The Battle

by Alessandro Barbero

  But Wellington was counting on the arrival of the Prussians, which would change everything. Of course, Blücher’s army was not so imposing as it had been two days previously, when it mustered around 95,000 infantry, 13,000 cavalry, and 5,000 artillery with 300 guns—that is, almost double the force that Wellington commanded. Allowing for the dead, the wounded, prisoners, and deserters, the disaster at Ligny and the subsequent retreat had cost the Prussians a good fourth of their entire army. Even in this condition, however, the remaining forces were more than sufficient to tip the balance in favor of Napoleon’s adversaries, provided that they could reach the battlefield at Waterloo in time; Bülow’s IV Corps alone, which had been marching on Waterloo since the first light of dawn, numbered something like 25,000 infantry, 3,000 cavalry, and 2,000 artillery with 88 guns.

  Definitive victory or defeat largely depended on whether the Prussians would be able to keep their commander’s promise to Wellington in spite of the mud-filled roads, the swollen rivers, and, especially, Grouchy’s cavalry, which was still out there somewhere, looking for Blücher and his army. The Battle of Waterloo would also be a battle against the clock, and surely the importance of gaining time was what the duke had been thinking about earlier, when he spoke to Uxbridge of his confidence in his relatively few British troops. He knew they wouldn’t run away, Wellington said, and it would take a good many hours to kill them all.

  FIFTEEN

  WELLINGTON’S DEPLOYMENT

  At sunrise, neither of the two generals had the slightest idea of his adversary’s deployment; some of Napoleon’s troops were still on the march to La Belle Alliance, and Wellington’s had bivouacked out of sight on the reverse slope of the ridge at Mont-Saint-Jean. Both commanders, therefore, made their dispositions on the basis of a hypothetical assessment of what might happen.

  The method according to which Wellington ordered his units showed his concerns regarding the imminent struggle. Although the Allied army was subdivided into two combat corps and a reserve, this organization was more administrative than tactical and rarely respected on the battlefield, where the basic unit of maneuver was the division. When Wellington had the time to do so, he conveyed his orders through his two corps commanders, Lord Hill and the Prince of Orange, who were placed respectively on the right wing and in the center of his line; but in urgent circumstances, the duke gave his orders directly to the divisions, moving them about freely without taking into account to whom they belonged. Therefore, Wellington’s deployment will be primarily referred to by the various army divisions.

  The front that the duke proposed to defend formed an arc less than four kilometers (about 2.5 miles) long, decidedly narrow in respect to the conventions of Napoleonic warfare and the dimensions of Wellington’s army. The battlefield at Austerlitz had extended over eight kilometers, and at Leipzig the front reached twelve kilometers in length. By defending a smaller front, the duke was able to deploy deeply and thus to hold a great number of troops in reserve. The cobblestone road that ran from south to north in the direction of Brussels formed the battlefield’s natural axis; the center of the defensive line was represented by the intersection of this main road with the sunken lane called the chemin d’Ohain. This crossroads was shaded by a large elm that later came to be known as “Wellington’s tree.” Logically, therefore, the Allied forces would have been disposed in more or less equal numbers on both sides of the main road.

  Wellington’s dispositions, however, were completely different. On what was for him the left-hand side of the road, between the crossroads and Papelotte, along a front about two kilometers in length, the duke initially placed only two divisions, Picton’s Anglo-Hanoverian division and Perponcher’s Dutch-Belgians, that is, precisely those divisions that had been most severely tested at Quatre Bras two days before. In all, they represented about 11,000 bayonets, but only 7,500 of these infantrymen belonged to line battalions; the rest were militia. Perceiving that this was too small a force to hold a front two kilometers long, Wellington decided to add the two brigades of Sir Lowry Cole’s division, only one of which—2,500 Hanoverian militia under the command of Colonel Best—was already in line; the other brigade, commanded by Sir John Lambert and much stronger in that it included more than 2,000 regular British troops, was still on the march from Brussels.

