26

After the Battle Anecdotes

The Battle of Waterloo ended a generation of warfare and throughout the early decades of the nineteenth century it continued to be the subject of books, memoirs and occasionally newspaper articles. Such articles and recollections were as random as the selection presented here.

On Friday, 17 May 1816, for example, the Chester Chronicle published the following account under the title, ‘Memorable Anecdote’:

At the Battle of Waterloo, Major Dick, of the 42d Highlanders, preferring to fight on foot in front of his men, had given his horse to hold to a little drummer-boy of the regiment. After some hard fighting with the French horse cuirassiers and lancers, and receiving several severe wounds, he fell, from loss of blood, near a brave private (Donald Mackintosh) of his corps, who was mortally wounded at the same instant. The little drummer had left the horse to assist poor Donald; a lancer seeing the horse, thought him a fair prize, and made a dash at him; this did not escape the watchful and keen eye of the dying Highlander, who, with all the provident spirit of his country, ‘ruling strong even in death,’ groaned out ‘hoot man, ye munna tak’ that beast, ’t belongs to our Captain here.’

The lancer, understanding little of his dialect, and respecting less his writhing gestures, seized on the horse; Donald levelled his musket once more, shot him dead, and the next moment fell back and expired himself. An Officer of the cuirassiers, observing our poor Major still bestirring himself, rode up, and stooping from his charger, aimed to dispatch him with his sword. The Major seized his leg, and still grappled with him so stoutly, that he pulled him off his horse upon him.

Another lancer observing this struggle, galloped up to relieve his officer, and attempted to spear the Major, who, by a sudden jerk and exertion, placed the Frenchman, in the nick of the necessity, in his arms before him, who received his mortal thrust below his cuirasse, and in this condition continued lying upon him with his sword in his hand for near ten minutes. The Major, unconscious that he had bestowed a death wound, expected all this time to receive his own at his hand; at last the French Officer raised himself, ran or staggered a few yards, and then fell to struggle or to rise no more.

Another private of his regiment now came up and asked his Major what he could do to assist him. ‘Nothing, my good friend, but load your piece and finish me!’ – ‘But your eye still looks lively,’ said the poor fellow, ‘if I could move you to the 92d, fighting hard by, I think you would yet do well.’

With the aid of a fellow-soldier he was moved as the man proposed, and soon seen by an intimate friend, Colonel Cameron, commanding the 92d, who instantly ordered him every succour possible; a blanket and four men carried him a little in the rear. While they were raising him, Colonel Cameron exclaimed, ‘God bless you! I must be off; the devils (meaning the lancers) are at us again. I must stand up to them.’

He did so, and in a few minutes, stretched dead on the bed of honor, finished his mortal career of glory in the bold defence of his country. It is a pleasure to add, that the brave Major is still alive, wearing the honourable decoration and marks of sixteen wounds received in this unequal and arduous conflict, and lame from a severe wound received before at the storming of Badajos.

Captain John Kincaid related an incident that took place the day after the Battle of Waterloo:

Two of our men on the morning of the 19th lost their lives by a very melancholy accident. They were cutting up a captured ammunition-wagon for the firewood, when one of their swords striking against a nail sent a spark among the powder. When I looked in the direction of the explosion, I saw the two poor fellows about twenty or thirty feet up in the air.

On falling to the ground, though lying on their backs or bellies, some extraordinary effort of nature, caused by the agony of the moment, made them spring from that position five or six times to the height of eight or ten feet, just as a fish does when thrown on the ground after being newly caught … I ran to the spot along with others, and found that every stitch of clothes had been burnt off, and they were black as ink all over. They were still alive, and told us their names, otherwise we could not have recognised them; and, singularly enough, they were able to walk off the ground with a little support, but died shortly after.¹

The following was printed in the Caledonian Mercury on Thursday, 27 July 1815:

The ground being very deep in many parts of the field, the troops presented a frightful appearance, particularly the life guards, from the splashing of the mud increased by the weight of their horses. The French could scarcely dare to look at them. They called them the Red Lions.

Among the effective incidents of the day is mentioned an hurrah given by an Irish regiment in the act of charging. The shock struck terror into the opposing line, which fled, before it felt the bayonet.

The Irish regiment in question was probably the 27th or Inniskilling Regiment of Foot. It is interesting to note that the Inniskillings included Protestants as well as Catholics with, by all accounts, no problems existing between the two religions.

