e heads
of the French columns approached, they were exposed to such a storm of
musketry in front and on either flank, that they in vain endeavoured to
deploy into line for the attack. They stopped to make this attempt,
reeled, lost order, and fled at last in one mass of confusion.

The Duke of Wellington now dismounted, placed himself at the head of
his line, and led them, no longer held to defence, against the four
battalions of the Old Guard--the only unbroken troops remaining--behind
whom Ney was striving to rally his fugitives.

The Marshal, at Wellington's approach, took post once more in the van,
sword in hand, and on foot. But nothing could withstand the impetuous
assault of the victorious British. The Old Guard also were shaken.
Napoleon had hitherto maintained his usual serenity of aspect on the
heights of La Belle Alliance. He watched the English onset with his
spy-glass--became suddenly pale as death--exclaimed, "They are mingled
together--all is lost for the present," and rode off the field, never
stopping for a moment until he reached Charleroi.

Hardly had the English advanced for this fatal charge, when Blucher's
columns, emerging from the woods, were at length seen forming on the
right of the French, and preparing to take part in the battle. Their
cannonade played on the flank of the Old Guard, while the British attack
in front was overwhelming them. The fatal cry of _sauve qui peut_ was
heard everywhere: the French were now flying pellmell in the most woeful
confusion. Blucher and Wellington met at length at the farmhouse of La
Belle Alliance; and the Prussian eagerly undertook to continue the
pursuit during the night, while the English General halted to refresh
his weary men.

The loss of Wellington's army on this great day was terrible: 100
officers slain (many of the first distinction), and 500 wounded, very
many mortally; and of rank and file killed and wounded, 15,000. The Duke
himself had been, all through the day, wherever the danger was greatest;
and he alone, and one gentleman besides, of all a very numerous staff,
came off the ground unhurt.

Of the 75,000 men whom Napoleon conducted to this last and severest of
his fields, what with the slain and the wounded, and those who, losing
heart and hope, deserted and fled separately to their homes, not more
than 30,000 were ever again collected in arms. The Prussians followed
hard on the miserable fugitives, and in every hamlet and village, for