[For the following very interesting Narrative, our acknowledgments are due to the
United Service Journal,—a work which has just started with the year, and
to which, in the "customary" phrase, we wish "many happy returns."]
The summer of 1815 found me at Brussels. The town was then crowded to
excess—it seemed a city of splendour; the bright and varied uniforms of so many
different nations, mingled with the gay dresses of female beauty in the Park, and the
Allée Verte was thronged with superb horses and brilliant equipages.
The tables d'hôte resounded with a confusion of tongues which might have
rivalled the Tower of Babel, and the shops actually glittered with showy toys hung
out to tempt money from the pockets of the English, whom the Flemings seemed to
consider as walking bags of gold. Balls and plays, routs and dinners were the only
topics of conversation; and though some occasional rumours were spread that the
French had made an incursion within the lines, and carried off a few head of cattle,
the tales were too vague to excite the least alarm. I was then lodging with a Madame
Tissand, on the Place du Sablon, and I occasionally chatted with my hostess on the
critical posture of affairs. Every Frenchwoman loves politics, and Madame Tissand,
who was deeply interested in the subject, continually assured me of her complete
devotion to the English.—"Ces maudits François!" cried she one day, with
almost terrific energy, when speaking of Napoleon's army. "If they should dare come
to Brussels, I will tear their eyes out!"—"Oh, aunt!" sighed her pretty niece;
"remember that Louis is a conscript!"—"Silence, Annette. I hate even my son,
since he is fighting against the brave English!"—This was accompanied with a
bow to me; but I own that I thought Annette's love far more interesting than Madame's
Anglicism.
On the 3rd of June, I went to see ten thousand troops reviewed by the Dukes of
Wellington and Brunswick. Imagination cannot picture any thing finer than the
ensemble of this scene. The splendid uniforms of the English, Scotch, and
Hanoverians, contrasted strongly with the gloomy black of the Brunswick Hussars,
whose veneration for the memory of their old Duke, could be only be equalled by their
devotion to his son. The firm step of the Highlanders seemed irresistible; and as
they moved in solid masses, they appeared prepared to sweep away every thing that
opposed them. In short, I was delighted with the cleanliness, military order, and
excellent appointments of the men generally, and I was particularly struck with the
handsome features of the Duke of Brunswick, whose fine, manly figure, as he galloped
across the field, quite realized my beau ideal of a warrior. The next time I
saw the Duke of Brunswick was at the dress ball, given at the Assembly-rooms in the
Rue Ducale, on the night of the 15th of June. I stood near him when he received the
information that a powerful French force was advancing in the direction of Charleroy.
"Then it is high time for me to be off," said the Duke, and I never saw him alive
again. The assembly broke up abruptly, and in half an hour drums were beating and
bugles sounding. The good burghers of the city, who were almost all enjoying their
first sleep, started from their beds at the alarm, and hastened to the streets,
wrapped in the first things they could find. The most ridiculous and absurd rumours
were rapidly circulated and believed. The most general impression seemed to be that
the town was on fire; the next that the Duke of Wellington had been assassinated; but
when it was discovered that the French were advancing, the consternation became
general, and every one hurried to the Place Royale, where the Hanoverians and
Brunswickers were already mustering.
