There was no time to ponder. Kit turned back to the battlefield. A new French assault was beginning.
What emerged from the French lines looked like a tidal wave of horsemen. The sun came out from behind a cloud and glittered offswords and armour. Kit felt the ground beneath his feet tremble with the impact of tens of thousands of hooves.
The allies had little cavalry left to oppose them.
Wellington shouted: ‘Prepare to receive cavalry!’
The shout was repeated up and down the line, and the infantry battalions quickly shuffled into squares, as they had been trained. Looking along the line Kit saw that the 107th Foot were forming up with brisk efficiency.
As the enemy cavalry drew near, Wellington rode around the squares, shouting encouragement. Kit and other aides followed him. Then the French were on them.
At first the defenders had the best of it. The French cavalry charged around the outsides of the squares, shouting: ‘Vive l’empereur!’ Many of them were felled by intense fire from the edges of the squares, where the musketeers stood four deep. Each British soldier knelt and fired, then stepped to the back of the four to reload so that the next man could fire, in a lethally efficient dance.
After several terrifying minutes the cavalry retreated, but reinforcements on fresh horses took their place, some armed with nine-foot-long lances that they hurled at the squares in an attempt to create gaps. The dead and wounded were dragged into the centre of the square and the gaps were closed up.
Kit could not help admiring the courage of the French riders as they charged again and again, riding over the bodies of their comrades, jumping over dead and wounded horses. The remains of the British cavalry counter-attacked but there were not enough of them to make a difference.
During a lull, Kit wondered where Bonaparte’s infantry were. They should have been supporting the cavalry – that was the way it was usually done. Then he looked across the valley, peering through the clouds of gunpower smoke, and saw the reason: the Prussians had at last joined in.
Ignoring Wellington’s request, most of the newcomers had swung behind the eastern end of the French line and attacked at the village of Plancenoit, high on the opposite ridge and close to enemy headquarters. Bonaparte had been blindsided.
The fighting there seemed fierce, and Kit figured that Bonaparte could not spare infantry from that zone to support his cavalry attack. As Kit watched he thought he saw additional troops from the reserve higher up on the slope deploying into Plancenoit. But he could also see more dark-blue uniforms coming from the east and charging into battle.
The French infantry were tied down there and could not support the cavalry attack. That might save Wellington’s army.
Bonaparte must be desperate, Kit reasoned. He had to win today, for tomorrow the combined forces of the Anglo-Dutch and the Prussians would be unbeatable.
There was a murmur of anguish among Wellington’s aides, and someone said in a low voice: ‘La Haye Sainte has fallen.’ Looking across Kit could see, escaping from the farmstead, a pitiful remnant of the German defenders, a tiny fraction of the initial deployment; and the French at last took possession. That was a boost for Bonaparte, for it badly weakened the allied line.
The allied artillery immediately began firing at La Haye Sainte, and Kit thought: That’s Roger shooting. But the French held the outpost.
The French cavalry attack petered out around half past six. However, the allies had been seriously damaged, especially in the centre of the line. This was the moment for Bonaparte to strike a killing blow. Wellington clearly understood how dangerously vulnerable the allies were, and he rode furiously along the line, careless of his own safety, giving orders that Kit and the other aides ferried to the officers: calling reserves forward to reinforce the line, summoning ammunition wagons, replacing destroyed cannons fromspares that were now perilously low. Meanwhile, Zeiten’s I Corps had at last done what Wellington wanted and reinforced the allied left wing, permitting Wellington to draw men from there to strengthen the enfeebled centre. And all the while Bonaparte was prevented from attacking the allies’ vulnerable spot by the Prussian attack at Plancenoit.
A French colonel deserted and rode to the allied line shouting: ‘Vive le roi!’ Long live the king! When interrogated by intelligence officers he revealed that Bonaparte had decided to use his elite troops, the Imperial Guard – held in reserve until now – to attack the allied right wing.
The Imperial Guard were normally brought in at the end, to deliver the coup de grâce. Had the battle reached that stage?
Aides were dispatched to take this news to the forces on the far side of the coal road, who had so far seen little action. Kit rode to the 107th Foot and warned Major Denison, who was in command. The men around Denison seemed glad to be going into action at last, even if only to have an answer to the question: what did you do at Waterloo?
Just after seven o’clock, with the sun sinking over the western end of the valley, the Imperial Guard appeared, six thousand men by Kit’s rough estimate, wearing uniform blue tail coats, marching to a drumbeat across fields littered with dead and wounded men and horses, in a stink of blood and entrails. Kit sat on his horse and watched through his spyglass as they approached. They skirted Hougoumont – still occupied by the allies – and passed La Haye Sainte, which was now in French hands.
The allied troops waited behind the ridge, out of the enemy’s sight. Joe Hornbeam went up and down the line saying: ‘Stay where you are. Wait for the word. Nobody jump the gun. Stay where you are.’
Kit saw that the French were now attacking all along the allied line, no doubt to tie troops down and prevent them coming toreinforce the defence against the Imperial Guard. Looking at the sinking sun, he realized that this was going to be the final drama of the battle – one way or another. He decided to stay with the 107th.
When the Guards were two hundred yards away the allied guns opened fire. Kit saw that they were again firing canisters, and as the Imperial Guards started to fall he murmured: ‘Good shooting, Roger.’ But the French discipline held: without breaking step they marched around the dead and wounded, closed the gaps in the ranks, and kept coming forward.
When the Guards were only thirty yards away the troops behind the ridge suddenly stood up and fired a musket volley. At that range many bullets found targets. The French fired back and some of the Kingsbridge men fell, including the commanding officer, Major Denison. Kit saw the chaplain, Kenelm Mackintosh, take a bullet to the chest that looked fatal, and he thought of Elsie’s five children, who had just lost their father.
With the enemy only thirty yards away there was no time to reload and the allies followed up with a bayonet charge. The Guards faltered, but did not retreat, and the conflict became a bloody hand-to-hand fight.
The 107th was among the forces far to the right of the battlefield, shooting into the advancing enemy at an angle. Now one battalion charged downhill and swung left to attack the vulnerable flank of the Imperial Guard. There had been no order from Wellington; the officers were taking the initiative. Immediately afterwards another group joined the assault. Suddenly Joe Hornbeam yelled: ‘Charge!’ A lieutenant had no right to give such an order, but Denison was dead and Joe was the only officer in sight; and the eager men followed him without hesitation.
Kit saw that this could be the turning point of the battle, and therefore of the twenty-three-year war, and he acted instinctively.He snatched up a bayoneted musket from a fallen soldier, jumped back on his horse, and joined the charge. As he rode away he heard Sal behind him shouting: ‘Kit, don’t go!’ He rode on.
The Imperial Guard were now being attacked on two sides, and they began to waver. The allies pressed their advantage. The 107th charged with their bayonets. A French bullet hit Kit’s horse and the poor beast stumbled. Kit was able to jump off before the horse hit the ground. He ran on, brandishing his weapon. He found himself side by side with his stepfather, Jarge.
Some of the French were fleeing now but most stayed and fought. Kit stood shoulder to shoulder with Jarge, both stabbing furiously with bayoneted muskets. Kit had killed many men, but always with cannonballs, and now he felt the horribly strange sensation of penetrating human flesh with a blade. It made no difference to his fighting spirit: his entire being was taken up with the need to kill enemy soldiers, and he did it as fast and efficiently as he could.
