The most dreadful Day in Frederick’s Life
The year 1758 came to its close, and after a survey of his military
operations it must be said that Frederick, notwithstanding many
disasters, had made great headway against the legions of his enemies. He
had again beaten them back and gloriously ended the year’s campaign. His
generals had also shown great skill in military operations. Belling, in
particular, had bravely held his ground, and driven the Swedes back to
Stralsund and the island of Rügen. Duke Ferdinand of Brunswick had been
equally successful in his campaign against the French.
At the commencement of this year, war broke out first in Westphalia. The
French attempted to overwhelm Duke Ferdinand by superior numbers. They
despatched two strong armies against him, one of which went to Frankfurt
and the other to Düsseldorf. The Duke decided to attack the army at
Frankfurt, and fought a stubborn battle at Bergen. The French were in
such strong position that the Prussians could not dislodge them, but
were forced to fall back. The enemy pursued on foot and, harassed by
superior numbers, they were forced to retreat to Bremen on the Weser.
The enemies of Prussia held a jubilee. They were now certain that
Westphalia, Hesse, Brunswick, and Hanover would be held by the French
for all time, and that a sufficient force of commissioners would be sent
over from Paris to establish French dominion over these fine German
provinces. The Duke, however, did not entertain any such idea, for
suddenly he again took the offensive and attacked the other army while
on its way from Düsseldorf.
Ferdinand came upon the French camp at Minden and gave battle on the
plains near that city, August 1, 1759. The attack began at the village
of Todtenhausen. Count Wilhelm of Bückeburg, commanding the Prussian
artillery, had taken a strong position. His fire played such havoc in
the close ranks of the French that they were forced to fall back. The
artillery was the first to retreat and the cavalry followed its example,
which left great gaps in the ranks of the infantry and created much
disorder. The Duke lost no time in following up his advantage. He
ordered Sackville, the English general, to attack the enemy with his
cavalry. There had been bad feeling between the two leaders for some
time, so that concerted action between them was well-nigh impossible. As
it was, the English general held back long enough to lose the advantage
of the critical moment, so that the enemy, who could not have escaped
annihilation had the attack been promptly made, had time enough to get
into order and effect a retreat.[19] As it was, however, seven thousand
prisoners were captured, and twenty-five cannon and several standards
fell into the hands of the Prussians. The French were pursued for some
distance, and did not find safety until they reached their camp at
Frankfurt.
The news of this brilliant victory surprised the King just as he was in
the midst of preparations for a terrible struggle with the enemy. He was
in a strong position at Landeshut, and to the great astonishment of his
enemies he remained there quietly until the middle of the year,
apparently waiting to see what the Russians and Austrians were going to
do. They had improved the intervening time in strengthening their
depleted ranks, and now proposed to move against the Prussians in a body
and with largely increased numbers. Frederick, all this time, was not
unmindful of their plans, and considerably strengthened his own army;
but even then he had only half as many troops as the enemy. The larger
part of his choicest soldiers had been left on the field of honor, and
it was with much anxiety that he regarded further campaigning. When news
came of the Russian advance he was ignorant from what direction the
attack would be made, as they were approaching the Brandenburg frontier
in several divisions. To strengthen themselves and get in readiness for
the great task awaiting them, it was decided that the brave Austrian
General Laudon should unite his force of twenty thousand men with their
force. Frederick, who was apprised of their plans, attempted to thwart
them, and sent Generals Dohna and Wedell against them, but they were
driven back, and the Austro-Russian combination was effected. The King
had not believed this possible, and he was greatly surprised, therefore,
by the news that the combined army, seventy thousand strong, was
advancing to the Oder with designs upon the capital,[20] the road to
which was open. The King now made his plans to frustrate the movement,
and ordered the rapid advance of his army. He felt a fatal presentiment,
and before he set out left his will with Prince Henry, and committed the
administration of the kingdom to him in case anything happened to
himself. He made all his arrangements with the same care that one
displays when about to engage in a hazardous task. He provided for every
emergency, and cautioned his brother against making a dishonorable peace
after his death. With such gloomy thoughts as these the King advanced to
meet his enemy.
