A Weary Warrior’s Return

The moon cast long shadows across the battlefield as the Duke of Wellington rode through the carnage of Waterloo. Mounted on his favorite charger Copenhagen, the victorious commander moved through the darkness toward his temporary headquarters. The air hung heavy with the smell of gunpowder and death, a stark contrast to the brilliant June day that had just ended in one of history’s most decisive battles. When Wellington finally dismounted, he gave Copenhagen an affectionate pat, to which the battle-hardened horse responded by kicking out a hoof. This small moment of normalcy belied the enormous tension that had gripped the commander throughout the long day of fighting.

Wellington was utterly exhausted, later telling Lady Shelley that he felt “brains and emotions completely drained.” The physical and mental strain of commanding allied forces against Napoleon Bonaparte’s legendary Grande Armée had pushed him to his limits. Yet beneath the fatigue lay profound relief. “Thank God, I have seen him!” Wellington would later exclaim, referring not just to encountering Napoleon but surviving the confrontation. The following day in Brussels, he would confide in Charles Greville that it had been “the nearest run thing you ever saw in your life,” adding with conviction, “By God! I don’t think it would have been done if I had not been there.”

The Morning After: Counting the Cost

Wellington could not sleep in his own bed upon returning to headquarters because one of his aides lay dying there. Instead, the victor of Waterloo slept on a straw mattress, still wearing the dust and grime of battle—a remarkable departure for a man known for his meticulous personal habits. At dawn on Monday, June 19, Dr. John Hume awakened the duke and presented him with the casualty lists.

The document delivered a devastating blow. Hume recorded that Wellington was “much affected” upon reading the names. “I felt tears dropping fast upon my hand,” the doctor wrote, “and looking up, I saw them chasing one another in furrows over his dusty cheeks.” With his left hand, Wellington brushed the tears away and told Hume in a voice trembling with emotion: “Thank God, I don’t know what it is to lose a battle, but certainly nothing can be more painful than to gain one with the loss of so many of one’s friends.”

This private moment revealed the human cost behind the strategic victory. The British infantry, which Wellington described as his “best instrument,” had suffered catastrophic losses. Among the casualties were high-ranking officers Wellington had known for years—friends and comrades from the Peninsular War and other campaigns.

The Official Dispatch: Recording History

Before returning to his Brussels residence, Wellington began composing his official report to the British government. This document would shape how the battle entered historical record. In his measured, professional tone, he detailed the “desperate and hard-fought battle” that had resulted in Napoleon’s decisive defeat. To his brother William, he wrote more personally: “You will read the details of our desperate battle and of our decisive victory over Napoleon!! It was the most desperate business I was ever engaged in. I never took so much trouble about any battle, and never was so near being beaten.”

The dispatch acknowledged the critical contribution of Gebhard Leberecht von Blücher’s Prussian forces, whose timely arrival had turned the tide against Napoleon. Wellington noted that while his own troops were “worn out with fatigue,” the Prussians had pursued the French through the night, capturing additional artillery and further disrupting Napoleon’s retreating forces.

Personal Correspondence: The Human Face of Victory

Among Wellington’s first letters was one to Lady Frances Webster, a close friend. His message blended triumph with sorrow: “My dear Lady Frances… I yesterday, after a most severe and bloody contest, gained a complete victory, pursuing the French till after dark. They are in complete confusion. I believe I have taken 150 cannon. My soldiers are beat. Blücher pursued them all night. Our loss is immense.”

He then listed the tragic toll among his officer corps: “Lord Uxbridge, Lord FitzRoy Somerset, General Cooke, General Barnes, and Colonel Berkeley are wounded; Colonel de Lancey, Canning, Gordon, and General Picton are killed. God bless me, I have escaped unhurt.”

This personal accounting reveals how Wellington processed the victory through the lens of personal relationships. The names represented not just military casualties but friends and comrades whose absence would be deeply felt in the years to come.

The Tragic Case of Colonel de Lancey

Wellington’s report contained one significant error: Colonel William de Lancey was not actually dead. The American-born officer had been struck by a cannonball that glanced off his back during the battle’s final stages. Though the skin remained unbroken, the impact had broken several ribs—a severe internal injury that initially appeared fatal.

De Lancey’s background made him an unlikely member of Wellington’s inner circle. Born in New York to Loyalist parents who lost their property during the American Revolution, his family had emigrated to England where William embarked on a distinguished military career. His performance during the Peninsular War earned Wellington’s trust, and in April 1815—just two months before Waterloo—de Lancey had married Scottish Magdalene Hall.

When Wellington requested de Lancey serve as his deputy quartermaster general for the Waterloo campaign, Magdalene accompanied her husband to Flanders. She had gone to Antwerp before the battle but returned quickly upon hearing of his injury, finding him in a farmhouse at Mont-Saint-Jean. Magdalene nursed her husband with devoted care, and for a time it seemed he might miraculously survive. But on Monday, June 26—exactly one week after his injury—Sir William de Lancey died. Their marriage had lasted less than three months.