Napoleon himself took an entirely pragmatic view of religion, fully appreciating its influence upon the masses. It was probably this, and his manipulation of Pope Pius VII, that prompted the following remark:

On the receipt, in Edinburgh, of the intelligence of the battle of Waterloo, an old woman was passing a crowd assembled to read one of the bulletins put up by the Magistrates, on which she asked, ‘What’s that ye’re a’looking at there folk?’ She was told it was an account of a great victory gained over Bonaparte. She then asked when that had happened, and being told on Sunday, she exclaimed – ‘Sunday! Say ye: he ne’er minded Sunday, but a troth, he’ll no forget it now!’²

The next story comes from the Historical Records of the Eighteenth Hussars:

This anecdote of the day may be worth relating: On first encountering the Cuirassiers, Serjeant Taylor of The Regiment made a cut at the head of one of them, which had no other effect on the Frenchman than to induce him to cryout in derision, ‘Ha, ha!’ and to return a severe blow at the serjeant, which was admirably parried. Taylor then thrust his sabre into the mouth of the Cuirassier, who instantly fell, and the conqueror cried ‘Ha, ha!’ in his turn, which much increased the ardour of his comrades.³

The Royal Cornwall Gazette of Saturday, 23 September 1815 shows the degree of animosity that was still evident between Britain and her former American colonies. Some of the British troops that fought at Waterloo had only just arrived back in Europe from the war in America which, after two and a half years of fighting, had recently ended in stalemate:

American papers to the 13th ult. reached town on Monday. The battle of Waterloo, the abdication of Buonaparte, and the capture of Paris, were all known in America. Many of the papers seem sullen and dogged and will not offer a single comment upon these events. One of them is loud in praise of Buonaparte, whom it compares to Epaminondas and Regulus. Some of these American Editors would do well to go to school again.

Such sentiments had already been displayed in America when news of Napoleon’s return to power became known. Unfortunately for the ex-colonists, their news was already out of date. The following note was published in the London Gazette of Saturday, 29 July 1815, under the headline ‘Miscellaneous Intelligence’:

In the American Papers to the 25th ult. the return of Buonaparte to France is contemplated with extravagant joy – and one paper says, ‘Napoleon the Great is popular throughout America since his return from Elba and re-assumption of the throne, and he ought to be, for the system of freedom he is now establishing.’ Poor American Journalists! How short-lived will be their joy – how altered their tone, when they know that Napoleon the Great is in the custody of the Lords of this little Island!

It was on Wednesday, 4 October 1815 that the following review (of sorts) was published in the Hereford Journal:

A very interesting memoir is expected to be published in a few days by Marshal Soult, containing a defence of his conduct during the last 18 months. He laid the substance of it some weeks ago before the King, but without effect. It will, however, be very interesting as a history. He proposes giving a detailed review of his administration as Minister of War, and of the short campaign which fixed the destinies of Bonaparte, and of France.

It is said to contain some very severe strictures on the military character of Bonaparte, and particularly of his conduct at the battle of Waterloo – Soult attended him constantly during the day as Major-General of the army, and frequently remonstrated with him in the most peremptory manner, when the fortune of the day turned in favour of the Allies, but before the close, Soult addressed Bonaparte in the presence of his Staff, and forcibly insisted upon the necessity of retreating before all was lost. Bonaparte replied that he had frequently gained the victory after having been reduced to a situation of greater difficulty. ‘Sire,’ said Soult, ‘you seem to think a battle is a game of hazard, not of skill.’ Bonaparte instantly ordered his guard to charge – they advanced in silence – not one cried Vive l’Empereur, and at least half remained dead upon the field of battle.

In the very same edition of the Hereford Journal this little exchange of words was printed, but the exact reason for the discussion is not made clear:

Excellent Retort. – During the late events, Marshal Ney said to the Swiss Gen. Bachmann, ‘Do you know that we fight for honour, while you fight for money?’ ‘Yes,’ returned the Swiss, ‘we both fight for that which we have not.’ Niklaus Leodegar Franz Ignaz von Bachmann was the Commander in Chief of the Swiss Army and was part of the occupying forces at the time he spoke to Marshal Ney.

The next story, of a rather repugnant nature, was reported in the Morning Chronicle of Thursday, 7 December 1815:

Amongst the many new and singular articles of trade recently imported from the Continent, are several boxes, containing an immense number of human teeth for the use of the Dentists, but great has been the disappointment of these traders of this part of the human body, taken from the slain of the Battle of Waterloo, when they heard that this pernicious practice was entirely proscribed [by] this country, and that the only artificial teeth now used are those of mineral composition, made and invented by the celebrated Dentist, Mr. de Chemant, of No.2, Frith-street, Soho-square.

Proscribed or not, some sets of dentures were still made from the Waterloo teeth, at least one example of which can still be seen today at the Army Medical Services Museum, Aldershot.

