10

The Attack Upon the Allied Centre

The Anglo-Netherland’s left centre had been subjected to an intense bombardment in preparation for the moment when the infantry of I Corps would crash against the weakened allied line. Now that moment had arrived. Napoleon explained his method of attack:

I had preferred to turn the enemy’s left, rather than his right, first, in order to cut it off from the Prussians who were at Wavres [sic], and to oppose their joining up again, if they had intended doing so; and, even if they had not intended doing so, if the attack had been made on the right, the English army, on being repulsed, would have fallen back on the Prussian army; whereas, if made on the left, it would be separated therefrom and thrown back in the direction of the sea; secondly, because the left appeared to be much weaker; thirdly and finally, because I was expecting every moment the arrival of a detachment from Marshal Grouchy on my right, and did not want to run the risks of finding myself separated from it.¹

Ahead of the French attack was a large body of skirmishers, which was countered by the British light infantry and rifles. Private Thomas Jeremiah of the 95th Rifles recalled:

About this time the light infantry of all the front line were ordered to the advance and cover the front of the line, this done immediately there appeared coming over the opposite heights a line of tirailleurs or French riflemen, both lines were now descending and approaching each other from their respective hills and in the valleys between the 2 armies they met and commenced skirmishing.²

Behind the tirailleurs and voltigeurs came the great bulk of d’Erlon’s corps, as noted by George Simmons also with the skirmish line of the 95th:

Four columns now made their appearance, amounting to 20,000 men. They moved steadily towards us. We formed a sort of line and commenced a terrible fire upon them, which was returned very spiritedly, they advancing at the same time within a few yards. I had an impression I should not be touched, and was laughing and joking with a young officer about half-past four in the afternoon.

At this time I was a little in front of our line, and hearing the word charge, I looked back at our line, and received a ball, which broke two of my ribs near the backbone, went through my liver, and lodged in my breast. I fell senseless in the mud, and some minutes after found our fellows and the enemy hotly engaged near me. Their skirmishers were beaten back and the column stopped. Two men dragged me away to the farm of Mont St. Jean, a little to the rear, where Mr. Robson extracted a musket-ball from my breast.³

Captain Duthilt, was serving in the 45ème Régiment de Ligne in Général de Division Pierre Marcognet’s 3rd Division:

When it was thought that the English had been sufficiently shaken by our cannonade, d’Erlon’s four divisions formed up in separate columns. The third, to which my regiment belonged, had to advance like the others in deployed battalions, with only four paces between one and the next – a strange formation and one which was to cost us dear, since we were unable to form square as a defence against cavalry attacks, while the enemy’s artillery could plough our formations to a depth of twenty ranks. To whom I Corps owed this unfortunate formation, which proved to be one cause, maybe the cause of our failure, nobody knows.

Our turn came eventually. The order to attack was greeted with a frenzied shout of Vive l’Empereur! The four columns moved off down the slope, with ported arms and in serried ranks. We were to mount the opposite slope where the English held the ridge and from where their batteries were blasting us. No doubt the distance involved was not great, and an average person on foot would have taken no more than five or six minutes to cover the ground; but the soft and rain-sodden earth and the tall rye slowed up our progress appreciably. As a result the English gunners had plenty of time to work destruction upon us.

However, we did not weaken, and when we were eventually ready to assault the position, the charge was beaten, our pace quickened, and to repeated shouts of Vive l’Empereur! we rushed at the batteries. Suddenly our path was blocked: English battalions concealed in a hollow road, stood up and fired at us at close range. We drove them back at the point of the bayonet and climbed higher up the slope and over the stretches of quick hedge which protected their guns. Then we reached the plateau and give a shout of ‘Victory!’⁴

Captain Johnny Kincaid, of the 1st Battalion, 95th Rifles, a hardened Peninsular War veteran, wrote that ‘the scene at that moment was grand and imposing’, going on to add:

Each regiment … rent the air with shouts of ‘Vive l’Empereur!’, nor did they cease after they had passed; but, backed by the thunder of their artillery, and carrying with them the rubidub of drums, and the tantara of trumpets, in addition to their increasing shouts, it looked, at first, as if they had some hopes of scaring us off the ground.⁵

Colonel van Zuylen van Nyevelt was chief of staff of the 2nd Netherlands Division. This division was split up with the 1st Brigade posted on the left-centre of the allied line, whilst the 2nd Brigade was located to the east, defending Papelotte and La Haie:

Three columns advanced to attack our position under the command of Count d’Erlon, with the 105th regiment at their head. The enemy crossed the ravine, where he was outside the range of our fire, and drove back our skirmishers. Having approached us to within fifty paces, not a shot had been fired, but now the impatience of the soldiers could no longer be restrained, and they greeted the enemy with a double row, which caused the firing to be meagre and badly kept up whilst the downfall of some files made an opening to the enemy, through which he forced his way with his columns.

