15

The End of the Battle

The news that the Guard had been defeated tore through the French ranks in moments and, despite their best efforts, the French generals could not keep their men in formation. As one French officer noted, panic spread like lightning.

The guard, that immoveable phalanx, which, in the greatest disasters, had always been the rallying point of the army, and had served it as a rampart, the guard, in fine, the terror of the enemy, had been appalled, and was flying, dispersed among the multitude.

Every one now prepared to save himself as he could; they pushed, they crowded; groups, more or less numerous, formed, and passively followed those by which they were preceded. Some not daring to deviate from the high road, attempted to force themselves a passage through the carriages, with which it was covered: others directed their course to the right or left, as fancy guided; fear exaggerates every danger, and night, which was now gaining upon them, without being very dark, contributed greatly to increase the disorder.¹

With the sudden disintegration of the enemy, Wellington knew that the moment had come to finish them off. Standing up on his stirrups he took off his hat and waved his men forward. For the first time that day, the Anglo-Netherlands army took the offensive. That attack was ordered at around 19.30 hours, Wellington later explained,

… when I saw the confusion in their position upon the repulse of the last attack of their infantry, and when I rallied and brought up again into the first line the Brunswick infantry. The whole of the British and Allied cavalry of our army was collected in rear of our centre; that is, between Hougoumont and La Haye Sainte.

The infantry was advanced in line. I halted them for a moment in the bottom, that they might be in order to attack some battalions of the enemy still on the heights. The cavalry halted likewise. The whole moved forward again in very few moments. The enemy did not stand the attack. Some had fled before we halted. The whole abandoned their position. The cavalry was then ordered to charge, and moved round the flanks of the battalions of infantry. The infantry was formed into columns, and moved in pursuit of battalions.²

Johnny Kincaid of the 95th, recalled that ‘presently a cheer, which we knew to be British, commenced far to the right’, adding:

Every one pricked up his ears; – it was Lord Wellington’s long wished-for orders to advance; it gradually approached, growing louder as it grew near; – we took it up by instinct, charged through the hedge down upon the old knoll, sending our adversaries flying at the point of the bayonet. Lord Wellington galloped up to us at the instant, and our men began to cheer him; but he called out, ‘No cheering, my lads, but forward and complete your victory!’³

An unidentified soldier wrote the following graphic description which was printed in the Lancaster Gazette of Saturday, 28 October 1815:

The shape of their column was tracked by their dying and dead, and not less than three hundred of them had fallen in two minutes, to rise no more. Seeing the fate of their companions, a regiment of tirailleurs of the guard attempted to attack our flank; we instantly charged them, and our cheers rendered anything further unnecessary, for they never waited our approach. The French now formed solid squares in their rear, to resist our advance, which, however, our cavalry cut to pieces. The Duke now ordered the whole line to move forward: nothing could be more beautiful.

The sun, which had hitherto been veiled, at this instant shed upon us its departing rays, as if to smile upon the efforts we were making, and bless them with success. As we proceeded in line down the slope, the regiments on the high ground on our flanks were formed into hollow squares, in which manner they accompanied us, in order to protect us from cavalry – the blow was now struck, the victory was complete, and the enemy fled in every direction: his deroute was the most perfect ever known; in the space of a mile and a half along the road, we found more than thirty guns, besides ammunition waggons, &c. &c.

Our noble and brave coadjutors, the Prussians, who had some time since been dealing out havoc in the rear of the enemy, now falling in with our line of march, we halted, and let them continue the pursuit. Bonaparte fled the field on the advance of the Prussians, and the annihilation of his Imperial Guard, with whose overthrow all his hopes perished. Thus ended the day of ‘Waterloo’.

The skill and courage of our artillery could not be exceeded. The brigade of Guards, in Hougomont, suffered nothing to rob them of their post: every regiment eclipses its former deeds by the glories of today; and I cannot better close this than by informing you, that when we halted for the night, which we did close to where Bonaparte had been during a great portion of the battle, and were preparing our bivouac by the road side, a regiment of Prussian lancers coming by, halted and played ‘God save the King,’ than which nothing could be more appropriate or grateful to our feelings; and I am sure I need scarcely add, that we gave them three heartfelt cheers, as the only return we could then offer.