The use of teeth, and other body parts, taken from the bodies of the dead continued for many years afterwards, as the following staggering article in the London Observer of 18 November 1822 reveals:

More than a million of bushels of human and inhuman bones were imported last year from the continent of Europe into the port of Hull. The neighbourhood of … Waterloo, and of all the places where, during the late bloody war, the principle battles were fought, have been swept alike of the bones of the hero and the horse which he rode.

Thus collected from every quarter, they have been shipped to the port of Hull, and thence forwarded to the Yorkshire bone-grinders, who have erected steam-engines and powerful machinery, for the purpose of reducing them to a granulary state.

In this condition they are sent chiefly to Doncaster, one of the largest agricultural markets in that part of the country, and are there sold to farmers to manure their lands. … It is now ascertained beyond doubt, by actual experiment on an extensive scale, that a dead soldier is a most valuable article of commerce … It is certainly a singular fact, that Great Britain should have sent out such multitudes of soldiers to fight the battles of this country upon the continent of Europe, and should then import their bones as an article of commerce to fatten her soil!

As with any battle, there were many acts of bravery played out at Waterloo:

COLONEL COLQUIT. This gallant officer, perceiving a shell that had just fallen in a square which he at that moment occupied, took it up with the most perfect composure, and threw it over the heads of the soldiers, down a declivous bank, by which the terrible effects of its explosion amidst the men were happily prevented. ⁴

What is of note here is that similar acts of courage in the Crimean War, the next major European conflict, were recognised by the award of the then recently introduced Victoria Cross.

It is always interesting to learn what great individuals chose to read, especially when they do not expect such information ever to be revealed to the general public. With regards to Napoleon, we are fortunate to know exactly which books he took with him on his final campaign. This list was published in the Morning Post of Thursday, 27 July 1815:

The field library carried by NAPOLEON with him during the last campaign, and taken on the 19th June, at Charleroi, consisted of the following works:

The Bible, Homer, Manon Lescant, Bossuet, La Pucelle, the History of Henry IV, the Conspiracy of Rienzi, La Pitie (poem by Delille), the Anarchy of Poland, La Fontaine’s Tales, History of the Progress and Downfall of the Roman Republic, Don Quixotte, Treaties of the Peace by Martens, Gil Blas, Memorial of the Revolution, The Devil upon Two Sticks, the Revolution of Corsica, the Amusements of Spa.

It was not just Napoleon’s library that was taken by the Prussians and, once again, it is the Morning Post, in this case the edition of Monday, 29 January 1816, that is our informative source:

At the time that BONAPARTE’S carriage was stopped by the Prussians near Gennape, on the evening of the battle of Waterloo, some of the soldiers, during the confusion, were known to take some of the portable articles, amongst which, it is now discovered, was his splendid diamond snuff box of very considerable value, which was, on his sudden escape, left in the carriage; it is a most splendid article, weighing upwards of six ounces of fine gold, most beautifully enamelled and ornamented with a border, and his initials on the lid in the finest brilliants, 142 in number, on a ground of mat gold; it is made to be held and opened by one hand, and is ascertained to be the same described by LA COSTE, and used by the Ex-Emperor during the battle of Waterloo. It has been purchased by Mr. BULLOCK, and is now added to the exhibition of the carriage and its interesting contents, in the Museum, Piccadilly.

Similarly, the Caledonian Mercury of Thursday, 27 July 1815, reported on a list also taken from Napoleon’s belongings after the battle:

Among his papers taken after the battle of Waterloo, was a list of eighty inhabitants of Brussels, whose persons and property were to be respected by the French army on its entrance into that city. Among these was a Flemish Nobleman, who had prepared a splendid supper for Bonaparte on the 18th. Of the remainder, several had prepared entertainments on the same day for his principal officers. Of this junta, the Nobleman, who was to have been Bonaparte’s host, has fled. The others remained at Brussels on Saturday last, apparently without fear, although it is well known that the King of the Netherlands is in possession of the list. It is also certain, that several proclamations were found among the papers of Bonaparte, addressed from Brussels, Lecken, &c. all prepared in confident expectation of his success on the 18th, the capture of Brussels, and his irruption into Flanders and Holland.

On the arrival of Bonaparte’s carriage in Brussels, a great crowd received it with huzzas, little thinking that it came as a part of the booty, and presuming that he was in it as a victor. Shortly after the discovery of the mistake, a coach-maker came up, and said he could point out a secret drawer, which might contain something of value. He immediately discovered a box in the bottom of it, containing a very large sum of gold.

Of the attachment of his followers to Bonaparte, the following anecdotes are cited as proofs founded in fact:

A favourite Mameluke, who was taken prisoner on the 18th, having heard of his master’s decisive defeat, exclaimed, ‘Then I shall never live to see his downfall.’ With these words he opened his knife, and cut out his eyes. A French soldier, who had just suffered the amputation of an arm, actuated by a like spirit, requested that the limb should be given to him; when taking it in his remaining hand, and brandishing it round his head, he exclaimed ‘Vive l’Empereur! - Vive Bonaparte!’

