CHAPTER XI.

_June 16th._--It would appear that our Quartermaster-General of the cavalry took a peculiar pleasure in disturbing people at very unseasonable hours. He served me so at Dendermonde, and now he has done precisely the same at Strytem. As on that occasion, I was sound asleep when my servant, bustling into the room, awoke me _en sursaut_. He brought a note which an orderly hussar had left, and ridden off immediately. The note had nothing official in its appearance, and might have been an invitation to dinner; but the unceremonious manner in which the hussar had gone off without his receipt looked curious. My despatch was totally deficient in date, so that time and place were left to conjecture; its contents pithy--they were as follows, viz.:--

“Captain Mercer’s troop will proceed with the utmost diligence to Enghien, where he will meet Major M‘Donald, who will point out the ground on which it is to bivouac to-night.

“Signed, * * * D.A.Q.M.-Gen.”

That we were to move forward, then, was certain. It was rather sudden, to be sure, and all the whys and wherefores were left to conjecture; but the suddenness of it, and the importance of arriving quickly at the appointed place, rather alarmed me, for upon reflection I remembered that I had been guilty of two or three imprudences. First, all my officers were absent; secondly, all my country waggons were absent; thirdly, a whole division (one-third of my troop) was absent at Yseringen. “_Send the sergeant-major here_,” was the first order, as I drew on my stockings. “_Send for Mr Coates_” (my commissariat officer), the second, as I got one leg into my overalls. “_William, make haste and get breakfast_,” the third, as I buttoned them up. The sergeant-major soon came, and received his orders to turn out instanter, with the three days’ provisions and forage[11] in the havresacks and on the horses; also to send an express for the first division. He withdrew, and immediately the fine martial clang of “boot-and-saddle” resounded through the village and courts of the chateau, making the woods ring again, and even the frogs stop to listen.

The commissary soon made his appearance. “What! are we off, sir?” “Yes, without delay; and you must collect your waggons as quickly as possible.” “I fear, Captain Mercer, that will take some time, for St Cyr’s are gone to Ninove.” My folly here stared me full in the face. Mr Coates said he would do his utmost to collect them; and as he was a most active, intelligent, and indefatigable fellow, I communicated to him my orders and determination not to wait, desiring him to follow us as soon as he possibly could. My first-enumerated care was speedily removed, for I learned that the officers had just arrived and were preparing for the march, having known of it at Brussels ere we did. The two divisions in Strytem were ready to turn out in a few minutes after the “boot-and-saddle” had resounded, but, as I feared, the first kept us waiting until near seven o’clock before it made its appearance. This delay allowed us time to make a hearty breakfast; and, in the uncertainty of when we should get another meal, we each stowed away a double portion of Walsdragen’s fine eggs. At length the first division arrived, and the animating and soul-stirring notes of the “turn-out” again awoke the echoes of the hills and woods. Up jumped my old dog Bal, and away to parade and increase the bustle by jumping at the horses’ noses and barking, as parade formed. Away went the officers to inspect their divisions, and Milward is leading my impatient charger Cossac up and down the court. I linger to take a last look of my antique apartment, and bid farewell to my mute companions the Van Voldens.

The gardener, his son, and Mdlle. Mon-père-dit, with her pale face rendered still paler by the agitation of the morning, stand drawn up in the court, precisely in the same order and on the same ground as on the day of our arrival. With a profusion of blessings, &c., they thank me for the great care we have taken of the chateau, and for the very liberal gratuity which our paymaster, the doctor (Hitchins), had bestowed upon them. They wish me all manner of success, but fear we shall have bloody work. The old man mutters something about Buonaparte _capôte_, which I do not understand, but take for granted is something friendly, so return thanks, mount my horse, and, once more, adieu Strytem.

We had cleared the village and marched some miles well enough, being within the range of my daily rides; but, this limit passed, I was immediately sensible of another error--that of having started without a guide, for the roads became so numerous, intricate, and bad, often resembling only woodmen’s tracks, that I was sorely puzzled, spite of the map I carried in my _sabretache_, to pick out my way. But a graver error still I had now to reproach myself with, and one that might have been attended with fatal consequences. Eager to get on, and delayed by the badness of the roads, I left all my ammunition-waggons behind, under charge of old Hall, my quartermaster-sergeant, to follow us, and then pushed on with the guns alone, thus foolishly enough dividing my troops into three columns--viz., the guns, ammunition-waggons, and the column of provision waggons under the commissary. For this piece of folly I paid dearly in the anxiety I suffered throughout this eventful day, which at times was excessive.