As l’armée du Nord began to disintegrate Ziethen’s I Corps reached the battlefield, as Gneisenau later described:

At this moment, the enemy was broken in three places; he abandoned his positions. Our troops rushed forward at the pas de charge, and attacked him on all sides, while, at the same time, the whole English line advanced. Circumstances were extremely favourable to the attack formed by the Prussian army; the ground rose in an amphitheatre, so that our artillery could freely open its fire from the summit of a great many heights which rose gradually above each other, and in the intervals of which the troops descended into the plain, formed into brigades, and in the greatest order; while fresh corps continually unfolded themselves, issuing from the forest on the height behind us.⁴

Guards officer Colonel James Hamilton Stanhope, who, in the years after the Napoleonic Wars, became a Member of Parliament, recalled:

The arrival of the Prussian cavalry sweeping round the right flank of the enemy, in masses with columns as far as the eye could reach, was a magnificent spectacle. The French were beat before but this was a very pretty finale. The Prussians pursued all night and gave no quarter and took most of the artillery which had not fallen into our hands before.⁵

Wellington duly acknowledged the important, if not vital, part played by the Prussians troops in his official despatch:

I should not do justice to my own feelings, or to Marshal Blücher and the Prussian Army, if I did not attribute the successful result of this arduous day to the cordial and timely assistance I received from them. The operation of General Bülow upon the enemy’s flank was a most decisive one; and, even if I had not found myself in a situation to make the attack which produced the final result, it would have forced the enemy to retire if his attacks should have failed, and would have prevented him from taking advantage of them if they should unfortunately have succeeded.⁶

An extract from a letter by an officer in the Household Cavalry relates this period of the battle from his perspective:

At the conclusion of the battle, we were masters of the field; and only one officer of the 2nd Life Guards, with two corporals and forty privates remained. There was no officer of the 1st Regiment, all, or most of them having been dismounted. the command of the two regiments for the night was given by Lord Somerset to the remaining officer of the 2d. Col. Lygon had one horse shot under him, towards the conclusion of the battle, and the horses of several of our officers were wounded.

Lord Wellington was with the brigade the greater part of the day, during which time I saw him repeatedly. He seemed much pleased and was heard to observe, towards the evening, to the general officer near him, that it was the hardest battle he had ever fought, and that he had seen many charges, but never any to equal the charges of the Heavy Brigades, particularly the Household. We made in all four charges: viz., two against cavalry, and two against the Imperial Guards.⁷

An Allied staff officer wrote about the last stages of the battle in a letter sent from Paris and which was dated 15 July:

The eagle eye of our noble Duke soon … discovered the purpose for which those that remained of the Imperial guards, were now led to sacrifice; he observed, that both infantry and artillery were moving off from the rear of the position which the French had during the day occupied; and with that decision which he has before so often evinced, he directed an immediate advance of the whole line, and an attack of those troops of the enemy who stood formed to cover this retreat. The order was no sooner given, than executed with that spirit which the British are so well known to possess on these occasions; and those soldiers who might well be supposed to be harassed and fatigued with the severity and duration of the battle, rushed on against the enemy’s ranks apparently as fresh, and with as much vigour, as though the action had but just commenced.

The most opportune arrival, shortly prior to this, of the two brigades of cavalry from the left, commanded by Major-generals Vandeleur and Vivian, had materially contributed to give confidence to our troops during the most trying part of the preceding attack. And when the advance was ordered, Major-general Vivian’s brigade (on which occasion the 10th and 18th Hussars particularly distinguished themselves), passing the infantry, charged, and totally defeated the bodies of the enemy’s cavalry which stood formed in their centre and on their left; and at the same time driving their artillery from their guns, left only opposed to our infantry, squares of the Imperial guards, who, from their steady countenance to the last, sustained that high character they had acquired during so many years of war, under the immediate command of that extraordinary man for whom such great numbers of them had already devoted themselves.