It is a fact, that at two o’clock on the 18th, it was reported and confidently believed at the Hague, Antwerp, Brussels, and many other places in Flanders and Holland, that the Allies had been completely defeated, and Bonaparte had obtained a decisive victory. This was done simultaneously by previous concert with his spies and secret agents, for the purpose of improving any advantage which he might obtain. By the same agency the road to Brussels from the field of battle was, during the action of the 18th, intercepted by waggons and other lumber and incumbrance: so that had our army been defeated and obliged to retreat, it must have left all its baggage and heavy artillery behind, the road having been thus rendered almost impracticable.

As we have seen, Waterloo became a popular tourist destination. For such visitors it was possible to purchase a commercially-produced Souvenir de Waterloo postcard depicting the well at Hougoumont farm which carried the following caption:

Not far from the cart entrance to Hougoumont Farm there is a well. In order to prevent an epidemic, it was used as a mass grave immediately after the battle. According to some, even living soldiers were flung into it because on some nights people apparently heard groans coming from the bottom of the well.⁵

The following brief note appeared in the pages of the edition of the Chester Courant printed on Tuesday, 11 July 1815:

BLÜCHER’S TOBACCO BOX. – The favourite veteran, it is said, keeps his tobacco in a large solid box – a little chest – which is carried with him wherever he goes, and placed in his apartment. It has also a solid lid, and upon this he has had fixed a small figure of the Duke of Wellington, that he may never fill his pipe without having a person brought to his mind, worthy of his tranquil recollections.

Another Chester-based newspaper, in this case the Chester Chronicle, declared the following on Friday, 7 July 1815 – a statement made with apparent sincerity and utter disregard for the Dutch, Belgians and Germans:

The French fought with uncommon courage, and evinced a fearlessness of death, and sustained an impetuosity in their different charges, which would probably have conquered success if their opponents had not been British.

Some of the many varied stories to emerge after the fighting related to children being born to some of those involved in the fighting, as this account published under the heading ‘Waterloo Children’ testifies:

A private of the twenty-seventh regiment, who was severely wounded, was carried off the field by his wife, then far advanced in pregnancy: she also was severely wounded by a shell, and both of them remained a considerable time in one of the hospitals at Antwerp in a hopeless state. The poor man had lost both his arms, the woman was extremely lame, and here gave birth to a daughter, to whom it is said the Duke of York has stood sponsor, and who has been baptized by the name of Frederica McMullen Waterloo.⁶

A similar story concerns an ensign called Deacon in the 73rd Foot, who was wounded in the arm at Quatre Bras:

After getting his wound dressed, he went in search of his wife, who, with her three children, he had left with the baggage guard. During the whole night, he sought her in vain; and the exertion he used was more than he could bear, and he was conveyed by the baggage train to Brussels.

The poor wife, in the meantime, who had heard from some of the men that her husband was wounded, passed the whole night in searching for him among the wounded, as they passed. At length, she was informed that he had been conveyed to Brussels and her chief anxiety then was how to get there. Conveyances there were not to be got; and she was in the last stage of pregnancy, she made the best way on foot, with her children, exposed to the violence of the terrific storm of thunder, lightning, and rain, which continued unabated for about ten hours. Faint, exhausted, and wet to the skin, having no clothes than a black silk dress, and light shawl, yet, she happily surmounted all these difficulties; reached Brussels on the morning of the 18th; and found her husband in very comfortable quarters, where she also was accommodated and the next day gave birth to a fine girl, which was afterwards christened ‘Waterloo Deacon’.⁷

Some sixty years after the battle, the Ipswich Journal of 16 December 1876, reported the following:

WATERLOO – There is now staying on a visit to Captain Kerrich at Geldeston, an old lady who was actually present and took a passive part in the battle of Waterloo. Madame Van Cutsem, now the farmer of Hougoumont, was at the time the gardener’s daughter at the Chȃteau of Hougoumont, and aged five years. Her father, the gardener, stuck to his post, retaining his little daughter as company. the Chȃteau itself was occupied by the British Guards, and was throughout the whole of the memorable 18th June. 1815, the grand and principle object of attack. Madame has a very vivid recollection of the kindness of our soldiers, who treated her as a pet, and kept throwing her bits of biscuit out of her haversacks wherewith to amuse. At last the chȃteau was shelled in the afternoon, and was set fire to by Jerome Bonaparte. Madame was then conducted by a sergeant of the Guards to a back gate. And her retreat secured into the forest of Soignies. Madame, a widow, is of course advanced in years, but hale and hearty, and now visiting England for the first time.⁸