Rid of all encumbrances, we trotted merrily on whenever the road permitted, and, arriving at Castre (an old Roman legionary station), found there the 23d Light Dragoons just turning out, having also received orders to march upon Enghien. A Captain Dance, with whom I rode a short distance, told me he had been at the ball at Brussels last night, and that, when he left the room, the report was that Blucher had been attacked in the morning, but that he had repulsed the enemy with great slaughter, was following up the blow, and that our advance was to support him. The road for the last few miles had been upon a more elevated country, not so wooded--a sort of plateau, consequently hard and dry; but immediately on passing Castre, we came to a piece which appeared almost impassable for about a hundred yards--a perfect black bog, across which a corduroy road had been made, but not kept in repair, consequently the logs, having decayed, left immense gaps. The 23d floundered through this with difficulty, and left us behind. How we got through with our 9-pounders, the horses slipping up to the shoulders between the logs every minute, I know not; but through we did get, and without accident, but it took time to do so. About noon, after threading our way through more mud and many watery lanes, doubtful if we were in the right direction, we came out upon a more open and dry country close to a park, which, upon inquiry, proved to be that of Enghien. To the same point various columns of cavalry were converging, and under the park wall we found Sir Ormsby Vandeleur’s brigade of light dragoons, dismounted and feeding their horses. Here we also dismounted to await the arrival of Major M‘Donald; and as I looked upon the day’s march as finished, deferred feeding until our bivouac should be established--another folly, for an officer in campaign should never lose an opportunity of feeding, watering, or resting his horses, &c. Attracted by the novelty of the scene and the fineness of the day, we had numerous gay visitors here--ladies and gentlemen--who had stationed themselves within the park, enhancing by their presence the gaiety of the scene, for we had halted immediately under the park wall, and at the point where the road to Braine le Comte by Steenkerke branched off from the one we were on. All the corps as they arrived, I observed, took this road, and continued onwards, which made me somewhat impatient lest I should have halted short of my destination. Having waited a good half-hour, and no Major M‘Donald appearing, I began to look about for some one who could give me information, but no staff-officer was to be seen, and no one else knew anything about the matter. Corps after corps arrived and passed on, generally without even halting, yet all professing ignorance of their destination. Pleasant situation this! Sir Ormsby’s dragoons were by this time bridling up their horses and rolling up their nosebags, evidently with the intention of moving off. Seeing this, I sought out the general, whom I found seated against the bank, that, instead of a hedge, bordered the road. Whether naturally a savage, or that he feared committing himself, I know not, but Sir Ormsby cut my queries short with an asperity totally uncalled for. “I know nothing about you, sir! I know nothing at all about you!” “But you will perhaps have the goodness to tell me where you are going yourself?” “I know nothing at all about it, sir! I told you already I know nothing at all about _you_!” and starting abruptly from his seat, my friend mounted his horse, and (I suppose by instinct) took the road towards Steenkerke, followed by his brigade, leaving me and mine alone in the road, more disagreeably situated than ever. I now began to reflect very seriously on the “_to stay_” or “_not to stay_.” In the former case I bade fair to have the ground all to myself, for although everybody I spoke to denied having any orders, yet all kept moving in one and the same direction. In the latter case, my orders in writing certainly were to stay; but circumstances might have occurred since to change this, and the new order might not have reached me. Moreover, it was better to get into a scrape for fighting than keeping out of the way, so I made up my mind to move forward too. Accordingly I had already mounted my people when Sir H. Vivian’s brigade of hussars, followed by Major Bull’s troop of our horse-artillery, passed. Bull I found was, like myself, without orders, but he thought it best to stick close to the cavalry, and advised me to do the same, which I did, following him and them on the road to Steenkerke. The country about this place appeared more bare and forbidding than any I had yet seen in the Pays Bas. Just as we moved off, the column of Household troops made its appearance, advancing from Ninove, and taking the same direction.

It was now that the recollection of my absent waggons began to torment me, and I actually feared never to see them again. However, there was no help for it now, and I continued onward.

