Two hours before this, Bluecher, with his Prussians, had appeared—­Bluecher who was to turn the tide of battle.  He had promised Wellington to be there.  His soldiers had complained bitterly on the long march over muddy ground, but he told them his word as a soldier must be kept.  From far beyond La Belle Alliance had Bluecher come, a cow boy showing him the way—­a boy who, if he had not known the way, or had lied, might have saved Napoleon from St. Helena.  The ground where Bluecher entered the field is just visible to us from the mound as with strained eyes, we peer through the morning mist.  During Ney’s attack, Bluecher opens fire on La Haye Sainte.  By six o’clock he has forty-eight guns in action and some of the guns send shot as far as La Belle Alliance.  As the conflict deepens, Napoleon’s fortunes are seen to be obviously in grave, if not critical, danger, but he strengthens his right wing and again hazards Hougoumont.  Eight battalions are sent forward, an outlying stronghold is captured, but more Prussians advance and threaten to regain the point.

At seven o’clock while Ney is renewing the attack on Hougoumont other Prussians appear.  The real crisis being at hand, Napoleon resolves on a final, concentrated movement against the enemy’s center.  His soldiers being worn out and discouraged, he gives out a false report that reinforcements are at last coming—­that Grouchy has not failed him.  A furious cannonade opens this new attack, causing “frightful havoc” among the Allies.  The Prince of Orange holds back the French on the very ground where the lion is now elevated, but falls wounded.  Napoleon, in an address to the Imperial Guard, rouses them to great enthusiasm.  For a half hour longer the French bear down on the enemy, but British gunners make gaps in their ranks.  With his horse shot from under him, Ney goes forward on foot.

The Duke now takes personal command.  He sends a shower of grape and cannister against a column of French veterans, but they never waver.  Reserves, suddenly called for, pour a fierce charge against the advancing French, rending them asunder.  The attack is closely followed up and the French are driven down the hill.  Elsewhere in the field the battle still rages.  Bluecher continues his attack on Napoleon’s right and forces it back.  Reduced to despair, Napoleon now gives his final and famous order:  “Tout est perdu!  Sauve qui peut.”  But the Young Guard resists Bluecher.  Wellington, descending from his height, follows the retreating enemy as far as La Belle Alliance.  At eight o’clock, after a most sanguinary struggle, the Young Guard yields.  The success of Bluecher elsewhere completes the victory of the Allies.

One man will never surrender—­Cambronne.  Who was Cambronne?  No one can tell you more than this—­he was the man at Waterloo who would not surrender.  “The Old Guard dies, but never surrenders.”  “Among those giants then,” says Hugo, “there was one Titan—­Cambronne.  The man who won the battle of Waterloo was not Napoleon, put to rout; not Wellington, giving way at four o’clock, desperate at five; not Bluecher, who did not fight.  The man who won the battle of Waterloo was Cambronne.  To fulminate at the thunderbolt which kills you, is victory.”