Journal of the Waterloo Campaign: All Volumes (eBook)

Cavalie Mercer (Autor)

eBook Download: EPUB

2018
603 Seiten
Charles River Editors (Verlag)
978-1-5312-8929-4 (ISBN)

Infos

Journal of the Waterloo Campaign: All Volumes is an amazing first hand account of the campaign.General Cavalie Mercer's masterpiece is one of the most cited accounts of Waterloo.This version contains both volumes.

Textauszug

CHAPTER I.

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THE RETURN OF NAPOLEON FROM Elba, though a surprise to many, was far from being so to those who, well aware of his restless disposition, his insatiable ambition, and the enthusiastic attachment of the French soldiery to his person and fortunes, had scarcely expected that he would have remained so long as he actually did without some new attempt at disturbing the general peace.

The steps taken on this occasion by the different European Powers—their preparations for a renewal of the bloody scenes so lately ended—are out of my province. They belong to the historian, and not to the simple journalist, whose affair it is to confine himself strictly to those transactions in which he was himself a participator; or at most to glance at those more general subjects, merely to give connection to his narrative and make it better understood.

At the time the news of this extraordinary event arrived, the troop of horse-artillery which I commanded was stationed at Colchester; and the reductions necessary to put us on a peace-establishment had already commenced, when the order arrived for our being immediately equipped again for foreign service. To do this effectually, another troop, then in the same barracks, was broken up, and we got the picked horses of both, thus making it the finest troop in the service; and such diligence was used, that although our equipment fell little short of a complete reorganisation, Major Sir A. Eraser, commanding the horse-artillery in Colchester, was enabled to report on the third day that the troop was ready to march at a moment’s warning.

Meantime the town of Colchester (situated as it is on the great road from Harwich to London) presented a scene of bustle and anxiety seldom equalled—couriers passing to and fro incessantly, and numerous travellers, foreign and English, arriving day and night from the Continent, many travelling in breathless haste, as if fearful, even here, of Napoleon’s emissaries.

The reports spread by these fugitives were various and contradictory, as might be expected.

According to some, Louis XVIII. had been arrested in Paris; according to others, he had sought refuge in the Pays Bas; and again, it was asserted that his Majesty was at Ostend, awaiting permission to pass the sea and return to his old and secure quarters in England.

In the midst of all this, on the 8th April, the post brought our order to march forthwith to Harwich, there to embark for Ostend—an order received with unfeigned joy by officers and men, all eager to plunge into danger and bloodshed, all hoping to obtain glory and distinction.

On the morning of the 9th, the troop paraded at half-past seven o’clock with as much regularity and as quietly as if only going to a field-day; not a man either absent or intoxicated, and every part of the guns and appointments in the most perfect order. At eight, the hour named in orders, we marched off the parade. The weather was fine, the scenery, as we skirted the beautiful banks of the Stour, charming, and the occasion exhilarating.

Near Manningtree we halted a short time to feed our horses, and then, pursuing our route, arrived at Harwich about three o’clock in the afternoon. Here we found the transports—the Adventure, Philarea, and Salus, in which last I embarked—awaiting us; but the tide being unfavourable, although we immediately commenced operations, we only succeeded in embarking the horses of one division and those of the officers; the remainder were therefore put up in the barracks for the night. As might be expected, the little town of Harwich presented a most animated spectacle. Its narrow streets of modest houses, with brick trottoirs, were crowded with soldiers—some, all over dust, just arrived; some, who had already been a day or two in the place, comparatively at home, lounging about in undress; others, about to embark, hurrying along to the beach with baggage and stores; sailors marketing, or rolling about half-seas-over; country-people bringing in vegetables and the like, and towns-people idling at their windows, or in groups at corners of the streets—in short, the usual picture incident on such occasions.

The morning of the 10th was foggy, which much retarded us, since it was necessary to embark the horses in flats to be taken off to the transports, not easily found in the fog. However, by noon all were on board, and without any serious accident, although a sailor was somewhat hurt in endeavouring to recover a horse that had fallen overboard. In the afternoon our guns, carriages, &c., were embarked; but as the wind blew right into the harbour, the agent would not attempt to get out, and we adjourned to Mr Bull’s comfortable house (the Three Cups), there to pass our last evening in England in the enjoyment of a good dinner, and perhaps for the last time to sleep in good beds.