Everything which was immediately in front of him was forced to give way but the pelotons [platoons] on the wings with much cold bloodedness linked up with the adjoining troops. The enemy had now succeeded in passing our first line, and had arrived on the plain. The second line made ready to advance against him.⁶

An officer of the 5th Division wrote from the allied camp at Clichy after the battle, to his friend in Cumberland, stating:

The Duke’s Dispatch will give you a more accurate idea of the ground, and of the grand scale of operations, than I can do; and I shall therefore confine myself to details of less importance which he has passed over.

After having tried the right, and found it strong, Buonaparte manoeuvred until he got 40 pieces of artillery to play on the left, where the 5th division, a brigade of heavy dragoons, and two companies of artillery, were posted. Our lines were formed behind a hedge, with two companies of the 95th extended in front, to annoy the Enemy’s approach.

For some time we saw, that Buonaparte intended to attack us; yet as nothing but cavalry were visible, no one could imagine what were his plans. It was generally supposed, that he would endeavour to turn our flank. But all on a sudden, his cavalry turned to the right and left, and showed large masses of infantry, which advanced up in the most gallant style, to the cries of ‘Vive I’Empereur!’ while a most tremendous cannonade was opened to cover their approach. They had arrived at the very hedge behind which we were – the muskets were almost muzzle to muzzle, and a French mounted officer had seized the colours of the 32d regiment.

Appreciating the danger, Lieutenant General Sir Thomas Picton, in command of the British 5th Division in the second line, ordered two of his brigades forward. His 8th Brigade met one of the French columns and halted it with its controlled fire. The 9th Brigade, under Major General Pack also moved forward but unexpectedly found itself facing Marcognet’s entire 3rd Division. Robert Winchester was with the 92nd Foot:

About two or three o’clock in the afternoon a Column between 3,000 to 4,000 men advanced to the hedge at the roadside which leads from the main road near La Haye Saint [to] beyond the left of our position. Previous to this the 92nd had been lying down under cover of the position when they were immediately ordered to stand to their arms, Major General Sir Dennis Pack calling out at the same time ‘92nd everything has given way on your right and left and you must charge this Column,’ upon which he ordered four deep to be formed and closed in to the centre. The Regiment, which was then within about 20 yards of the Column, fired a volley into them. The Enemy on reaching the hedge at the side of the road had ordered arms, and were in the act of shouldering them when they received the volley from the 92nd.⁷

The 92nd was considerably outnumbered and it certainly seemed at this point that the French infantry were on the point of breaking through the Anglo-Netherlands line and, with their cavalry waiting to exploit such a breakthrough, the battle looked to be reaching its climax.

At this point, Lieutenant General Henry Paget, the Earl of Uxbridge, in charge of the Anglo-Dutch Cavalry Corps, made possibly the most important decision of his military career. Under his command were two brigades of heavy cavalry. One was the Household Brigade, which included the Life Guards and the Royal Horse Guards, and the other was called the Union Brigade as it included regiments from England, Ireland and Scotland. Paget ordered the whole of his heavy cavalry to charge.

Involved in the battle with the British infantry the French were unaware that the British dragoons were about to crash into them, as the Captain Duthilt of the 45ème Régiment de Ligne, described:

In the bloody confusion our officers did their duty by trying to establish some sort of order and to reform the platoons, since a disordered group can achieve nothing. Just as I was pushing one of our men back into the ranks I saw him fall at my feet from a sabre slash. I turned instantly – to see English cavalry forcing their way into our midst and hacking us to pieces.

Just as it is difficult, if not impossible, for the best cavalry to break into infantry who are formed up in squares and who defend themselves with coolness and daring, so it is true that once the ranks have been broken and penetrated, then resistance is useless and nothing remains for the cavalry to do but to slaughter at almost no risk to themselves. This is what happened. In vain our poor fellows stood up and stretched out their arms: they could not reach far enough to bayonet those cavalrymen mounted on powerful horses, and the few shots fired in this chaotic mêlée were just as fatal to our own men as to the English. And so we found ourselves defenceless against a relentless enemy who, in the intoxication of battle, sabred even our drummers and fifers without mercy. That is where our eagle was captured; and that is where I saw death close at hand, for best friends fell round me and I was expecting the same fate, all the while wielding my sword mechanically.

