Chapter XV: Part 15

Is it?... Now here come the Highland Brigade with their pipes
and their “Hieland Laddie.” How the sweethearts cling to the men's
arms. [Reaching forward.] There are more regiments following.
But look, that gentleman opposite knows us. I cannot remember his
name. [She bows and calls across.] Sir, which are these?

GENTLEMAN OPPOSITE

The Ninety-second. Next come the Forty-ninth, and next the Forty-
second--Sir Denis Pack's brigade.

ELDER LADY

Thank you.--I think it is that gentleman we talked to at the
Duchess's, but I am not sure. [A pause: another band.]

GENTLEMAN OPPOSITE

That's the Twenty-eighth. [They pass, with their band and colours.]
Now the Thirty-second are coming up--part of Kempt's brigade. Endless,
are they not?

ELDER LADY

Yes, Sir. Has the Duke passed out yet?

GENTLEMAN OPPOSITE

Not yet. Some cavalry will go by first, I think. The foot coming
up now are the Seventy-ninth. [They pass.]... These next are
the Ninety-fifth. [They pass.]... These are the First Foot-
guards now. [They pass, playing “British Grenadiers.”]... The
Fusileer-guards now. [They pass.] Now the Coldstreamers. [They
pass. He looks up towards the Parc.] Several Hanoverian regiments
under Colonel Best are coming next. [They pass, with their bands
and colours. An interval.]

ELDER LADY [to daughter]

Here are the hussars. How much more they carry to battle than at
reviews. The hay in those great nets must encumber them. [She
turns and sees that her daughter has become pale.] Ah, now I know!
HE has just gone by. You exchanged signals with him, you wicked
girl! How do you know what his character is, or if he'll ever come
back?

[The younger lady goes and flings herself on her face upon the
bed, sobbing silently. Her mother glances at her, but leaves
her alone. An interval. The prancing of a group of horsemen
is heard on the cobble-stones without.]

GENTLEMAN OPPOSITE [calling]

Here comes the Duke!

ELDER LADY [to younger]

You have left the window at the most important time! The Duke of
Wellington and his staff-officers are passing out.

YOUNGER LADY

I don't want to see him. I don't want to see anything any more!

[Riding down the street comes WELLINGTON in a grey frock-coat and
small cocked hat, frigid and undemonstrative; accompanied by four
or five Generals of his suite, the Deputy Quartermaster-general
De LANCEY, LORD FITZROY SOMERSET, Aide-de-camp, and GENERAL
MUFFLING.]

GENTLEMAN OPPOSITE

He is the Prussian officer attached to our headquarters, through whom
Wellington communicates with Blücher, who, they say, is threatened by
the French at Ligny at this moment.

[The elder lady turns to her daughter, and going to the bed bends
over her, while the horses' tramp of WELLINGTON and his staff
clatters more faintly in the street, and the music of the last
retreating band dies away towards the Forest of Soignes.

Finding her daughter is hysterical with grief she quickly draws
the window-curtains to screen the room from the houses opposite.
Scene ends.]

SCENE V

THE FIELD OF LIGNY

[The same day later. A prospect of the battlefield of Ligny
southward from the roof of the windmill of Bussy, which stands at
the centre and highest point of the Prussian position, about six
miles south-east of Quatre-Bras.

The ground slopes downward along the whole front of the scene to
a valley through which wanders the Ligne, a muddy stream bordered
by sallows. On both sides of the stream, in the middle plane of
the picture, stands the village of Ligny, composed of thatched
cottages, gardens, and farm-houses with stone walls; the main
features, such as the church, church-yard, and village-green
being on the further side of the Ligne.

On that side the land reascends in green wheatfields to an
elevation somewhat greater than that of the foreground, reaching
away to Fleurus in the right-hand distance.

In front, on the slopes between the spectator and the village,
is the First Corps of the Prussian army commanded by Zieten, its
First Brigade under STEINMETZ occupying the most salient point.
The Corps under THIELMANN is ranged to the left, and that of
PIRCH to the rear, in reserve to ZIETEN. In the centre-front,
just under the mill, BLÜCHER on a fine grey charger is intently
watching, with his staff.

Something dark is seen to be advancing over the horizon by
Fleurus, about three miles off. It is the van of NAPOLEON'S
army, approaching to give battle.

At this moment hoofs are heard clattering along a road that
passes behind the mill; and there come round to the front the
DUKE OF WELLINGTON, his staff-officers, and a small escort of
cavalry.

WELLINGTON and BLÜCHER greet each other at the foot of the
windmill. They disappear inside, and can be heard ascending
the ladders.

Enter on the roof WELLINGTON and BLÜCHER, followed by FITZROY
SOMERSET, GNEISENAU, MUFFLING, and others. Before renewing
their conversation they peer through their glasses at the dark
movements on the horizon. WELLINGTON'S manner is deliberate,
judicial, almost indifferent; BLÜCHER'S eager and impetuous.

WELLINGTON

They muster not as yet in near such strength
At Quatre-Bras as here.

BLÜCHER

'Tis from Fleurus
They come debouching. I, perforce, withdrew
My forward posts of cavalry at dawn
In face of their light cannon.... They'll be here
I reckon, soon!

WELLINGTON [still with glass]

I clearly see his staff,
And if my eyes don't lie, the Arch-one too....
It is the whole Imperial army, Prince,
That we've before us. [A silence.] Well, we'll cope with them!
What would you have me do?

[BLÜCHER is so absorbed in what he sees that he does not heed.]

GNEISENAU

Duke, this I'd say:
Events suggest to us that you come up
With all your force, behind the village here,
And act as our reserve.

MUFFLING

But Bonaparte,
Pray note, has redistributed his strength
In fashion that you fail to recognize.
I am against your scheme.

BLÜCHER [lowering his glass]

Signs notify
Napoleon's plans as changed! He purports now
To strike our left--between Sombreffe and Brye....
If so, I have to readjust my ward.

WELLINGTON

One of his two divisions that we scan
Outspreading from Fleurus, seems bent on Ligny,
The other on Saint-Amand.

BLÜCHER

Well, I shall see
In half an hour, your Grace. If what I deem
Be what he means, Von Zieten's corps forthwith
Must stand to their positions: Pirch out here,
Henckel at Ligny, Steinmetz at La Haye.

WELLINGTON

So that, your Excellency, as I opine,
I go and sling my strength on their left wing--
Manoeuvring to outflank 'em on that side.