About one o'clock in the morning of the 16th, the whole population of Brussels
seemed in motion. The streets were crowded as in full day; lights flashed to and fro;
artillery and baggage-wagons were creaking in every direction; the drums beat to arms,
and the bugles sounded loudly "the dreadful note of preparation." The noise and
bustle surpassed all description; here were horses plunging and kicking amidst a
crowd of terrified burghers; there lovers parting from their weeping mistresses. Now
the attention was attracted by a park of artillery thundering through the streets;
and now, by a group of officers disputing loudly the demands of their imperturbable
Flemish landlords; for not even the panic which prevailed could frighten the Flemings
out of a single *stiver; screams and yells occasionally rose above the busy hum that
murmured through the crowd, but the general sound resembled the roar of the distant
ocean. Between two and three o'clock the Brunswickers marched from the town, still
clad in the mourning which they wore for their old duke, and burning to avenge his
death. Alas! they had a still more fatal loss to lament ere they returned. At four,
the whole disposable force under the Duke of Wellington was collected together, but
in such haste, that many of the officers had not time to change their silk stockings
and dancing shoes; and some, quite overcome by drowsiness, were seen lying asleep
about the ramparts, still holding, however, with a firm hand, the reins of their
horses which were grazing by their sides. About five o'clock, the word "march" was
heard in all directions, and instantly the whole mass appeared to move
simultaneously. I conversed with several of the officers previous to their departure,
and not one appeared to have the slightest idea of an approaching engagement. The
Duke of Wellington and his staff did not quit Brussels till past eleven o'clock; and
it was not till some time after they were gone, that it was generally known the whole
French army, including a strong corps of cavalry, was within a few miles of Quatre
Bras, where the brave Duke of Brunswick first met the enemy:
"And foremost fighting—fell."
Dismay seized us all, when we found that a powerful French army was really within
twenty-eight miles of us; and we shuddered at the thought of the awful contest which
was taking place. For my own part, I had never been so near a field of battle before,
and I cannot describe my sensations. We knew that our army had no alternative but to
fly, or fight with a force four times stronger than its own: and though we could not
doubt British bravery, we trembled at the fearful odds to which our men must be
exposed. Cannon, lances, and swords, were opposed to the English bayonet alone.
Cavalry we had none on the first day, for the horses had been sent to grass, and the
men were scattered too widely over the country, to be collected at such short notice.
Under these circumstances, victory was impossible; indeed, nothing but the stanch
bravery, and exact discipline of the men, prevented the foremost of our infantry from
being annihilated; and though the English maintained their ground during the day, at
night a retreat became necessary. The agony of the British, resident at Brussels,
during the whole of this eventful day, sets all language at defiance. No one thought
of rest or food; but every one who could get a telescope, flew to the ramparts to
strain his eyes, in vain attempts to discover what was passing. At length, some
soldiers in French uniforms were seen in the distance; and as the news flew from
mouth to mouth, it was soon magnified into a rumour that the French were coming.
Horror seized the English and their adherents, and the hitherto concealed partizans
of the French began openly to avow themselves; tri-coloured ribbons grew suddenly
into great request, and cries of "Vive l'Empereur!" resounded through the air. These
exclamations, however, were changed to "Vive le Lord Vellington!" when it was
discovered that the approaching French came as captives, not conquerors.
Between seven and eight o'clock in the evening, I walked up to the Porte de
Namur, where the wounded were just beginning to arrive. Fortunately some
commodious caravans had arrived from England, only a few days before, and these were
now entering the gate. They were filled principally with Brunswickers and
Highlanders; and it was an appalling spectacle to behold the very soldiers, whose
fine martial appearance and excellent appointments I had so much admired at the
review, now lying helpless and mutilated—their uniforms soiled with blood and
dirt—their mouths blackened with biting their cartridges, and all the splendour
of their equipments entirely destroyed. When the caravans stopped, I approached them,
and addressed a Scotch officer who was only slightly wounded in the knee.—"Are
the French coming, sir?" asked I.—"Egad I can't tell," returned he. "We know
nothing about it. We had enough to do to take care of ourselves. They are fighting
like devils; and I'm off again as soon as my wound's dressed."—An English lady,
elegantly attired, now rushed forwards—"Is my husband safe?" asked she
eagerly.—"Good God! Madam," replied one of the men, "how can we possibly tell! I don't know
the fate of those who were fighting by my side; and I could not see a yard round me."
