“Shout, warrior, shout: the field’s thine own, The Emperor’s ranks are all o’erthrown; His columns dense and squadrons vast Were but as dust before the blast. Shout, till the mountain voice replies In thunder, as Napoleon flies; And leaves again, unstain’d and free, Our altars, home and liberty.” Sunday the 18th June 1815, which cast such a brilliant lustre on the military annals of Britain, broke but slowly through the heavy clouds. The rain descended in torrents, succeeded, as the morning advanced, by a drizzling shower which gradually ceased. Soon after break of day, all who were able were on the move. Many, from cold and fatigue, could not stir for some time; fortunately, on most of us the excitement was too powerful to allow this physical inconvenience to be much felt; although, in after-years, many suffered most severely from it. Some were cleaning arms; others fetching wood, water, straw, etc., from Mont-St.-Jean, (my present place of abode;) some trying, from the embers of our bivac, to light up fires, most of which had been entirely put out by the heavy rain. At this time there was a continual irregular popping along the line, not unlike a skirmish, occasioned by those who were cleaning their fire-arms, discharging them, when practicable; which was more expeditious and satisfactory than drawing the charges. Our bivac had a most unsightly appearance: both officers and men looked blue with cold; our long beards, and wet and dirty clothing drying upon us, were anything but comfortable. As morning advanced and all were in motion, one might imagine the whole plain itself to be undergoing a movement. Imagine seventy thousand men huddled together. The buzzing resembled the distant roar of the sea against a rocky coast. Between nine and ten o’clock, the duke of Wellington, with his usual firm countenance, passed along the line and was loudly cheered. His Grace was dressed in his ordinary field costume, white buckskin pantaloons, hessian boots and tassels, blue frock coat with a short cloak of the same colour, white cravat, sword, a plain low cocked hat without plume or ornament, except the large black cockade of Britain, and three smaller ones of Spain, Portugal and the Netherlands. In his right hand he carried a long field telescope, drawn out, ready for use. His Grace was mounted on his favourite chesnut charger, Copenhagen. He was followed by a numerous staff, several foreign officers, and the Russian, Austrian, Prussian and Spanish ministers, count Pozzo di Borgo, baron Vincent, baron Müffling, and general Alava. I observed several in his train dressed in plain clothes. Their number was much diminished ere the day was over.