The Battle of Waterloo was fought on Sunday, 18 June 1815, near Waterloo in present-day Belgium, then only recently part of the United Kingdom of the Netherlands.

A French army under the command of Napoleon was defeated by the armies of the Seventh Coalition, comprising an Anglo-allied army under the command of the Duke of Wellington combined with a Prussian army under the command of Gebhard von Blücher.

Upon Napoleon’s return to power in March 1815, having escaped from the island of Elba, many states that had opposed him formed the Seventh Coalition and began to mobilise armies. Two large forces under Wellington and Blücher assembled close to the north-eastern border of France. Napoleon chose to attack in the hope of destroying them before they could join in a coordinated invasion of France with other members of the coalition. According to Wellington, the battle was “the nearest-run thing you ever saw in your life”. The defeat at Waterloo ended Napoleon’s rule as Emperor of the French.

Wounded in battle
Lieutenant (later Major) George Simmons (1785-1858) of the 95th Rifle Brigade had seen much service in the Peninsular War, in both Portugal and Spain. He was wounded several times, and here, in letters to his parents, describes what befell him at Waterloo.

We begin with a letter postmarked 1 July in which he recalls the battle, based on his diary of the time:

On the 18th the French seemed to be very busy moving immense columns opposite us preparatory to an attack. About noon they commenced a cannonade, from, I daresay, 150 pieces of cannon, which was very soon answered by us. Immense columns in imposing masses now moved towards us. If you could have seen the proud and fierce appearance of the British at that tremendous moment, there was not one eye but gleamed with joy. The onset was terrible.

After four hours’ exposure to it I received the dangerous wound which laid me amongst many others in the mud. Most of the men with me were killed, so it was some time before any officer noticed me, and not until I had been trampled over many times. The next place I found myself in was where the men and officers had been collected for the surgeon. A good surgeon, a friend of mine, instantly came to examine my wound. My breast was dreadfully swelled. He made a deep cut under the right pap, and dislodged from the breast-bone a musket-ball… Sergeant Fairfoot was also here wounded in the arm… In consequence of a movement the French made with all their forces, our people were obliged to retire. If I stayed I must be a prisoner, and being a prisoner was the same as being lost.

Poor Fairfoot was in great agitation. He came with another horse. I remember some Life Guardsmen helped me on. Oh what I suffered! I had to ride twelve miles. I forgot to tell you the ball went through my ribs, and also through my body. The motion of the horse made the blood pump out, and the bones cut the flesh to a jelly. I made my way to the house I had been billeted on – very respectable people… I am so weak, if I lift my head from the pillow I faint. I have sent you a five-pound note. This business has bothered me, but I shall get a year’s pay, and most likely a pension, which will enable me to make you comfortable. My love to you all.

By 21 July, staying in Brussels, he was still in a bad way, with the treatment perhaps worse than the wound:

On the 3rd I was attacked with convulsions, and at night with vomiting. Afterwards I lay in a state of insensibility until the morning, when a violent inflammation had taken place in my body. I was bled three times, which gave me temporary ease… In this way I went on for seven days more, when one evening, the pain being very violent, I sent for my surgeon to bleed me. He took two large basins from my arm. The pain abated much. I requested a little more might be taken, but I suddenly fainted. It was about half an hour before I could be brought to life. This alarmed my friend so much that he did not like to try bleeding again. He went and brought an eminent physician to see me, who recommended leeches.

I had thirty immediately provided and applied to my sides. The next day, I had twenty-five more on the same spot, and the day after, twenty-five more. The last application of them was horrible… I kicked, roared, and swore, and tried to drag them off, but my hands were held. Such torture I never experienced…

Thankfully by September, still in Brussels, he was able to write:

My dear Parents – I am now, thank God, able to enjoy myself once more. My health is nearly as good as ever. I increase in strength daily. The felicity I feel at being capable to walk about is hardly to be described.

From the French side
The following are extracts from the account of the battle by Monsieur Jardin, Napoleon’s personal equerry (responsible for his horses), which give an interesting view of the Emperor’s moods:

On the 17th June Napoleon left the village where he had slept, and visited the battlefield of the evening before as he always did on the day after a battle… At this time a violent storm threw into confusion the whole French army which, owing to their many days of rapid marching, lack of provisions, and want of rest was in a most pitiable state. At last the courage of the French overcame the horrible weather. The troops struggled on with unparalleled valour; in the evening Napoleon visited the outposts in spite of the heavy rain and did his utmost to encourage the men. At seven o’clock, he took out his watch and said that the troops had need of rest, that they should take up their positions, and that the next day early, they would be under arms.

At this moment shouts were heard from the British army. Napoleon asked what these could be. Marshal Soult (then Chief of the Staff) replied “It is certainly Wellington passing through the ranks that is the cause of the shouting.” Napoleon said he wished to bivouac; it was pointed out to him that he was in a ploughed field and in mud up to the knees. He replied to the Marshal: “Any kind of shelter will suit me for the night.”

On the 18th Napoleon, having left the bivouac… at half-past nine in the morning came to take up his stand half a league in advance upon a hill where he could discern the movements of the British army. There he dismounted, and with his fieldglass endeavoured to discover all the movements in the enemy’s line. The chief of the staff suggested that they should begin the attack; he replied that they must wait, but the enemy commenced his attack at eleven o’clock and the cannonading began on all sides; at two o’clock nothing was yet decided; the fighting was desperate. Napoleon rode through the lines and gave orders to make certain that every detail was executed with promptitude; he returned often to the spot where in the morning he had started, there he dismounted and, seating himself in a chair which was brought to him, he placed his head between his hands and rested his elbows on his knees… At three o’clock an Aide-de-camp from the right wing came to tell him that they were repulsed and that the artillery was insufficient… Napoleon towards eight o’clock in the evening, seeing that his army was almost beaten, commenced to despair of the success which two hours before he believed to be assured. He remained on the battlefield until half-past nine when it was absolutely necessary to leave.

Towards four o’clock in the morning we came to Charleroi where Napoleon, owing to the onrush of the army in beating a retreat, had much difficulty in proceeding. At last after he had left the town, he found in a little meadow on the right a small bivouac fire made by some soldiers. He stopped by it to warm himself and said to General Corbineau: “Et bien Monsieur, we have done a fine thing.” General Corbineau saluted him and replied: “Sire, it is the utter ruin of France.” Napoleon turned round, shrugged his shoulders and remained absorbed for some moments. He was at this time extremely pale and haggard and much changed.