She scarcely heeded what he said; and rushed out of the gate, wildly repeating her
question to every one she met. Some French prisoners now arrived. I noticed one, a
fine fellow, who had had one arm shot off; and though the bloody and mangled tendons
were still undressed, and had actually dried and blackened in the sun, he marched
along with apparent indifference, carrying a loaf of bread under his remaining arm,
and shouting "Vive l'Empereur!" I asked him if the French were
coming.—"Je le crois bien," returned he, "preparez un souper, mes
bourgeois—il soupera à Bruxelles ce soir."—Pretty information for
me, thought I. "Don't believe him, sir," said a Scotchman, who lay close beside me,
struggling to speak, though apparently in the last agony. "It's all
right—I—assure—you—." The whole of Friday night was passed in
the greatest anxiety; the wounded arrived every hour, and the accounts they brought
of the carnage which was taking place were absolutely terrific. Saturday morning was
still worse; an immense number of supernumeraries and runaways from the army came
rushing in at the Porte de Namur, and these fugitives increased the public
panic to the utmost. Sauve qui peut! now became the universal feeling; all
ties of friendship or kindred were forgotten, and an earnest desire to quit Brussels
seemed to absorb every faculty. To effect this object, the greatest sacrifices were
made. Every beast of burthen, and every species of vehicle were put into requisition
to convey persons and property to Antwerp. Even the dogs and fish-carts did not
escape—enormous sums were given for the humblest modes of conveyance, and when
all failed, numbers set off on foot. The road soon became choked up—cars,
wagons, and carriages of every description were joined together in an immovable mass
and property to an immense amount was abandoned by its owners, who were too much
terrified even to think of the loss they were sustaining. A scene of frightful riot
and devastation ensued. Trunks, boxes, and portmanteaus were broken open and pillaged
without mercy; and every one who pleased, helped himself to what he liked with
impunity. The disorder was increased by a rumour, that the Duke of Wellington was
retreating towards Brussels, in a sort of running fight, closely pursued by the
enemy; the terror of the fugitives now almost amounted to frenzy, and they flew like
maniacs escaping from a madhouse. It is scarcely possible to imagine a more
distressing scene. A great deal of rain had fallen during the night, and the unhappy
fugitives were obliged literally to wade through mud. I had, from the first,
determined to await my fate in Brussels; but on this eventful morning, I walked a few
miles on the road to Antwerp, to endeavour to assist my flying countrymen. I was soon
disgusted with the scene, and finding all my efforts to be useful, unavailing, I
returned to the town, which now seemed like a city of the dead; for a gloomy silence
reigned through the streets, like that fearful calm which precedes a storm; the shops
were all closed, and all business was suspended. During the panic of Friday and
Saturday, the sacrifice of property made by the British residents was enormous. A
chest of drawers sold for five francs, a bed for ten, and a horse for fifty. In one
instance, which fell immediately under my own observation, some household furniture
was sold for one thousand francs, (about 40l.) for which the owner had given seven
thousand francs, (280l.) only three weeks before. This was by no means a solitary
instance; indeed in most cases, the loss was much greater, and in many, houses full
of furniture were entirely deserted, and abandoned to pillage.
Sunday morning was ushered in by one of the most dreadful tempests I ever
remember. The crashing of thunder was followed by the roar of cannon, which was now
distinctly heard from the ramparts, and it is not possible to describe the fearful
effect of this apparent mockery of heaven. I never before felt so forcibly the
feebleness of man. The rain was tremendous—the sky looked like that in
Poussin's picture of the Deluge, and a heavy black cloud spread, like the wings of a
monstrous vulture, over Brussels. The wounded continued to arrive the whole of
Saturday night and Sunday morning, in a condition which defies description. They
appeared to have been dragged for miles through oceans of mud; their clothes were
torn, their caps and feathers cut to pieces, and their shoes and boots trodden off.
