mont St. Jean.
This anxiety was set at rest by a cavalry reconnaissance, and at dusk the French van bivouacked at Belle Alliance, separated by a broad, shallow vale from their foe. The rest of the army followed with great difficulty, some by the road; some through plowed or swampy fields, wading the swollen tributaries of the Dyle, and floundering through the meadows on their banks. The army of Wellington had seized, in passing, what provisions and forage they found, and they had camp-fires to comfort them in the steady rain. The French had scanty or no rations, and lay throughout the night in the grain-fields, without fire or shelter. All told, Wellington had 68 thousand men; ten miles on his right, at Hal, lay eighteen thousand more; ten miles on his left, twelve from his headquarters at Waterloo, was Blucher. Wellington, who had informed the Prussian commander that unless support reached him he would fall back to Brussels, at 2 o’clock in the morning had assurance of Blucher’s cooperation.
There is an unsupported statement of Napoleon’s that he twice sent to Grouchy on the night of the 17th, by two separate officers, a definite order to detach seven thousand men from his camp at Wavre (where the Emperor affected to believe that Grouchy was), and make connection by St. Lambert with the right of the main army. This would entirely cut off Blucher from Wellington. The motive of this statement is transparent—with the allies separated, they were outmanoeuvered; with the possibility of their union, and an understanding between them to that effect, he was himself outmanoeuvered.
Grouchy denied having received this order; neither of the officers intrusted with it ever revealed himself; the original of it has never been found; and in subsequent orders issued next day there is no mention of, or reference to, any such message. Either the declaration, twice made at St. Helena, was due to forgetfulness, being an account of intentions not carried out, or else it was put forward to explain the result of the campaign as due to his lieutenant’s inefficiency. Grouchy must have had an uneasy conscience, since for thirty years he suppressed the text of the Bertrand order, which was not on the order-book because it had not been dictated to Soult; and when, after falsely claiming for the duration of an entire generation that he had acted under verbal instructions, he did publish it, he gave, at the same time, a mutilated version of his own report from Gembloux, sent on the night of the 17th, changing his original language so as to show that he had never looked upon the separation of the allies as his chief task, but that what was uppermost in his mind was an attack on the Prussians.
It was two in the morning of the eighteenth when the letter of Grouchy, written about four hours earlier, arrived at Napoleon’s headquarters. Both the Emperor and Soult knew by that time that the whole of Blucher’s army was moving to Wavre; yet they did not give this information, nor any minute directions, to the returning messenger. Grouchy, therefore, was left to act on his own discretion, his superior doubtless believing that the inferior would by that time himself be fully informed, and would hasten to throw himself, like an impenetrable wall, between the Prussians and the Anglo-Belgian army.
By the defenders of Napoleon Grouchy is severely criticized for not having marched early in the morning of the eighteenth to Moustier, where, if energetic, he could have carried over his army to the left bank of the river by 11 o’clock, thus placing his force within the sphere of Napoleon’s operations. Perhaps he would have been able to prevent the union of the opposing armies, or, if not that, to strengthen Napoleon in his struggle. It is proved by Marbot’s memoirs that this is what Napoleon expected.
On the other hand, excellent critics present other very important considerations: the line to Moustier was over a country so rough and miry that after a torrential rain the artillery would have been seriously delayed, and Prussian scouts might well have brought down a strong Prussian column in time to oppose the crossing there or elsewhere. Grouchy, moreover, could not know that Wellington would offer battle in front of the forest of Soignes—a resolution which, in the opinion of Napoleon and many lesser experts, was a serious blunder. He appears to have been positive that the two armies were aiming to combine for the defence of Brussels; finally, when from Walhain the sound of the firing at Waterloo was distinctly heard, and Gerard fiercely urged an immediate march toward the field of battle, Grouchy was acting strictly within the limits of the Bertrand order, and according to what he then held to be explicit instructions, when he pressed on to concentrate at Wavre, and thus, if Napoleon had already defeated Wellington, to prevent any union between Wellington and the Prussian army.
