Napoleon, far from imagining that the Prussians, after having been, as he supposed, completely annihilated or panic-stricken by Grouchy, could aid the British, wasted the precious moments, and, instead of hastily attacking Wellington, spent the whole of the morning of the 18th in uselessly parading his troops, possibly with a view of intimidating his opponents and of inducing them to retreat without hazarding an engagement. His well-dressed lines glittered in the sunbeams; the infantry raised their tschakos on their bayonet points, the cavalry their helmets on their sabres, and gave a general cheer for their emperor. The English, however, preserved an undaunted aspect. At length, about midday, Napoleon gave orders for the attack, and, furiously charging the British left wing, drove it from the village of Hougumont. He then sent orders to Ney to charge the British centre. At that moment a dark spot was seen in the direction of St. Lambert. Was it Grouchy? A reconnoitring party was despatched and returned with the news of its being the Prussians under Bulow. The attack upon the British centre was consequently remanded, and Ney was despatched with a considerable portion of his troops against Bulow. Wellington now ventured to charge the enemy with his right wing, but was repulsed and lost the farm of La Haye Sainte, which commanded his position on this side as Hougumont did on his right. His centre, however, remained unattacked, the French exerting their utmost strength to keep Bulow's gallant troops back at the village of Planchenoit, where the battle raged with the greatest fury, and a dreadful conflict of some hours' duration ensued hand to hand. But about five o'clock, the left wing of the British being completely thrown into confusion by a fresh attack on the enemy's side, the whole of the French cavalry, twelve thousand strong, made a furious charge upon the British centre, bore down all before them, and took a great number of guns. The Prince of Orange was wounded. The road to Brussels was already thronged with the fugitive English troops, and Wellington, scarcely able to keep his weakened lines together,[15] was apparently on the brink of destruction, when the thunder of artillery was suddenly heard in the direction of Wavre. "It is Grouchy!" joyfully exclaimed Napoleon, who had repeatedly sent orders to that general to push forward with all possible speed. But it was not Grouchy, it was Blucher.