The charge of the Union Brigade at Waterloo, and particularly that of the Scots Greys, caught the public imagination and the story was repeated in many of the local newspapers. This particular example was published in the Chester Courant of Tuesday, 16 September 1817, having been repeated from the Carlisle Journal:

The Scots Greys – Two troops of this gallant regiment are at present stationed in this city; some of them, who were engaged ‘mid the din of arms,’ at the ever-to-be-remembered Battle of Waterloo, relate the following anecdote of Capt. Cape, who is at present quartered here with his troop: – During the heat of the battle, and after his regiment had been shockingly cut up, he, with a boldness and intrepidity truly characteristic of the spirit of Englishmen, resolutely charged a large body of the enemy’s cavalry, at the head of only six men! – waving and cheering them on to the attack, amid the fire and smoke of an infuriated enemy.

If much ink was spilt in glorifying the deeds of the Scots Greys, an equal amount was spent eulogising Sir Tomas Picton, who famously fought at the Battle of Waterloo in top hat and tails as his luggage had not yet arrived at Brussels. He was killed by a musket ball which entered his temple. This anecdote was also printed in the Chester Courant; on this occasion it was the edition of Tuesday, 1 August 1815:

THE HEROIC PICTON. – In the desperate conflict which he sustained, on the 16th of June, at Quatre Bras, against a very superior force, he received a severe wound which he concealed from every one but his own servant, who bound it up for him, and continued his active command, till he perished gloriously in the battle of Waterloo, on the 18th. His first wound, which was never dressed, was so severe that it must have proved mortal in a few days!!!

One day after dinner at Stratfield Saye, Wellington was asked by the Right Honourable Henry Pierrepont about Copenhagen, the Duke’s mount at Waterloo:

‘Many faster horses, no doubt, many handsomer; but for bottom and endurance, never saw his fellow,’ replied Wellington according to the journal of the Reverend Julian Charles Young. ‘I’ll give you proof of it. On the 17th, early in the day, I had a horse shot under me. Few know, but it was so. Before ten o’clock I got on Copenhagen’s back.’

After riding on him throughout a very long day, Wellington got back to his headquarters, ‘… and thinking how bravely my old horse had carried me all day, I could not help going up to his head to tell him so by a few caresses. But hang me, if, when I was giving him a slap of approbation on his hind-quarters, he did not fling out one of his hind legs with as much vigour as if he had been in stable for a couple of days. Remember, gentlemen, he had been out with me on his back for upwards of ten hours, and had carried me eight and twenty miles besides. I call that bottom! Ey?’⁹

We have read of the exploits and astonishing survival of Colonel Frederick Ponsonby of the 12th Light Dragoons, and to this we can add a touching postscript:

The Baron de Lussat, formally deputy for his department, the Basses Pyrenees, and a gentleman universally respected and beloved by all who knew him, was a major in the [French] Dragoons. After he had quitted the army he travelled in the East for some years, and on his return, at Malta, was introduced to Sir F. Ponsonby, then a Major General and governor of the island. In the course of conversation, the Battle of Waterloo was discussed; and on Ponsonby recounting his many narrow escapes and the kind treatment he had received from a French officer.

M. De Laussant said, ‘Was he not in such-and-such a uniform?’ ‘He was’, said Sir F. ‘And did he not say so-and-so to you, and was not the cloak of such-and-such a colour?’ ‘I remember it perfectly’, was the answer. Several other details were entered into, which I now forget, but which left no doubt upon Ponsonby’s mind that he saw before him the man to whom he owed his life.¹⁰

The following description is an extract of a letter from an eyewitness to the fighting during the Battle of Waterloo:

I believe you may rely on the following anecdote, which I have not yet observed to have got into print. After the desperate charge of the French in the battle of Waterloo, when our illustrious Chief was actually within a hollow square; Bonaparte finding nothing could shake or move the solidity of the British line, was obliged to retire; and an Officer of our Life Guards, lying on the field, heard him distinctly say, in passing to an Aide-de-Camp – Ces Angla is sont sigrand bêtes, qu’ils ne sauvent pas quand ils sont battus – ‘These English are such beasts, that they do not know when they are beaten.’ - What a compliment from such a man in such a situation! He was never seen again on the field; so that it may be called the last speech, confession, and dying words of the bitterest foe that Great Britain ever had.

Though the author of the following piece does not reveal the identity of the cavalry regiment in question, it is highly likely that it is the Duke of Cumberland Hussars which, as we have seen, retired from the battlefield in unusual circumstances:

A very gay regiment of gentlemen light horse volunteers were in the battle of Waterloo; all inhabitants of a continental city, which I shall not name. An opportunity occurred for them to charge the French cavalry, and an aid-du-camp came to them with an order or request to that effect from Lord Wellington. Their colonel, in great surprise, objected the enemy’s strength – their cuirasses – and the consideration, which had unaccountably, he said, escaped the Commander-in-Chief, that his regiment were all GENTLEMEN.