BLÜCHER

True, true. Our plan uncovers of itself;
You bear down everything from Quatre-Bras
Along the road to Frasnes.

WELLINGTON

I will, by God.
I'll bear straight on to Gosselies, if needs!

GNEISENAU

Your Excellencies, if I may be a judge,
Such movement will not tend to unity;
It leans too largely on a peradventure
Most speculative in its contingencies!

[A silence; till the officers of the staff remark to each other
that concentration is best in any circumstances. A general
discussion ensues.]

BLÜCHER [concludingly]

We will expect you, Duke, to our support.

WELLINGTON

I must agree that, in the sum, it's best.
So be it then. If not attacked myself
I'll come to you.--Now I return with speed
To Quatre-Bras.

BLÜCHER

And I descend from here
To give close eye and thought to things below;
No more can well be studied where we stand.

[Exeunt from roof WELLINGTON, BLÜCHER and the rest. They reappear
below, and WELLINGTON and his suite gallop furiously away in the
direction of Quatre-Bras. An interval.]

DUMB SHOW [below]

Three reports of a cannon give the signal for the French attack.
NAPOLEON'S army advances down the slopes of green corn opposite,
bands and voices joining in songs of victory. The French come
in three grand columns; VANDAMME'S on the left [the spectator's
right] against Saint-Amand, the most forward angle of the Prussian
position. GERARD'S in the centre bear down upon Ligny. GROUCHY'S
on the French right is further back. Far to the rear can be
discerned NAPOLEON, the Imperial Guard, and MILHAUD'S cuirassiers
halted in reserve.

This formidable advance is preceded by swarms of tirailleurs, who
tread down the high wheat, exposing their own men in the rear.

Amid cannonading from both sides they draw nearer to the Prussians,
though lanes are cut through them by the latter's guns. They drive
the Prussians out of Ligny; who, however, rally in the houses,
churchyard, and village green.

SPIRIT OF THE PITIES

I see unnatural an Monster, loosely jointed,
With an Apocalyptic Being's shape,
And limbs and eyes a hundred thousand strong,
And fifty thousand heads; which coils itself
About the buildings there.

SPIRIT OF THE YEARS

Thou dost indeed.
It is the Monster Devastation. Watch.

Round the church they fight without quarter, shooting face to face,
stabbing with unfixed bayonets, and braining with the butts of
muskets. The village catches fire, and soon becomes a furnace.
The crash of splitting timbers as doors are broken through, the
curses of the fighters, rise into the air, with shouts of “En
avant!” from the further side of the stream, and “Vorwarts!” from
the nearer.

The battle extends to the west by Le Hameau and Saint-Amand la Haye;
and Ligny becomes invisible under a shroud of smoke.

VOICES [at the base of the mill]

This sun will go down bloodily for us!
The English, sharply sighed for by Prince Blücher,
Cannot appear. Wellington words across
That hosts have set on him at Quatre-Bras,
And leave him not one bayonet to spare!

The truth of this intelligence is apparent. A low dull sound heard
lately from the direction of Quatre-Bras has increased to a roaring
cannonade. The scene abruptly closes.

SCENE VI

THE FIELD AT QUATRE-BRAS

[The same day. The view is southward, and the straight gaunt
highway from Brussels [behind the spectator] to Charleroi over
the hills in front, bisects the picture from foreground to
distance. Near at hand, where it is elevated and open, there
crosses it obliquely, at a point called Les Quatre-Bras, another
road which comes from Nivelle, five miles to the gazer's right
rear, and goes to Namur, twenty miles ahead to the left. At a
distance of five or six miles in this latter direction it passes
near the previous scene, Ligny, whence the booming of guns can
be continuously heard.

Between the cross-roads in the centre of the scene and the far
horizon the ground dips into a hollow, on the other side of which
the same straight road to Charleroi is seen climbing the crest,
and over it till out of sight. From a hill on the right hand of
the mid-distance a large wood, the wood of Bossu, reaches up
nearly to the crossways, which give their name to the buildings
thereat, consisting of a few farm-houses and an inn.

About three-quarters of a mile off, nearly hidden by the horizon
towards Charleroi, there is also a farmstead, Gemioncourt; another,
Piraumont, stands on an eminence a mile to the left of it, and
somewhat in front of the Namur road.]

DUMB SHOW

As this scene uncovers the battle is beheld to be raging at its
height, and to have reached a keenly tragic phase. WELLINGTON has
returned from Ligny, and the main British and Hanoverian position,
held by the men who marched out of Brussels in the morning, under
officers who danced the previous night at the Duchess's, is along
the Namur road to the left of the perspective, and round the cross-
road itself. That of the French, under Ney, is on the crests further
back, from which they are descending in imposing numbers. Some
advanced columns are assailing the English left, while through the
smoke-hazes of the middle of the field two lines of skirmishers
are seen firing at each other--the southernmost dark blue, the
northernmost dull red. Time lapses till it is past four o'clock.

SPIRIT OF RUMOUR

The cannonade of the French ordnance-lines
Has now redoubled. Columns new and dense
Of foot, supported by fleet cavalry,
Straightly impinge upon the Brunswick bands
That border the plantation of Bossu.
Above some regiments of the assaulting French
A flag like midnight swims upon the air,
To say no quarter may be looked for there!

The Brunswick soldiery, much notched and torn by the French grape-
shot, now lie in heaps. The DUKE OF BRUNSWICK himself, desperate
to keep them steady, lights his pipe, and rides slowly up and down
in front of his lines previous to the charge which follows.

SPIRIT OF RUMOUR

The French have heaved them on the Brunswickers,
And borne them back. Now comes the Duke's told time.
He gallops at the head of his hussars--
Those men of solemn and appalling guise,
Full-clothed in black, with nodding hearsy plumes,
A shining silver skull and cross of bones
Set upon each, to byspeak his slain sire....
Concordantly, the expected bullet starts
And finds the living son.

BRUNSWICK reels to the ground. His troops, disheartened, lose their
courage and give way.

The French front columns, and the cavalry supporting them, shout
as they advance. The Allies are forced back upon the English main
position. WELLINGTON is in personal peril for a time, but he escapes
it by a leap of his horse.

A curtain of smoke drops. An interval. The curtain reascends.

SPIRIT OF THE PITIES

Behold again the Dynasts' gory gear!
Since we regarded, what has progressed here?