Magdalene’s heartbreak found expression in her written account, “A Week at Waterloo in 1815,” which remains one of the most poignant personal documents to emerge from the battle. Her narrative provides intimate details of the aftermath from a perspective rarely recorded in military histories—that of the women who witnessed the human cost of victory.

Prussian Pursuit: Securing the Victory

While Wellington attended to reports and correspondence, the Prussian army under Blücher took responsibility for pursuing the broken French forces through the night. This division of labor made practical sense—friendly fire incidents had already occurred between the allied forces during daylight, and nighttime pursuit would increase such risks.

Marshal von Gneisenau, Blücher’s chief of staff, organized the pursuit with clever psychological warfare tactics. He had drummers ride horses during the chase, creating the impression that Prussian infantry was closer than it actually was—a deception that accelerated the French disintegration. The Prussians continued their pursuit past midnight, harrying Napoleon’s survivors and effectively destroying what remained of French military cohesion.

Blücher himself coordinated operations from Genappe, a small town on the road to Quatre Bras. The relentless Prussian pressure ensured that Napoleon could not rally his forces for another stand, transforming a battlefield victory into a campaign-ending triumph.

Historical Context: Europe at a Crossroads

To fully appreciate Wellington’s emotional state after Waterloo, one must understand what was at stake. The battle represented the culmination of nearly two decades of nearly continuous warfare between France and the rest of Europe. Napoleon’s return from exile on Elba had thrown the continent back into crisis just as it was beginning to recover from the French Revolutionary and Napoleonic Wars.

The Congress of Vienna, where European diplomats were redrawing the continent’s political map, was still in session when news arrived of Napoleon’s escape. The peace settlement—painstakingly negotiated over months—suddenly hung in the balance. Had Wellington failed at Waterloo, the political landscape of Europe might look radically different today.

Wellington understood these stakes perfectly. His tears upon reading the casualty list reflected not just personal grief but profound relief that the sacrifice had secured a larger peace. The victory at Waterloo didn’t just defeat Napoleon—it paved the way for a century of relative stability in Europe, broken only by the Crimean War and smaller conflicts until the cataclysm of World War I.

The Legacy of Leadership

Wellington’s conduct after Waterloo reveals much about military leadership in the Napoleonic era. Unlike Napoleon, who famously abandoned his army after defeat, Wellington remained to oversee the aftermath—writing reports, counting casualties, and attending to his wounded men. This sense of responsibility distinguished him from many contemporaries and contributed to his reputation as a commander who cared for his troops.

His acknowledgment of the Prussian contribution also demonstrates political acumen. By generously crediting Blücher in his dispatches, Wellington strengthened the Anglo-Prussian alliance that would underpin the post-Napoleonic European balance of power. This diplomatic foresight complemented his military genius, making him as effective in peace as in war.

The days following Waterloo established patterns that would characterize the remainder of Wellington’s career. His meticulous attention to detail, willingness to acknowledge others’ contributions, and combination of strategic vision with administrative competence would serve him well during his subsequent political career, including his term as British prime minister.

Cultural Impact: Waterloo in Memory

The battle immediately entered cultural consciousness as a defining moment in European history. Wellington’s description of it as “the nearest run thing” captured the public imagination, reinforcing the narrative of heroic triumph against overwhelming odds. Paintings, poems, and songs celebrated the victory across Britain and allied nations, often focusing on Wellington as the unflappable commander who saved Europe.

This cultural memory evolved over time. Initially celebrated as a triumph of British arms, Waterloo gradually came to be seen as a more complex event—a necessary tragedy that ended a generation of warfare. Wellington’s own nuanced understanding of the victory, blending pride in achievement with sorrow at the cost, set the tone for how later generations would remember the battle.

The story of Colonel de Lancey and his widow exemplifies this complexity. Their tragedy reminds us that behind the grand strategy and political consequences were individual human stories of love, loss, and sacrifice. Magdalene de Lancey’s memoir provides a counterpoint to Wellington’s official dispatches, offering a ground-level view of the battle’s aftermath that complements the strategic overview.

Conclusion: The Price of Victory

Wellington’s experience in the hours and days following Waterloo offers profound insights into the nature of military victory. His tears upon reading the casualty list, his exhaustion, his meticulous attention to reporting details—all reveal a commander deeply aware that success on the battlefield comes at terrible human cost.

The victory at Waterloo secured Wellington’s place in history as the man who defeated Napoleon, but his private reactions show that he measured success not just in territory gained or enemies routed, but in friends lost and sacrifices made. This balance between public triumph and private sorrow would characterize his memory of the battle for the remainder of his life.

Two centuries later, Waterloo remains a defining moment in European history. Wellington’s leadership—both during the battle and in its aftermath—created a template for military command that emphasized both strategic brilliance and human responsibility. His acknowledgment that “nothing can be more painful than to gain a battle with the loss of so many of one’s friends” stands as a timeless reminder that even the greatest victories extract a price, and that true leadership involves understanding and honoring that cost.