The accounts they brought were vague and disheartening—in fact, we could only
ascertain that the Duke of Wellington had late on Saturday taken up his position at
Waterloo, and that there he meant to wait the attack of the French. That this attack
had commenced we needed not to be informed, as the roar of the cannon became every
instant more distinct, till we even fancied that it shook the town. The wounded
represented the field of battle as a perfect quagmire, and their appearance testified the truth
of their assertions. About two o'clock a fresh alarm was excited by the horses, which
had been put in requisition to draw the baggage-wagons, being suddenly galloped
through the town. We fancied this a proof of defeat, but the fact was simply thus:
the peasants, from whom the horses had been taken, finding the drivers of the wagons
absent from their posts, seized the opportunity to cut the traces, and gallop off
with their cattle. As this explanation, however, was not given till the following
day, we thought that all was over; the few British adherents who had remained were in
despair, and tri-coloured cockades were suspended from every house. Even I, for the
first time, lost all courage, and my only consolation was the joy of Annette.
"England cannot be much injured by the loss of a Single battle," thought I; "and as
for me, it is of little consequence whether I am a prisoner on parole, or a mere
wanderer at pleasure. I may easily resign myself to my fate; but this poor girl would
break her heart if she lost her lover, for he is every thing to her." In this manner
I reasoned, but in spite of my affected philosophy, I could not divest myself of all
natural feeling; and when about six o'clock we heard that the French had given way,
and that the Prussians had eluded Grouchè, and were rapidly advancing to the
field, I quite forgot poor Annette, and thanked God with all my heart. At eight
o'clock there was no longer any doubt of our success, for a battalion of troops
marched into the town, and brought intelligence that the Duke of Wellington had
gained a complete victory, and that the French were flying, closely pursued by the
Prussians. Sunday night was employed in enthusiastic rejoicing. The tri-coloured
cockades had all disappeared, and the British colours were hoisted from every window.
The great bell of St. Gudule tolled, to announce the event to the surrounding
neighbourhood; and some of the English, who had only hidden themselves, ventured to
re-appear. The only alloy to the universal rapture which prevailed, was the number of
the wounded; the houses were insufficient to contain half; and the churches and
public buildings were littered down with straw for their reception. The body of the
Duke of Brunswick, who fell at Quatre Bras, was brought in on Saturday, and taken to
the quarters he had occupied near the Chateau de Lacken. I was powerfully affected
when I saw the corpse of one, whom I had so lately marked as blooming with youth and
health; but my eyes soon became accustomed to horrors. On Monday morning, June 19th,
I hastened to the field of battle: I was compelled to go through the forest de
Soignês, for the road was so completely choked up as to be
impassable.—The dead required no help; but thousands of wounded, who could not
help themselves, were in want of every thing; their features, swollen by the sun and
rain, looked livid and bloated. One poor fellow had a ghastly wound across his lower
lip, which gaped wide, and showed his teeth and gums, as though a second and
unnatural mouth had opened below his first. Another, quite blind from a gash across
his eyes, sat upright, gasping for breath, and murmuring, "De l'eau! de l'eau!" The
anxiety for water, was indeed most distressing. The German "Vaser! vaser!" and the
French "De l'eau! de l'eau!" still seem sounding in my ears. I am convinced that
hundreds must have perished from thirst alone, and they had no hope of assistance,
for even humane persons were afraid of approaching the scene of blood, lest they
should be taken in requisition to bury the dead; almost every person who came near,
being pressed into that most disgusting and painful service. This general burying was
truly horrible: large square holes were dug about six feet deep, and thirty or forty
fine young fellows stripped to their skins were thrown into each, pell mell, and then
covered over in so slovenly a manner, that sometimes a hand or foot peeped through
the earth. One of these holes was preparing as I passed, and the followers of the
army were stripping the bodies before throwing them into it, whilst some Russian Jews
were assisting in the spoilation of the dead, by chiseling out their teeth! an
operation which they performed with the most brutal indifference. The clinking