RECORDING ANGEL [in recitative]

Musters of English foot and their allies
Came palely panting by the Brussels way,
And, swiftly stationed, checked their counter-braves.
Ney, vexed by lack of like auxiliaries,
Bade then the columned cuirassiers to charge
In all their edged array of weaponcraft.
Yea; thrust replied to thrust, and fire to fire;
The English broke, till Picton prompt to prop them
Sprang with fresh foot-folk from the covering rye.

Next, Pire's cavalry took up the charge....
And so the action sways. The English left
Is turned at Piraumont; whilst on their right
Perils infest the greenwood of Bossu;
Wellington gazes round with dubious view;
England's long fame in fight seems sepulchered,
And ominous roars swell loudlier Ligny-ward.

SPIRIT OF RUMOUR

New rage has wrenched the battle since thou'st writ;
Hot-hasting succours of light cannonry
Lately come up, relieve the English stress;
Kellermann's cuirassiers, both man and horse
All plated over with the brass of war,
Are rolling on the highway. More brigades
Of British, soiled and sweltering, now are nigh,
Who plunge within the boscage of Bossu;
Where in the hidden shades and sinuous creeps
Life-struggles can be heard, seen but in peeps.
Therewith the foe's accessions harass Ney,
Racked that no needful d'Erlon darks the way!

Inch by inch NEY has to draw off: WELLINGTON promptly advances. At
dusk NEY'S army finds itself back at Frasnes, where he meets D'ERLON
coming up to his assistance, too late.

The weary English and their allies, who have been on foot ever since
one o'clock the previous morning, prepare to bivouac in front of the
cross-roads. Their fires flash up for a while; and by and by the
dead silence of heavy sleep hangs over them. WELLINGTON goes into
his tent, and the night darkens.

A Prussian courier from Ligny enters, who is conducted into the tent
to WELLINGTON.

SPIRIT OF THE PITIES

What tidings can a courier bring that count
Here, where such mighty things are native born?

RECORDING ANGEL [in recitative]

The fury of the tumult there begun
Scourged quivering Ligny through the afternoon:
Napoleon's great intent grew substantive,
And on the Prussian pith and pulse he bent
His foretimed blow. Blücher, to butt the shock,
Called up his last reserves, and heading on,
With blade high brandished by his aged arm,
Spurred forward his white steed. But they, outspent,
Failed far to follow. Darkness coped the sky,
And storm, and rain with thunder. Yet once more
He cheered them on to charge. His horse, the while,
Pierced by a bullet, fell on him it bore.
He, trampled, bruised, faint, and in disarray
Dragged to another mount, was led away.
His ragged lines withdraw from sight and sound,
And their assailants camp upon the ground.

The scene shuts with midnight.

SCENE VII

BRUSSELS. THE PLACE ROYALE

[The same night, dark and sultry. A crowd of citizens throng the
broad Place. They gaze continually down the Rue de Namur, along
which arrive minute by minute carts and waggons laden with wounded
men. Other wounded limp into the city on foot. At much greater
speed enter fugitive soldiers from the miscellaneous contingents
of WELLINGTON'S army at Quatre-Bras, who gesticulate and explain
to the crowd that all is lost and that the French will soon be in
Brussels.

Baggage-carts and carriages, with and without horses, stand before
an hotel, surrounded by a medley of English and other foreign
nobility and gentry with their valets and maids. Bulletins from
the battlefield are affixed on the corner of the Place, and people
peer at them by the dim oil lights.

A rattle of hoofs reaches the ears, entering the town by the same
Namur gate. The riders disclose themselves to be Belgian hussars,
also from the field.]

SEVERAL HUSSARS

The French approach! Wellington is beaten. Bonaparte is at our heels.

[Consternation reaches a climax. Horses are hastily put-to at the
hotel: people crowd into the carriages and try to drive off. They
get jammed together and hemmed in by the throng. Unable to move
they quarrel and curse despairingly in sundry tongues.]

BARON CAPELLEN

Affix the new bulletin. It is a more assuring one, and may quiet
them a little.

[A new bulletin is nailed over the old one.]

MAYOR

Good people, calm yourselves. No victory has been won by Bonaparte.
The noise of guns heard all the afternoon became fainter towards the
end, showing beyond doubt that the retreat was away from the city.

A CITIZEN

The French are said to be forty thousand strong at Les Quatre-Bras,
and no forty thousand British marched out against them this morning!

ANOTHER CITIZEN

And it is whispered that the city archives and the treasure-chest
have been sent to Antwerp!

MAYOR

Only as a precaution. No good can be gained by panic. Sixty or
seventy thousand of the Allies, all told, face Napoleon at this
hour. Meanwhile who is to attend to the wounded that are being
brought in faster and faster? Fellow-citizens, do your duty by
these unfortunates, and believe me that when engaged in such an
act of mercy no enemy will hurt you.

CITIZENS

What can we do?

MAYOR

I invite all those who have such, to bring mattresses, sheets, and
coverlets to the Hotel de Ville, also old linen and lint from the
houses of the cures.

[Many set out on this errand. An interval. Enter a courier, who
speaks to the MAYOR and the BARON CAPELLEN.]

BARON CAPELLEN [to Mayor]

Better inform them immediately, to prevent a panic.

MAYOR [to Citizens]

I grieve to tell you that the Duke of Brunswick, whom you saw ride
out this morning, was killed this afternoon at Les Quatre-Bras. A
musket-ball passed through his bridle-hand and entered his belly.
His body is now arriving. Carry yourselves gravely.

[A lane is formed in the crowd in the direction of the Rue de
Namur; they wait. Presently an extemporized funeral procession,
with the body of the DUKE on a gun-carriage, and a small escort
of Brunswickers with carbines reversed, comes slowly up the
street, their silver death's-heads shining in the lamplight.
The agitation of the citizens settles into a silent gloom as
the mournful train passes.]

MAYOR [to Baron Capellen]

I noticed the strange look of prepossession on his face at the ball
last night, as if he knew what was going to be.

BARON CAPELLEN

The Duchess mentioned it to me.... He hated the French, if any
man ever did, and so did his father before him! Here comes the
English Colonel Hamilton, straight from the field. He will give
us trustworthy particulars.

[Enter COLONEL HAMILTON by the Rue de Namur. He converses with
the MAYOR and the BARON on the issue of the struggle.]

MAYOR

Now I will go the Hotel de Ville, and get it ready for those wounded
who can find no room in private houses.

