The Duke, on his side, would doubtless have retreated had he known that the Prussian advance would be as slow as it was.  His composite forces, in which five languages were spoken, were unfit for a long contest with Napoleon’s army.  The Dutch-Belgian troops, numbering 17,000, were known to be half-hearted; the 2,800 Nassauers, who had served under Soult in 1813, were not above suspicion; the 11,000 Hanoverians and 5,900 Brunswickers were certain to do their best, but they were mostly raw troops.  In fact, Wellington could thoroughly rely only on his 23,990 British troops and the 5,800 men of the King’s German Legion; and among our men there was a large proportion of recruits or drafts from militia battalions.  Events were to prove that this motley gathering could hold its own while at rest; but during the subsequent march to Paris Wellington passed the scathing judgment that, with the exception of his Peninsular men, it was “the worst equipped army, with the worst staff, ever brought together."[509] This was after he had lost De Lancey, Picton, Ponsonby, and many other able officers; but on the morning of the 18th there was no lack of skill in the placing of the troops, witness General Kennedy’s arrangement of Alten’s division so that it might readily fall into the “chequer” pattern, which proved so effective against the French horsemen.

Napoleon’s confidence seemed to be well founded:  he had 246 cannon against the allies’ 156, and his preponderance in cavalry of the line was equally great.  Above all, there were the 13,000 footmen of the Imperial Guard, flanked by 3,000 cavaliers.  The effective strength of the two armies has been reckoned by Kennedy as in the proportion of four to seven.  Why, then, did he not attack at once?  There were two good reasons:  first that his men had scattered widely overnight in search of food and shelter, and now assembled very slowly on the plateau; second, that the rain did not abate until 8 a.m., and even then slight drizzles came on, leaving the ground totally unfit for the movements of horse and artillery.  Leaving the troops time to form and the ground to improve, the Emperor consulted his charts and took a brief snatch of sleep.  He then rode to the front; and, as the gray-coated figure passed along those imposing lines, the enthusiasm found vent in one rolling roar of “Vive l’Empereur,” which was wafted threateningly to the thinner array of the allies.  There the leader received no whole-hearted acclaim save from the men who knew him; but among these there was no misgiving.  “If,” wrote Major Simmons of the 95th, “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."[510]