When we could offer no further resistance, the mass of the cavalry made ready to cross the valley to seize our guns, while one group of them escorted away what remained of our division.⁸

One notable participant in the charge was Sergeant Ewart as revealed in this account from the Caledonian Mercury of Monday, 18 September 1815. It is an extract of a letter dated 16 August 1815, in which Ewart describes his capture of a French eagle to his brother in Ayr:

Next morning, 18th, the skirmishers began as before, but nothing was done until about twelve o’clock, when Lord Wellington shewed himself upon the field; we then thought there was something serious to be done. The enemy began forming their lines of battle about nine in the morning; we did not commence till ten. I think it was about eleven when we were ready to receive them; they began upon our right with the most tremendous firing that ever was heard, and I can assure you, they got it as hot as they gave it – then it came down to the left, where they were received by our brave Highlanders; no men could ever behave better!

Our brigade of cavalry covered them. – owing to a column of foreign troops giving way, our brigade was forced to advance to the support of our brave fellows, and which we certainly did in stile; we charged though two of their columns, each about 5000; it was in the first charge I took the eagle from the enemy; he and I had a very hard contest for it; he thrust for my groin, I parried it off, and cut him through the head; after which I was attacked by one of their lancers, who threw his lance at me, but missed the mark, by my throwing it off with my sword by my right side, then I cut him from the chin upwards, which cut went through his teeth; next, I was attacked by a foot soldier, who, after firing at me, charged me with his bayonet, but he very soon lost the combat, for I parried it and cut him down through the head, so that finished the contest for the eagle. After which I presumed to follow my comrades, eagle and all, but was stopped by the General, saying to me, ‘You brave fellow, take that to the rear, you have done enough until you get quit of it;’ which I was obliged to do, but with great reluctance.

I retired to a height and stood there for upwards of an hour, which gave me a general view of the field, but I cannot express the sight I beheld; the bodies of my brave comrades were lying so thick upon the field that it was scarcely possible to pass, and horses innumerable. I took the eagle into Brussels amidst the acclamations of thousands of the spectators that saw it.

The 1st (Royal) Dragoons experienced similar success. They struck the head of Général de Brigade Baron Charles-François Bourgeois’, 2nd Brigade. The column, at the front of which was the 105ème Régiment de Ligne, was driven back some 200 yards by the Dragoons. Leading one squadron of the Royals was a young captain, A.K. Clark-Kennedy:

When my squadron (the centre one) of the Royal Dragoons had advanced 200 or 300 yards beyond the second hedge, and the first line of infantry had been broke, I perceived a little to my left, an enemy’s ‘Eagle’ amongst the infantry, with which the bearer was making every exertion to get off towards the rear of the column. I immediately rode to the place calling out to ‘Secure the colour!’ and at the same time, my horse reaching it, I ran my sword into the officer’s right side, who carried the ‘Eagle’, who staggered and fell forwards but I do not think he reached the ground, on account of the pressure of his companions.

I immediately called out a second time ‘Secure the Colour, secure the Colour, it belongs to me.’ This was addressed to some men who were behind me at the time the officer was in the act of falling. As he fell with the ‘Eagle’ a little to the left, I was not able to catch the standard so as to be able to hold it. Corporal Stiles and some other men rushed up to my assistance, and the standard was in an instant in the corporal’s possession, it falling across him as he came up on my left, before it reached the ground.⁹

The Caledonian Mercury also printed the following detailed description in its edition published on 21 August 1817:

Of all the instances of individual suffering and miraculous preservation, which occurred in this tremendous contest, none, perhaps, combined so many interesting features as the situation of the Honourable Colonel Ponsonby, of the 12th Dragoons. The narrative, which is simple and affecting, is drawn up by a friend of the family, from materials occasionally and reluctantly furnished by the gallant but modest officer.

Dear Lady Bessborough, you have often wished for some written account of the adventures and sufferings of your son, Colonel Ponsonby, in the field of Waterloo: the modesty of his nature is, however, no small obstacle in the way. Will the following imperfect sketch supply its place until it comes? The battle was alluded to one morning in the library at A——, and his answers to many of the questions which were put to him are here thrown together, as nearly as I could remember, in his own words:-

The weather cleared up at noon, and the sun shone out a little just as the battle began. – The armies were within eight hundred yards of each other, the videttes, before they were withdrawn, being so near as to be able to converse. At one moment I imagined that I saw Bonaparte, a considerable staff moving rapidly along the front of our line.

I was stationed with my regiment (about three hundred strong) at the extreme of the left wing, and directed to act discretionally; each of the armies was drawn up on a gentle declivity, a small valley lying between them.

