In the story James Macdonell wonders whether Wellington really expects the Guards to hold Hougoumont or whether they are merely intended to draw French troops away from Napoleon’s centre. General Müffling certainly did not think Hougoumont could be held and said so. Wellington took pleasure, after the battle, in pointing out his mistake.
It seems likely that Wellington hoped the Guards would hold the chateau and farm all day but, if not, that they would do so for long enough to be a serious thorn in Napoleon’s side. Napoleon, on the other hand, hoped that Wellington would have to reinforce the Hougoumont garrison, thereby weakening his own centre. In fact, the relatively few reinforcements Wellington sent came from his right wing and did not weaken his centre.
The French may have committed as many as 14,000 men at different times to the attacks on Hougoumont, the Allies perhaps 3,500 (including Hanoverians, Brunswickers and Nassauers) to repulsing them, so Napoleon’s plan did not work. French casualties in and around Hougoumont of 5,000 were more than three times those of the Allies.
Hougoumont is often described as ‘a battle within a battle’. In some ways, it was. Macdonell and his Guards could not have known much of the progress of the battle raging in the valley and on the ridge beyond the orchard other than what little could be seen from the tower before it was destroyed. The whole battlefield would have been shrouded in smoke, information coming down the hollow lane would have been sketchy and unreliable and it would not have been easy to distinguish between the report of an Allied cannon and a French one. Fighting in a vacuum cannot have made the Guards’ task any easier.
The chateau and farm were situated about equidistant from Wellington’s right wing and Napoleon’s left. If Hougoumont had fallen, the French would have been able to use it as a springboard from which to attack the Anglo-Dutch forces on the slope behind it, which would have forced Wellington to reinforce his right wing, thereby weakening his centre.
That is why Wellington reckoned that Hougoumont held the key to the battle and why he chose James Macdonell to command the garrison there.
On 17th August 1815, Wellington wrote, ‘It is impossible to say when each occurrence took place, nor in what order.’
Hougoumont was attacked at least five times during the day, and the orchard more often. Within the framework of the battle, I have simply tried to give the reader an idea of what it must have been like for both attackers and defenders — unceasing, terrifying hell — rather than try to recreate the exact sequence of events.
The incident of Lord Saltoun leaving the orchard and meeting Wellington on the way up to the ridge is well recorded, but odd. The explanation I have suggested is my own invention, but seems to me to be plausible. In the notorious ‘fog of war’, such things can happen.
The name of the giant, axe-wielding French sous-lieutenant was, appropriately, Le Gros. He was known to his comrades as L’Enfonceur — ‘The Smasher’. The drummer boy’s name is not known, or even whether he survived. I have chosen to believe that he did, and that he managed to run back to the French lines at the time of the general retreat.
Stories of the gardener, Monsieur van Cutsem, and his daughter vary. At least one contemporary account denies their existence altogether. Some histories suggest that van Cutsem took an active part in the battle, others that his presence came as a shock to all when the fighting was at last over. I have chosen the latter. The brave Mrs Osborne, happily, survived.
The gallant button salesman who carried a vital message down from Wellington to General Kempt disappeared after the battle. It was only some years later that, by chance, Wellington learnt of his whereabouts and was able to reward him for his service.
There is a painting by W. Wollen, entitled by the artist — I respectfully suggest, mistakenly — The First Shot at the Battle of Waterloo. It looks to me much more like the French cavalry officer at Quatre Bras who was so furious at his horse being shot from under him that he brandished his sabre at the Guards in the wood who had done such an unchivalrous thing. The officer did not survive. I mention this as an example of how stories of Waterloo so easily changed with the telling and became confused. There are many other such examples.
Wellington’s remark, ‘Ah, but you do not know Macdonell’, is well documented but did not, as I have suggested, take place at the house in Waterloo. It was more probably said to General Müffling when they rode down on the morning of the battle to inspect Hougoumont.
Of the hundreds of other incidents, such as the carving of Christ on the cross which, apart from his feet, survived the fire, the bloody water and the obliging pigeons, that occurred at Quatre Bras and Waterloo, I have selected a few, sometimes with a little licence, that fitted my story.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
For excellent histories and accounts of this period, the humble novelist is spoilt for choice. I would mention, in particular, Alessandro Barbero’s The Battle, Mike Robinson’s The Battle of Quatre Bras 1815, and Hougoumont by Julian Paget and Derek Saunders. All these I found invaluable, as were Gareth Glover’s comprehensive Waterloo Archive series, Private Matthew Clay’s personal account of the battles, first published in 1853, and Sergeant Major Cotton’s A Voice from Waterloo, published in 1849.
My grateful thanks are also due to:
Rhydian Vaughan of Battlefield Tours, www.battlefieldtours.co.uk, who expertly guided us around the battlefields and acted as unofficial researcher and corrector of errors.
Colonel Simon Vandeleur, Regimental Adjutant Coldstream Guards at Wellington Barracks, for kindly allowing me access to the regimental archives.
Robert Cazenove, Regimental Archivist, Coldstream Guards for his help with uniforms, musical instruments and proper forms of address.
My agent David Headley, of DHH Literary Agents, for his encouragement and support and Susie Dunlop of Allison & Busby for hers.
And to all others who were kind enough to read my drafts and offer advice.
About the Author
ANDREW SWANSTON read a little law and a lot of sport at Cambridge University, and held various positions in the book trade, including being a director of Waterstone & Co, and chairman of Methven’s plc, before turning to writing. Inspired by a lifelong interest in seventeenth century history, his ‘Thomas Hill’ novels are set during the English Civil Wars and the early period of the Restoration. He lives with his wife in Surrey, near to their three children and two grandchildren. His interests include golf, gardening, and drawing.