It is almost certain that Grouchy would in no way have changed the event by marching direct to Mont St. Jean, for the cross-roads were soaked, his troops were already exhausted, and the distance was approximately fourteen and a half miles as the crow flies: the previous day he had been able to make somewhat less than half that distance in nine hours.
Napoleon himself did not apparently expect the Prussians to rally as they did. He spent the hours from dawn, when the rain ceased, in careful reconnoitering. The mud was so thick in places that he required help to draw his feet out of his own tracks. At breakfast, according to a contemporary anecdote, he expressed himself as having never been more favored by fortune; and when reminded that Blucher might effect a union with the English, he replied that the Prussians would need three days to form again.
This opinion is in accord with his exaggerated but reiterated estimates of the disaster produced in Blucher’s ranks after Ligny, and taken in connection with the difficulty of moving artillery, which is not a sufficient explanation in itself, affords the only conceivable reason for his delay in attacking on the 18th. It also explains his remissness in leaving Grouchy to exercise full discretion as to his movements. At 8 the plan of battle was sketched; at nine the orders for the day were despatched throughout the lines; about ten the weary but self-confident Emperor threw himself down and slept for an hour; at 11 he mounted, and rode by the Brussels highway to the farm of Belle Alliance. It was probably during the Emperor’s nap that Soult forwarded to Grouchy a despatch, marked ten in the morning, instructing that general to manoeuver toward the main army by way of Wavre. Although, according to Marbot, Napoleon expected Grouchy in the afternoon by way of Moustier, at 1 o’clock a second despatch, of which the Emperor certainly had cognizance, was forwarded to Grouchy, expressing approval of his intention to move on Wavre by Sart-a-Walhain, but instructing him “always to manoeuver in our direction.” The postscript of this second order enjoins haste, since it was thought Bulow was already on the heights of St. Lambert.
The one central idea of Napoleon and Soult was clearly to leave a wide discretion for Grouchy, provided always that he kept his communications with the main army open, and that his general direction was one which would insure easy connection, in order either to cut off or check the Prussians. But, however this may be, the hours of Napoleon’s inactivity were precious to his enemies; by twelve Bulow was at St. Lambert, and at the same hour two other Prussian corps were leaving Wavre.
These movements were apparently tardy, but Gneisenau, feeling that Wellington had been a poor reliance at Ligny, and very much doubting whether he really intended to stand at Waterloo, was unwilling that Blucher should despatch his troops until it was certain that the Prussian army would not again be left in the lurch. Should the Anglo-Dutch retreat to Brussels, the Prussians must either retreat by Louvain, or be again defeated. Anxiety was not dispelled until the roar of cannon was heard between eleven and twelve. Then the Prussians first exerted themselves to the utmost; it was about 4 when they were within striking distance, ready to take Napoleon’s army on its flank. When Grouchy reached Wavre, at the same hour, he found there but one of Blucher’s corps, the rear under Thielemann.
From Belle Alliance Napoleon returned, and took his station on the height of Rossomme. In front was a vale something less than a mile in width. The highway stretched before him in a straight line until it skirted the large farmstead of La Haye Sainte on the opposite side; then, ascending by a slant to the first crest, it passed the hamlet of Mont St. Jean, only to ascend still higher to the top of the ridge before falling again into a second depression. At Mont St. Jean was Wellington’s center.
The road from Nivelles to Brussels crosses the valley about a quarter of a mile westward, and on it, midway between the two slopes, lay another farm-house, with its barns, that of Hougomont. More than half a mile eastward, in the direction from which the Prussians were expected, lay scattered the farm buildings of Papelotte, La Haye, Smohain, and Frischermont. The valley was covered with rich crops. Unobstructed by ditches or hedges, it was cut longitudinally about the middle by a cruciform ridge, with spurs reaching toward Belle Alliance on one side, and past Hougomont on the other; the road passed by a cut through the longitudinal arm.