About two P.M. on the 11th, a light breeze from the N.W. induced our agent to get under way, and we repaired on board our respective ships with every prospect of a good and speedy passage. In this, however, we were disappointed, for the breeze dying away as the sun went down, we anchored, by signal, at the harbour’s mouth, just as it got dark.

The evening was splendid. A clear sky studded with myriads of stars overhead, and below a calm unruffled sea, reflecting on its glassy surface the lights of the distant town, the low murmuring sounds from which, and the rippling of the water under the ships’ bows, were the only interruptions to the solemn stillness that prevailed after the people had retired to their berths. In our more immediate neighbourhood stretched out the long, low, sandy tract, on the seaward extremity of which the dark masses of Landguard fort could just be distinguished.

With daybreak on the morning of the 12th came a favourable wind, though light, and again we took up our anchors and proceeded to sea. For some distance, after clearing the harbour, our course lay along the Suffolk coast, and so near in that objects on shore were plainly discernible. To us, who had long been stationed at Woodbridge, only a few miles inland, this was highly interesting. We knew every village, every copse, every knoll—nay, almost every tree. There were the houses in which we had so oft been hospitably entertained; there were the sheep-walks on which we had so often manoeuvred; and there in the distance, as we passed the mouth of the Deben, our glasses showed us the very barrack on the hill, with its tiled roofs illumined by the noontide sun. About Bawdsey we left the coast, and steered straight over, with a light but favourable wind: the low sandy shores of Suffolk soon sank beneath the horizon. At noon fell in with a fleet of colliers bound for the river, and soon after saw the Sunk-Sand Light; when, as the wind had died away and the tide was setting us towards the bank, we anchored until the flood-tide. During the night a light breeze right aft, and smooth water, enabled us to make good progress; but towards morning (13th) the wind had very considerably increased, and although the coast was not in sight, we were sensible of its neighbourhood from the number of curious heavy-looking boats plying round us in all directions, having the foremast, with its huge lug-sail, stuck right up in the bow, or rather inclining over it. From one of these boats we soon procured a pilot—a little sturdy fellow, with a full, good-humoured countenance, and his breast decorated with a silver medal bearing the impress of an anchor, like our porters’ tickets, the badge of his calling.

The poor fellow was hardly on deck ere he was surrounded and assailed by innumerable questions—“Where is Buonaparte?” “Where is the French army?” “What are the English about?” “Has there been any fighting?” &c. &c. Of this he understood or heard only the word “Buonaparte,” and therefore to all kept repeating, “Il est capôte,” accompanied by a significant motion of the hand across the throat, at the same time showing much anxiety to get rid of his tormentors and proceed to business, which he did with such earnestness as soon gave us to understand there must be more than ordinary difficulty in entering the port of Ostend. The first and principal care was the getting up a hawser and coiling it on deck, the use of which we were soon to learn.

Meanwhile we had been approaching the coast, which, though still invisible, the pilot informed us was not distant. The first intimation of the truth of this was the appearance of the church tower and lofty lighthouse of Ostend; and we had brought about half their height above the horizon before land began to show itself, which it did in a number of isolated and rounded yellow hummocks, and at the same time the houses of the town became distinctly visible. With that impatience and excessive curiosity always felt upon approaching for the first time a strange land, especially under the present interesting state of things, all our glasses were directed to the coast, which we were rapidly nearing and hoped soon to reach, when, to our great disappointment, the pilot ordered the vessel to be hove to, and we found that the tide would not permit our running for the port before two p.m. Numbers of ships, brigs, and schooners were lying to as well as ourselves, and others continually arriving.

Nothing, certainly, could be more repulsive than the appearance of the coast—sand-hills as far as the eye could reach, broken only by the grey and lugubrious works and buildings of Ostend, and...

Produkt-Details

• Erscheint lt. Verlag: 22.3.2018
• Sprache: englisch
• Themenwelt: Sachbuch/Ratgeber ► Geschichte / Politik ► Neuzeit bis 1918
• Themenwelt: Geschichte ► Allgemeine Geschichte ► Neuzeit (bis 1918)
• Schlagworte: Bonaparte • French • General • Napoleon • Nelson
• ISBN-10: 1-5312-8929-0 / 1531289290
• ISBN-13: 978-1-5312-8929-4 / 9781531289294