The Erckmann-Chatrian Megapack: 20 Classic Novels and Short Stories (92 page)

I was quite absorbed with my own troubles and said nothing, but he was angry.

The rain ceased between two and three in the morning. Buche and I were lying back to back in a furrow, in order to keep warm, and at last overcome by fatigue I fell asleep.

When I woke about five in the morning, the church bells were ringing matins over all that vast plain.

I shall never forget the scene; and as I looked at the gray sky, the trampled grain, and my sleeping comrades on the right and left, my heart sunk under the sense of desolation. The sound of the bells as they responded to each other from Planchenois to Genappe, from Frichemont to Waterloo, reminded me of Pfalzbourg, and I thought:

“To-day is Sunday, the day of rest and peace. Mr. Goulden has hung his best coat, with a white shirt, on the back of his chair. He is getting up now and he is thinking of me; Catherine has risen too and is sitting crying on the bed, and Aunt Grédel at Quatre Vents is pushing open the shutters and she has taken her prayer-book from the shelf and is going to mass.” I could hear the bells of Dann and Mittelbronn and Bigelberg ring out in the silence. I thought of that peaceful quiet life and was ready to burst into tears.

The roll of the drums was heard through the damp air, and there was something inauspicious and portentous in the sound.

Near the main road, on the left, they were beating the assembly, and the bugles of the cavalry sounded the reveille. The men rose and looked over the grain. Those three days of marching and fighting in the bad weather without rations made them sober; there was no talking as at Ligny, every one looked in silence and kept his thoughts to himself.

We could see too, that the battle was to be a much more important affair, for instead of having villages already occupied, which caused so many separate battles, on our front, there was an immense elevated naked plain on which the English were encamped.

Behind their lines at the top of the hill was the village of Mont-St.-Jean, and a league and a half still farther away, was a forest which bounded the horizon.

Between us and the English, the ground descended gently and rose again nearest us, forming a little valley, but one must have been accustomed to the country to perceive this; it was deepest on the right and contracted like a ravine. On the slope of this ravine on our side, behind the hedges and poplars and other trees, some thatched roofs indicated a hamlet; this was Planchenois. In the same direction but much higher, and in the rear of the enemy’s left, the plain extended as far as the eye could reach, and was scattered over with little villages.

The clear atmosphere after the storm enabled us to distinguish all this very plainly.

We could even see the little village of Saint-Lambert three leagues distant on our right.

At our left in the rear of the English right, there were other little villages to be seen, of which I never knew the names.

We took in all this grand region covered with a magnificent crop just in flower, at a glance; and we asked ourselves why the English were there, and what advantage they had in guarding that position. But when we observed their line a little more closely—it was from fifteen hundred to two thousand yards from us—we could see the broad, well-paved road, which we had followed from Quatre-Bras and which led to Brussels, dividing their position nearly in the centre. It was straight, and we could follow it with the eye to the village of Mont-St.-Jean and beyond quite to the entrance of the forest of Soignes. This we saw the English intended to hold to prevent us from going to Brussels.

On looking carefully we could see that their line of battle was curved a little toward us at the wings, and that it followed a road which cut the route to Brussels like a cross. On the left it was a deep cut, and on the right of the road it was bordered with thick hedges of holly and dwarf beech which are common in that country. Behind these were posted mass of red-coats who watched us from their trenches. In the front, the slope was like a glacis. This was very dangerous.

Immense bodies of cavalry were stationed on the flanks, which extended nearly three-quarters of a league.

We saw that the cavalry on the plateau in the vicinity of the main road after having passed the hill, descended before going to Mont-St.-Jean, and we understood that there was a hollow between the position of the English and that village; not very deep, as we could see the plumes of the soldiers as they passed through, but still deep enough to shelter heavy reserves from our bullets.

I had already seen Weissenfels, Lutzen, Leipzig, and Ligny, and I began to understand what these things meant, and why they arranged themselves in one way rather than another, and I thought that the manner in which these English had laid their plans and stationed their forces on this cross-road to defend the road to Brussels, and to shelter their reserves, showed a vast deal of good sense.

But in spite of all that, three things seemed to me to be in our favor. The position of the enemy with its covered ways and hidden reserves was like a great fort. Every one knows that in time of war everything is demolished that can furnish a shelter to the enemy.

Well! just in their centre, on the high-road and on the slope of their glacis, was a farm-house like the “Roulette” at Quatre Vents, but five or six times larger.

I could see it plainly from where we stood. It was a great square, the offices, the house, the stables and barns formed a triangle on the side toward the English, and on our side the other half was formed by a wall and sheds, with a court in the centre. The wall running along the field side, had a small door, the other on the road had an entrance for carriages and wagons.

It was built of brick and was very solid. Of course the English had filled it with troops like a sort of demilune, but if we could take it we should be close to their centre and could throw our attacking columns upon them, without remaining long under their fire.

Nothing could be better for us. This place was called Haie-Sainte, as we found out afterward.

A little farther on, in front of their right wing was another little farmstead and grove, which we could also try to take. I could not see it from where I stood, but it was a stronger position than Haie-Sainte as it was covered by an orchard, surrounded with walls, and farther on was the wood. The fire from the windows swept the garden, and that from the garden covered the wood, and that from the wood the side-hill, and the enemy could beat a retreat from one to the other.

I did not see this with my own eyes, but some veterans gave me an account of the attack on this farm; it was called Hougoumont.

One must be exact in speaking of such a battle, the things seen with one’s own eyes are the principal, and we can say:

“I saw them, but the other accounts I had from men incapable of falsehood or deception.”