hammers of these wretches jarred horribly upon my ears, and mingled strangely with
the occasional report of pistols, which seemed echoing each other at stated
intervals, from different corners of the field. I could not divine the meaning of
these shots, till I was informed, that they proceeded from the Belgians, who were
killing the wounded horses. Hundreds of these fine creatures were, indeed, galloping
over the plain, kicking and plunging, apparently mad with pain, whilst the poor
wounded wretches who saw them coming, and could not get out of their way, shrieked in
agony, and tried to shrink back to escape from them, but in vain. Soon after, I saw
an immense horse (one of the Scotch Greys) dash towards a colonel of the Imperial
Guard, who had had his leg shattered; the horse was frightfully wounded, and part of
a broken lance
still rankled in one of its wounds. It rushed snorting and plunging past the
Frenchman, and I shall never forget his piercing cry as it approached. I flew
instantly to the spot, but ere I reached it the man was dead; for, though I do not
think the horse had touched him, the terror he felt had been too much for his
exhausted frame. Sickened with the immense heaps of slain, which spread in all
directions as far as the eye could reach, I was preparing to return, when as I was
striding over the dead and dying, and meditating on the horrors of war, my attention
was attracted by a young Frenchman, who was lying on his back, apparently at the last
gasp. There was something in his countenance which interested me, and I fancied,
though I knew not when, or where, that I had seen him before. Some open letters were
lying around, and one was yet grasped in his hand as though he had been reading it to
the last moment. My eye fell upon the words "Mon cher fils," in a female hand, and I
felt interested for the fate of so affectionate a son. When I left home in the
morning, I had put a flask of brandy and some biscuit into my pocket, in the hope
that I might be useful to the wounded, but when I gazed on the countless multitude
which strewed the field, I felt discouraged from attempting to relieve them. Chance
had now directed my attention to one individual, and I was resolved to try to save
his life. His thigh was broken, and he was badly wounded on the left wrist, but the
vital parts were untouched, and his exhaustion seemed to arise principally from the
loss of blood. I poured a few drops of brandy into his mouth, and crumbling my
biscuit contrived to make him swallow a small particle. The effects of the dose were
soon visible; his eyes half opened, and a faint tinge of colour spread over his
cheek. I administered a little more, and it revived him so much that he tried to sit
upright. I raised him, and contriving to place him in such a manner, as to support
him against the dead body of a horse, I put the flask and biscuit by his side, and
departed in order to procure assistance to remove him. I recollected that a short
time before, I had seen a smoke issuing from a deep ditch, and that my olfactory
nerves had been saluted by a savoury smell as I passed. Guided by these indications,
I retraced my steps to the spot, and found some Scotch soldiers sheltered by a hedge,
very agreeably employed in cooking a quantity of beefsteaks over a wood tire, in a
French cuirass!! I was exceedingly diverted at this novel kind of frying-pan, which
served also as a dish; and after begging permission to dip a biscuit in their gravy
for the benefit of my patient, I told my tale, and was gratified by the eagerness
which they manifested to assist me; one ran to catch a horse with a soft Hussar
saddle, (there were hundreds galloping over the field,) and the rest went with me to
the youth, whom we found surprisingly recovered, though he was still unable to speak.
The horse was brought, and as we raised the young Frenchman to put him upon it, his
vest opened, and his "livret" fell out. This is a little book which every
French soldier is obliged to carry, and which contains an account of his name, age,
pay, accoutrements, and services. I picked it up, and offered it to my
patient—but the young man murmured the name of "Annette," and fainted.
"Annette!" the name thrilled through every nerve. I hastily opened the livret,
and found that it was indeed Louis Tissand whom I had saved! The rest is soon told.
Louis reached Brussels in safety, and even Madame's selfishness gave way to rapture
on recovering her son. As to Annette—but why perplex myself to describe her
feelings? If my readers have ever loved, they may conceive them. Louis soon
recovered; indeed with such a nurse he could not fail to get well. When I next
visited Brussels, I found Annette surrounded by three or tour smiling cherubs, to
whom I was presented as le bon Anglais, who preserved the life of their
papa.