Hougomont was almost a fortress, having strong brick walls and a moat; it stood in a large orchard, which was surrounded by a thick hedge. The house at La Haye Sainte was brick also, and formed one side of a quadrangle, inclosed further by two brick barns and a strong wall of the same material; though not as large or solid as Hougomont, it was a strong advance redoubt for Mont St. Jean.
The right and center of Wellington were thus well protected, the left was admirably screened by the places already enumerated. His army was deployed in three lines, the front plainly visible to the French, the second partly concealed by the crest of the hill, and the third entirely so. His headquarters were two miles north, at Waterloo; his lines of retreat, though broken by the forest of Soignes, were open either toward Wavre or toward the sea. The latter line was well protected by the troops at Hal. Uneasy about the character of his Dutch-Belgian troops, the duke had carefully disposed them among the reliable English and Germans, in order to preclude the possibility of a panic.
In the foreground of Napoleon’s position was the French army, also deployed in three lines. The front, extending from the mansion of Frischermont to the Nivelles road, consisted of two infantry corps, one on each side of Belle Alliance, and of two corps of cavalry, one on the extreme right wing, one on the left; of this line Ney had command. The second was shorter, its wings being cavalry, and its center in two divisions, of cavalry and infantry respectively. The third, or reserve, was the guard. Each of the lines had its due proportion of artillery, stationed in all three along the road.
This disposition gave the French array, as seen from beyond, a fan-like appearance, the sticks, or columns, converging toward the rear. The array was brilliant; every man and horse was in sight; the number was superior by about four thousand to that of the enemy; the ground was, by 11, almost dry enough to secure the fullest advantage from superiority in artillery; deserters from the foe came in from time to time. Surely the moral effect of such a scene upon the somewhat motley throng across the valley must be very powerful. Yet the road to Charleroi was the single available line of retreat, and it passed through a deep cut; the soldiers were tired and not really first-rate, fifty per cent of the line being recruits, and nearly a quarter of the guard untrained men; the tried officers had all been promoted, and those who replaced them needed such careful watching that deep formations had been adopted, and these must not merely diminish the volume of fire, but present vulnerable targets; the cavalry had been hastily gathered, and was far from being as efficient as the British veterans of the German legion.
For some moments after reaching his position Napoleon stood impassive. He was clad in his familiar costume of cocked hat and gray surtout. Throughout his lines he had been received with enthusiasm, and his presence was clearly magnetic, as of old. The direction of affairs in this momentous crisis was his, and he dreamed of two implacable enemies routed, of appeasing the two who were less directly interested, of glory won, of empire regained. Reason must have told him how empty was such a vision; for, since the armistice of Poischwitz, Austria and Russia had been quite as bitter, and more tortuous, than the other powers. His expression mirrored pain, both physical and intellectual; his over-confidence and consequent delay were signs of degenerate power; his exertions for three days past had been beyond any human strength, especially when the faculties of body and mind had previously been harassed for more than two months, as his had been.
It was the first day of the week, but there was a calm more profound than that of the Sabbath; the sky was dull, the misty air was heavy with summer heat; but there was the expectant silence of a great host, the deep determination of two grim and obstinate armies. Wellington, with his western lines protected, would be safe when the Prussian army should appear where he knew its van already was, and he must manoeuver eastward to keep in touch. Napoleon must crush the British center and left, and roll up the line to its right, in order to separate the parts of his dual foe. To this end he had determined to make a feint against Hougomont; should Wellington throw in his reserves at that point on his right, one strong push might create confusion among the rest, and hurl the whole force westward, away from Brussels.
It was a simple plan, great in its simplicity, as had been every strategic conception of Napoleon from the opening of the campaign. But its execution was like that of every other movement attempted since the first great march of concentration—tardy, slack, and feeble. Personal bravery was abundant among the French, but the orderly cooperation of regiment, division, and corps in all the arms, the courage of self-restraint, and the self-sacrifice of individuals in organized movement, with the invigorating ubiquity of a master mind—these were lacking from the first.