And lastly in front of their left wing on the road leading to Wavre, about a hundred paces from the hill on our side, were the farms of Papelotte and La Haye, occupied by the Germans, and the little hamlets of Smohain, Cheval-de-Bois, and Jean-Loo, which I informed myself about afterward in order to understand all that took place. I could see these hamlets plainly enough then, but I did not pay much attention to them as they were beyond our line of battle on the right, and we did not see any troops there.

Now you can all see the position of the English on our front, the road to Brussels which traversed it, the cross-road which covered it, the plateau in the rear where the reserves were, and the three farms, Hougoumont, Haie-Sainte, and Papelotte in front, well garrisoned. You can all see that it would be very difficult to force.

I looked at it about six o’clock that morning very attentively, as a man will do who is to run the risk of breaking his bones and losing his life in some enterprise, and who at least likes to know if he has any chance of escape.

Zébédé, Sergeant Rabot, and Captain Florentin, Buche, and indeed every one as he rose cast a glance at that hill-side without saying a word. Then they looked around them at the great squares of infantry, the squadrons of cuirassiers, of dragoons, chasseurs, lancers, etc., encamped amid the growing grain.

Nobody had any fears now that the English would beat a retreat, we lighted as many fires as we pleased, and the smoke from the damp straw filled the air. Those who had a little rice left, put on their camp-kettles, while those who had none looked on thinking:

“Each has his turn; yesterday we had meat, and we despised the rice, now we should be very grateful for even that.”

About eight o’clock the wagons arrived with cartridges and hogsheads of brandy; each soldier received a double ration: with a crust of bread we might have done very well, but the bread was not there. You can imagine what sort of humor we were in.

This was all we had that day: immediately after, the grand movements commenced. Regiments joined their brigades, brigades their divisions, and the divisions re-formed their corps. Officers on horseback carried orders back and forth, everything was in motion.

Our battalion joined Donzelot’s division; the others had only eight battalions, but his had nine.

I have often heard the veterans repeat the order of battle given by Napoleon. The corps of Reille was on the left of the road opposite Hougoumont, that of d’Erlon, at the right, opposite Haie-Sainte; Ney on horseback on the highway, and Napoleon in the rear with the Old Guard, the special detachments, the lancers and chasseurs, etc. That was all that I understood, for when they began to talk of the movements of eleven columns, of the distance which they deployed, and when they named the generals one after another, it seemed to me as if they were talking of something which I had never seen.

I like better therefore to tell you simply what I saw and remember myself.

The first movement was at half-past eight, when our four divisions received the order to take the advance to the right of the highway. There were about fifteen or twenty thousand men marching in two columns, with arms at will, sinking to our knees at every step in the soft ground. Nobody spoke a word.

Several persons have related that we were jubilant and were all singing; but it is false. Marching all night without rations, sleeping in the water, forbidden to light a fire, when preparing for showers of grape and canister, all this took away any inclination to sing, we were glad to pull our shoes out of the holes in which they were buried at every step, and chilled and drenched to our waists by the wet grain, the hardiest and most courageous among us wore a discontented air. It is true that the bands played marches for their regiments, that the trumpets of the cavalry, the drums of the infantry, and the trombones mingled their tones and produced a terrible effect, as they do always.

It is also true that these thousands of men marched briskly and in good order, with their knapsacks at their backs, and their muskets on their shoulders, the white lines of the cuirassiers followed the red, brown, and green of the dragoons, hussars, and lancers, with their little swallow-tailed pennons filling the air; the artillerymen in the intervals between the brigades, on horseback around their guns, which cut through the ground to their axles,—all these moved straight through the grain, not a head of which remained standing behind them, and truly there could not be a sight more dreadful.

The English drawn up in perfect order in front, their gunners ready with their lighted matches in their hands, made us think, but did not delight us quite so much as some have pretended, and men who like to receive cannon-balls are still rather rare.

Father Goulden told me that the soldiers sang in his time, but then they went voluntarily and not from force. They fought in defence of their homes and for human rights, which they loved better than their own eyes, and it was not at all like risking our lives to find out whether we were to have an old or a new nobility. As for me, I never heard any one sing either at Leipzig or Waterloo.

On we went, the bands still playing by order from head-quarters.

The music ceased, and the silence which followed was profound. Then we were at the edge of the little valley, and about twelve hundred paces from the English left. We were in the centre of our army, with the chasseurs and lancers on our right flank.

We took our distances and closed up the intervals. The first brigade of the first division turned to the left and formed on the highway. Our battalion formed a part of the second division, and we were in the first line, with a single brigade of the first division before us. The artillery was passed up to the front, and that of the English was directly opposite and on the same level. And for a long time the other divisions were moving up to support us. It seemed as if the earth itself was in motion. The veterans would say: “There are Milhaud’s cuirassiers! Here are the chasseurs of Lefebvre-Desnoëttes! Yonder is Lobau’s corps!”

On every side, as far as the eye could reach, there was nothing to be seen but cuirasses, helmets, colbacks,
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sabres, lances, and files of bayonets.

“What a battle,” exclaimed Buche. “Woe to the English!”

I had the same thought; I did not believe a single Englishman would escape. But it was we who were unfortunate that day, though had it not been for the Prussians I still believe we should have exterminated them.

During the two hours we stood there, we did not see the half of our regiments and squadrons, and new ones were continually coming. About an hour after we took our position we heard suddenly on the left, shouts of “Vive l’Empereur,” they increased as they approached us like a tempest; we all stood on our tiptoes and stretched our necks to see; they spread through all the ranks, and even the horses in the rear neighed as if they would shout too. At that moment a troop of general officers whirled along our front like the wind. Napoleon was among them, and I thought I saw him, though I was not certain, he went so swiftly, and so many men raised their shakos on the points of their bayonets that I hardly had time to distinguish his round shoulders and gray coat in the midst of the laced uniforms. When the captain had shouted, “Carry arms! present arms!” it was over.