The Shadow of Great Britain

Chapter 788: Chapter 371: The Return of the Waterloo Story (6K)_2

And inside the city, the situation was even worse; in the struggle for horses and vehicles to leave the locality, owners and servants, coachmen, maids, drivers, and gentlemen were all quarrelling with each other. They were all blaming one another, hurling insults in French, English, and Flemish, and after the argument, fists would fly. Nearly half of the Belgian drivers tasked with transporting supplies refused to set off or even let their beasts of burden go. They gesticulated wildly, praying to God and calling on all the saints and angels in Heaven to bear witness, swearing oaths that they would absolutely not budge, not even to rescue their Prince of Orange.

Everyone was running around in confusion, shouting at the top of their lungs, ‘Napoleon is coming with the Frenchies!’ It is a very curious thing indeed—while the front lines were orderly and composed, the rear was in complete chaos and disarray. It’s even more ridiculous that many people who don’t understand the intricacies of the Battle of Waterloo usually think the situation was the opposite. But in truth, whether French soldiers or us of the Allied Forces, though everyone was scared, we all tried our best to carry out orders from above; we certainly didn’t lose our composure like the commoners.

At this point, Plunkett couldn’t help but boast somewhat proudly to Arthur, “Sir, rest assured, although things have been quite chaotic in London recently, I won’t be scared off. Us veterans who have seen battle are pretty worldly after all. The night before the Battle of Waterloo broke out it was a real tempest, an abysmal nightmare of deep mud.”

With nowhere to shelter from the wind and rain, not even a tile or leaf overhead, we could only settle as best as we could in the mud and filth, and most of us didn’t even have a bite to eat. Those of us who had provisions on us were considered lucky, like me. That morning, I happened to get some smoked, salt-cured beef strips, which I kept hidden in my trousers all day long and didn’t dare to take out until it was pitch black at night to enjoy in secret. Even better, my flask still had a little bit of brandy left, so my situation was better than most.

I looked around for a slightly drier place to lie down and have a good meal. Unfortunately, the place was nothing but mud, so I only found some straw and branches to pad myself with, and with these and a dried-up old tree, I barely defended against the ceaseless downpour that night. At bedtime, we wrapped ourselves in our cloaks and huddled close together, lying in the mud, closing our eyes like a pack of half-drowned, starving rats.”

Upon hearing this, Louis couldn’t help but ask, “Living like that, did you not pillage the local peasants?”

“Um… well…”

Plunkett looked somewhat embarrassed, “I won’t deny that did happen. I know at least the brigade under General Frederick Adam of the Second Division was allowed to loot three farmhouses. But most troops commanded by Duke Wellington knew His Grace’s temperament; he was staunchly against pillaging civilians, and he would punish severely any soldiers caught stealing from civilians. During the Peninsular War, hundreds were flogged for theft and looting, and one murderer was even ordered to be hanged because of the aggravated nature of his crime.”

Though looting is a common occurrence in wars, Duke Wellington always believed that burning, killing, and looting were detrimental to maintaining military discipline and would unnecessarily make enemies. He thought that in Spain, the French incurred the hatred of almost all Spaniards because of their rampant pillaging—so during the Peninsular War, no matter where our forces went, those Spaniards were always willing to help us attack the French troops.

Although I personally think this rule was a bit excessive, since His Grace managed to keep our logistics and supply in good order most of the time, we never starved to death. So even though some soldiers grumbled about not being able to loot, it wasn’t serious enough to directly insult and curse our old noses. The important thing is, old nose’s military regulations were also very appropriate—stealing meant confinement, robbery led to whipping, and only murder warranted a hanging—so everyone could accept it and thought he was fair in his dealings.”

At this point, Plunkett spoke with a touch of envy, “But to be honest, on the eve of Waterloo, if our Commander had allowed us to pillage, I definitely would have done it. The weather was sheer hell, and you have no idea how much I wanted to get anything flammable like chairs, benches, sofas, cradles, barrels, and throw them into a fire to make it crackle and warm my frozen body.”

That night there was also thunder, thunder rumbling and echoing across the night sky, occasionally lit up by flashes of lightning. I lay in the furrow beside a tree, using my backpack as a pillow. The rain poured down all night long, saturating the ground, and the crops were flattened. I don’t know how the rest of my comrades slept—I only saw them motionless, lying quietly for a long time.

Old soldiers like us who had taken part in the Peninsular War wouldn’t condescend to complain in front of the new recruits tasting battle for the first time. And those greenhorn recruits didn’t dare to complain either, for fear of a scolding. They understood that if they dared to utter a single complaint, they would immediately be subjected to the old soldiers’ mockery.

“God bless your poor delicate body! Look at your tender rosy behind; maybe we should send you to a London brothel to be well taken care of. What could you do in the Pyrenees with your kind of stuff?”