Nothing, however, could check the advance of the troops who were rapidly moving against them. Those distinguished regiments, the 52d and 71st, part of General Adam’s brigade, soon put to flight that part of the enemy formed more immediately on the high road. On all other points also our attacks were equally successful; and the two brigades of cavalry last mentioned, advancing at the same time, their rout was completed, and in an instant the whole were in retreat and confusion; and this was, if possible, increased by the success of the Prussians, who had about this time entered the high road in the rear of the French position.⁸

George Woodberry was with the 18th Hussars in the charge made by Vivian’s cavalry brigade mentioned above by the Allied staff officer:

Vivian’s brigade had passed the whole day on the extreme left flank of the army; it had not been engaged before half past seven when the Prussians arrived. We then had to cross over to the right and charged the Imperial Guard, the cuirassiers, the lancers and the artillery, blazing a trail through the middle of the whole of this mass until we came up to the farm of la Belle-Alliance, where we were ordered to halt, and where we gave three cheers at the fleeing enemy.⁹

Charging along with the hussars was the 11th Light Dragoons, a member of which was George Farmer, who became caught up in the drama and excitement, and inevitable confusion:

There was a heart-stirring cheer begun, I know not where, but very soon audible over the whole of our front; and we, too, were ordered to leap into the saddle and move forward. On we went at a gallop, dashing past the weary yet gallant footmen, and, shouting as we went, drove fiercely and without check up to the muzzles of a hostile battery. A furious discharge of grape met us, and thinned our ranks. Before it man and horse went down; but the survivors, never pulling back or pausing to look back, scattered the gunners to the winds, and the cannon were our own.

Just at this moment, Sergeant Emmet of the 11th, whom I covered, received a shot in the groin, which made him reel in the saddle, from which he would have fallen, had I not caught him; while at the same time a ball struck me on the knee, the bone of which was saved by the interposition of my unrolled cloak … then I plied my spurs into my horse’s sides, and flew to the front. But by this time it was too dark to distinguish one corps from another. I therefore attached myself to the first body of horse which I overtook, and in three minutes found myself in the middle of the enemy.

There was a momentary check, during which the men demanded one of another, what regiment this was. I do not know how the discovery of their own absolute intermingling might have operated, had not an officer called aloud, ‘Never mind your regiments, men, but follow me.’ In an instant I sprang to his side, and, seeing a mass of infantry close upon us, who, by the blaze of musketry, we at once recognised to be French, he shouted out, ‘Charge!’ and nobly led the way. We rushed on; the enemy fired, and eight of our number fell, among whom was our gallant. A musket-ball pierced his heart; he sprang out of his saddle and fell dead to the ground.¹⁰

An officer wrote to his father from Quatre Bras on 19 June. His letter included the following interesting description:

At eight o’clock, the Enemy moved forward his old guard, who were received by the first brigade of Guards, and a Dutch brigade, with Saltoun at their head, with such a fire, that they took to their heels – their whole army fled in the greatest disorder, and was followed in sweeping lines, as fast as the lines could move. Our cavalry cut them to pieces. The abandoned guns, carriages, knap sacks and muskets, choked up the ground, and for five miles, in which we followed them last night, the field was covered with the bodies of Frenchmen only.¹¹

The French official account written after the battle presents a somewhat different version of events, ascribing Napoleon’s defeat to mistaken identity and ‘ill disposed persons’:

At half-after eight o’ clock, the four battalions of the middle Guard, who had been sent to the ridge on the other side of Mount St. Jean, in order to support the Cuirassiers, being greatly annoyed by the grapeshot, endeavoured to carry the batteries with the bayonet. At the end of the day, a charge directed against their flank by several English squadrons put them in disorder. The fugitives recrossed the ravine. Several regiments near at hand seeing some troops belonging to the Guard in confusion, believed it was the Old Guard, and in consequence, were thrown into disorder. Cries of ‘All is lost! the Guard is driven back!’ were heard on every side. The soldiers pretend, even, that on many points, ill disposed persons, placed for the purpose, called out, ‘Sauve qui pent.’

However this may be, a panic at once spread itself throughout the whole field of battle, and they threw themselves in the greatest disorder on the line of communication: soldiers, cannoneers, caissons, all pressed to this point; the Old Guard, which was in reserve, was infected, and was itself hurried along.

In an instant, the army was nothing but a confused mass; all the soldiers of all arms were mixed, and it was utterly impossible to rally a single corps. The enemy, who perceived this astonishing confusion, attacked with their cavalry. The disorder increased; and such was the confusion, owing to night coming on, that it was impossible to rally the troops, and point out to them the error.