At one o’clock, observing, as I thought, unsteadiness in a column of French infantry (fifty by twenty, (one thousand) or thereabouts), which were advancing with an irregular fire, I resolved to charge them. As we were descending in a gallop, we received from our own troops on the right a fire much more destructive than theirs, they having began long before it could take effect, and slackening as we drew nearer; when we were within fifty paces of them, they turned, and much execution was done among them, as we were followed by some Belgians, who had remarked our success.

But we had no sooner passed through them, than we were attacked in our turn, before we could form, by about 300 Polish lancers, who had come down to their relief: the French artillery pouring in among us a heavy fire of grape shot, which, however, for one of our men killed three of their own: in the melee, I was disabled almost instantly in both of my arms, and followed by a few of my men, who were presently cut down (no quarter being asked or given), I was carried on by my horse, till receiving a blow on my head from a sabre, I was thrown senseless on my face to the ground. Recovering, I raised myself a little to look round, (being, I believe, at that time in a condition to get up and run away), when a lancer passing by exclaimed, ‘Tu n’es pas mort, coquin,’ and struck his lance through my back; my head dropped, the blood gushed into my mouth, a difficulty of breathing came on, and I thought all was over.

Not long afterwards (it was then impossible to measure time, but I must have fallen in less than ten minutes after the charge), a tirailleur came up to plunder me, threatening to take my life. I told him he might search me, directing him to a small side-pocket, in which he found three dollars, being all I had; he unloosed my stock, and tore open my waistcoat, then leaving me in a very uneasy posture, and was no sooner gone, than another came up for the same purpose, but assuring him I had been plundered already, he left me; when an officer, bringing up some troops (to which probably the tirailleurs belonged), and halting where I lay, stooped down and addressed me, saying, he feared I was badly wounded; I replied that I was, and expressed a wish to be removed into the rear; he said it was against the order to remove even their own men; but if they gained the day, as they probably would (for he understood that the Duke of Wellington was killed, and that six of our battalions had surrendered), every possible attention in his power should be shown me. I complained of thirst, and he held his brandy bottle to my lips, directing one of his men to lay me straight on my side, and place a knapsack under my head; he then passed on into the action, and I shall never know to whose generosity I was indebted, as I conceive, for my life: of what rank he was I cannot say, he wore a blue great coat. By and by another tirailleur came and knelt and fired over me, loading and firing many times, and conversing with great gaiety all the while; at last he ran off saying, ‘Vous serez bien aisé d’entendre que nous allons retirer; bon jour, mon ami.’

While the battle continued in that part, several of the wounded men and dead bodies near me were hit with the balls, which came very thick in that place. Towards evening, when the Prussians came, the continued roar of the cannon along theirs and the British line, growing louder and louder as they drew near, was the finest thing I ever heard. It was dusk, when two squadrons of Prussian cavalry, both of them two deep, passed over me in full trot, lifting me from the ground, and tumbling me about cruelly; the clatter of their approach, and the apprehensions it excited, may be easily conceived. – Had a gun come that way, it would have done for me. The battle was then nearly over, or removed to a distance – the cries and groans of the wounded all around me became every instant more and more audible, succeeding to the shouts, imprecations, outcries of ‘Vive l’Empereur!’ the discharges of musketry and cannon: now and then intervals of perfect silence, which were worse than the noise –I thought the night would never end. Much about this time, I found a soldier of the Royals lying across my legs, who had probably crawled thither in his agony; his weight, convulsive motions, his noises, and the air issuing through a wound in his side, distressed me greatly, the latter circumstance most of all, as the case was my own. It was not a dark night, and the Prussians were wandering about to plunder, and the scene in Ferdinand Count Fathom came into my mind, though no women, I believe, were there; several of them came and looked at me, and passed on: at length one stopped to examine me. I told him as well as I could (for I could say but little in German) that I was a British officer, and had been plundered already; he did not desist, however, and pulled me about roughly before he left me. About an hour before midnight I saw a soldier in a British uniform coming towards me; he was, I suspect, on the same errand. He came and looked in my face; I spoke instantly, telling him who I was, and assuring him of a reward if he would remain by me. He said he belonged to the 40th regiment, but had missed it. He released me from the dying man; being unarmed, he took up a sword from the ground, and stood over me, pacing backwards and forwards. At eight o’clock in the morning, some English were seen at a distance; he ran to them, and a messenger was sent off to Hervey. A cart came for me. I was placed in it, and carried to a farm-house, about a mile and a half distance, and laid in the bed from which poor Gordon, as I understood afterwards, had been just carried out; the jolting of the cart, and the difficulty of breathing, were very painful. I had received seven wounds; a surgeon slept in my room, and I was saved by continual bleeding, 120 ounces in two days, besides the great loss of blood on the field.