  Since Sir Lowry Cole was off getting married in England, the duke put Lambert in command of both brigades and ordered him to prepare to take up a position in the line to the left of Picton’s division. Even if Lambert’s troops had reached their intended positions, the total strength of the left wing still would not have exceeded 16,000 bayonets and 33 guns. The three British cavalry brigades commanded by Vivian, Vandeleur, and Ponsonby were also deployed on the left, in a second line behind the infantry, and their 3,000 sabers represented a respectable reserve capable of mounting a counterattack should the opportunity arise. Nonetheless, the impression remains that Wellington did not expect to be attacked in force on that side, and in any case the roads coming from Wavre, on which the Prussian reinforcements he was expecting were supposed to appear, emerged in that sector of the field.

  The center was much stronger than the left wing. Alten’s Anglo-Hanoverian division—the Third British Infantry Division, a good 7,000 bayonets, all regular army troops—was deployed there, to the rear of the outpost represented by La Haye Sainte. Since the section of the front assigned to the Third was only a few hundred meters long, it was much better defended than the left wing. Behind Alten’s men, in reserve, was von Kruse’s First Nassau, another 2,500 bayonets, all regular army, although inexperienced. Lord Edward Somerset’s heavy cavalry brigade, 1,000 sabers strong, was deployed in the same sector, and a little farther back was the entire Netherlands Cavalry Division, with another 3,400 sabers. A powerful concentration of 50 guns, some already in line and some in reserve, added to the robustness of Wellington’s center.

  The right wing was stronger still. Where the sloping ground descended in the direction of Hougoumont, in the château itself and in its park, along an arc that measured no more than a kilometer and a half—less than a mile—Wellington’s front line was held by General George Cooke’s Guards Division, a select group of 3,700 bayonets, along with nearly 1,000 German marksmen, experts detached from the divisions of Perponcher and Alten. Farther back, and partly in echelon to the right to prevent the enemy from turning the Allied flank by maneuvering along the road between Nivelles and Mont-Saint-Jean, were Mitchell’s English brigade, Clinton’s Anglo-Hanoverian division, and the Brunswick contingent. Posted far behind the front line, near the village of Braine l’Alleud on the Allies’ extreme western flank, were the Dutch-Belgians of Chassé’s Third Netherlands Division. All told, these units positioned in the rear formed a powerful reserve of some 20,000 bayonets, of which nearly 15,000 were regular army troops. The Anglo-Hanoverian cavalry brigades of Dornberg, Grant, and Arentschildt, together with the Brunswicker cavalry, added 3,700 sabers to a sector that, with its 74 guns, was much denser and far better protected than the left wing.

  In short, Wellington’s deployment was distinctly unbalanced, with a mighty, deeply echeloned right wing, a strong center, and a decidedly weaker left wing. Judging from these dispositions, the duke intended to hold at all costs the two outposts protecting his line, the farm of La Haye Sainte and the château of Hougoumont; he moreover expected—and feared—an attack on his right, and perhaps he also anticipated the necessity of opposing a movement to envelop his right flank and cut his lines of communication with the ports on the English Channel. By contrast, Wellington was much less concerned about his left flank, where he placed the troops that had been most severely bloodied at Quatre Bras, as if giving them a chance to catch their breath, and where he expected at any moment to see the vanguard of the Prussian columns appear.

  All in all, the defensive position that Wellington assumed has always been deemed an excellent one. The two walled enclosures of Hougoumont and La Haye Sainte were veritable fortresses that he could hop
e to defend all day long from any frontal assault, and the ridge of Mont-Saint-Jean hid the majority of his troops from the enemy’s view and gave them at least partial protection from artillery fire, even though an intense bombardment, with the enemy guns firing blindly over the ridge, was still capable of causing some casualties. At the time, though, some disagreed. Sir Thomas Picton, having ridden all along the Allied line, felt the necessity of remarking to Sir John Colborne, the colonel of the Fifty-second Light Infantry, “I never saw a worse position taken up by any army.” But Sir Thomas was renowned for his ill humor; furthermore, at Quatre Bras a cannonball had cracked two or three of his ribs, and to avoid being sent back to Brussels, the general had mentioned his wound to no one except his servant. Under the circumstances, it’s understandable that Sir Thomas may have been more irritable than usual.

