24

Travellers’ Tales

As Wellington had observed, many people travelled from the United Kingdom to Waterloo after the battle. Unlike the sites of the great engagements in Portugal and Spain, Waterloo was an easy and safe place to visit and many of those that did felt compelled to write about their experiences. Amongst the early visitors was a Reverend Rudge:

Every part of the field of battle was strewed with different articles belonging to those who had fought and bled. Every thing around attested the horrors of war, and the march of devastation. On every side were scattered the arms and clothing of the slain; shoes, caps and belts, and every other military appendage, either stained with blood, or covered with dirt. In the corn fields, which had been completely ploughed up by trampling of the horses, and the movement of the soldiers, a number of books, cards, and letters were seen.

Rudge then made his way across to Hougoumont where one of the mass graves was located:

The smell here was particularly offensive, and in some places, parts of the human body were distinctly to be recognised. The earth with which they had been covered, had sunk in, and exhibited here and there an arm and a human face, the flesh nearly wasted away, and the features of the countenance hardly distinguishable from the change they had undergone.¹

Miss Charlotte Eaton painted an equally graphic picture of the Waterloo battlefield in the aftermath of the fighting:

In many places the excavations made by the shells had thrown up the earth all around them; the marks of horses’ hoofs, that had plunged ankle deep in clay, were hardened in the sun; and the feet of men deeply stamped in the ground left traces of where many a deadly struggle had been. The ground was ploughed up in several places with the charge of the cavalry and the whole field was literally covered with soldiers’ caps, shoes, gloves, belts, and scabbards, broken feathers battered into the mud, remnants of tattered scarlet cloth, bits of fur and leather, black stocks and haversacks belonging to French soldiers, buckles, packs of cards, books, and innumerable papers of every description … printed French military returns, muster rolls, love-letters and washing bills; illegible songs, scattered sheets of military music, epistles without number in praise of ‘l’Empereur, le Grand Napoleon’ … The quantities of letters and of blank sheets of dirty writing paper were so great that they literally whitened the face of the earth.²

The following extract of a private letter posted in Ghent was published in the Chester Chronicle on 17 November 1815:

Before closing my letter, I must beg your indulgence for a superfluous word or two, on a subject, which is every traveller’s theme, the present situation of the plains of Waterloo. I was there yesterday, and remained several hours on the illustrious field, where my heart beat high at the recollection of the country I belonged to. The eye embraces at a glance the whole eventful scene, and with the preliminary notions every Englishman possesses, it is impossible not to comprehend immediately the grand manoeuvres of that memorable day.

Here the audacious enemy advanced even to La Haye Sainte, but were arrested in their furious career by our immortal Chief in person, who, at the head of his intrepid soldiers, retook that blood stained spot. The cottage has been entirely new roofed, though its shattered walls and doors still testify the obstinate combat it gave rise to. On the left wing behind and before the hedge, but especially near the spot where the gallant Picton fell, a multitude of little mounds cover the ashes of the British and Allied Soldiers, who were intered in heaps together.

It was not without unfeigned emotion we cast a regard of gratitude and admiration on those heroes’ graves, over which the grass and some wild flowers are just beginning to spring! At the extremity of the right wing, we recognized the brush, where the Prince of Orange, emulating his forefathers, was wounded; and then reached the too famous chateau of Hougoumont, where destruction dealt its most deadly blows. The interior of the edifice, consumed by fire, and demolished by the cannon, presents a melancholy mass of ruins; the trees in the neighbourhood are pierced with balls, though their foliage and growth appear a little more injured than what might be expected in this unusually fine season. We next crossed the fatal field where our artillery crushed eleven hundred intrepid Frenchmen, who, with a gallantry worthy of a better cause, persevered in the desperate attack. It was in contemplating this spot, the morning after the battle, that a British Officer observed, that the heaps of [illegible] dead of all nations amassed together, presented to his mind ‘an immense army in a profound sleep.’

The plains around it towards La Belle Alliance, are yet deeply imprinted with the hoofs of horses, all taking a direction from which but few were doomed to return. In some parts the slain are interred so near the surface of the earth that black portions of the human frame piercing their tenements, strike the spectator with horror!

We had now reached La Belle Alliance, and reposed ourselves in the chamber, wherein Blucher and Wellington embraced each other amidst the exulting shouts of victory, and the more distant roar of the cannon pursuing and exterminating the flying foe. A more interesting spectacle I never witnessed. Honour to those heroes who devoted themselves to certain death for their country’s cause with Spartan inflexibility! – that grateful country has already consecrated to them a crown of well-earned laurels, of which not a leaf will ever lose its verdure.