Thus a battle terminated – a day of false manoeuvres rectified, still greater successes insured for the next day – all was lost by a moment of panic terror. Even the squadrons of service, drawn up by the side of the Emperor, were overthrown and disorganised by these tumultuous waves, and there was then nothing else to be done but to follow the torrent. The parks of reserve, the baggage which had not repassed the Sambre – in short, everything that was on the field of battle remained in the power of the enemy. It was impossible to wait for our troops on our right; everyone knows what the bravest army in the world is when thus confusedly mixed, and when its organisation no longer exists.¹²

The following is an extract of a letter from an unnamed Guards officer:

We got about two miles that evening, taking ourselves 30 pieces of cannon. Nothing could be more complete and decisive. Most fortunately the Prussians came on the field at this moment, and pursued the Enemy through the night.

The following account was published by the Chester Chronicle in its edition published on Friday, 17 November 1815:

It was in vain that Bonaparte attempted to make a final effort by bringing into action some battalions of the guards, which had not yet been employed, and which he himself headed. All was useless. Intimidated by what passed around them, and overpowered by numbers, this feeble reserve soon yielded, and with the rest fled back like a torrent. The artillerymen abandoned their cannon; the soldiers of the waggon-train cut the traces of their horses; the infantry, the cavalry, and every other species of soldiery, formed one confused intermingled mass, partly flying along roads, and partly across the fields. The Generals were lost in this crowd; the corps had no longer any regular commander, and not a single battalion existed, behind which the rest could attempt to rally. Even the guards, who had hitherto been the very bulwark of the army, and the terror of the enemy, were dispersed among the multitude, the disorder of which was increased by the darkness of the night.

The fugitives, painfully pressed by an overwhelming foe, ran rapidly over the two leagues which separate Genappe from the field of battle, and at length reached this small place, where the greater number trusted that they should be able to pass the night. In order to oppose some obstacles to the enemy, they collected carriages on the road, and barricaded the entrance to the principal street. A few cannon were collected in the form of a battery; bivouacs were formed in the town and its environs, and the soldiers went into the houses for the purpose of finding an asylum and food; but scarcely were these dispositions made, when the enemy appeared. The discharge of cannon, on their part, spread universal alarm among their downcast enemies. All fled again, and the retreat became more disorderly than ever!

At this time everyone was ignorant of Bonaparte’s fate, for he had suddenly disappeared. The general report was that he had fallen in the heat of battle. This intelligence being conveyed to a well known General, he replied in the words of Megret, after the death of Charles XII, at Friederickstadt: ‘Then the tragedy is ended.’ (Voilà le pièce finie.) Others said, that while making a charge at the head of his guards, he had been dismounted and taken prisoner. The same uncertainty prevailed as to Marshall Ney, and most of the principal officers.

A great number of persons affirmed that they had seen Bonaparte pass through the crowd, and that they knew him by his grey great coat and horse. This proved to be the fact. When the last battalions of the guards, which he led into action, were overthrown, he was carried away with them, and surrounded on all sides by the enemy. He then sought refuge in an orchard adjoining to the farm of Cailon [Caillou], where he was afterwards met by two officers of the guards, who were, like him, endeavouring to elude the enemy. To them he made himself known, and he passed together over the plain, upon which were scattered various Prussian parties. These, however, luckily for the fugitives, were employed in plundering the captured equipage. Bonaparte was recognised on several occasions, in spite of the darkness of night, and the soldiers whispered to each other as he passed – ‘Look! There is the Emperor!’ These words seemed almost to alarm him, and he hurried forward through the multitude. Where were now the acclamations, which used to greet his ear the moment he appeared in the midst of his troops?

Général de division Jean-Martin, Baron Petit, commanded the 1er Régiment des Grenadiers à pied, the senior regiment of the French Army and he was with Napoleon as l’armée du Nord collapsed. He writes here in the third person:

The Emperor galloped back and placed himself inside the square of the 1st Battalion of Grenadiers. The whole army was in the most appalling disorder. Infantry, cavalry, artillery – everybody was fleeing in all directions. Soon no unit retained any order except the two squares formed by this regiment’s two battalions posted to the right and left of the main road. On orders from the Emperor, their commander, General Petit, had the grenadière sounded to rally those guardsmen who had been caught up in the torrent of fugitives. The enemy was close at our heels, and, fearing that he might penetrate the squares, we were obliged to fire at the men who were being pursued and who threw themselves wildly at the squares …

It was now almost dark. The Emperor himself gave the order for us to leave our positions, which were no longer tenable, being entirely outflanked to left and right. The two squares withdrew in good order, the 1st Battalion across country, the second along the road. A halt had to be made every few minutes so as to maintain the lines of the squares and to give time for the tirailleurs and the fugitives to catch up.¹³

Jardin Ainé also described his master’s last moments on the battlefield:

‘Let us go forward,’ Napoleon replied. ‘We must do better still. Courage mes braves: Let us advance!’ Having said this he rode off at a gallop close to the ranks encouraging the soldiers, who did not keep their position long, for a hail of artillery falling on their left ruined all. In addition to this, the strong line of British cavalry made a great onslaught on the squares of the guard and put all to rout.