  SIXTEEN

  NAPOLEON’S DEPLOYMENT

  What would Napoleon do? Would he be able to take advantage of the weakness in his enemy’s line and strike his vulnerable left wing, or would he try to maneuver around Wellington’s right flank, as the duke feared? In truth, at ten in the morning Napoleon still had not decided what course of action he would take, for the good reason that he was totally ignorant of Wellington’s deployment on the reverse slope of the Mont-Saint-Jean ridge. All the emperor knew was what a reconnaissance officer sent out shortly after dawn had reported, namely that the position was “defended by an army of guns, and by mountains of infantry.” Therefore, the emperor deployed his troops as symmetrically as he could, not wishing to compromise any future developments, and retaining until the last moment the possibility of committing the bulk of his forces to the right, left, or center. Besides, this was Napoleon’s normal way of opening a battle: He would evaluate all alternative possibilities, holding his decision in abeyance until he had gathered sufficient clues. The most significant feature of a Napoleonic plan was its resolute flexibility; thereafter, as the emperor liked to repeat, “execution is everything.”

  The deployment adopted by Napoleon was an expression of his insistence on remaining flexible. His right wing, whose assigned positions were in the fields beyond La Belle Alliance, to the east of the main road that divided the battlefield in two, was formed by d’Erlon’s I Corps. Since this corps had taken no part in the bloody battles of Ligny and Quatre Bras, it was the strongest in the entire army: Its four divisions numbered around 16,000 muskets and 46 cannon, along with 1,500 cavalry. These latter troops were stationed on the extreme right, not far from Papelotte, keeping an eye on the enemy’s outposts. On the left wing, west of the main road, Reille’s II Corps took up its positions. Originally even stronger than I Corps, the II Corps was much reduced: Three of its four divisions had been damaged at Quatre Bras, and the fourth so thoroughly mauled at Ligny that it had been left there to get reorganized.10 Nevertheless, Reille still had 13,000 bayonets, 1,300 cavalry, and 36 guns; by midmorning, his infantry, which had bivouacked at Genappe, was still taking up positions in front of Hougoumont, while the cavalry had already pushed farther on, in the direction of Braine l’Alleud.

  In the center, along the road between Le Caillou and La Belle Alliance, the emperor massed his reserves. Had one or the other of his two wings proven unable to overcome on its own the Allied forces in its front, Napoleon intended to send in his reserves, counting on the impact of their attack to deliver the decisive blow. These troops included the VI Corps, commanded by Georges Mouton, Count Lobau, and the infantry of Drouot’s Imperial Guard. From the beginning, Mouton’s corps had been the weakest in the army, and then one of its three divisions had been detached to pursue the Prussians, so now it numbered only 6,000 muskets and 30 cannon, but these were fresh troops who had not yet been in combat. As for the infantry of the Guard, its three divisions had contributed to the victory at Ligny, but they had by no means fought themselves out, and with their 13,000 muskets—all select troops—and their 72 guns, they were capable of attacking with great force and delivering immense firepower.

  The emperor deployed his numerous reserve cavalry according to the same principle of symmetry, which guaranteed him maximum flexibility and the possibility of intervening anywhere on the field. On the right, behind d’Erlon’s infantry, he placed Milhaud’s IV Corps, with its 2,700 cuirassiers, and the light cavalry of the Imperial Guard, under the command of Lefebvre-Desnouettes, with 2,000 lancers and chasseurs. On the left, supporting Reille’s infantry, was Kellermann’s III Corps, with nearly 3,000 cuirassiers, carabineers, and dragoons, and the Imperial Guard’s heavy cavalry, commanded by Guyot, with horse grenadiers and dragoons numbering 1,600 sabers. Finally, there was one last reserve force in the center, behind La Belle Alliance, consisting of the two light cavalry divisions of Domon and Subervie, with a total of 2,000 lancers and chasseurs. In all, ten horse artillery batteries—a total of 60 guns—were attached to these various units.