A few miles farther we crossed the Senne by an old stone bridge, and about four in the afternoon arrived at Braine le Comte, almost ravenous with hunger, and roasted alive by the burning sun under which we had been marching all day. The country had improved and become more wooded, so that the town looked pretty, surrounded as it is by gardens and trees. We were not allowed (why, I know not) to see more; for on arriving at one end of it we turned into a road on the left, and so, making a circuit round the back of the gardens, came out at the other end on a piece of bare ground, where we found several regiments drawn up in close columns, dismounted and feeding. It was somewhere between Enghien and Braine le Comte that we met an aide-de-camp (I believe one of the Duke’s) posting away as fast as his poor tired beast could get along, and dressed in his embroidered suit, white pantaloons, &c. &c., having evidently mounted as he left the ball-room. This, I remember, struck us at the time as rather odd, but we had no idea of the real state of our affairs.

We had formed up, and were feeding also, but the nosebags were scarcely put on the poor horses’ heads than the cavalry corps, mounting again, moved off, one after the other, and we were constrained to follow ere the animals had half finished. Here, as before, I could obtain no intelligence respecting our march, the direction and meaning of which all I spoke to professed a profound ignorance. Whilst halting, Hitchins, slipping into the town, brought us out a couple of bottles of wine, the which we passed round from one to the other without any scruple about sucking it all out of one muzzle. This renewal of our march was a sad disappointment, for on finding the cavalry assembled here, we made sure they were only waiting until the different bivouacs could be arranged, when we should settle ourselves for the night.

In marching round the town, many of the houses had a sort of gallery behind them, which were filled with spectators, particularly many priests. The gardens were very pretty, and I could not but contrast the comparative luxury of these people, snug and comfortable, and sure of their bed when night came on, with our own vagabond situation.

The country beyond Braine le Comte was pretty, the usual rich and wooded champaign extending to the foot of an abrupt ridge of hills, covered with forest to the summit, and toward which our road lay.

A little hamlet (Long Tour, I think) lay at the foot of the hills, the straggling street of which we found so crowded with baggage-waggons of some Hanoverian or other foreign corps, that for a long while we were unable to pass. The cavalry, therefore, left us behind, for they broke into the adjoining fields until they had cleared the impediment. Although annoyed at being thus hindered, I could not but admire the lightness, and even elegance, of the little waggons, with their neat white tilts, and as neat and pretty _jungfrauen_ who were snugly seated under them. We found the ascent of the hills more difficult than we expected, the road, which went up in a zigzag (indeed, it could not have been otherwise), little better than a woodman’s track, much cut up, and exceedingly steep--so much so, that we found it necessary to double-horse all our carriages, by taking only half up at once. This delayed us considerably; but, impatient as I was to get on, I was pleased at not being hurried through this charming forest-scenery. The hills, as I said, rose abruptly, and with a very steep acclivity, their sides being covered with noble forest-trees, amongst the boles of which the eye ranged without impediment--there being little or no underwood--occasionally catching glimpses through the foliage of the rich and varied plain which we had left, and of the grey buildings of Braine le Comte embosomed in verdure. Groups of dragoons and hussars, mingling with our guns, &c., all scrambling up the steep ascent, seen amongst the gigantic trunks of the trees and by the softened light of the forest, presented delicious pictures. Nor were these less interesting from the accompanying sounds--the dull tramp of the horses, the rattling of sabres, and the voices of command, all magnified by the echo of the forest, which was such that one might have fancied himself speaking under a vault.

At length the whole of our carriages were on the summit, but we were now quite alone, all the cavalry having gone on; and thus we continued our march on an elevated plateau, still covered with forest,[12] thicker and more gloomy than ever--here and there passing a farm and small clearing of a few fields, and then again plunging into the cool dark woods. At one of these farms I got a draught of new milk--very grateful after such a hot march and long fast. At length we had crossed the forest, and found ourselves on the verge of a declivity which stretched away less abruptly than the one we had ascended, consequently presenting a more extensive slope, down which our road continued. A most extensive view lay before us; and now for the first time, as emerging from the woods, we became sensible of a dull, sullen sound that filled the air, somewhat resembling that of a distant water-mill, or still more distant thunder. On clearing the wood, it became more distinct, and its character was no longer questionable--heavy firing of cannon and musketry, which could now be distinguished from each other plainly. We could also hear the musketry in volleys and independent firing. The extensive view below us was bounded towards the horizon by a dark line of wood, above which, in the direction of the cannonade, volumes of grey smoke arose, leaving no doubt of what was going on. The object of our march was now evident, and we commenced descending the long slope with an animation we had not felt before.

