morning,
that his whole left or eastern flank was exposed, and it was common-sense
to expect that Napoleon, with the main body of the French, having defeated
the Prussians at Ligny, would now march against himself, come up upon that
exposed flank (while Ney held the front), and so outnumber the Anglo-Dutch
under the Duke's command. At the worst that command would be destroyed; at
the best it could only hope, if it gave time for Napoleon to come up, to
have to retreat westward, and to lose touch, for good, with the
Prussians.

In such a plight it was Wellington's business to retreat towards the
north, so as to remain in touch with his Prussian allies, while yet that
line of retreat was open to him, and before Napoleon should have forced a
battle.

[Illustration: Sketch showing the situation in which Wellington was at
Quatre Bras on the morning of the 17th.]

The Duke was in no hurry to undertake this movement, for as yet there was
no sign of Napoleon's arrival. The men breakfasted, and it was not until
ten o'clock that the retreat began. He sent word back up the road to stop
the reinforcements that were still upon their way to join him at Quatre
Bras, and to turn them round again up the Brussels road, the way they had
come, until they should reach the ridge of the Mont St Jean, just in front
of the village of Waterloo, where he had determined to stand. This done,
he made his dispositions for retirement, and a little after ten o'clock
the retreat upon Waterloo began. His English infantry led the retreat, the
Netherland troops following, then the Brunswickers, and the last files of
that whole great body of men were marching up the Brussels road northward
before noon. Meanwhile, Lord Uxbridge, with his very considerable force of
cavalry and the guns necessary to support it, deployed to cover the
retreat, and watched the enemy.

That enemy was motionless. Ney did not propose to attack until Napoleon
should come up. Napoleon and his troops, arriving from the battlefield of
Ligny, were not visible until within the neighbourhood of two o'clock. As
he came near the Emperor was perceived, his memorable form distinguished
in the midst of a small escorting body, urging the march; and the English
guns, during one of those rare moments in which war discovers something of
drama, fired upon the man who was the incarnation of all that furious
generation of arms. In a military study, this moment, valuable to civilian
history, ma