It was on a lovely June day that we left the Belgium capital,
turning again and again to look at the wonderful Palace of
Justice which dominates this city, as the capitol does at
Washington.
The country around the field of Waterloo is very level, hardly
relieved by an undulation, and dotted at intervals with a few
trees that heighten the loneliness of the scene rather than
relieve it. Here we became aware that we were gazing at one of
the finest sites that man has ever known for the purpose of
mutual destruction. We readily saw that this level region gave
ample room for both infantry and cavalry, where the many
thousands of human beings were brought together in deadly
collision. It was apparently designed by Nature to feed the
hungry toilers of earth, but "was consecrated by man for a
solemn spectacle of deliberate slaughter."
How often this fertile country was made the battleground of
surrounding nations! Here it was we felt that indomitable spirit
that rose above every oppression forced upon its people,
stopping the hordes of invading armies.
We ascended the hill that flanked the right wing of the position
of the English where the fight was hottest. From this eminence
we looked down on vast cultivated fields with acres of waving
barley and verdant meadows in which fine Holstein cattle were
grazing. This hill is composed of soil dug from Mount St. Jean
to cover the bones of the slain of both armies. This conical
tumulus contains upon its summit, set in a spacious and lofty
pedestal, a huge bronze lion cast from the cannon taken in
battle.
As we stood on its top the scene unrolled before us like a
wonderful panoramic painting, and we gazed out on this "great
chessboard, where the last hard game of Napoleon's and
Wellington's protracted match was played."
Here where all Nature seemed to breathe of peace and joy it
seemed difficult to believe that at that very season, one
hundred and four years ago, on this spot was fought one of the
memorable battles of the world. Here, after participating in the
activities of a world war, how like a dream it seemed to be
gazing down upon this fertile plain. The larks were soaring in
the blue above, uttering the same sweet notes that charmed the
poet, Shelley, while we gazed out upon the fair scene toward La
Belle Alliance and La Haye Sainte. Nearer our eyes rested upon
the place that formed the key to the English position, where
they successfully resisted, throughout the day of the eighteenth
of June, the hottest assaults of the enemy. Then we beheld the
high road to Namur which passed through the center of the lovely
picture "as if inviting us to look upon the road Napoleon took
to make his escape when in the agony of his heart he exclaimed
'Sauve qui peut!' and fled from the field."
Near La Belle Alliance is a monument to the memory of the German
legion.
