Chapter 17: Quatre Bras

You will have read, no doubt, of the battle which took place at Quatre Bras, on the 16th of June 1815? Well I do not intend going over that battle in any great detail, other than how it looked from my perspective. There have been accusations of cowardice, of wrong orders being given, of no orders being given, of mismanagement, misunderstandings, and mistakes being made at that battle -- and all that is absolutely true.

We were roused from our beds at dawn, on that warm overcast June morning of the 16th. The 3rd Division, of which the 5th British brigade was a part, had orders to march the fifteen or so miles to Quatre Bras and reinforce the Dutch, and sundry other allies. They were holding on to the cross roads and preventing the French from turning the Prussians' right flank, who were themselves engaged at Ligney, a few miles to the east of Quatre Bras.

Wellington was making good his agreement with Blucher, to support the Prussians, but unfortunately the Anglo-Dutch army was not concentrated at any one point, and it took some considerable time for the entire army to arrive at Quatre Bras -- we arrived in dribs and drabs -- and as soon as a unit arrived on the field it was thrown into the fray.

The march itself was a nightmare, and a day mire! All the roads and tracks were churned to quagmires; caissons, cannons, wagons, horses and men were firmly stuck fast in one huge glutinous mass, on all of the routes heading south towards the sounds of the growing battle. Our brigade had guides to lead us around these obstructions, but we were led astray by these so called 'guides', who were probably in the pay of the French, and it was well into the afternoon before we reached the cross roads at Quatre Bras.

The brigade was then immediately formed into line and thrown forward, with no skirmishers, nor indeed with any firm knowledge of what lay before us. This precipitate action was completely contrary to the wishes of our brigade commander, General Halkett, but unfortunately we were now under the command of the Prince of Orange, a brave enough young man but with less tactical experience, or skill, than the 69th's regimental goat. Our orders were to attack the French infantry, who were now pushing back the Dutch and Brunswickers holding onto two fortified farmhouses in advance of the actual cross roads.

We moved slowly through fields full of barley, wheat and rye; this area of Flanders is a fertile growing area, and the standing crops were head high. Any sense of direction was soon lost, and the whole brigade, stung out like beads on a string, got terribly disordered as the line dissolved into a shapeless mass of men, blindly pushing forward, with no idea of what was to their front or on their flanks. I tried to keep my company moving shoulder to shoulder, and we at least were in some sort of order when Kellerman's cuirassiers struck. We were also slightly behind the main mass; there was no semblance of a line by this time.

It was the drumming of hooves that first alerted us, as a brigade of cuirassiers swept into our right flank. Men, screaming in terror, and with bleeding heads and lopped off limbs, came streaming past, nearly sweeping us away into their uncontrolled retreat. I shouted to my men "Form square!", and those hours of practise paid off, for we managed to present a line of bladed muskets to the first group of those fearsome horsemen who approached us. They had easier prey in their sight than us, and we emptied a few saddles as they galloped past. Parslow's company had been alongside mine when we had stepped off, and I saw him on my left, frantically rallying his company. He saw that our company was a rock to which he could bind his men, and we ended up with over a hundred men in the square.

It seemed that the rest of the brigade, indeed the rest of the division, had been driven from the field, and I wondered how long it would be before a French horse artillery battery would arrive, and turn us into bloody shreds, with canister shot.

It was then I saw our colour party, the two ensigns, with the King's and Regimental colours, the four colour sergeants and a handful of men. A squadron of cuirassiers also saw them, and bore down on the group, whooping with glee to find such a prize. Braxton-Clark's company had been on my right when we had started off, but it had dissolved at the first sign of the enemy cavalry.

Had Braxton-Clark been a more diligent officer he too could have rallied his men, and joined his company to mine and Parslow's, and together we could well have saved both colours. As it was, only the ensign carrying the Regimental colour reached safety inside the square. The few men protecting the King's colour were soon cut down, the King's colour captured, and the ensign and colour sergeants killed, before they could reach us.

Having a Regimental colour displayed drew more men to the square, and not just from the 69th, as disorganised soldiers rallied to this rock in a sea of horsemen, and we soon had up to three hundred men forming a square that no cuirassiers would venture to charge. However they had no need to attack us as their very presence, just out of musket shot, kept us in our square and rooted to the spot.

The standing crops had been flattened by the passage of men and horses, and I now had a better view of the battle area. Ahead of us I could see Dutch and Brunswick infantry slowly withdrawing from the two farmhouses they had been defending. Columns of fresh French infantry could be seen approaching from the east, but what really chilled my blood was the sight of a battery of French horse artillery making its way toward us. With our square held in place by the ever present cuirassiers we would be canistered until we broke, and then the cavalry would ride us down.

What could I do to prevent a bloody massacre? The 5th Foot, at El Boden in Spain, had successfully withdrawn in the face of cavalry by keeping in square while marching. I doubted that our inexperienced men could emulate the actions of those veterans, but it was the only thing left for us to attempt.

I was about to instruct Sergeant Major Hitchcock to give the necessary orders when a thunderous volley of fire caused the cuirassiers to flee, many tumbling from their horses. The 1st Foot Guards had announced their arrival, by driving off the French cavalry, which allowed us to form the men into column and double quick march from that accursed field, back to the village of Quatre Bras. Much to my surprise, I found the brigade reforming, just to the rear of the cross roads. After the experience of being ridden down by cavalry I had thought the men would not stop running until reaching Brussels, and it shows how even the rawest recruit had it in them to stand and fight, given the proper leadership.