We found dispersed over the field of battle, fragments of shells and other engines of destruction, while in the cottage of Lacoste, Napoleon’s guide, the credulous Englishman was purchasing sabres, and buttons, and cuirasses, and other relics, of which, in all probability, the greater part was concealed at Brussels for this express purpose. Many of the adjoining villages have been enriched by the plunder of the dying and the dead, and M. Lacoste still draws deeply on the curiosity of the traveller, whom he adroitly satisfies, with narratives and anecdotes, fashioned to the political party he is presumed to support.

Another extract from a letter, this time coming from a German officer and which was dated 16 July 1815, states the following:

I have visited the field of battle. The sleep of the dead is sound. On the spot where this day month thousands thronged and fought, where thousands sank and bled, and groaned and died, there is now not a living soul, and over all hovers the stillness of the grave.

In Ligny 2000 dead were buried. Here fought the Westphalian and Berg regiments. Ligny is a village built of stone and thatched with straw, on a small stream which flows through flat meadows. In the village are several farm-houses, inclosed with walls and gates. Every farm-house the Prussians had converted into a fortress. The French endeavoured to penetrate through the village by means of superior numbers. Four times were they driven out. At last they set on fire the farm-houses in the upper end of the village with their howitzers; but the Prussians still kept their ground at the lower end. A whole company of Westphalian troops fell in the court-yard at the church; on the terrace before the church lay 50 dead.

In the evening the French surrounded the village. The Prussians retired half a league: the position was lost; and it is incomprehensible why the French did not follow up the advantage they had obtained, and again attack the Prussians in the night.

This was on the 16th.³

This brief note was published in the Caledonian Mercury of 27 July 1815, once again under the oft-used headline ‘The Battle of Waterloo’:

La Belle Alliance, the little place from which, with a silly and unmeaning conceit, some of the papers would denominate the grand battle of the 18th, consists of not more than three or four wretched houses, one of which is nearly destroyed by the cannon shot. The plain of Waterloo is a magnificent scene, and a prize-fighting ground worthy of such a battle.

The position of the French was woody; that of the Allies chiefly covered with grain. Rye was the prevailing species. It grows so high, that a Scotch regiment, in advancing through a field of it on the 16th, was nearly cut to pieces without seeing an enemy. The French observed its approach by the tops of its muskets shining in the corn, and took their aim accordingly, while our troops could only fire at random.

As the following article in the Leicester Journal of Friday, 26 January 1816 states, any stories or visits to Waterloo were newsworthy:

So deep is the interest in the immortal battle of Waterloo, that whatever relates to it is eagerly perused by the public; and, notwithstanding the lapse of time, and the quantity of information already before them, their thirst is as yet unalloyed.

Our Author left Brussels, and proceeded to the field of battle, whither our readers must attend him.

‘With that conflict of feelings which the expectation of soon seeing the scene of such a battle as Waterloo naturally occasioned, our party consisting of three, was in readiness by six in the morning on the 31st July. When we had mounted our carriage, we called to the postilion – “Waterloo!” – “Oui, Monsieur l’Anglois,” he answered, with a smack of his whip, and an emphasis which showed that he felt that conducting Englishmen thither, was conducting them to their own proper domain. There had been rain during the night, and the morning was gloomy; having, as we are told, the same appearance as that of the 18th of June: of course we would not have exchanged it for the brightest sunshine – The ground would be wet, but so it was on the day of the battle; and further, in point of time, we should just arrive about the hour it commenced.

‘After driving three or four miles, we entered the awful forest of Soigné. It covers an immense extent of country from east to west, but is only about six or seven miles broad, where the road passes through it to Waterloo.

‘Our postilion pointed out the little mounds where men and horses had been interred; they were apparent every hundred yards. The sepulture had been hurried and imperfect, especially of the horses; occasional hoofs, and even limbs, showing themselves. Often bayonet scabbards stuck out; and caps, shoes, and pieces of cloth, scarcely in the gloom distinguishable from the mud in which they lay, gave indication of the spots where many a soldier, after bleeding in the field, and toiling along the road to expected aid and comfort, unassisted, almost unpitied, by the self engaged sufferers who saw him fall, had sunk to rise no more. Some rain fell as we were bestowing a passing survey upon these affecting monuments of the brave, in a situation the most dismal we had ever beheld.

‘Waterloo’s village, and small neat church, with its brick built dome, was now in our view, situated in a recess of the wood, evidently cleared for it. The road was now quite out of the forest; which, however, blackened the whole region to east and west as far as the eye could reach. In this poor hamlet, which history is to name with veneration as long as time endures, the peasants have been at pains to preserve the chalking on the doors; on which we recognised the well known names of celebrated officers, or the officers of the several departments at head quarters.