This diverting response was carried back to Lord Wellington; who dispatched the messenger again to say, that if the GENTLEMEN would take post upon an eminence, which he pointed to in the rear, they would have AN EXCELLENT VIEW of the battle; and he would leave the choice of a proper time to charge entirely to their own sagacity and discretion, in which he had the fullest confidence! The colonel actually thanked the aid-du-camp, for this distinguished post of honour, and followed by his gallant train with their very high plumes (the present great point of continental military foppery), was out of danger in a moment.¹¹

The many accounts detailing Napoleon’s actions in the fighting include:

After the battle of the 18th Bonaparte is said to have passed 40 hours without eating or speaking! – On the field of battle was found a PORTABLE OBSERVATORY, on which he was mounted during the action, but from which he very deliberately descended, upon perceiving a storm gathering round UXBRIDGE!¹²

In a book containing hitherto unpublished documents, the author claimed that,

The following details of this incident are gathered from the most reliable French and British sources: Captain Harry Wyndham (afterwards General Sir H. Wyndham, KCB, MP) was a son of the third Earl of Egremont, and had already seen eight general engagements in the Peninsular War, although on the day of the battle of Waterloo he was not yet twenty-five years old … Wyndham is remembered by an incident which occurred immediately after the battle as darkness was falling upon the field.

Pressing on in the general pursuit of the French, he saw one of the Imperial carriages attempting to escape, and soon ascertained that the occupant was none other than Napoleon’s brother Jerome against whose columns he had been fighting all day [at Hougoumont]. Quick as thought he opened the carriage-door, only to catch a glimpse of Jerome as he leapt out by the other door and disappeared in the darkness.¹³

More than three years after Waterloo stories such as the following one from the Caledonian Mercury of Thursday, 17 September 1818 were still appearing:

At the ever memorable battle of Waterloo, a subaltern of the British infantry was wounded and made prisoner. Shortly after this event, the French regiment by whom he had been taken gave way, leaving the English officer, and one of their own men, who was wounded (his leg broken) on the ground – the Frenchman deliberately collected several of the cartouch boxes of his fallen comrades, seating himself among them with his rifle, placing two or three knapsacks before him as a rest for his piece. In this manner he loaded and fired no less than thirty or forty rounds at an English regiment, which was drawn up at a short distance in his front, bringing down a man at every shot.

At length the British regiment charged over the ground where this determined fellow and the wounded officer lay. Shortly after our informant was removed, and notwithstanding every inquiry he could afterwards make, never could discover what became of this Frenchman, whom he describes as quite a boy, not having been more than sixteen or seventeen years of age.

Even civilians found themselves embroiled in the battle:

All the inhabitants had fled from the village of Mont St. Jean previous to the action, and even Waterloo was deserted; but in a farm-house, at the end of the village, one woman remained during the whole of the day, shut up in a garret, from which she could see nothing, and without any means of gaining intelligence of what was passing, while the troops were fighting man to man, and sword to sword, at the very doors; while shells were bursting in at the windows, and while the cannon-balls were breaking through the wooden-gates into the farm-yard, and striking against the walls of the house.

This woman was the farmer ’s wife: and, when asked what motive could induce her to adopt such extraordinary conduct, she replied with great simplicity, that she had a great many cows and calves, and poultry, and pigs – in fact, that all she had in the world was there; and that, if she left them, they would be destroyed.¹⁴

During the retreat from Waterloo Major M. Lemonnier-Delafosse reached Beaumont with General Foy who had been wounded in the shoulder:

We led General Foy to a good looking house and asked the lady there for something with which to make him some soup. ‘Alas, gentlemen! This is the tenth general who has come to my house since daybreak. I have nothing left!’¹⁵

Some of those who had been assisted by the local population returned to pay their respects:

Prince Blücher on his way to the Prussian dominions gave occasion to several fetes. In passing through Belgium, he desired to see again, at Ligny, the place where, thrown from his horse, he lay upon the ground during the pursuit and hasty return of a part of the French army. After remaining there some time conversing with his aide-de-camp, he generously recompensed a miller who had assisted him in his critical situation [when he had been ridden over]. The miller at Ligny, recompensed by Prince Blucher on his return from France, addressed the following letter to the editor of the Brussels Oracle:

Prince Blucher, on his return, called at my house with his aides-de-camp; his modesty concealed his illustrious name, and I did not recollect him. He asked me many questions concerning my losses, and my melancholy situation.