The lances, from their great length and weight, would have struck down my sword long before I lost it, if it had not been bound to my hand. What became of my horse I know not; it was the best I ever had.

The man from the Royals was still breathing when I was removed in the morning, and was soon after taken to the hospital.

Sir Denis Pack said, the greatest risk he run the whole day, was in stopping his men, who were firing on me and my regiment when we began to charge. The French make a great clamour in the action, the English only shout.

Much confusion arose, and many mistakes, from similarity of dress. The Belgians, in particular, suffered greatly from their resemblance to the French, being still in the very same clothes they had served in under Bonaparte.

Colonel Ponsonby mentions the brigade of Denis Pack, amongst which was the 92nd Regiment, which joined in the charge of the Union Brigade and became the subject of Lady Butler’s famous painting Scotland Forever:

In the afternoon of the 18th, the regiment, which was then reduced to about 200 men, found it necessary to charge a column of the Enemy which came down on them, from 2 to 3000 men: they broke into the centre of the column with the bayonet; and the instant they pierced it, the Scotch Greys dashed in to their support, when they and the 92nd cheered and huzza’d ‘Scotland forever.’ By the effort which followed, the Enemy to a man were put to the sword or taken prisoners, after which the Greys charged through the Enemy’s second line, and took the eagles.

It was perhaps the most destructive battle ever fought. The loss fell almost entirely on our division which, along with the Brunswick troops and some Prussians, was the only one up for the first two hours. The three Scotch regiments are nearly annihilated!! Ours had only six officers who escaped! and some are so dangerously wounded, as to give little hope of their recovery. We were amply revenged, however; and gave the French a lesson, which they will not soon forget.

The devastation of d’Erlon’s Corps was remarked on by Lieutenant Robert Winchester. He also served in the 92nd:

In less than three minutes it was totally destroyed, 2000 … of them having been made prisoners … The grass field in which the enemy was formed, which was only an instant before as green and smooth as the fifteen acres in Phoenix Park, was in a few minutes covered with killed and wounded, knapsacks and their contents, arms, accoutrements, &c., literally strewed all over, that to avoid stepping on either one or the other was quite impossible; in fact one could hardly [have] believed, had he not witnessed it, that such complete destruction could have been effected in so short a time.¹⁰

Sergeant-Major Dickson described the charge of the Scots Greys to E. Bruce Low. Dickson was the regiment’s last surviving member of the charge:

General of the Union Brigade, Sir William Ponsonby, came riding up to us on a small bay hack. I remember that his groom with his chestnut charger could not be found. Beside him was his aide-de-camp, De Lacy Evans. He ordered us forward to within fifty yards of the beech-hedge by the roadside. I can see him now in his long cloak and great cocked hat as he rode up to watch the fighting below. From our new position we could descry the three regiments of Highlanders, only a thousand in all, bravely firing down on the advancing masses of Frenchmen. These numbered thousands, and those on our side of the Brussels road were divided into three solid columns. I have read since that there were fifteen thousand of them under Count D’Erlon spread over the clover, barley, and rye fields in front of our centre, and making straight for us. Then I saw the Brigadier, Sir Denis Pack, turn to the Gordons and shout out with great energy, ‘Ninety-second, you must advance! All in front of you have given way.’ The Highlanders, who had begun the day by solemnly chanting ‘Scots wha hae’ as they prepared their morning meal, instantly, with fixed bayonets, began to press forward through the beech and holly hedge to a line of bushes that grew along the face of the slope in front. They uttered loud shouts as they ran forward and fired a volley at twenty yards into the French.

At this moment our General and his aide-de-camp rode off to the right by the side of the hedge; then suddenly I saw De Lacy Evans wave his hat, and immediately our colonel, Inglis Hamilton, shouted out, ‘Now then, Scots Greys, charge!’ and, waving his sword in the air, he rode straight at the hedges in front, which he took in grand style.

At once a great cheer rose from our ranks, and we too waved our swords and followed him. I dug my spur into my brave old Rattler, and we were off like the wind. Just then I saw Major Hankin fall wounded. I felt a strange thrill run through me, and I am sure my noble beast felt the same, for, after rearing for a moment, she sprang forward, uttering loud neighings and snortings, and leapt over the holly-hedge at a terrific speed. It was a grand sight to see the long line of giant grey horses dashing along with flowing manes and heads down, tearing up the turf about them as they went.

The men in their red coats and tall bearskins were cheering loudly, and the trumpeters were sounding the ‘Charge.’ Beyond the first hedge the road was sunk between high, sloping banks, and it was a very difficult feat to descend without falling; but there were very few accidents, to our surprise.