[Exeunt MAYOR, CAPELLEN, D'URSEL, HAMILTON, etc. severally. Many
citizens descend in the direction of the Hotel de Ville to assist.
Those who remain silently watch the carts bringing in the wounded
till a late hour. The doors of houses in the Place and elsewhere
are kept open, and the rooms within lighted, in expectation of
more arrivals from the field. A courier gallops up, who is accosted
by idlers.]

COURIER [hastily]

The Prussians are defeated at Ligny by Napoleon in person. He will
be here to-morrow.

[Exit courier.]

FIRST IDLER

The devil! Then I am for welcoming him. No Antwerp for me!

OTHER IDLERS [sotto voce]

Vive l'Empereur!

[A warm summer fog from the Lower Town covers the Parc and the
Place Royale.]

SCENE VIII

THE ROAD TO WATERLOO

[The view is now from Quatre-Bras backward along the road by
which the English arrived. Diminishing in a straight line from
the foreground to the centre of the distance it passes over Mont
Saint-Jean and through Waterloo to Brussels.

It is now tinged by a moving mass of English and Allied infantry,
in retreat to a new position at Mont Saint-Jean. The sun shines
brilliantly upon the foreground as yet, but towards Waterloo and
the Forest of Soignes on the north horizon it is overcast with
black clouds which are steadily advancing up the sky.

To mask the retreat the English outposts retain their position
on the battlefield in the face of NEY'S troops, and keep up a
desultory firing: the cavalry for the same reason remain, being
drawn up in lines beside the intersecting Namur road.

Enter WELLINGTON, UXBRIDGE [who is in charge of the cavalry],
MUFFLING, VIVIAN, and others. They look through their field-
glasses towards Frasnes, NEY'S position since his retreat
yesternight, and also towards NAPOLEON'S at Ligny.]

WELLINGTON

The noonday sun, striking so strongly there,
Makes mirrors of their arms. That they advance
Their glowing radiance shows. Those gleams by Marbais
Suggest fixed bayonets.

UXBRIDGE

Vivian's glass reveals
That they are cuirassiers. Ney's troops, too, near
At last, methinks, along this other road.

WELLINGTON

One thing is sure: that here the whole French force
Schemes to unite and sharply follow us.
It formulates our fence. The cavalry
Must linger here no longer; but recede
To Mont Saint-Jean, as rearguard of the foot.
From the intelligence that Gordon brings
'Tis pretty clear old Blücher had to take
A damned good drubbing yesterday at Ligny,
And has been bent hard back! So that, for us,
Bound to the plighted plan, there is no choice
But do like.... No doubt they'll say at home
That we've been well thrashed too. It can't be helped,
They must!... [He looks round at the sky.] A heavy rainfall
threatens us,
To make it all the worse!

[The speaker and his staff ride off along the Brussels road in
the rear of the infantry, and UXBRIDGE begins the retreat of the
cavalry. CAPTAIN MERCER enters with a light battery.]

MERCER [excitedly]

Look back, my lord;
Is it not Bonaparte himself we see
Upon the road I have come by?

UXBRIDGE [looking through glass]

Yes, by God;
His face as clear-cut as the edge of a cloud
The sun behind shows up! His suite and all!
Fire--fire! And aim you well.

[The battery makes ready and fires.]

No! It won't do.
He brings on mounted ordnance of his Guard,
So we're in danger here. Then limber up,
And off as soon as may be.

[The English artillery and cavalry retreat at full speed, just as
the weather bursts, with flashes of lightning and drops of rain.
They all clatter off along the Brussels road, UXBRIDGE and his
aides galloping beside the column; till no British are left at
Quatre-Bras except the slain.

The focus of the scene follows the retreating English army, the
highway and its and margins panoramically gliding past the vision
of the spectator. The phantoms chant monotonously while the retreat
goes on.]

CHORUS OF RUMOURS [aerial music]

Day's nether hours advance; storm supervenes
In heaviness unparalleled, that screens
With water-woven gauzes, vapour-bred,
The creeping clumps of half-obliterate red--
Severely harassed past each round and ridge
By the inimical lance. They gain the bridge
And village of Genappe, in equal fence
With weather and the enemy's violence.
--Cannon upon the foul and flooded road,
Cavalry in the cornfields mire-bestrowed,
With frothy horses floundering to their knees,
Make wayfaring a moil of miseries!
Till Britishry and Bonapartists lose
Their clashing colours for the tawny hues
That twilight sets on all its stealing tinct imbues.

[The rising ground of Mont Saint-Jean, in front of Waterloo,
is gained by the English vanguard and main masses of foot, and
by degrees they are joined by the cavalry and artillery. The
French are but little later in taking up their position amid
the cornfields around La Belle Alliance.

Fires begin to shine up from the English bivouacs. Camp kettles
are slung, and the men pile arms and stand round the blaze to dry
themselves. The French opposite lie down like dead men in the
dripping green wheat and rye, without supper and without fire.

By and by the English army also lies down, the men huddling
together on the ploughed mud in their wet blankets, while some
sleep sitting round the dying fires.]

CHORUS OF THE YEARS [aerial music]

The eyelids of eve fall together at last,
And the forms so foreign to field and tree
Lie down as though native, and slumber fast!

CHORUS OF THE PITIES

Sore are the thrills of misgiving we see
In the artless champaign at this harlequinade,
Distracting a vigil where calm should be!

The green seems opprest, and the Plain afraid
Of a Something to come, whereof these are the proofs,--
Neither earthquake, nor storm, nor eclipses's shade!

CHORUS OF THE YEARS

Yea, the coneys are scared by the thud of hoofs,
And their white scuts flash at their vanishing heels,
And swallows abandon the hamlet-roofs.

The mole's tunnelled chambers are crushed by wheels,
The lark's eggs scattered, their owners fled;
And the hedgehog's household the sapper unseals.

The snail draws in at the terrible tread,
But in vain; he is crushed by the felloe-rim
The worm asks what can be overhead,

And wriggles deep from a scene so grim,
And guesses him safe; for he does not know
What a foul red flood will be soaking him!

Beaten about by the heel and toe
Are butterflies, sick of the day's long rheum,
To die of a worse than the weather-foe.

Trodden and bruised to a miry tomb
Are ears that have greened but will never be gold,
And flowers in the bud that will never bloom.

CHORUS OF THE PITIES

So the season's intent, ere its fruit unfold,
Is frustrate, and mangled, and made succumb,
Like a youth of promise struck stark and cold!...

And what of these who to-night have come?

