From a hospital in Antwerp, on 24 June 1815, a wounded soldier of the 42nd Highlanders writes home to his father in Edinburgh:
‘On the 15th, about 12 o’clock at night, we turned out, and at two in the morning marched from the city of Brussels to meet the enemy, who were advancing in great force on that city. About three o’clock in the afternoon of the 16th, we came up with them. Our whole force did not exceed 12,000 men, who were fatigued after a long match of upwards of 20 miles, encumbered with knapsacks and other luggage. The day was uncommonly warm, with no water to be had on the road. However, we were brought up in order of battle.
‘The French being strongly posted in a thick wood, to the number of 40,000 men, including cavalry and lancers, gave us very little time to look round us ere the fight commenced on both sides in an awful and destructive manner, they having every advantage of us, both as to position and numbers, particularly in cavalry, as the British dragoons had not yet come up.
‘The French cavalry charged the British lines three times, and did much execution until we were obliged to form squares of battalions in order to turn them, which was executed in most gallant manner, and many hundreds of them never returned. Still they sent up fresh forces and, as often, we beat them back.
‘The battle lasted until it was quite dark, when the enemy began to give way, our poor fellows who were left alive following them as long as they could see, when night put an end to the fatigues of a well-fought day.
‘Thousands on both sides lay killed and wounded on the field of battle, and as the greater part of the action lay in cornfields along a vast tract of country, many hundreds must have died for want of assistance through the night, who were not able of themselves to crawl away. I was wounded by a musket ball which passed through my right arm and breast, and lodged on my back, from whence it was extracted by a surgeon in the hospital of this place.
‘We have heard since we came here that our fine brigade, which entered the field on that eventful day, consisting of the 3rd battalion Royal Scots, 42nd, 44th and 92nd regiments, are now formed into one battalion not exceeding in whole 400 men.
‘Lord Wellington retired in the night to wait for reinforcements, and the next day our cavalry and the rest of the army arrived. The Prussians came on the other side, and I am happy to understand the enemy got a most complete drubbing, losing cannon, baggage and a great number of prisoners. They retreated towards Valenciennes and other garrisons on their own frontiers, the allied troops pursuing them.’1
Napoleon’s equerry, Jardin Ainé, in his eyewitness account of the battle, describes the Emperor’s reaction as the tide of battle turned. ‘On the 18th, Napoleon, having left the bivouac [his headquarters at a farmhouse in the village of Caillou, near the battlefield, where he spent the night] on horseback, at half past nine in the morning, came to take up his stand half a league in advance upon a hill where he could discern the movements of the British army.
‘There he dismounted, and with his field-glass endeavoured to discover all the movements in the enemy’s line. The chief of staff suggested that they should begin the attack. He replied that they must wait, but the enemy commenced his attack at 11 o’clock, and the cannonading began on all sides. At two o’clock, nothing was yet decided. The fighting was desperate.
‘Napoleon rode through the lines and gave orders to make certain that every detail was executed with promptitude. He returned often to the spot where in the morning he had started. There he dismounted and, seating himself in a chair which was brought to him, placed his head between his hands and rested his elbows on his knees. He remained thus absorbed sometimes for half an hour, and then, rising up suddenly, would peer through his glasses on all sides to see what was happening.
‘At three o’clock, an aide-de-camp from the right wing came to tell him that they were repulsed and that the artillery was insufficient. Napoleon immediately called General Drouet in order to hasten to reinforce this army corps which was suffering so heavily, but one saw on Napoleon’s face a look of disquietude instead of the joy which it had shown on the great day of Fleurus [on 17 June, defeating the Prussians]. The whole morning he showed extreme depression. However, everything was going on as well as could be expected for the French, in spite of the uncertainty of the battle, when at six o’clock in the evening an officer of the mounted Chasseurs of the Guard came to Napoleon, raised his hand and said, “Sire, I have the honour to announce to Your Majesty that the battle is won.”
‘“Let us go forward!” Napoleon replied. “We must do better still. Courage mes braves! Let us advance!”
‘Having said that, 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 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 replied that the Guard knew how to fight, to die, but not to surrender. Our right was crushed by the [Prussian] 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 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. We marched all 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 around, 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 the equerries had in his pocket, and some moments later mounted, asking if the horse galloped well.’2
A hundred days ago when, after Napoleon’s escape from Elba, thousands of soldiers rallied to his banner and marched with him on Paris, defeat was unthinkable. For France, the muddy field of Waterloo is like another Agincourt, and for Napoleon it is the final humiliation – another abdication, another exile to another barren rock – this time to St Helena, in the south Atlantic, one of the most remote islands in the world.
For the Duke of Wellington, the ‘Iron Duke’, victory at Waterloo means immortality, for his army, respect bordering on reverence, and for Britons everywhere an enduring belief that it was their countrymen’s pluck and courage that won the day; that changed Europe forever.
Each year for the next two centuries, on the anniversary of the battle, words will flow in torrents eulogising this ‘great English victory’ or, inclusively, this ‘great British victory’, blissfully ignoring the fact that of the 118,000 allied troops that engaged 73,000 French Empire troops at Waterloo, only about one in eight were British. Most were Hanoverian, Prussian, German, Dutch and Belgian, as were half of the gun batteries. Of Wellington’s army of 67,000, many of the British regiments were Scottish and Irish. And, lest it be forgotten, there was one Australian, a Sydney-born officer on the Duke’s staff – Lieutenant Andrew Douglas White (see here).
Also largely ignored is the inconvenient fact that it was the timely arrival of 53,000 Prussians that swayed the battle Wellington’s way.
The Battle of Waterloo, for the French the fall of an empire, will be for the British a victory of mythology over history. And long after the fog of war has cleared, debate will still rage as to why the fight was won and lost. Everything from wet weather to depressive illness will be blamed. It will even be seriously suggested that because Bonaparte, suffering from haemorrhoids, was unable to command his troops from horseback, as he usually did, the battle was not won by Wellington’s tactics but lost by Napoleon’s piles.