‘We were immediately surrounded by the people offering for sale, with great importunity, the relics of the field; particularly the eagles which the French soldiers wore as cap plates. A few cuirasses, both the back and the breast pieces, were likewise held up to us, as well as sabres, bayonets, and other spoils.

‘We drove a mile forward to the still smaller hamlet of Mount St. John, by a gradual ascent of the road; to right and left of which the British army bivouacked on the eve of the battle; having advanced over the high ground in the morning, to the southern slope facing the enemy, on fair open ground, without an advantage, to decide the fate of the world.

‘Mount St. John is quite behind the British line; and had its name given by Bonaparte to what was properly the farm house of La Haye Sainte, which he did succeed in carrying; but certainly he never was so far advanced as Mont St. John; indeed he never did, for more than a few minutes, at any time succeed in penetrating the English line.

‘We left our carriage at this last hamlet, and walked on to the field with nervous anticipation. To the right and left were the multiplied marks of the artillery wheels, as rivalling ‘lightning’s course in ruin and in speed,’ they had careered to their enemies in the memorable line. Whole tracks were marked by the feet of the cavalry, often fetlock deep in mud. The last homes of the brave began to appear, with the larger tumuli of their horses, more frequent as we approached the scene of contest. Keeping still the great road, we came to a tree which formed the precise centre of the British line; the well chosen station of the Duke of Wellington, when not occasionally visiting other parts of the position to confirm the unflinching spirit of his gallant comrades. It commanded a full view of the intermediate plain, and the whole of the enemy’s vast force upon the adverse slope and country beyond it, with every movement made or threatened by him.

‘Nothing is more false than the French apology (added to their never-failing pretence of being overpowered by numbers), that the British position was naturally strong, and carefully fortified. Unentrenched stood the British army, along its whole position, on a slope so gentle, that a coach driving up would not slacken pace; and to the ridge of which the French cavalry found no difficulty in galloping at full speed to the very bayonets of their opponents, who threw themselves into squares, their only entrenchments, to receive the charge. It was, to use a favourite English phrase, just the place for “a fair set to; a clear field, and no favour.”

‘We had the good fortune to meet with a very intelligent English officer, who had been in the action, and who had that day paid his first visit to the field, after recovering of his wound.

‘From Lord Wellington’s station, we stood and gazed on the whole scene: not daring to break silence for some minutes. And deep was now the silence of the vast sepulchre of 20,000 men, contrasted with the roar and the carnage of the battle. The gloomy weather still lasted; and was valued by us, as peculiarly suitable to the scene we were contemplating. The imagination is incalculably aided by viewing the scene of a memorable battle. The actors being generally familiar to us, we can easily people the field with them; and become thereby actually present, in conception, at the moment of the event. Indeed, so very simple is the field of Waterloo, that a conception of very ordinary power may quite take it from description alone. Although here and there varied by inequalities and indulations, it will serve all popular purposes to say, that at the distance from each other of about a mile, the contending armies occupied parallel high grounds, sloping with almost equal declivity, to a plain of about half a mile broad which intervened.

‘The English line, or rather two lines, extended about a mile and a half – the French masses something more than two miles. The Brussels road ran at right angles through both armies; forming the centre of each. On this road, in one line, are the villages of Waterloo, and Mont St. John, and the farm houses of La Haye Sante, and La Belle Alliance; and the only other place which requires to be referred to is the memorable Chateau of Hougomont, advanced a short way in front of nearly the right of the British position.

‘The road from Brussels to Nivelles, which branches off at Waterloo from the great road already described, passed the right of the army; which last being thrown back into a curve, crossed the angle formed by the two roads, like the scale of a quadrant. A number of smaller roads and foot-paths intersected the field in all directions, none of them of any importance in the affair, excepting always those which admitted the brave Prussians to their share of the glory of delivering the world.’

Even two years after the battle, interest had not waned, as this report printed in the Chester Courant of Tuesday, 29 July 1817 demonstrates:

The following particulars have been communicated by a person of Liverpool, just returned from a tour through the Netherlands:-

The village of Waterloo and its environs are at this moment, perhaps, more interesting to an English visitor than at any period since the battle. The most affecting testimonials to the memory of different illustrious individuals who fell in that terrible conflict meet the eye in almost every direction. The interior of the church of Waterloo, a small, but very neat structure, is nearly covered with monuments to the memory of British officers. All of these are written in such a strain of manly and modest simplicity, and some of them under circumstances of such affecting tenderness, that every English reader, while his heart is touched with the deepest sympathy, must feel himself elated in belonging to a country which has produced instances of such unparalleled heroism.

In the church-yard, among many other monuments, appears the mausoleum of the Marquess of Anglesey’s leg, with an inscription that reflects the highest honour on that distinguished nobleman.

