An Infamous Army Read online

  While the Duke, accompanied by his military secretary, his aides-de-camp, the Prince of Orange, Lord Uxbridge, the diplomatic corps, and their train, was inspecting his position, the French columns were mustering upon the opposite heights. The weather was clearing fast, the mist in the hollows curling away in wreaths; and occasionally a pale shaft of sunlight would pierce through the clouds for a moment or two. The ground, intersected by hedges of beech and hornbeam, was nearly all of it under cultivation, crops of rye, wheat, barley, oats and clover standing shoulder-high, with here and there a ploughed field showing dark between the stretches of waving grain.

  The bulk of the French army had bivouacked about Genappe, but at nine o’clock, just as the Duke started to ride down his lines, the heads of the columns began to appear above the ridge to the south. Drums and trumpets were first heard, and then the music of the bands, playing a medley of martial tunes. Strains of the Marseillaise, mingled with Veillons au Salut de l’Empire, floated across the valley to the Allied lines. Four columns, destined to form the first line, came marching over the hill, and deployed in perfect order, just as seven others appeared descending the slope. From the Allied lines the whole magnificent spectacle was watched by thousands of pairs of eyes. Knowledgeable gentlemen exclaimed at intervals: ‘That’s Reille’s corps, moving off to their left! . . . that’s D’Erlon! . . . those are Kellermann’s cuirassiers!’

  The mist still lay white in the valley, but beyond it, less than a mile distant, the ground was gradually becoming covered with dark masses of infantry. As the divisions deployed, the cavalry began to appear. Squadron after squadron of cuirassiers galloped over the brow of the hill, their steel breastplates and copper crests occasionally caught by the feeble rays of sunlight trying to pierce through the clouds. The slope was soon vivid with bright, shifting colours, as Chasseurs à Cheval, blazing with green and gold, giant Carabiniers in white, brass-casqued Dragoons, Hussars in every colour, Grenadiers à Cheval in imperial blue with bearskin shakos, and red Lancers with towering white plumes and swallow-tailed pennons fluttering on the ends of their lances, cantered into their positions.

  It was an hour and a half before the movement which brought the French Army into six formidable lines, forming six double W’s, was completed, and during that time the Duke of Wellington was employed in inspecting his own position. Sir Thomas Picton, still in his frockcoat and round hat, grimly concealing even from his aides-de-camp that an ugly wound, roughly bandaged by his servant after Quatre-Bras, lay beneath his shabby coat, had also inspected it very early in the morning, and had told Sir John Colborne, of Adam’s brigade, that he considered it to be the most damnable place for fighting he had ever seen.

  Lord Uxbridge, tall and handsome in his magnificent hussar dress, preferred the position to that of Quatre-Bras, but was fretted by the impossibility, owing to the suddenness of the order to advance on June 16th, of forming his cavalry into divisions; and by the circumstance of having been formed by the Duke, at the eleventh hour, that the Prince of Orange desired him to take over the command of all the Dutch-Belgic cavalry. Uxbridge accepted the charge, but was forced to observe that he thought it unfortunate that he should have had no opportunity of making himself acquainted with any of the officers, or their regiments. He was anxiously awaiting the arrival of the Prussian corps to relieve Vivian’s and Vandeleur’s much needed brigades on the left flank, and more than once adverted to its non-appearance. The Duke, whose irritability fell away from him the moment he set foot on a battlefield, replied calmly that they would be up presently: the roads were in a bad state, which would account for their delay.

  Baron Müffling, knowing the Prussian chief of staff’s mistrust of the Duke, was also anxious, and had already despatched one of his Jägers to try to get news of Bülow’s advance. He knew that the Duke had placed the weakened 5th Division on the left centre in the expectation of its being immediately strengthened by Prussian infantry: and having by this time identified himself far more with the British than with the Prussian Army, Bülow’s delay caused him a good deal of inward perturbation. Being a sensible man, he refused to permit his anxiety to oppress him, but fixed his mind instead on the problems immediately before him. He rode beside the Duke, acquainting himself with the disposition of the Allied troops, and occasionally proffering a suggestion. When he went with him into the château of Hougoumont, he felt considerable doubts of the possibility of the post’s being held by a mere detachment of British Guards. But the Duke seemed perfectly satisfied. He rode into the courtyard through the great north gate, and was met by Lieutenant-Colonel Sir James Macdonnell, a huge Highlander with narrowed, humorous eyes, a square jowl, and the frame of an ox, whom he greeted in a cheerful tone, and with marked friendliness. Macdonnell took him round the fortifications, showing him the work which the garrison had been engaged on during the night. The brick walls of the garden had been pierced for loopholes; wooden platforms erected to enable a second firing line to shoot over the walls; and flagstones, timbers, and broken wagons used as barricades to the various entrances. The Duke gave the whole a hasty survey, and, as he prepared to mount his horse again, nodded to Müffling, and said: ‘They call me a Sepoy General. Well! Napoleon shall see today how a Sepoy General can defend a position!’

  Müffling bowed, but thought the chances of holding the château so small that he felt obliged to express his doubts. ‘It is not, in my opinion, sir, a strong post. I confess, I find it hard to believe that it can be held against a determined assault.’

  The Duke swinging himself into the saddle, gave a short laugh, and pointed at the impassive Highlander. ‘Ah! You do not know Macdonnell!’ he said.

  Those of his staff who stood near him laughed; the Duke raised two fingers to his hat, and rode off.

  The Baron caught him up on the avenue leading to the Nivelles road, and began to urge the propriety of strengthening the post. His trained eye had instantly perceived that it was of paramount importance, for the possession of it by the French would enable them to enfilade the Allied lines from its shelter. ‘Even supposing that the garrison should be able to hold it against assault, Duke, how will it be if the enemy advances up the Nivelles road?’ he argued.

  ‘We shall see,’ responded his lordship. ‘Let us take a look at the ground.’

  An inspection of the Nivelles road, and the country to the south of it, resulted in his lordship’s drawing in his right wing a little, raising a battery to swept the road, and posting some infantry in the rear. Several aides-de-camp went galloping off with brief messages scrawled on leaves torn from his lordship’s pocketbook, and the Duke turned his attention to the wood to the south of the château, which was occupied by Saltoun’s light companies of the Guards. His lordship altered this arrangement, withdrawing the Guards into the garden and orchard, and desiring the Prince of Orange to send orders to Prince Bernhard to despatch a battalion of his Nassau troops to occupy the wood. Colonel Audley was sent at the same time to bring up a detachment of Hanoverians, and rode off in a spatter of mud kicked up by his horse’s hooves.

  Upon his return to the Duke, who had moved towards the centre of the position, he passed by the 1st Guards, and caught a glimpse of Lord Harry Alastair, looking rather tired, but apparently in good spirits. He called a greeting to him, and Lord Harry came up, and stood for a moment with his hand on the Colonel’s saddlebow. ‘Enjoying yourself Harry?’ asked Audley.

  ‘Lord, yes! You know we were engaged at Quatre-Bras, don’t you? By Jove, there was never anything like it, was there? If only poor Hay—but never mind that!’ he added hastily, blinking his sandy lashes. ‘It’s just that he was rather a friend of mine. I say, though, what do you think? I’m damned if William Lennox didn’t present himself for duty this morning! Nothing of him to be seen for bandages, and of course General Maitland sent him packing. He’s just gone off, he and his father. Devilish sportsmanlike of him to come, I thought!’ He detained the Colonel a moment longer, saying: ‘Have you seen anything of George, s