The Battle Dance: Waterloo

Closing the Gates of Hougoumont

The trees were mostly of oak. Wild raspberries tangled boots stomping through the undergrowth. The ground grew steeper closer to the château. The Germans could shoot down at Frenchmen struggling uphill in an ever fraying formation. The defenders had little need to exposure themselves except for when firing. Frenchmen fell, formed a layer of debris on the forest floor, mixed their blood in with the mud, but the tide was unabated and numbers mattered. A trickle of Germans issued out of the north of the wood. Now the first of the Allied forces were falling.

"Büsgen had reinforced the Hanoverian riflemen in the forest with his own light companies."

James MacDonnell moved his head back from the hedge. "How do you know this?"

Sir Felix Pollard tried not to smirk. "Büsgen and I are both familiar with the French tongue."

"Take me to him."

The Nassau captain had put his grenadiers into the buildings of Hougomont, two companies into the walled garden, and one lining the hedge of the big orchard.

"Let me lead out my grenadiers, Macdonnell!" Büsgen begged. "I know the Hanoverians must rally once we countercharge."

The commanders were watching the German Jaegers and militia fall back through the big orchard east of the château.

"Give our guns a minute to work on their skirmishers," Macdonnell responded stubbornly. "Our artillery and fire from the walls must mow these men down in a trice."

Captain Büsgen looked doubtful but his superior was soon justified. The blue coated light troops chasing the Hanoverians through the orchard found nothing would stop the British guns going into action once their quarry was out of range. Büsgen contented his men with releasing a murderous hail of lead at the dazed Frenchmen. MacDonnell had returned to his quarter of the defence and Büsgen sent Pollard running to tell the commander the enemy was falling back into the forest.

No sooner had the runner gone when further pockets of skirmishers appeared out of the gloom of fire, smoke, and oak to attempt an an assault on the garden wall. Yet the space between the wood and the brick masonry had turned into a killing ground. Some survivors did reach the relative safety of the wall and would yank at the protruding muskets firing through the loopholes. Hands were gashed on the bayonets if not blown off by the bullets. Other getting so far sought to help comrades over the wall, only to receive a musket ball at point-blank range or a sharp stab from a bayonet. None crossed the wall alive.

Büsgen glanced toward the southern gate and grew grim as a lone Nassau officer sprinted to supposed safety across the death zone, a Frenchman in hot pursuit. The German grasped at the door of the gardeners house but his shout of relief changed to a scream of anguish as the Frenchman struck at the outstretched hand with an axe. The squirt of blood drenched the two men as the Nassau collapsed and the French soldiers thrust inside the door. Nassau defenders quickly cut down the invaders and the door was closed and secured.

Ragged groups of French infantrymen began buffeting the Nassaus shooting over the hedge from the orchard. A clump of soldiers cut a way into the grove of apple trees only to encounter the fierce fire from the red brick formal garden.

"The wood has disoriented their cohesive columns," Büsgen said happily.

Pollard found Lt-Colonel MacDonnell inspecting the cornfields beyond the hedge border of the vegetable patch.

"Is my fancy working or does that corn shift to you?"

"The strong breeze could be the cause." Pollard squinted over the hedge at the golden harvest, powder carried across obscuring even this west of the wood. He was not as tall as his colonel but he could see enough to discern some definite movement. "I do see it." As he spoke a cold hand clutched at his heart. "I suspect it's more than the wind. We could have company."