len by the late rains had now become a
foaming torrent perfectly impassable to infantry. To avoid this difficulty
he abandoned his favorite manoeuvre of a flank movement, and resolved to
attack the enemy by the centre. Launching his cavalry and artillery by the
road to Brussels, he hoped thus to cut off the communication of the British
with their own left, as well as with the Prussians, for whom he trusted
that Grouchy would be more than a match.

The reserves were in consequence all brought up to the centre. Seven
thousand cavalry and a massive artillery assembled upon the heights of La
Belle Alliance, and waited but the order to march. It was eleven o'clock,
and Napoleon mounted his horse and rode slowly along the line; again the
cry of "Vive l'Empereur!" resounded, and the bands of the various regiments
struck up their spirit-stirring strains as the gorgeous staff moved along.
On the British side all was tranquil; and still the different divisions
appeared to have taken up their ground, and the long ridge from Ter-la-Haye
to Merke-braine bristled with bayonets. Nothing could possibly be more
equal than the circumstances of the field. Each army possessed an eminence
whence their artillery might play. A broad and slightly undulating valley
lay between both. The ground permitted in all places both cavalry and
infantry movements, and except the crumbling walls of the Chateau of
Hougoumont, or the farm-house of La Haye Sainte, both of which were
occupied by the British, no advantage either by Nature or art inclined to
either side. It was a fair stand-up fight. It was the mighty tournament,
not only of the two greatest nations, but the two deadliest rivals and
bitterest enemies, led on by the two greatest military geniuses that the
world has ever seen; it might not be too much to say, or ever will see.
As for me, condemned to be an inactive spectator of the mighty struggle,
doomed to witness all the deep-laid schemes and well-devised plans of
attack which were destined for the overthrow of my country's arms, my state
was one of torture and suspense. I sat upon the little rising ground of
Rossomme; before me in the valley, where yet the tall corn waved in ripe
luxuriance, stood the quiet and peaceful-looking old Chateau of Hougoumont,
and the blossoming branches of the orchard; the birds were gayly singing
their songs; the shrill whistle of the fatal musketry was to be heard; and
through my glass I could detect the uniform of