It was here that Major M‘Donald overtook us, and without adverting to the bivouac at Enghien, of which probably he had never heard, gave me orders to attach myself to the Household brigade, under Lord Edward Somerset, but no instructions where or when. I took care not to tell him they were in the rear, lest he might order us to halt for them, which would have been a sore punishment to people excited as we now were by the increasing roar of the battle evidently going on, and hoped that by marching faster they might soon overtake us. Just at this moment a cabriolet, driving at a smart pace, passed us. In it was seated an officer of the Guards, coat open and snuffbox in hand. I could not but admire the perfect _nonchalance_ with which my man was thus hurrying forward to join in a bloody combat--much, perhaps, in the same manner, though certainly not in the same costume, as he might drive to Epsom or Ascot Heath. The descent terminated in a picturesque hollow, with a broad pool, dark and calm, and beyond it an old mill, perfectly in keeping with the scene. The opportunity of watering our poor brutes was too good to be missed, and I accordingly ordered a halt for that purpose. Whilst so employed, an aide-de-camp, descending from a singular knoll above us, on which I had noticed a group of officers looking out with their glasses in the direction of the battle, came to summons me to Sir Hussey Vivian, who was one of them.

On ascending the knoll, Sir Hussey called to me in a hurried manner to make haste. “Who do you belong to?” said he. I told him, as also that the brigade was yet in the rear. “Well,” he replied, “never mind; there is something serious going on, to judge from that heavy firing, and artillery must be wanted; therefore bring up your guns as fast as you can, and join my hussars: can you keep up?” “I hope so, sir.” “Well, come along without delay; we must move smartly.” In a few minutes our people, guns and all, were on the hill. The hussars mounted, set off at a brisk trot, and we followed. Alas! thought I, where are my ammunition-waggons? Neither this anxiety, however, nor the excitement of the moment, were sufficient to shut my eyes to the beautiful picture on that knoll. Conceive a point of ground standing forth with precipitous slopes over the hollow already mentioned, with its picturesque mill and calm glassy pool; on this ground, happily grouped, a band of warriors, in dresses not less picturesque, beneath a huge cross of the rudest workmanship; a few Salvator-like trees complete the foreground, the distance presenting a rich and varied scene of corn-fields (now yellow), and pastures of the liveliest green, and sombre wood--the whole extending away till in the distance all the features are massed and mellowed into indistinctness and purply vapour. Such was the scene. The hussars, to lighten their horses, untied the nets containing their hay, and the mouths of their corn-bags, which falling from them as they trotted on, the road was soon covered with hay and oats. We did not follow their example, and, although dragging with us 9-pounders, preserved our forage, and also our place in the column.

By-and-by a large town appeared in front of us, and the increasing intensity of the cannonade, and volumes of smoke about the trees, led us to suppose the battle near at hand, and on the hill just beyond the town. This town was Nivelle.

Another beautiful scene, and one full of excitement, now presented itself. We were descending by a gentle slope toward Nivelle, which lay spread out before us--its towers and masses of building, especially what appeared to be the ruins of an ancient castle, sweetly touched by the golden light of the setting sun, whilst the greater part lay in deep-toned purple obscurity. Fine trees, with dark overhanging foliage, bordering the road, formed a foreground and frame, as it were, to this picture. Beyond the town the ground rose, also in shadowy obscurity, crowned with sombre woods, over which ascended the greyish blue smoke of the battle, now apparently so near that we fancied we could hear the shouts of the combatants--a fancy strengthened by crowds of people on the heights, whom we mistook for troops--inhabitants of Nivelle, as we soon discovered, seeking to get a sight of the fearful tragedy then enacting. Before entering the town we halted for a moment, lighted our slow matches, put shot into our leathern cartouches, loaded the guns with powder, and stuck priming wires into the vents to prevent the cartridges slipping forward, and, thus prepared for immediate action, again moved on.