All of us were greatly excited, and began crying, ‘Hurrah, Ninety-Second! Scotland forever!’ as we crossed the road. For we heard the Highland pipers playing among the smoke and firing below, and I plainly saw my old friend Pipe-Major Cameron standing apart on a hillock coolly playing ‘Johnny Cope, are ye waukin’ yet?” in all the din.

At the start of the campaign the Scots Greys numbered just over 350 effectives of all ranks. Together with the 1st Royals and the 6th Inniskillings, the Union Brigade mustered little more than 1,100 bayonets. These, though, were big men on big horses:

Our colonel went on before us, past our guns and down the slope, and we followed; we saw the Royals and Enniskillens clearing the road and hedges at full gallop away to the right. Before me rode young Armour, our rough-rider from Mauchline and Sergeant Ewart on the right, at the end of the line beside our cornet, Kinchant. I rode in the second rank. As we tightened our grip to descend the hillside among the corn, we could make out the feather bonnets of the Highlanders, and heard the officers crying out to them to wheel back by sections. A moment more and we were among them. Poor fellows! some of them had not time to get clear of us, and were knocked down. I remember one lad crying out, ‘Eh! But I didna think ye wad ha’e hurt me sae.’

They were all Gordons, and as we passed through them they shouted, ‘Go at them, the Greys! Scotland forever!’ My blood thrilled at this, and I clutched my sabre tighter. Many of the Highlanders grasped our stirrups, and in the fiercest excitement dashed with us into the fight. The French were uttering loud, discordant yells. Just then I saw the first Frenchman. A young officer of Fusiliers made a slash at me with his sword, but I parried it and broke his arm; the next second we were in the thick of them. We could not see five yards ahead for the smoke. I stuck close by Armour; Ewart was now in front.

The French were fighting like tigers. Some of the wounded were firing at us as we passed; and poor Kinchant, who had spared one of these rascals, was himself shot by the officer he had spared. As we were sweeping down a steep slope on the top of them, they had to give way. Then those in front began to cry out for ‘quarter,’ throwing down their muskets and taking off their belts. The Gordons at this rushed in and drove the French to the rear. I was now in the front rank, for many of ours had fallen. We now came to an open space covered with bushes, and then I saw Ewart, with five or six infantry men about him, slashing right and left at them. Armour and I dashed up to these half-dozen Frenchmen, who were trying to escape with one of their standards. I cried to Armour to ‘Come on!’ and we rode at them. Ewart had finished two of them, and was in the act of striking a third man who held the Eagle; next moment I saw Ewart cut him down, and he fell dead. I was just in time to thwart a bayonet-thrust that was aimed at the gallant sergeant’s neck. Armour finished another of them. Almost single-handed, Ewart had captured the Imperial Eagle of the 45th ‘Invincibles,’ which had led them to victory at Austerlitz and Jena … We cried out, ‘Well done, my boy’ and as others had come up, we spurred on in search of a like success. Here it was that we came upon two batteries of French guns which had been sent forward to support the infantry. They were now deserted by the gunners and had sunk deep in the mud.

We were saluted with a sharp fire of musketry, and again found ourselves beset by thousands of Frenchmen. We had fallen upon a second column; they were also Fusiliers. Trumpeter Reeves of our troop, who rode by my side, sounded a ‘Rally,’ and our men came swarming up from all sides, some Enniskillens and Royals being amongst the number. We at once began a furious onslaught on this obstacle, and soon made an impression; the battalions seemed to open out for us to pass through, and so it happened that in five minutes we had cut our way through as many thousands of Frenchmen.

We had now reached the bottom of the slope. There the ground was slippery with deep mud. Urging each other on, we dashed towards the batteries on the ridge above, which had worked such havoc on our ranks. The ground was very difficult, and especially where we crossed the edge of a ploughed field, so that our horses sank to the knees as we struggled on. My brave Rattler was becoming quite exhausted, but we dashed ever onwards.

At this moment Colonel Hamilton rode up to us crying, ‘Charge! charge the guns!’ and went off like the wind up to the hill towards the terrible battery that had made such deadly work among the Highlanders. It was the last we saw of our colonel, poor fellow! His body was found with both arms cut off. His pockets had been rifled.

Then we got among the guns, and we had our revenge. Such slaughtering! We sabred the gunners, lamed the horses, and cut their traces and harness. I can hear the Frenchmen yet crying ‘Diable!’ when I struck at them, and the long-drawn hiss through their teeth as my sword went home. Fifteen of their guns could not be fired again that day. The artillery drivers sat on their horses weeping aloud as we went among them; they were mere boys, we thought.

