(divide and conquer) – was Napoleon’s tactic, using just enough force to hold one in place while concentrating the majority of his own force to defeat the second. He did not have to destroy it completely, just to destroy any hope of it assisting the other. He would then turn to demolish the part of his opponent’s army he had previously fixed in place. The combination of Wellington’s Anglo-Allied army, more than 74,000 men (British, Dutch, Belgians, and Germans) and Blücher’s 100,000 Prussians was simply too big for Napoleon to defeat. His best defence was a sudden, sharp offensive. If he could come between them, first fight one, then the other, he might succeed in sending the Prussians east, back across the Rhine, and subsequently drive Wellington north-west, back along his line of communications towards Ostend, leaving Brussels open to him. By striking direct for Brussels, dividing Wellington and Blücher, getting between them and keeping them apart, this might of itself send them back along the separate ways they came, and the Belgian capital would be in French hands and a psychological victory achieved. Napoleon might then be able to negotiate with Austria and Russia who were busily mobilising huge armies in excess of 150,000 men each, and salvage a peace deal, restoring pride for France – perhaps later, to restore the previous extent of the former French Empire.
Wellington’s confidence in his spy network had been misplaced. He had, of course, received reports from the field of French troops mobilising and concentrating across the frontier in France, but he was unsure if this was a deliberate feint and that Napoleon’s real point of attack would be executed elsewhere. He did not wish to commit his troops too early and to the wrong place, incorrectly falling for a deception and allowing Napoleon to manoeuvre around him. He waited for his secret network of information gatherers to confirm or otherwise illuminate him. He received neither, only silence. Wellington’s intelligence failure had left him blind, and he was caught out, leading him to remark, ‘Napoleon has humbugged me, by God’. He had now to get his army to a speedily selected delaying position at the crossroads of Quatre Bras. Napoleon was on the move, and speedily so; he had gained the initiative, and his advance needed to be stalled, so Wellington and Blücher could reconfigure and combine. Napoleon had put them off balance and he intended capitalizing on this and was moving at pace.
Gaining Impetus
Surprise achieved, his momentous momentum maintained, Napoleon intended to continue the impetus of his forces’ advance by high tempo movement. To ensure the rapidity of this propulsion he dispatched Marshal Ney with a force to occupy the vital position of Quatre Bras from which, having pounded the Prussians into submission at Ligny, he would use the crucial crossroads as a pivot or springboard to then crush Wellington, his Anglo-Allied army fixed into an unfavoured position by Marshal Ney.
Napoleon did successfully maul Blücher and his Prussians, who had over-extended themselves along marshy ground, suffering 20,000 casualties for the loss of 14,000 French, which Napoleon could ill-afford. Nonetheless the Prussians were in retreat and Napoleon sent Marshal Grouchy with more than 30,000 men in pursuit to ensure they did not join with Wellington. Napoleon, having achieved the first part of his plan, hurried to Quatre Bras to execute the second part.
In less than his customary dynamic fashion, Marshal Ney displayed a peculiar absence of energy and lapse of judgement in not initially seizing Quatre Bras. His delaying allowed Wellington to arrive, hold off Ney’s subsequent attacks, and consequently, on hearing of Blücher’s defeat, to withdraw in good order. Ney further compounded his errors by not continuing to harass or pursue Wellington in retreat. On arrival at Quatre Bras, an incredulous Napoleon was furious; all that he had won at Ligny was lost at Quatre Bras and with it time, time for Wellington to choose his ground, to be better prepared for the next round of fighting, if there was to be such. The opportunity for Napoleon to engage Wellington on his own in a rushed tempo on unfavourable ground had been lost. He wasn’t sure if he would get another.
It was now a matter of direction. Along which route would Blücher and his defeated Prussians retreat? Which way would he withdraw? East, back across the Rhine or north towards Brussels ? Away from or towards Wellington? To stay separated from or to combine with Wellington? Without Blücher and his Prussians, Wellington was unlikely to engage, let alone defeat Napoleon and might well abandon Brussels and seek advantage further back along his line of communications towards the coast. Blücher had Marshal Grouchy and 30,000 Frenchmen on his trail, and was advised by his chief of staff, who was distrustful of Wellington, to go east, but Blücher, who hated the French, marched north to support Wellington as he had promised.
Dramatic as Napoleon’s surprise strike into Belgium and successful separation of the Anglo-Allied army was, exciting as the concurrent battles at Ligny and Quatre Bras were, and sensational as Blücher’s decision to keep to his promise with Wellington was, matters were to become even more spectacularly electrifying. It was all only a prelude to something that would burn the name Waterloo into the minds of men for ever.
Turbulence
Wet and weary soldiers awoke on the sodden, waterlogged Waterloo terrain. The unrelenting rain of a summer thunderstorm had turned much of the surface, a loamy rich soil, to mud, through which infantry and cavalry would now have to trudge and into which artillery would sink. The French had fought with mud on their boots before, it was not going to stop them, but the ill effects of the previous night’s atrocious weather had made the most ordinary tasks more maddeningly troublesome and, importantly, made difficult the concentration of Napoleon’s grand artillery battery. The overnight torrential downpour had initially impeded movement, marring manoeuvrability, and so delayed the battle’s beginning.
Delayed also was Lieutenant Colonel John Dawson, 2nd Earl of Portarlington from Emo Court, County Laois. An experienced officer, he had seen service in the Peninsular War and in June 1815 he was officer commanding the 23rd Regiment of Light Dragoons. At the battle’s commencement on the morning of 18 June he was not where his duty required him to be, present with his regiment. The reason for this has never been confirmed and versions vary – taken ill, his servant neglected to wake him, he had on the previous evening departed to Brussels to seek enjoyment. Whatever account is correct, the essential truth is he was not at Waterloo commanding his regiment as the battle got under way. He did return to find the fighting well progressed and his regiment already decisively engaged. Eager to compensate for his absence, he attached himself to the 18th Hussars and fought with commendable courage for what remained of the day, having a horse shot from under him near the height of hostilities, but it was insufficient to redeem him, more especially in his own eyes, and the episode severely damaged his standing. His absence from duty on such an occasion required his retirement from the 23rd Regiment of Light Dragoons in September 1815. Although receiving much support from the not insufficient patronage of no less a person than the Prince Regent himself who did his best to uphold the unfortunate officer, as no one who knew him doubted his courage, he felt he was unable to escape the supposedly dishonourably viewed action unbecoming of an officer commanding. He allowed this unfortunate incident to mar his future, and he squandered the remainder of his life, wasting a large fortune and any hope of redemption. He died unmarried in a boarding house in an obscure London slum in late December 1845. That then was his singular future fate; for now, on the eve of battle, all those present had to cope with the severe torrential rain. Captain (later Colonel) George Cotter, second son of the Reverend George Sackville Cotter from Youghal, County Cork, was to recollect that,
the night was so cold and the rain of the previous day had been so heavy, that the surface of the whole ridge upon which we lay was quickly converted into thin mud, through which we sank more than ankle deep. I preferred standing up and walking to and fro during the hours of darkness to lying upon such a bed. The night wore tediously away, and frequently during the late hours, while the sounds from either army met my ears, did I repeat the lines in which Shakespeare depicts the rival camps during the night before the battle of Agincourt.
Most of the day before the battle had been marked by appalling weather. This pouring rain did, however, do much to assist in covering the withdrawal of Wellington’s army north to the Waterloo position as they were harassed and harried by the French.