CHORUS OF THE YEARS

The young sleep sound; but the weather awakes
In the veterans, pains from the past that numb;

Old stabs of Ind, old Peninsular aches,
Old Friedland chills, haunt their moist mud bed,
Cramps from Austerlitz; till their slumber breaks.

CHORUS OF SINISTER SPIRITS

And each soul shivers as sinks his head
On the loam he's to lease with the other dead
From to-morrow's mist-fall till Time be sped!

[The fires of the English go out, and silence prevails, save
for the soft hiss of the rain that falls impartially on both
the sleeping armies.]

ACT SEVENTH

SCENE I

THE FIELD OF WATERLOO

[An aerial view of the battlefield at the time of sunrise is
disclosed.

The sky is still overcast, and rain still falls. A green
expanse, almost unbroken, of rye, wheat, and clover, in oblong
and irregular patches undivided by fences, covers the undulating
ground, which sinks into a shallow valley between the French and
English positions. The road from Brussels to Charleroi runs like
a spit through both positions, passing at the back of the English
into the leafy forest of Soignes.

The latter are turning out from their bivouacs. They move stiffly
from their wet rest, and hurry to and fro like ants in an ant-hill.
The tens of thousands of moving specks are largely of a brick-red
colour, but the foreign contingent is darker.

Breakfasts are cooked over smoky fires of green wood. Innumerable
groups, many in their shirt-sleeves, clean their rusty firelocks,
drawing or exploding the charges, scrape the mud from themselves,
and pipeclay from their cross-belts the red dye washed off their
jackets by the rain.

At six o'clock, they parade, spread out, and take up their positions
in the line of battle, the front of which extends in a wavy riband
three miles long, with three projecting bunches at Hougomont, La
Haye Sainte, and La Haye.

Looking across to the French positions we observe that after
advancing in dark streams from where they have passed the night
they, too, deploy and wheel into their fighting places--figures
with red epaulettes and hairy knapsacks, their arms glittering
like a display of cutlery at a hill-side fair.

They assume three concentric lines of crescent shape, that converge
on the English midst, with great blocks of the Imperial Guard at
the back of them. The rattle of their drums, their fanfarades,
and their bands playing “Veillons au salut de l'Empire” contrast
with the quiet reigning on the English side.

A knot of figures, comprising WELLINGTON with a suite of general
and other staff-officers, ride backwards and forwards in front
of the English lines, where each regimental colour floats in the
hands of the junior ensign. The DUKE himself, now a man of forty-
six, is on his bay charger Copenhagen, in light pantaloons, a
small plumeless hat, and a blue cloak, which shows its white
lining when blown back.

On the French side, too, a detached group creeps along the front
in preliminary survey. BONAPARTE--also forty-six--in a grey
overcoat, is mounted on his white arab Marengo, and accompanied
by SOULT, NEY, JEROME, DROUOT, and other marshals. The figures
of aides move to and fro like shuttle-cocks between the group
and distant points in the field. The sun has begun to gleam.]

SPIRIT OF THE PITIES

Discriminate these, and what they are,
Who stand so stalwartly to war.

SPIRIT OF THE YEARS

Report, ye Rumourers of things near and far.

SEMICHORUS I OF RUMOURS [chanting]

Sweep first the Frenchmen's leftward lines along,
And eye the peaceful panes of Hougomont--
That seemed to hold prescriptive right of peace
In fee from Time till Time itself should cease!--
Jarred now by Reille's fierce foot-divisions three,
Flanked on their left by Pire's cavalry.--
The fourfold corps of d'Erlon, spread at length,
Compose the right, east of the famed chaussee--
The shelterless Charleroi-and-Brussels way,--
And Jacquinot's alert light-steeded strength
Still further right, their sharpened swords display.
Thus stands the first line.

SEMICHORUS II

Next behind its back
Comes Count Lobau, left of the Brussels track;
Then Domon's horse, the horse of Subervie;
Kellermann's cuirassed troopers twinkle-tipt,
And, backing d'Erlon, Milhaud's horse, equipt
Likewise in burnished steelwork sunshine-dipt:
So ranks the second line refulgently.

SEMICHORUS I

The third and last embattlement reveals
D'Erlon's, Lobau's, and Reille's foot-cannoniers,
And horse-drawn ordnance too, on massy wheels,
To strike with cavalry where space appears.

SEMICHORUS II

The English front, to left, as flanking force,
Has Vandeleur's hussars, and Vivian's horse;
Next them pace Picton's rows along the crest;
The Hanoverian foot-folk; Wincke; Best;
Bylandt's brigade, set forward fencelessly,
Pack's northern clansmen, Kempt's tough infantry,
With gaiter, epaulet, spat, and {philibeg};
While Halkett, Ompteda, and Kielmansegge
Prolong the musters, near whose forward edge
Baring invests the Farm of Holy Hedge.

SEMICHORUS I

Maitland and Byng in Cooke's division range,
And round dun Hougomont's old lichened sides
A dense array of watching Guardsmen hides
Amid the peaceful produce of the grange,
Whose new-kerned apples, hairy gooseberries green,
And mint, and thyme, the ranks intrude between.--
Last, westward of the road that finds Nivelles,
Duplat draws up, and Adam parallel.

SEMICHORUS II

The second British line--embattled horse--
Holds the reverse slopes, screened, in ordered course;
Dornberg's, and Arentsschildt's, and Colquhoun-Grant's,
And left of them, behind where Alten plants
His regiments, come the “Household” Cavalry;
And nigh, in Picton's rear, the trumpets call
The “Union” brigade of Ponsonby.
Behind these the reserves. In front of all,
Or interspaced, with slow-matched gunners manned,
Upthroated rows of threatful ordnance stand.

[The clock of Nivelles convent church strikes eleven in the
distance. Shortly after, coils of starch-blue smoke burst into
being along the French lines, and the English batteries respond
promptly, in an ominous roar that can be heard at Antwerp.

A column from the French left, six thousand strong, advances on
the plantation in front of the chateau of Hougomont. They are
played upon by the English ordnance; but they enter the wood,
and dislodge some battalions there. The French approach the
buildings, but are stopped by a loop-holed wall with a mass of
English guards behind it. A deadly fire bursts from these through
the loops and over the summit.

NAPOLEON orders a battery of howitzers to play upon the building.
Flames soon burst from it; but the foot-guards still hold the
courtyard.]

SCENE II

THE SAME. THE FRENCH POSITION

[On a hillock near the farm of Rossomme a small table from the
farmhouse has been placed; maps are spread thereon, and a chair
is beside it. NAPOLEON, SOULT, and other marshals are standing
round, their horses waiting at the base of the slope.