Alas! it was easy for me to answer that I had saved nothing, either in my house, or on the lands which I farm, and that the war had reduced my family to misery, so that I could not pay my contributions. He asked me the amount of them, I told him 80 francs, which he immediately gave me. He departed; and when he got to Namur, he sent me four pieces of 40 francs each, and one of 20 francs.’ It was from this messenger, that I learnt the name of this great Prince; his generosity honours him; his modesty ennobles him; and my heart thanks him.¹⁶

Under the headline, ‘The Battle of Waterloo’, the following appeared in the Caledonian Mercury of Thursday, 27 July 1815:

A party of gentlemen who returned to town on Tuesday, from a visit to the scene of the late battles in Flanders, relate the following anecdotes:-

A British officer, who was made prisoner in the late battle of the 16th, was brought before Bonaparte, for examination. Being asked by Bonaparte ‘Who commands the cavalry?’ he answered, Lord Uxbridge. ‘No, Paget,’ replied Bonaparte. The officer then explained that they meant the same person, and Bonaparte nodded assent. He was then asked, ‘who commanded in Chief?’ and answered, the Duke of Wellington; upon which he observed, ‘No, that cannot be, for he is sick.’

It seems that his Grace had received a fall from his horse, on the 14th, and was reported to be indisposed in consequence, and Bonaparte had received intelligence to that effect. The conversation continued in this line for a considerable time, during which Bonaparte shewed himself perfectly acquainted with the strength and position of the several divisions of the allied armies, and the names of their several commanders. As they were successively mentioned, Bonaparte occasionally remarked, ‘Oh! Yes, that division cannot be up in time.’ ‘This division cannot be up in a day’ and so on.

A most unusual story was published in the Leeds Intelligencer under the heading, ‘Waterloo interesting Anecdote’:

Serjeant Weir, of the Scots Greys was pay-serjeant of his troop, and as such, might have been excused serving in action, and, perhaps, he should not have been forward; but on such a day as the battle of Waterloo, he requested to be allowed to charge with the regiment. In one of the charges he fell, mortally wounded, and was left on the field. Corporal Scot of the same regiment (who lost a leg,) asserts, that when the field was searched for the wounded and slain, the body of Serjeant Weir was found with his name written on his forehead, by his own finger dipped in his own blood. This, his comrade said, he was supposed to have done that his body might be found, and known, and that it might not be imagined he had disappeared with the money of the troop.¹⁷

This narrative, seemingly written at Waterloo, is dated 15 August 1815:

Opposite the Inn, at a cottage where the Earl of Uxbridge was carried, you are shown a neat garden; in the centre of four paths, a little hillock, with a flower planted thereon, shows the sepulchre of his Lordship’s leg in an inclosure, farther behind this cottage, are interred several English Officers; one only, Colonel Fitzgerald, of the Life Guards, has a stone, with an inscription over him; many have been taken up and transmitted to England: you then proceed to Waterloo, the house of Jean Baptiste La Coste, called Belle Alliance, from whom I obtained the following particulars: –

‘About five in the morning, he was taken prisoner to serve as guide, and conducted with his hands tied behind him (that he might not escape as a former man had done) to another house belonging to him, opposite to which Buonaparte had slept. Observing the French soldiers plundering and destroying this house, he cried. Buonaparte asked what he cried for? ‘Because your soldiers are destroying all my property, and my family have nowhere to put their heads.’ Buonaparte said, ‘Do you not know that I am Emperor, and can recompense you an hundred times as much.’¹⁸

To this account is added as a footnote:

You are also shown the chair on which his Lordship [Uxbridge] sat during the operation [to have his leg amputated], exactly as it remained; and they still remember the gallant Earl’s heroic sentiments at the moment of this severe trial: but he was not seen to wince in the least, not even by contortion of features, consoling those about him in saying: ‘Who would not lose a leg for such a victory? It is true, I have a limb less; but I have a higher name in the eyes of my country.’

To some, Napoleon’s defeat was unwelcome, as this brief snippet, published under the heading ‘Disappointed Belgians’, reveals:

An opulent inhabitant of Brussels felt so confident that Buonaparte would ultimately prove victorious, that he actually prepared a splendid supper for him on the 18th, and similar preparations were made, by other persons, for his principal officers.¹⁹

‘The interesting account given by Ney of the Battle of Waterloo is considered in the British army to be correct,’ commented the editor of the Hampshire Chronicle on Monday, 24 July 1815. He went to write:

Napoleon, it is asserted, shewed more pertinacity than on any former occasion. Three messengers were dispatched to him on the hill where he had planted his observatory before he would believe that Bulow’s corps was bearing down upon the flank and rear of his forces; and until it was actually engaged with his troops, he had not abandoned the persuasion that it was the division under his Generals Grouchy and Vandamme.

