The Battle Dance: Waterloo

Waterloo

A feeble smattering of grapeshot demonstrated the death throws of Napoleon's beautiful daughters. Lord Jasper was too busy searching the blue stream of the routed Frenchmen for their dwarfish emperor to care for casualties among his countrymen. So what occurred came as a surprise.

"Ah, Cathcart! Is Vandeleur up?" The chief of cavalry was very close to the commander in chief on hailing his adjutant. "I will go directly." His next words succeeded one less than impressive spatter of French lead."By Jove, sir, I've lost my leg."

Jasper's eyes shot to Uxbridge's tattered and bloody pantaloon, then they flitted away, his ears ringing.

"By Jove," Wellington commented, "so you have."

The Earl of Uxbridge tilted in his saddle and Jasper stretched out an arm to stop his fall. The Earl rested his ginger head on Jasper's shoulder.

"Cathcart!" Jasper cried.

No Colonel Cathcart. Gone. Captain Seymour? Oh, gone to get his own scratch attended. Am just I here to help?

The Duke was eying a stubborn huddle of blue coats holding out even as the bulk of La Garde had gone. Colborne's redcoats was surging on the crest of the advance while green jackets mopped up bypassed pockets of resistance.

Of course, I can't concern the chief with this now or he could not do his duty. The stump was spewing blood over the cobbles. Jasper peeled off Uxbridge's cravat, which seemed the most useful item at hand, and his trembling fingers rapped the cloth tightly around the source of distress.

"My lord, who will escort you?"

Uxbridge fluttered his eyes lids and groaned softly. As the chief had nobody else for aid, Jasper was reluctant to take the task on in person.

"What shall I do?"

Wellington cast Uxbridge a cursory glance. "Mont Sainte Jean. Someone there should assist."

Under such authority, Jasper could only ride back up the road with the splintered chief of cavalry hanging on his arm. Who knows if I will set eyes on this great man ever again? he thought, taking his leave.

The 95th rifles had been beating out a cloud of diehards in the environ of La Haye Sainte. The stream of fugitives belied their furious final defence against the galant green jackets. Two wounded rifle officers, still able to walk, told Jasper how the French had revived their fighting spirit before giving up the buildings.

"Got this bullet hole," the rifleman said. "Many fine fellow got more."

"Cathcart!" Jasper had seen the adjutant. "Lord Uxbridge must get into some sort of a litter."

Fortunately, more of Uxbridge's officers were now present to relieve Jasper and as his staff redressed the Earl's smashed limb, Cathcart borrowed a buggy, which the chief of cavalry was pleased to patronise.

"I also located Sir Horace Seymour," Cathcart said, climbing into the buggy. "The fine fellow is riding for a surgeon, wound or no wound. I'm grateful for what you have done."

"I dare say he will loose the his leg," Jasper said, showing concern because he was unconcerned. Cathcart grimaced and probably gave an opinion, but Jasper never knew, for he had urged his steed off, impatient to return to the frontline. His sympathies for the soldiers being killed or crippled had been saturated hours ago and to avoid succumbing to deeper emotions, he heeded Wellington's philosophy. Mourning could be done later. Jasper was able to locate the Duke, now aided by his Sardinian envoy, heading back from Hougoumont.

"Why did you give Colborne the slip?"

"The colonel has things well in hand." Wellington frowned at the forming light hussars. "Hugh Halkett's Hanoverians have made headway. Château du Goumont is finally free! I hope here's the same."