The Shadow of Great Britain

Chapter 787: Chapter 371: The Return of Waterloo Story (6K)

Arthur listened to Plunkett’s words and did not contradict him; instead, he smiled and nodded in agreement.

“Thomas, I’m glad we see eye-to-eye. You might not believe it, but my thoughts align entirely with yours. The Duke of Wellington is not only a standard-bearer for the Army but also for this nation; he must not fall nor be usurped. If anyone dares such a thing, it will not only be you, I will fight them with my life as well.”

He stood up, filled Louis’s glass, and was about to pour some for Plunkett, when the hefty sharpshooter laughed nonchalantly and said, “Commander, just pour for yourself; give me the bottle along with what’s left of the wine. Your fancy glasses here are ritzy, but a big-headed soldier like me still finds blowing into the bottle more satisfying.”

Arthur, rendered speechless, chuckled, “Are you sure? This brandy is quite strong.”

“You don’t know, during our days on the battlefield, we relied solely on this little drink to sustain us.”

Plunkett took the bottle from Arthur’s hand, tilted his head back for a swig, raised his sleeve to wipe his mouth, and possibly energized by the alcohol, he became more talkative.

A nostalgic look appeared in Plunkett’s eyes as he spoke, “I still remember the night before the Battle of Waterloo began, on June 17, 1815. The rain was so intense it was almost diabolical; the cold wind poured into my clothes through my collar, feeling as though someone was scraping my bones with a blunt knife.”

At that time, we had just suffered heavy losses in the Battle of Quatre Bras, and I realized many Prussians seemed pessimistic about winning in the end. But at that time, I didn’t pay much attention until after the Battle of Waterloo had ended, I discovered that Gneisenau, the Chief of Staff to the Prussian Marshal Blücher, had been advising him to lead the Prussian troops eastward in retreat.”

Gneisenau did not trust the fighting power of us in the British Army, and even thought that the Duke of Wellington might retreat in front of Napoleon. He told Marshal Blücher that the Duke might pretend to hold firm and then take the opportunity to slip away, rendering the Prussian troops disadvantaged. Napoleon could then attack Blücher’s forces, giving Wellington enough time to rescue his own troops.”

“What a preposterous idea; he actually thought His Grace would fear Napoleon. And it wasn’t just Gneisenau who thought this way; most of the Prussian staff did as well. That night, I got up to relieve myself and encountered a Prussian staff officer, Major Carl von Clausewitz, who joked with me, ‘It has only been one night, but I feel like my hair has turned grey.’

At this, Louis raised his eyebrows and interjected, “It pleases me to hear inside stories from the Allies from you, would you like to know the mood in Napoleon’s staff quarters on our end?”

“Uh…” Plunkett slapped his forehead and burst out laughing, “I almost forgot about you, you are Napoleon’s nephew. Well… actually, I am quite curious. Did you really feel confident about winning at that time?”

Louis gently shook his head, “Quite the opposite; while you and the Prussians feared Napoleon, in the French headquarters, many were continuously warning my uncle about the threat from the Duke of Wellington. Unlike the Prussians, French generals held the British Army in high regard.”

“Marshal Soult warned my uncle, ‘Your Majesty, against the British infantry in a frontal battle, they are like the Devil.’”

“General Reille somberly noted, ‘British infantry, when they hold good ground, are immovable and invincible.’”

“But as you know my uncle is a very confident man, he was displeased with the generals’ appraisals, and he thundered at them, ‘Having been defeated by Wellington, you think he’s a great commander! I tell you now, Wellington is a poor commander, and British troops are poor soldiers. This battle will be over before lunch today!’

“Of course, I don’t think my uncle was arrogant to the point of delusion, because he also said, ‘The Duke of Wellington’s ability to lead his troops is on par with mine, aside from that, he is more cautious and careful.’

“He knew our generals were very afraid of His Grace, so I tend to think that he was trying to downplay his opponent to boost morale.”

Plunkett, who was about to defend the Duke, sat back in his chair upon hearing this, and the sharpshooter, rubbing the back of his head, laughed heartily.

“Actually, what Napoleon said wasn’t entirely wrong. If our commander had been the Marquis of Anglesey or some other person, we most likely would have crumbled at once. You might not know, but just the name Napoleon was enough to scatter the crowd in panic. At that time, we were still fighting at the frontline, but when the citizens of Brussels saw the wounded being continuously transported back from the frontline, they thought our army had already been defeated by Napoleon.”

“I heard from a brother in the 95th Regiment who had been sent to the rear for treatment that rumors of the Duke of Wellington’s defeat at Quatre Bras filled the skies of Brussels. Everyone was in panic, and cries that the enemy was near were everywhere. In the forests of Soignies, he saw servants throw down their luggage and leap onto their beasts, fleeing desperately to the rear. Farmers transporting supplies in carts hastily cut the harness ropes and, abandoning their carts, rode away on their oxen.”