NAPOLEON looks through his glass at Hougomont. His elevated face
makes itself distinct in the morning light as a gloomy resentful
countenance, blue-black where shaven, and stained with snuff, with
powderings of the same on the breast of his uniform. His stumpy
figure, being just now thrown back, accentuates his stoutness.]

NAPOLEON

Let Reille be warned that these his surly sets
On Hougomont chateau, can scarce defray
Their mounting bill of blood. They do not touch
The core of my intent--to pierce and roll
The centre upon the right of those opposed.
Thereon will turn the outcome of the day,
In which our odds are ninety to their ten!

SOULT

Yes--prove there time and promptitude enough
To call back Grouchy here. Of his approach
I see no sign.

NAPOLEON [roughly]

Hours past he was bid come.
--But naught imports it! We are enough without him.
You have been beaten by this Wellington,
And so you think him great. But let me teach you
Wellington is no foe to reckon with.
His army, too, is poor. This clash to-day
Is more serious for our seasoned files
Than breakfasting.

SOULT

Such is my earnest hope.

NAPOLEON

Observe that Wellington still labours on,
Stoutening his right behind Gomont chateau,
But leaves his left and centre as before--
Weaker, if anything. He plays our game!

[WELLINGTON can, in fact, be seen detaching from his main line
several companies of Guards to check the aims of the French on
Hougomont.]

Let me re-word my tactics. Ney leads off
By seizing Mont Saint-Jean. Then d'Erlon stirs,
And heaves up his division from the left.
The second corps will move abreast of him
The sappers nearing to entrench themselves
Within the aforesaid farm.

[Enter an aide-de-camp.]

AIDE

From Marshal Ney,
Sire, I bring hasty word that all is poised
To strike the vital stroke, and only waits
Your Majesty's command,

NAPOLEON

Which he shall have
When I have scanned the hills for Grouchy's helms.

[NAPOLEON turns his glass to an upland four or five miles off on
the right, known as St. Lambert's Chapel Hill. Gazing more and
more intently, he takes rapid pinches of snuff in excitement.
NEY'S columns meanwhile standing for the word to advance, eighty
guns being ranged in front of La Belle Alliance in support of them.]

I see a darkly crawling, slug-like shape
Embodying far out there,--troops seemingly--
Grouchy's van-guard. What think you?

SOULT [also examining closely]

Verily troops;
And, maybe, Grouchy's. But the air is hazed.

NAPOLEON

If troops at all, they are Grouchy's. Why misgive,
And force on ills you fear!

ANOTHER MARSHAL

It seems a wood.
Trees don bold outlines in their new-leafed pride.

ANOTHER MARSHAL

It is the creeping shadow from a cloud.

ANOTHER MARSHAL

It is a mass of stationary foot;
I can descry piled arms.

[NAPOLEON sends off the order for NEY'S attack--the grand assault
on the English midst, including the farm of La Haye Sainte. It
opens with a half-hour's thunderous discharge of artillery, which
ceases at length to let d'Erlon's infantry pass.

Four huge columns of these, shouting defiantly, push forwards in
face of the reciprocal fire from the cannon of the English. Their
effrontery carries them so near the Anglo-Allied lines that the
latter waver. But PICTON brings up PACK'S brigade, before which
the French in turn recede, though they make an attempt in La Haye
Sainte, whence BARING'S Germans pour a resolute fire.

WELLINGTON, who is seen afar as one of a group standing by a
great elm, orders OMPTEDA to send assistance to BARING, as may
be gathered from the darting of aides to and fro between the
points, like house-flies dancing their quadrilles.

East of the great highway the right columns of D'ERLON'S corps
have climbed the slopes. BYLANDT'S sorely exposed Dutch are
broken, and in their flight disorder the ranks of the English
Twenty-eighth, the Carabineers of the Ninety-fifth being also
dislodged from the sand-pit they occupied.]

NAPOLEON

All prospers marvellously! Gomont is hemmed;
La Haye Sainte too; their centre jeopardized;
Travers and d'Erlon dominate the crest,
And further strength of foot is following close.
Their troops are raw; the flower of England's force
That fought in Spain, America now holds.--

[SIR TOMAS PICTON, seeing what is happening orders KEMPT'S
brigade forward. It volleys murderously DONZELOT'S columns
of D'ERLON'S corps, and repulses them. As they recede PICTON
is beheld shouting an order to charge.]

SPIRIT OF RUMOUR

I catch a voice that cautions Picton now
Against his rashness. “What the hell care I,--
Is my curst carcase worth a moment's mind?--
Come on!” he answers. Onwardly he goes!

[His tall, stern, saturnine figure with its bronzed complexion is
on nearer approach discerned heading the charge. As he advances
to the slope between the cross-roads and the sand-pit, riding very
conspicuously, he falls dead, a bullet in his forehead. His aide,
assisted by a soldier, drags the body beneath a tree and hastens
on. KEMPT takes his command.

Next MARCOGNET is repulsed by PACK'S brigade. D'ERLON'S infantry
and TRAVERS'S cuirassiers are charged by the Union Brigade of
Scotch[23] Greys, Royal Dragoons, and Inniskillens, and cut down
everywhere, the brigade following them so furiously the LORD
UXBRIDGE tries in vain to recall it. On its coming near the
French it is overwhelmed by MILHAUD'S cuirassiers, scarcely a
fifth of the brigade returning.

An aide enters to NAPOLEON from GENERAL DOMON.]

AIDE

The General, on a far reconnaissance,
Says, sire, there is no room for longer doubt
That those debouching on St. Lambert's Hill
Are Prussian files.

NAPOLEON

Then where is General Grouchy?

[Enter COLONEL MARBOT with a prisoner.]

Aha--a Prussian, too! How comes he here?

MARBOT

Sire, my hussars have captured him near Lasnes--
A subaltern of the Silesian Horse.
A note from Bulow to Lord Wellington,
Announcing that a Prussian corps is close,
Was found on him. He speaks our language, sire.

NAPOLEON [to prisoner]

What force looms yonder on St. Lambert's Hill?

PRISONER

General Count Bulow's van, your Majesty.

[A thoughtful scowl crosses NAPOLEONS'S sallow face.]

NAPOLEON

Where, then, did your main army lie last night?

PRISONER

At Wavre.

NAPOLEON

But clashed it with no Frenchmen there?

PRISONER

With none. We deemed they had marched on Plancenoit.