  SEVENTEEN

  “VIVE L’EMPEREUR”

  While the troops were still marching into position, Napoleon mounted his horse to inspect the outposts one more time. The artillery officers had reported that the ground was drying out and that soon it would be possible to maneuver their heavy weapons. The valet Marchand stayed behind at Le Caillou, together with the coaches carrying the emperor’s baggage and his cooks, who had received orders to have dinner (“a well-cooked shoulder of mutton”) ready at six o’clock in the evening. Riding with the emperor and his adjutants was a local resident, a peasant named De Coster who owned a tavern on the road not far from Le Caillou. At five in the morning, the French had hauled him out of his bed and forced him to go with them; the emperor needed a guide. To keep De Coster from escaping, they tied his hands behind his back and hoisted him onto a horse that was attached by a strap to a light cavalryman’s saddle.

  As the emperor passed, the troops greeted him with mounting enthusiasm. The shouts of the men, thousands upon thousands of them, even drowned out the music of the regimental bands, whose members were playing their hearts out, sounding the glorious marches of the revolution and the empire. Everyone made an effort to get close enough to see Napoleon; for many, it was their first sight of him since his return from Elba. “He looked to me to be in the best of health, extraordinarily active and intense. Several times, he doffed his hat to us,” a young officer later recalled; but then he added, with a touch of uneasiness: “He seems to be deep in thought and seldom speaks, except when he gives some sudden, terse order. As for his complexion, it’s without color, almost waxen, not yellow, but rather white, like a Pascal candle.” However, the great majority of the troops had no chance to observe Napoleon so narrowly, nor any occasion to conceive grounds for disquiet in his appearance. The infantry raised their shakos aloft on the points of their bayonets, the cavalry brandished their sabers, and from every section of the line there arose a mighty roar: “Vive l’Empereur!” An officer in d’Erlon’s corps later wrote, “Never had those words been shouted with more enthusiasm; we were practically delirious.”

  In reality, this enthusiasm was not shared by everyone, and especially not by those soldiers whose stomachs were empty. An infantryman of that same I Corps recalled that a double ration of brandy had been issued that morning: “We would have been just fine with a chunk of bread, but there was no bread. You may imagine what kind of humor we were in. Many people say that we were filled with enthusiasm, that we were all singing, but that’s a lie. Marching all night without rations, sleeping in water, forbidden to light fires, and then preparing to face grape and canister took away any desire to sing. We were just glad to pull our shoes out of the holes they sank into with every step. After passing through the wet grain, we were chilled and soaked from the waist down, and even the bravest of us looked discontented. It’s true that the regimental bands were playing marches, and that the cavalry’s trumpets and the infantry’s drums mingled their sounds to grandiose effect, but as for me, I never heard anyone sing at Waterloo.”

  Whether sham or sincere, the enthusiasm with which the sol
diers acclaimed their emperor that morning was the result of a well-orchestrated propaganda campaign. Napoleon had exerted every effort to ensure that the surge of excitement that had passed through France like an electric shock at the news of his escape from Elba did not subside, especially among the troops. Triumphant ceremonies, such as the presentation of the Eagles to the regiments of the reconstituted imperial army, were devised to galvanize the troops. These Eagles were fashioned of bronze and mounted, along with the French tricolor, on poles similar to those carried by the legions of ancient Rome; there was one Eagle per regiment, and the emperor had presented them to their respective units in a solemn ceremony on the Champs-de-Mars barely eighteen days before. Those regiments that had been absent from Paris at the time received their Eagles even later, on the eve of the campaign. On June 11, Colonel Fantin des Odoards, commander of the Twenty-second Ligne, presented the Eagle to his regiment, which was formed up in square. According to the colonel’s emotional account of the scene, “This new standard, fresh from the gilder’s studio, was solemnly blessed in the church of Couvins; then every soldier touched it with his hand and swore to defend it to the death.” Although the men irreverently referred to the Eagle as “the Cuckoo,” at Waterloo they would demonstrate that they took their oath seriously.