On entering the town what a scene presented itself! How different from the repose of the country we had been traversing all day! There all was peace and tranquillity, undisturbed--absolutely undisturbed, except by the hurried march of successive columns along the highroad. There the rustic pursued his wonted labours as in profound peace, the mill went its rumbling round, the birds carolled on the spray. True, the sounds of battle came borne on the evening breeze--the brattle of musketry and the boom of cannon shook the air; but it was distant--very distant--and might be heard, and the ascending smoke seen, with that sort of thrilling sensation with which we witness the progress of the storm when we ourselves are secure from its effects. Here, on the contrary, all was confusion, agitation, and movement. The danger was impending; explosion after explosion, startling from their vicinity, and clattering peals of musketry, like those lengthened thunder-claps which announce to us so awfully the immediate neighbourhood of the electric cloud. The whole population of Nivelle was in the streets, doors and windows all wide open, whilst the inmates of the houses, male and female, stood huddled together in little groups like frightened sheep, or were hurrying along with the distracted air of people uncertain where they are going, or what they are doing. The scene was strangely interesting. In a sort of square which we traversed, a few soldiers, with the air of citizens (probably a municipal guard), were drawn up in line, looking anxiously about them at the numerous bleeding figures which we now began to meet. Some were staggering along unaided, the blood falling from them in large drops as they went. One man we met was wounded in the head; pale and ghastly, with affrighted looks and uncertain step, he evidently knew little of where he was, or what passed about him, though still he staggered forward, the blood streaming down his face on to the greatcoat which he wore rolled over his left shoulder. An anxious crowd was collecting round him as we passed on. Then came others supported between two comrades, their faces deadly pale, and knees yielding at every step. At every step, in short, we met numbers, more or less wounded, hurrying along in search of that assistance which many would never live to receive, and others receive too late. Priests were running to and fro, hastening to assist at the last moments of a dying man; all were in haste--all wore that abstracted air so inseparable from those engaged in an absorbing pursuit. There were women, too, mingling in this scene of agitation. Ladies, fair delicate ladies, stood on the steps at the doors of several handsome houses, their hands folded before them, as if in the agony of suspense, and with an air of deprecation, their eyes wandering over the excited crowd, whilst ever and anon they would move their lips as if in prayer. I thought as we passed along they looked at us, and prayed for our safety and success. I gave them credit for it, at least, and the very idea had the effect of inspiration. Strange that the sight--nay, often the recollection--of all that is tender and compassionate, of woman, should have the effect of stimulating us to martial deeds. The little knots of excited citizens assembled on our route would cease their energetic declamations, and turn to look at us as we passed along. Many would run up, and, patting our horses’ necks, would call down benedictions on us, and bid us hasten to the fight ere it were yet too late, or utter trembling and not loud shouts of “Vivent les Anglais!” A few there were who stood apart, with gloomy discontented looks, eyeing their fellow-citizens with evident contempt, and us with scowls, not unmixed with derision, as they marked our dusty and jaded appearance. Through all this crowd we held our way, and soon began to ascend the hill beyond the town, where we entered a fine chaussée bordered by elms, expecting every moment to enter on the field of action, the roar of which appeared quite close to us. It was, however, yet distant.

The road was covered with soldiers, many of them wounded, but also many apparently untouched. The numbers thus leaving the field appeared extraordinary. Many of the wounded had six, eight, ten, and even more, attendants. When questioned about the battle, and why they left it, the answer was invariably, “Monsieur, tout est perdu! les Anglais sont abimés, en déroute, abimés, tous, tous, tous!” and then, nothing abashed, these fellows would resume their hurried route. My countrymen will rejoice to learn that amongst this dastardly crew not one Briton appeared. Whether they were of Nassau or Belgians, I know not; they were one or the other--I think the latter. One red-coat we did meet--not a fugitive though, for he was severely wounded. This man was a private of the 92d (Gordon Highlanders), a short, rough, hardy-looking fellow, with the national high cheek-bones, and a complexion that spoke of many a bivouac. He came limping along, evidently with difficulty and suffering. I stopped him to ask news of the battle, telling him what I had heard from the others. “Na, na, sir, it’s aw a damned lee; they war fechtin’ yat an I laft ’em; but it’s a bludy business, and thar’s na saying fat may be the end on’t. Oor ragiment was nigh clean swapt off, and oor Colonel kilt jist as I cam awa.” Upon inquiring about his own wound, we found that a musket-ball had lodged in his knee, or near it; accordingly Hitchins, dismounting, seated him on the parapet of a little bridge we happened to be on, extracted the ball in a few minutes, and, binding up the wound, sent him hobbling along towards Nivelle, not having extracted a single exclamation from the poor man, who gratefully thanked him as he resumed his way. A little further on, and as it began to grow dusk, we traversed the village of Hautain le Val, where a very different scene presented itself. Here, in a large cabaret by the roadside, we saw through the open windows the rooms filled with soldiers, cavalry and infantry; some standing about in earnest conversation, others seated round tables, smoking, carousing, and thumping the board with clenched fists, as they related with loud voices--what?--most likely their own gallant exploits. About the door their poor horses, tied to a rail, showed by their drooping heads, shifting legs, and the sweat drying and fuming on their soiled coats, that their exertions at least had been of no trivial nature.