NAPOLEON [shortly]

Take him away. [The prisoner is removed.] Has Grouchy's whereabouts
Been sought, to apprize him of this Prussian trend?

SOULT

Certainly, sire. I sent a messenger.

NAPOLEON [bitterly]

A messenger! Had my poor Berthier been here
Six would have insufficed! Now then: seek Ney;
Bid him to sling the valour of his braves
Fiercely on England ere Count Bulow come;
And advertize the succours on the hill
As Grouchy's. [Aside] This is my one battle-chance;
The Allies have many such! [To SOULT] If Bulow nears,
He cannot join in time to share the fight.
And if he could, 'tis but a corps the more....
This morning we had ninety chances ours,
We have threescore still. If Grouchy but retrieve
His fault of absence, conquest comes with eve!

[The scene shifts.]

SCENE III

SAINT LAMBERT'S CHAPEL HILL

[A hill half-way between Wavre and the fields of Waterloo, five
miles to the north-east of the scene preceding. The hill is
wooded, with some open land around. To the left of the scene,
towards Waterloo, is a valley.]

DUMB SHOW

Marching columns in Prussian uniforms, coming from the direction of
Wavre, debouch upon the hill from the road through the wood.

They are the advance-guard and two brigades of Bulow's corps, that
have been joined there by BLÜCHER. The latter has just risen from
the bed to which he has been confined since the battle of Ligny,
two days back. He still looks pale and shaken by the severe fall
and trampling he endured near the end of the action.

On the summit the troops halt, and a discussion between BLÜCHER and
his staff ensues.

The cannonade in the direction of Waterloo is growing more and more
violent. BLÜCHER, after looking this way and that, decides to fall
upon the French right at Plancenoit as soon as he can get there,
which will not be yet.

Between this point and that the ground descends steeply to the
valley on the spectator's left, where there is a mud-bottomed
stream, the Lasne; the slope ascends no less abruptly on the other
side towards Plancenoit. It is across this defile alone that the
Prussian army can proceed thither- a route of unusual difficulty
for artillery; where, moreover, the enemy is suspected of having
placed a strong outpost during the night to intercept such an
approach.

A figure goes forward--that of MAJOR FALKENHAUSEN, who is sent to
reconnoitre, and they wait a tedious time, the firing at Waterloo
growing more tremendous. FALKENHAUSEN comes back with the welcome
news that no outpost is there.

There now remains only the difficulty of the defile itself; and the
attempt is made. BLÜCHER is descried riding hither and thither as
the guns drag heavily down the slope into the muddy bottom of the
valley. Here the wheels get stuck, and the men already tired by
marching since five in the morning, seem inclined to leave the guns
where they are. But the thunder from Waterloo still goes on, BLÜCHER
exhorts his men by words and eager gestures, and they do at length
get the guns across, though with much loss of time.

The advance-guard now reaches some thick trees called the Wood of
Paris. It is followed by the LOSTHIN and HILLER divisions of foot,
and in due course by the remainder of the two brigades. Here they
halt, and await the arrival of the main body of BULOW'S corps, and
the third corps under THIELEMANN.

The scene shifts.

SCENE IV

THE FIELD OF WATERLOO. THE ENGLISH POSITION

[WELLINGTON, on Copenhagen, is again under the elm-tree behind La
Haye Sainte. Both horse and rider are covered with mud-splashes,
but the weather having grown finer the DUKE has taken off his cloak.

UXBRIDGE, FITZROY SOMERSET, CLINTON, ALTEN, COLVILLE, DE LANCEY,
HERVEY, GORDON, and other of his staff officers and aides are
near him; there being also present GENERALS MUFFLING, HUGEL, and
ALAVA; also TYLER, PICTON'S aide. The roar of battle continues.]

WELLINGTON

I am grieved at losing Picton; more than grieved.
He was as grim a devil as ever lived,
And roughish-mouthed withal. But never a man
More stout in fight, more stoical in blame!

TYLER

Before he left for this campaign he said,
“When you shall hear of MY death, mark my words,
You'll hear of a bloody day!” and, on my soul,
'Tis true.

[Enter another aide-de-camp.]

AIDE

Sir William Ponsonby, my lords, has fallen.
His horse got mud-stuck in a new-plowed plot,
Lancers surrounded him and bore him down,
And six then ran him through. The occasion sprung
Mainly from the Brigade's too reckless rush,
Sheer to the French front line.

WELLINGTON [gravely]

Ah--so it comes!
The Greys were bound to pay--'tis always so--
Full dearly for their dash so far afield.
Valour unballasted but lands its freight
On the enemy's shore.--What has become of Hill?

AIDE

We have not seen him latterly, your Grace.

WELLINGTON

By God, I hope I haven't lost him, too?

BRIDGMAN [just come up]

Lord Hill's bay charger, being shot dead, your Grace,
Rolled over him in falling. He is bruised,
But hopes to be in place again betimes.

WELLINGTON

Praise Fate for thinking better of that frown!

[It is now nearing four o'clock. La Haye Sainte is devastated by
the second attack of NEY. The farm has been enveloped by DONZELOT'S
division, its garrison, the King's German Legion, having fought
till all ammunition was exhausted. The gates are forced open, and
in the retreat of the late defenders to the main Allied line they
are nearly all cut or shot down.]

SPIRIT OF THE PITIES

O Farm of sad vicissitudes and strange!
Farm of the Holy Hedge, yet fool of change!
Whence lit so sanct a name on thy now violate grange?

WELLINGTON [to Muffling, resolutely]

Despite their fierce advantage here, I swear
By every God that war can call upon
To hold our present place at any cost,
Until your force cooperate with our lines!
To that I stand; although 'tis bruited now
That Bulow's corps has only reached Ohain.
I've sent Freemantle hence to seek them there,
And give them inkling we shall need them soon.

MUFFLING [looking at his watch]

I had hoped that Blücher would be here ere this.

[The staff turn their glasses on the French position.]

UXBRIDGE

What movement can it be they contemplate?

WELLINGTON

A shock of cavalry on the hottest scale,
It seems to me.... [To aide] Bid him to reinforce
The front line with some second-line brigades;
Some, too, from the reserve.

[The Brunswickers advance to support MAITLAND'S Guards, and the
MITCHELL and ADAM Brigades establish themselves above Hougomont,
which is still in flames.