It was at this moment that the Duke of Wellington sent to summon the Guard to surrender. General Kembraune [Cambronne] replied that the Guard knew how to fight, to die, but not to surrender. Our right was crushed by the corps of Bülow who with his artillery had not appeared during the day but who now sought to cut off all retreat.

Napoleon towards eight o’clock in the evening, seeing that his army was almost beaten, commenced to despair of the success which two hours before he believed to be assured. He remained on the battlefield until half-past nine when it was absolutely necessary to leave. Assured of a good guide, we passed to the right of Genappes and through the fields; we marched all the night without knowing too well where we were going until the morning. Towards four o’clock in the morning we came to Charleroi where Napoleon, owing to the onrush of the army in beating a retreat, had much difficulty in proceeding. At last after he had left the town, he found in a little meadow on the right a small bivouac fire made by some soldiers. He stopped by it to warm himself and said to General Corbineau, ‘Et bien Monsieur, we have done a fine thing.’ General Corbineau saluted him and replied, ‘Sire, it is the utter ruin of France.’ Napoleon turned round, shrugged his shoulders and remained absorbed for some moments.

He was at this time extremely pale and haggard and much changed. He took a small glass of wine and a morsel of bread which one of his equerries had in his pocket, and some moments later mounted, asking if the horse galloped well. He went as far as Philippeville where he arrived at mid-day and took some wine to revive himself. He again set out at two o’ clock in a mail carriage towards Paris where he arrived on the 21st at 7 a.m. at the Elysée whence he departed on the 12th, in the same month.¹⁴

The British troops were exhausted after the long pounding they had endured, and with the Prussians taking up the pursuit most of Wellington’s men bivouacked in the vicinity of the battlefield. Captain Mercer of the Royal Horse Artillery, despite his tiredness, could not sleep and he looked out across the battlefield which was illuminated by moonlight:

Here and there some poor wretch, sitting up amidst the countless dead, busied himself in endeavours to staunch the flowing stream with which his life was fast ebbing away. Many whom I saw so employed that night were, when morning dawned, lying stiff and tranquil … From time to time a figure would half rise itself from the ground, and then, with a desperate groan, fall back again. Others, slowly and painfully rising, stronger, or having less deadly hurt, would stagger away with uncertain steps across the field in search of succour. Many of these I followed with my gaze until lost in the obscurity of the distance; but many, alas! after staggering a few paces, would sink again on the ground, probably to rise no more. It was heart-rending – and yet I gazed!¹⁵

An experienced officer described the scene after the battle in a letter that was sent ‘from the Bivouac’ near Landrécies:

After our bivouac of the 18th after the battle, we marched to Nivelles, over the terrible field so horrible a scene, scarcely any man ever witnessed; the ground, for the space of a league, was covered with bodies absolutely lying in ranks, and horses grouped in heaps, with their riders. Towards our right was a chateau, which during the battle, took fire from the Enemy’s shells; and in that state was heroically defended by Saltoun, and afterwards by the 2nd brigade of Guards. The appearance brought to my mind St. Sebastian; it was equally horrid, though on a smaller scale.¹⁶

A similar gruesome picture was subsequently painted by Captain Johnny Kincaid of the 95th Rifles:

The field of battle next morning presented a frightful scene of carnage; it seemed as if the world had tumbled to pieces, and three-fourths of everything destroyed in the wreck. the ground running parallel to the front of where we had stood was so thickly strewed with fallen men and horses that it was difficult to step clear of their bodies – many of the former still alive, and imploring assistance which it was not in our power to bestow.