Rattler lost her temper and bit and tore at everything that came in her way. She seemed to have got new strength. I had lost the plume of my bearskin just as we went through the second infantry column; a shot had carried it away. The French infantry were rushing past us in disorder on their way to the rear. Armour shouted to me to dismount, for old Rattler was badly wounded. I did so just in time, for she fell heavily the next second. I caught hold of a French officer’s horse and sprang on her back and rode on.

Then we saw a party of horsemen in front of us on the rising ground near a farmhouse. There was ‘the Little Corporal’ himself, as his veterans called Bonaparte … But the noble beasts were now exhausted and quite blown, so that I began to think it was time to get clear away to our own lines again.

But you can imagine my astonishment when down below, on the very ground we had crossed, appeared at full gallop a couple of regiments of Cuirassiers on the right, and away to the left a regiment of Lancers. I shall never forget the sight. The Cuirassiers, in their sparkling steel breastplates and helmets, mounted on strong black horses, with great blue rugs across the croups, were galloping towards me, tearing up the earth as they went, the trumpets blowing wild notes in the midst of the discharges of grape and canister shot from the heights. Around me there was one continuous noise of clashing arms, shouting of men, neighing and moaning of horses. What were we to do? Behind us we saw masses of French infantry with tall fur hats coming up at the double, and between us and our lines these cavalry. There being no officers about, we saw nothing for it but to go straight at them and trust to Providence to get through. There were half-a-dozen of us Greys and about a dozen of the Royals and Enniskillens on the ridge. We all shouted, ‘Come on, lads; that’s the road home!’ and, dashing our spurs into our horses’ sides, set off straight for the Lancers. But we had no chance. I saw the lances rise and fall for a moment, and Sam Tar, the leading man of ours, go down amid the flash of steel. I felt a sudden rage at this, for I knew the poor fellow well; he was a corporal in our troop. The crash as we met was terrible; the horses began to rear and bite and neigh loudly, and then some of our men got down among their feet, and I saw them trying to ward off the lances with their hands.

Cornet Sturges of the Royals came up and was next me on the left, and Armour on the right. ‘Stick together, lads!’ we cried, and went at it with a will, slashing about us right and left over our horses’ necks. The ground around us was very soft, and our horses could hardly drag their feet out of the clay. Here again I came to the ground, for a Lancer finished my new mount, and I thought I was done for. We were returning past the edge of the ploughed field, and then I saw a spectacle I shall never forget. There lay brave old Ponsonby, the General of our Union Brigade, beside his little bay, both dead. His long, fur-lined coat had blown aside, and at his hand I noticed a minature of a lady and his watch; beyond him, our Brigade-Major, Reignolds of the Greys. They had both been pierced by the Lancers a few moments before we came up. Near them was lying a lieutenant of ours, Carruthers of Annandale. My heart was filled with sorrow at this, but I dared not remain for a moment. It was just then I caught sight of a squadron of British Dragoons making straight for us. The Frenchmen at that instant seemed to give way, and in a minute more we were safe! The Dragoons gave us a cheer and rode on after the Lancers. They were the men of our 16th Light Dragoons, of Vandeleur ’s Brigade, who not only saved us but threw back the Lancers into the hollow.

How I reached our lines I can hardly say, for the next thing I remember is that I was lying with the sole remnants of our brigade in a position far away to the right and rear of our first post, I was told that a third horse that I caught was so wounded that she fell dead as I was mounting her …

There were scarcely half a hundred of the Greys left out of the three hundred who rode off half an hour before. How I escaped is a miracle, for I was through the thick of it all, and received only two slight wounds, one from a bayonet and the other from a lance, and the white plume of my bearskin was shot away. I did not think much of the wounds at the time, and did not report myself.¹¹

Dickson said that he scarcely knew how he got back to his lines. This account by Clark-Kennedy, a Scots Greys officer, possibly gives one reason:

Our infantry which we had passed at the hedge [as the cavalry withdrew], now proved of essential service to us. They had formed small bodies or squares following in the rear of the charge, and not only checked the pursuit [by the French cavalry] but without their support and assistance I am satisfied we should not have got back so well as we did, and certainly could not have secured one-half of the prisoners taken in the charge. Many who had surrendered effected their escape, yet above 2,000 were secured and sent to the rear.¹²

Yet another letter was published in the Caledonian Mercury, this time on 3 July 1815. Posted from Brussels on 21 June 1815, it is listed as being a ‘copy of a Letter from an Officer of Rank, in the late General Ponsonby’s brigade of cavalry, to his Father residing in Scotland’:

MY DEAR FATHER – You will perceive, by this miserable scrawl, that I am wounded in the right hand. The affairs of the 16th and 17th were very sharp, but the battle of the 18th was most obstinately contested, and the most sanguinary ever fought.