Another mistake is said to have contributed to his destruction on that day. Contrary to all his former maxims, and to the known rules of tactics, he ordered the whole weight of his cavalry to press upon the British before any of their columns were broken or disordered, trusting that the troops under the Duke of Wellington were raw and undisciplined, and were consequently incapable of sustaining this ponderous charge. He was disappointed; and in this stage of the action, his ruin was complete. It is agreed by all persons versed in military science, that such an attempt, if not successful, must be fatal.

An inquest into the death of a Waterloo veteran was reported in the Royal Cornwall Gazette on Saturday, 20 July 1816:

Sunday morning, John Moss, a private in the 2d battalion of Coldstream Guards, who was at the battle of Waterloo, was removed in a dreadful state of intoxication from the door of the Rev. Dr. McCloud, in Dean-street, to St. Anne’s watch-house, and remained in a state of insensibility for a considerable time. About five o’clock he rose from his stupor, and said he should get finely reprimanded when he returned to the regiment; he afterwards retired to the privy in the lock-up room in the watch-house, and cutting and splicing his belt together, hung himself; he was 29 years of age: verdict, insanity.

Described as ‘one of the most extraordinary and most likely apocryphal stories of the day’, this story concerns a moment during the battle of the 18th. It bore the title, ‘The Duke and the Traveller’:

For a quarter of an hour, during one of the greatest crises of the Battle of Waterloo, when the Duke of Wellington had sent all his aides-de-camp with orders to the different divisions of the army, he found himself alone at the very moment when he most needed help. While watching the movements of his troops through his field-glasses, he saw Kempt’s brigade beginning a manoeuvre which, if not promptly countermanded, would probably lead to the loss of the battle. But there was no officer at hand to convey his orders. Just then he turned round in his saddle, and saw not far off a single horseman, rather quaintly attired, cooly watching the strife. The instant the Duke caught sight of him, he beckoned to him, and asked him who he was, why was he there, and how he had passed the lines.

He answered: ‘I am a traveller for a wholesale button manufactory in Birmingham, and was showing my samples in Brussels when I heard the sound of firing. Having had all my life a strong desire to see a battle, I at once got a horse, and set out for the scene of action; and, after some difficulty, I have reached this spot, whence I expect to have a good view.’

The Duke, pleased with his straightforward answer, determined to turn his sense and daring to good account, and addressed him as follows: ‘You ought to have been a soldier. Would you like to serve your country now?’

‘Yes, my lord,’ said the other.

‘Would you take a message of importance for me?’

Touching his hat in military fashion the traveller replied, ‘Were I trusted by you, sir, I would think this the proudest day of my life.’

Putting his field-glass into the man’s hands, the Duke explained to him the position of the brigade that had made the false move, and added: ‘I have no writing materials by me; see, therefore, that you are very accurate in delivering my message. He then entrusted to him a brief, emphatic order, which he made him repeat, that there might be no mistake.

The orders were barely delivered before the stranger was off at top of his horse’s speed, and soon disappeared amid the smoke of the battle. After a few minutes’ interval, the Duke turned his glass in the direction of the brigade which was at fault, and exclaimed in a joyful tone, ‘It’s all right, yet. Kempt has changed his tactics. He has got my message, for he is doing precisely as I directed him. Well done, Buttons!’

The Duke used to say he considered the alteration of Kempt’s original movement the turning point of the battle. Wishing to reward our hero for his intelligence and courage, he caused inquiries to be made for him in every direction, but in vain. It was not until many years afterwards that he accidentally heard of the man’s whereabouts, and managed to secure for him a good appointment in the West of England, in recognition of his services.²⁰

A note from the Chester Courant of Tuesday, 18 July 1815, sums up the consequences of the Battle of Waterloo which ushered in forty years of peace (but not internal stability in many countries) throughout Europe:

It is said, that immediately on the receipt of the account of the Battle of La Belle Alliance, the Prince Regent wrote with his own hand a most gracious letter of approbation to the Duke of Wellington. His Grace’s acknowledgement of this distinguished mark of favour is said to have been written under the walls of Paris, in which the Duke, after expressing his thanks, concludes by congratulating His Royal Highness, ‘on having again saved the world’.

It is perhaps fitting that we leave the last words to Wellington himself, the Duke having made the following statement which was delivered to Lady Frances Shelley in Paris shortly after its occupation by the allied armies:

‘I hope to God … that I have fought my last battle. It is a bad thing to be always fighting. While in the thick of it I am too much occupied to feel anything; but it is wretched just after. It is quite impossible to think of glory. Both mind and feelings are exhausted. I am wretched even at the moment of victory, and I always say that, next to a battle lost, the greatest misery is a battle gained.’²¹