but the command to charge, when the brigade guns on the right commenced firing, for the purpose of previously disturbing and breaking the order of the enemy’s advance.  The concussion seemed instantly to rebound through the still atmosphere, and communicate, as an electric spark, with the heavily charged mass above.  A most awfully loud thunder-clap burst forth, immediately succeeded by a rain which has never, probably, been exceeded in violence even within the tropics.  In a very few minutes the ground became perfectly saturated,—­so much so, that it was quite impracticable for any rapid movement of the cavalry.”  This storm prevented the French from pressing with due force upon their retiring foes; but that would have been but a small evil, if the storm had not settled into a steady and heavy rain, which converted the fat Flemish soil into a mud that would have done discredit even to the “sacred soil” of Virginia, and the latter has the discredit of being the nastiest earth in America.  All through the night the windows of heaven were open, as if weeping over the spectacle of two hundred thousand men preparing to butcher each other.  Occasionally the rain fell in torrents, greatly distressing the soldiers, who had no tents.  On the morning of the 18th the rain ceased, but the day continued cloudy, and the sun did not show himself until the moment before setting, when for an instant he blazed forth in full glory upon the forward movement of the Allies.  One may wonder if Napoleon then thought of that morning “Sun of Austerlitz,” which he had so often apostrophized in the days of his meridian triumphs.  The evening sun of Waterloo was the practical antithesis to the rising sun of Austerlitz.

The Battle of Waterloo was not begun until about twelve o’clock, because of the state of the ground, which did not admit of the action of cavalry and artillery until several hours had been allowed for its hardening.  That inevitable delay was the occasion of the victory of the Allies; for, if the battle had been opened at seven o’clock, the French would have defeated Wellington’s army before a Prussian regiment could have arrived on the field.  It has been said that the rain was as baneful to the Allies as to the French, as it prevented the early arrival of the Prussians; but the remark comes only from persons who are not familiar with the details of the most momentous of modern pitched battles.  Buelow’s Prussian corps, which was the first to reach the field, marched through Wavre in the forenoon of the 18th; but no sooner had its advanced guard—­an infantry brigade, a cavalry regiment, and one battery—­cleared that town, than a fire broke out there, which greatly delayed the march of the remainder of the corps.  There were many ammunition-wagons in the streets, and, fearful of losing them, and of being deprived of the means of fighting, the Prussians halted, and turned firemen for the occasion.  This not only prevented most of the corps from arriving early on