Hostilities commenced on the 16th, by an attack on the Prussian advanced posts. Our army was put immediately in motion, and after two affairs we retired to our position, 14 or 15 miles from hence, and covering the great road to this place. Our right rested on a hill, our centre on another more advanced, forming part of the circumference of a circle; the left I did not see.

The attack commenced on the right, but was soon transferred with great fury to the centre. The enemy attacked in three solid columns, of immense depth, supported by cavalry and artillery. Our infantry received them in line. Behind the infantry was General Ponsonby’s brigade of cavalry, consisting of the 1st dragoons, the Greys, and Inniskillings. When the infantry had given their fire, we charged through intervals, which the infantry made for us, in open column of half squadrons, and completely upset the enemy’s massy columns, not leaving a man. General Ponsonby and Colonel Hamilton of the Greys being killed, the command of the brigade devolved upon me. Nothing could be finer than their conduct, or more successful.

Our strength before the action was 1050, after it about 100, but many had been sent to escort prisoners. In killed wounded, &c. we lost about two-thirds.

The enemy reiterated his attacks on the centre with fresh troops, but without success. He then made a most desperate attack on the right, where my small brigade of 100 men was called to charge about 400 cavalry, supported by artillery and squares of infantry. I was told that everything depended on our exertions. It was in leading my miserable remains that I received my wound, which, if it does not fester, will not keep me from duty more than eight or ten days. The charge was not successful, indeed almost every man and horse was knocked down. The day was long doubtful, but the fortunate arrival of the Prussians decided it.

The following is an extract from a letter penned after the fighting at Waterloo by an officer in the Light Dragoons:

That previous to the Horse Guards charge, on the 18th, his regiment was ordered to attack a body of Lancers and Cuirassiers, on whom they could make no impression: that numbers of their men having fallen, they were forced to retreat, when the French were ordered to charge in their turn, and from the superior weight of the horses and men, and their species of armour and weapons, he had the mortification to see them cut down numbers of his regiment: that being in the rear, he soon received himself so desperate a shock from one of the lancers as to plunge himself and horse into a deep ditch, with such violence that the horse never got out alive, while he being thrown, fortunately escaped with life, though immersed in, and covered with mud and water: that in his fall, the lancer attempted to run him through, but in the collision luckily missed his aim, and only tore away part of the flesh of the arm: that finding himself in the midst of the enemy, he had offered an officer to surrender, but who declined taking charge of him then, and ordered him to an adjacent field where were several others under similar circumstances: that he had the mortification to witness from thence the over-throw of numbers of the men during their retreat, but at last to his great satisfaction saw the heavy brigade advance to the charge, who in their turn overthrew everything in their way, literally rolling both men and horses of the French over to a considerable distance, by the tremendous force of their charge, and cutting down all before them.

Seeing the face of affairs to be changed, he contemplated upon an escape; and having communicated his idea to a brother officer near him, they together made for another part of the field, and had hardly gained the summit of a steep bank, when looking back, they observed a small French detachment enter the field, and cut down in cold blood all the prisoners there, waiting for the orders of their captors, to the number of 30 or 40, while only himself and companion escaped.¹³

Private Smithies of the 1st Royal Dragoons also recalled the bitter clash with the cuirassiers. The opposing cavalrymen were well matched:

On we rushed at each other, and when we met the shock was terrific. We wedged ourselves between them as much as possible, to prevent them from cutting, and the noise of the horses, the clashing of swords against armour, can be imagined only by those who have heard it. There were some riders who caught hold of each other’s bodies – wrestling fashion – and fighting for life, but the superior physical strength of our regiment soon showed itself.¹⁴

Napoleon’s great attack had failed and there was a lull in the general action whilst d’Erlon re-organised his divisions and Napoleon reconsidered his tactics. The Union Brigade, though, had suffered such heavy losses at the hands of the French cavalry it was unable to play any further effective part in the battle. This was the result of indiscipline. Uxbridge had tried to call his men back before they went too far, but in the excitement of the moment, they lost all control. He wrote:

After the overthrow of the cuirassiers. I had in vain attempted to stop my people by sounding the Rally, but neither voice nor trumpet availed; so I went back to seek the support of the 2nd line, which unhappily had not followed the movements of the heavy cavalry. Had I, when I sounded the Rally, found only four well-formed squadrons coming steadily along at an easy trot, I feel certain the loss the first line suffered when they were finally forced back would have been avoided, and most of these guns might have been secured, for it was obvious the effect of that charge had been prodigious, and for the rest of the day, although the cuirassiers frequently break into our lines, they always did it mollement and as if they expected something more behind the curtain.¹⁵