Meanwhile Pitt and Dundas made great efforts to save West Flanders. In haste they despatched reinforcements to Ostend; and among the regiments which landed there on 25th and 26th June was the 33rd, commanded by Colonel Wellesley. The future Duke of Wellington found the small garrison of Ostend in a state of panic; and his chief, the Earl of Moira, deemed it best to meet the French in the open. By great good fortune Moira, with most of the regiments, reached Bruges, and beyond that town came into touch with Clerfait's force. Wellesley, taking ship, sailed round to Antwerp and reached that column by a safer route and earlier than his chief. His action is characteristic of a judgement that never erred, a will that never faltered. In this campaign, as he afterwards said, he learnt how not to make war. But success not seldom crowns the efforts of him who has the good sense to probe the causes of failure. Certainly it rarely comes to British commanders save after very chastening experiences; and Wellesley now took part in what was, for the Austrians, a fore-ordained retreat. Despite the manly appeals of the Duke of York, Coburg declined to make a stand on the fateful ridge of Mount St. Jean; and the name of Waterloo appears in the tepid records of 1794 at the head of a plan for arranging the stages of the retreat (5th July) which the nervousness of Coburg soon condemned to the limbo of unfulfilled promises.[353] Is it surprising that, two days later, the Duke of York declared to him that the British were "betrayed and sold to the enemy"? Worse still, the garrisons of Valenciennes, Conde, Quesnoy, and Landrecies, amounting to nearly 11,000 men, were now left to their fate.