NEY, in continuation of the plan of throwing his whole force
on the British centre before the advent of the Prussians, now
intensifies his onslaught with the cavalry. Terrific discharges
of artillery initiate it to clear the ground. A heavy round-
shot dashes through the tree over the heads of WELLINGTON and
his generals, and boughs and leaves come flying down on them.]

WELLINGTON

Good practice that! I vow they did not fire
So dexterously in Spain. [He calls up an aide.] Bid Ompteda
Direct the infantry to lie tight down
On the reverse ridge-slope, to screen themselves
While these close shots and shells are teasing us;
When the charge comes they'll cease.

[The order is carried out. NEY'S cavalry attack now matures.
MILHAUD'S cuirassiers in twenty-four squadrons advance down the
opposite decline, followed and supported by seven squadrons of
chasseurs under DESNOETTES. They disappear for a minute in the
hollow between the armies.]

UXBRIDGE

Ah--now we have got their long-brewed plot explained!

WELLINGTON [nodding]

That this was rigged for some picked time to-day
I had inferred. But that it would be risked
Sheer on our lines, while still they stand unswayed,
In conscious battle-trim, I reckoned not.
It looks a madman's cruel enterprise!

FITZROY SOMERSET

We have just heard that Ney embarked on it
Without an order, ere its aptness riped.

WELLINGTON

It may be so: he's rash. And yet I doubt.
I know Napoleon. If the onset fail
It will be Ney's; if it succeed he'll claim it!

[A dull reverberation of the tread of innumerable hoofs comes
from behind the hill, and the foremost troops rise into view.]

SPIRIT OF THE PITIES

Behold the gorgeous coming of those horse,
Accoutered in kaleidoscopic hues
That would persuade us war has beauty in it!--
Discern the troopers' mien; each with the air
Of one who is himself a tragedy:
The cuirassiers, steeled, mirroring the day;
Red lancers, green chasseurs: behind the blue
The red; the red before the green:
A lingering-on till late in Christendom,
Of the barbaric trick to terrorize
The foe by aspect!

[WELLINGTON directs his glass to an officer in a rich uniform
with many decorations on his breast, who rides near the front
of the approaching squadrons. The DUKE'S face expresses
admiration.]

WELLINGTON

It's Marshal Ney himself who heads the charge.
The finest cavalry commander, he,
That wears a foreign plume; ay, probably
The whole world through!

SPIRIT IRONIC

And when that matchless chief
Sentenced shall lie to ignominious death
But technically deserved, no finger he
Who speaks will lift to save him.!

SPIRIT OF THE PITIES

To his shame.
We must discount war's generous impulses
I sadly see.

SPIRIT OF THE YEARS

Be mute, and let spin on
This whirlwind of the Will!

[As NEY'S cavalry ascends the English position the swish of the
horses' breasts through the standing corn can be heard, and the
reverberation of hoofs increases in strength. The English gunners
stand with their portfires ready, which are seen glowing luridly
in the daylight. There is comparative silence.]

A VOICE

Now, captains, are you loaded?

CAPTAINS

Yes, my lord.

VOICE

Point carefully, and wait till their whole height
Shows above the ridge.

[When the squadrons rise in full view, within sixty yards of the
cannon-mouths, the batteries fire, with a concussion that shakes
the hill itself. Their shot punch holes through the front ranks
of the cuirassiers, and horse and riders fall in heaps. But they
are not stopped, hardly checked, galloping up to the mouths of the
guns, passing between the pieces, and plunging among the Allied
infantry behind the ridge, who, with the advance of the horsemen,
have sprung up from their prone position and formed into squares.]

SPIRIT OF RUMOUR

Ney guides the fore-front of the carabineers
Through charge and charge, with rapid recklessness.
Horses, cuirasses, sabres, helmets, men,
Impinge confusedly on the pointed prongs
Of the English kneeling there, whose dim red shapes
Behind their slanted steel seem trampled flat
And sworded to the sward. The charge recedes,
And lo, the tough lines rank there as before,
Save that they are shrunken.

SPIRIT OF THE PITIES

Hero of heroes, too,
Ney, [not forgetting those who gird against him].--
Simple and single-souled lieutenant he;
Why should men's many-valued motions take
So barbarous a groove!

[The cuirassiers and lancers surge round the English and Allied
squares like waves, striking furiously on them and well-nigh
breaking them. They stand in dogged silence amid the French
cheers.]

WELLINGTON [to the nearest square]

Hard pounding this, my men! I truly trust
You'll pound the longest!

SQUARE

Hip-hip-hip-hurrah!

MUFFLING [again referring to his watch]

However firmly they may stand, in faith,
Their firmness must have bounds to it, because
There are bounds to human strength!... Your, Grace,
To leftward now, to spirit Zieten on.

WELLINGTON

Good. It is time! I think he well be late,
However, in the field.

[MUFFLING goes. Enter an aide, breathless.]

AIDE

Your Grace, the Ninety-fifth are patience-spent
With standing under fire so passing long.
They writhe to charge--or anything but stand!

WELLINGTON

Not yet. They shall have at 'em later on.
At present keep them firm.

[Exit aide. The Allied squares stand like little red-brick castles,
independent of each other, and motionless except at the dry hurried
command “Close up!” repeated every now and then as they are slowly
thinned. On the other hand, under their firing and bayonets a
disorder becomes apparent among the charging horse, on whose
cuirasses the bullets snap like stones on window-panes. At this
the Allied cavalry waiting in the rear advance; and by degrees they
deliver the squares from their enemies, who are withdrawn to their
own position to prepare for a still more strenuous assault. The
point of view shifts.]

SCENE V

THE SAME. THE WOMEN'S CAMP NEAR MONT SAINT-JEAN

[On the sheltered side of a clump of trees at the back of the
English position camp-fires are smouldering. Soldiers' wives,
mistresses, and children from a few months to five or six years
of age, sit on the ground round the fires or on armfuls of straw
from the adjoining farm. Wounded soldiers lie near the women.
The wind occasionally brings the smoke and smell of battle into
the encampment, the noise being continuous. Two waggons stand
near; also a surgeon's horse in charge of a batman, laden with
bone-saws, knives, probes, tweezers, and other surgical instruments.
Behind lies a woman who has just given birth to a child, which a
second woman is holding.

Many of the other women are shredding lint, the elder children
assisting. Some are dressing the slighter wounds of the soldiers
who have come in here instead of going further. Along the road
near is a continual procession of bearers of wounded men to the
rear. The occupants of the camp take hardly any notice of the
thundering of the cannon. A camp-follower is playing a fiddle
near. Another woman enters.]

WOMAN