To the wall of La Haye Sainte, next the high road, is affixed a plain mural monument, with a short, but most sublime and touching inscription, to the honour of those officers of the German Legion who fell in the arduous task of defending this farm against an entire division of the French army. It is erected by the surviving officers of that distinguished regiment, to the memory of their departed brethren.

The celebrated chateau of Hougoumont remains in the state in which it was left after the battle, – a heap of ruins. The marks of the shot still remain on the trees and garden wall, where the English guards fought with such persevering and unsubdued energy.

A splendid monument is now erecting in the open field, on the very spot where the hero fell, to the memory of Sir Alexander Gordon, of whom such distinguished mention was made in the House of Commons and by the Duke of Wellington. The inscription, which, like all the others, is admirably written, states, that it is dedicated to the memory of the deceased, by his seven surviving brothers and sisters. The same inscription appears in the French language on the opposite side of the pedestal.

But of all the testimonials which have been erected on this most interesting occasion, there is none more deeply affecting than a plain black stone, which appears in the centre of the church of Waterloo, the inscription of which is written in Latin, and signed Henry Cuppage; after stating that the conduct and gallantry of the deceased had been such as to attract the notice even of their great Commander-in-Chief, it concludes with these affecting expressions: – ‘His only surviving brother, who fought by his side during that long and arduous day, and at night received his last breath whilst supporting him in his arms, has erected this simple stone to the memory of one who was endeared to him by the strongest ties that can bind two human beings to each other.’

It is painful to conclude this account with an instance of the behaviour of the ungrateful Belgians on a late occasion, which can never be forgotten. The inhabitants of Brussels and its neighbourhood, including many distinguished personages, public functionaries, &c. celebrated the anniversary of the battle of Waterloo on the 18th ult. by a splendid fête champétre given on the field itself. The Brussels papers of the following day gave a minute account of this brilliant commemoration, with all the toasts, speeches, &c. which were delivered on so striking an occasion. Would it be believed, that neither the name of the Duke of Wellington, nor the English army is once mentioned in the narration?

The following account was also published in 1817, mentioning that ‘La Belle Alliance is a farm-house, situate on the plains of Waterloo, about three-quarters of a mile from La Haye Sainte, on the road to Gemappe’:

The house, which is very small, is kept by M. Decase; and the writer of this article visited the place in May, 1816, together with several military gentlemen, who explained to him most minutely the situation of the contending armies on the glorious 18th of June, 1815. The outbuildings of La Belle Alliance are in ruins. At a short distance from this house is the cottage which formerly belonged to the peasant, who was detained by Buonaparte, as his guide and interpreter. This cottager attended me and my companions over the plains of Waterloo, and spoke in high terms of the bravery of the British troops, and the determined resolution of the enemy.

At this place, as well as in other parts of the country about Waterloo, the peasants offer to travellers innumerable relics of the dreadful conflict. Helmets, cuirasses, sabres, medals, eagles, buttons, and various other articles, are here to be purchased on easy terms. I purchased, for twelve francs, (ten shillings English), a very handsome sword, which belonged to a grenadier of Napoleon’s imperial guard.⁴

According to Edward Cotton of the 7th Hussars, who had written his account having visited the battlefield some years later,

The most interesting objects now at Hougoumont, for visitors to see are the north gateway facing our position, by which the enemy entered, its burnt beams, the small barn where many of the wounded were burnt, the cannon-ball hole in the east gable of the building attached to the present farm-house … The cannon-ball [which] entered the west end of the large building [is] still in existence; consequently [it] must have passed through four, if not five walls, before it came out at the east end looking into the garden, or park.⁵

Amongst the most famous travellers to write about the battlefield in the years following the battle was Victor Hugo, who wrote the following passage in his famous book Les Misérables:

The field of Waterloo to-day has that calm which belongs to the earth, impassive support of man; it resembles any other plain.

At night, however, a sort of visionary mist arises from it, and if some traveller be walking there, if he looks, if he listens, if he dreams … The terrible 18th of June is again before him … the lines of infantry undulate in the plain, furious gallops traverse the horizon; the bewildered dreamer sees the flash of sabres, the glistening of bayonets, the bursting of shells, the awful intermingling of the thunders; he hears, like the death-rattle from the depths of a tomb, the vague clamour of the phantom battle; these shadows are grenadiers; these gleams are cuirassiers … and the ravines run red, and the trees shiver, and there is fury even in the clouds, and, in the darkness, all those savage heights. Mont Saint Jean, Hougoumont, Frischermonte, Papelotte, Plachenoit, appear confusedly crowned with whirlwinds of spectres exterminating each other.⁶