Journal of the Waterloo campaign, vol. 1 (of 2) : $b kept throughout the campaign of 1815Mercer, Cavalié
History
Journal of the Waterloo campaign, vol. 1 (of 2) : $b kept throughout the campaign of 1815
Mercer, Cavalié
Mercer, Cavalié, 1783-1868 -- Diaries; Waterloo, Battle of, Waterloo, Belgium, 1815 -- Personal narratives, British
skirts and the ends of their valises, broad belts, and high, stiff,
well-polished boots, passed quietly through the assembled crowds;
their quick inquiring eyes cast searchingly about as they moved
leisurely along. At the corner of the quay was a group of boatmen
(not much differing in outward appearance from our own of the same
class) listlessly reclining on the pavement, or lounging up and down
with folded arms, amusing themselves with the bustling anxiety of
a score of soldiers’ wives, who, loaded with children or bundles,
their ample grey or faded red cloaks flying out loosely behind them,
struggled through all impediments opposed to their progress with an
activity, perseverance, and volubility which seemed highly diverting
to the mariners, many of whom, in broken English, were bantering
these amazons, or exchanging coarse jokes with them; at which play,
however,--the ladies being mostly from the Green Isle--the gentlemen
came off second best.
Such were the scenes we contemplated, when a loud cry of dismay
suddenly pervaded the crowd, and all simultaneously rushed to the
ramparts. I followed this movement. The morning, though somewhat
overcast, had been fine, and the wind moderate; but as the day
advanced, and the flood-tide set in, the south-westerly breeze
had gradually increased to a gale. On reaching the rampart, I
immediately observed that the flat shore to the northward, as far as
the eye could reach, was covered with a sheet of white foam from the
tremendous surf breaking on it; whilst the spray, rising in clouds
and borne along before the blast, involved the whole neighbourhood
in a thick salt mist. Nothing could be more savage and wild than the
appearance of the coast. In the offing, numerous vessels under small
sail were running for the harbour. One small brig had missed, and
before assistance could be given, had been whirled round the _jetée_,
and cast broadside on amongst the breakers. Her situation was truly
awful. The surf broke over her in a frightful manner, sending its
spray higher than her masts, and causing her to roll from side to
side until her yards dipped in the water, and induced a belief every
moment that she must roll over. Every now and then a huge wave,
larger than its predecessor, would raise her bodily, and then,
rapidly receding, suddenly let her fall again on the ground with a
concussion that made the masts bend and vibrate like fishing-rods,
and seemed to threaten instant annihilation. Of her sails, some were
torn to rags, and others, flying loose, flapped and fluttered with
a noise that was audible from the rampart, despite the roaring of
the surf. The people on board appeared in great agitation, and kept
shouting to those on shore for assistance, which they were unable
to give. Intense anxiety pervaded the assembled multitude as the
shattered vessel alternately rose to view or was buried in a sea of
foam. Numbers ran down to the sands opposite to her; and from them
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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