The usual salutation on meeting an acquaintance of another regiment after an action was to ask who had been hit, but on this occasion it was ‘Who’s alive?’¹⁷

Another Rifles veteran, Major Harry Smith, was equally moved by what he witnessed on the Waterloo battlefield:

I had been over many a field of battle, but with the exception of one spot at New Orleans, and the breach of Badjoz, I had never seen anything to be compared with what I saw. At Waterloo, the whole field from right to left was a mass of dead bodies. In one spot, to the right of La Haye Sainte, the French Cuirassiers were literally piled on each other; many soldiers not wounded lying under their horses; others fearfully wounded, occasionally with their horses struggling upon their wounded bodies. The sight was sickening, and I had no means to assist them.¹⁸

Under the headline, ‘Battle of Waterloo’ the Caledonian Mercury of 5 October 1815 provided its readers with this description of the aftermath of the fighting:

What pen can describe the scenes which presented themselves on the morning of the 19th, on the field of battle? – Nature shudders at the idea. I never think upon it but with horror. Death had reaped a plentiful harvest, and displayed his ravages in their ugliest forms. Poor mutilated wretches still lay in the agonies of death, calling or making signs for a drop of water. There was none to be had.

The ground being of a sandy nature, had soaked up all the rain which fell on the 17th – even the blood which was shed had disappeared. Here a dead man served for a pillar to his dying companion – others lay, as it were, holding each other in a last embrace. I was at first afraid to look upon such an awful spectacle; but at length I walked to a considerable distance from our brigade, from curiosity.

The rifle corps and cavalry seemed to have suffered most in the battle; at least, I observed most of them lying on the ground over which I went. I saw several men and women from the adjacent villages stripping the dead; and I am told that these wretches plundered many of the wounded. As we marched off the ground, we passed by a farm-house, which seemed to have been obstinately defended. An immense number of dead bodies lay here, both French and English. The house had been set on fire by a shell, during the time that a party of both armies were charging each other in the farm-yard.

I recollect of no other incidents which I was witness to, than what is related above. I could easily have made up a better story, by giving you a romantic account of personal skirmishes and hair-breadth escapes; but I have stated nothing but what you may depend upon as fact.

The officer who wrote to his friend in Cumberland from the camp at Clichy, ends his story of the battle:

I will not attempt to describe the scene of slaughter which the fields presented, or what any person possessed of the least spark of humanity must have felt, while we viewed the dreadful situation of some thousands of wounded wretches who remained without assistance through a bitter cold night, succeeded by a day of most scorching heat; English and French were dying by the side of each other; and I have no doubt, hundreds who were not discovered when the dead were buried, and who were unable to crawl to any habitation, must have perished by famine.

For my own part, when we halted for the night, I sunk down almost insensible from fatigue; my spirits and strength were completely exhausted. I was so weak, and the wound in my thigh so painful, from want of attention, and in consequence of severe exercise, that after I got to Nivelles, and secured quarters, I did not awake regularly for 36 hours.¹⁹

A jubilant Gebhard Leberecht von Blücher wrote to his wife from Genappe the day after the battle:

My friend Wellington and I have put an end to Bonaparte’s dancing. His army is in utter rout. All his artillery, his baggage, his wagons and his coaches are in my hands. The insignia of all the orders to which he belonged, which were found in his carriage, have just been brought to me in a casket. I had two horses killed under me yesterday. We shall be finished with Bonaparte shortly.²⁰

Wellington described the battle to his old comrade in arms, Marshal Lord Beresford, when he wrote from Gonesse on 2 July:

You will have heard of our battle on the 18th. Never did I see such a pounding match. Both sides were what the boxers call gluttons. Napoleon did not manoeuvre at all. He just moved forward in the old style, and was driven off in the old style. The only difference was that he mixed cavalry with his infantry, and supported both with an enormous quantity of artillery. I had the infantry for some time in squares, and we had the French cavalry walking about us as if they had been our own. I never saw the British infantry behave so well.²¹

To his brother Wellington noted that ‘It was the most desperate business I was ever in’, adding ‘I never took so much trouble about any battle, and never was so near to being beat.’²² As for Napoleon, the Emperor declared that,

The Anglo-Dutch army was saved twice during the day by the Prussians; the first time, before three o’clock, by the arrival of General Bülow, with 30,000 men; and the second time, by the arrival of Marshal Blücher, with 31,000 men. During that day, 69,000 Frenchmen defeated 120,000. Victory was snatched from them between eight and nine o’clock, by 150,000 men.²³

Wellington all but agreed: ‘It has been a damned nice thing – the nearest run thing you ever saw in your life.’²⁴