On the eleventh of August, 1759, Frederick encountered his enemies fifty
miles from Berlin. They were strongly entrenched at Kunersdorf[21] and
surrounded by batteries of cannon, whose yawning mouths threatened death
and destruction to anyone who came near them. Notwithstanding the great
superiority of the enemies’ numbers and the exceeding strength of their
batteries, the King decided to attack the combined armies August 12. At
that very time a courier from Duke Ferdinand of Brunswick arrived with
the good news of the victory at Minden. The King now was in such
confident mood that he ordered the courier to put off his return a few
days, so that he could send back an equally joyful message of victory.
Toward noon the signal was given for attack, and the battle began with
good fortune on the Prussian side. Encouraged by their King, the brave
troops displayed again that heroic courage which had aroused universal
admiration. They paid no attention to the awful fire which was
devastating their ranks; with utter contempt for death they charged
battery after battery, until the Russian left wing could no longer
withstand their assaults. It was driven from its position and seventy
cannon fell into their hands. It was a sign that the Goddess of Victory
this time favored the Prussians.
By this time the day was nearly spent, and the soldiers, exhausted by
their long struggle, aroused the sympathy of their leaders. Some of the
oldest and most experienced of them urgently appealed to the King to
stop the battle and spare the soldiers, as the enemy was retreating.
Frederick, however, remained unmoved. He was not contented with the
advantage he had gained. No, he would immediately annihilate the enemy.
He ordered Seydlitz to cut his way through them with the cavalry. It was
in vain, however, that Seydlitz explained he was holding Laudon in check
on the right wing of the Russians. It was in vain that he assured the
King the meadows before them were so swampy that horses and riders would
be stuck in the bogs if they ventured there. All that he said was of no
avail.
“Do your duty and execute the orders of your King,” replied Frederick,
firmly.
Seydlitz saluted and obeyed, but the soundness of his suggestions was
realized only too soon. The ground shook under the squadrons as they got
into motion, and soon they were floundering in the swamp. As if they
were anticipating just such an inconsiderate movement, the Russians and
Austrians furiously assaulted their immovable enemy, and such bloodshed
ensued that the green meadows were crimsoned. Seydlitz himself was
carried off the field wounded. The tired-out Prussians were
panic-stricken. All fled who could, and the commands even of their
highest officers were ineffective to stay the retreat. The Prussian army
was not only defeated, it was destroyed. The battle was irretrievably
lost, the ruin was complete. Pursued by the enemy, the unfortunates
sought protection, and found it only in the darkness of the night.
The King had been conspicuous in his efforts to avert this disastrous
defeat. He was in the very thick of the battle and did his utmost to
keep the troops in line and encourage them. His attention was called to
the danger he was in and he was besought to be more careful, but he
emphatically refused, saying: “No! We must all strive for victory
together, and I must do my duty like everyone else.”
[Illustration: “_Frederick stood on the bloody field like one dazed_”]
In the main attack two horses were shot down under him. Mounting a
third, a bullet passed through his overcoat and shattered a gold case in
his waistcoat pocket. All his efforts, however, were useless. His
exhortations had lost their customary inspiring effect. Throwing away
weapons and accoutrements, everyone sought safety in flight. He was not
only compelled to witness the abandoning of the cannon captured from the
Russians, but to mourn the loss of one hundred and sixty-five pieces of
Prussian artillery. The situation became more and more desperate, and at
last, realizing all was lost, he exclaimed in utter despair: “Is there
not a cursed bullet for me to-day?”
When night came on, he was almost the only living soul on the wide
battlefield. His army was partly scattered about the surrounding
country; the rest of it had been put to flight.
Frederick stood on the bloody field like one dazed, and it was only by
chance he was saved from capture by some Russians and Austrians who
approached the spot where he was standing. Captain Prittiwitz, his
fortunate star, happened to be passing near by, with forty hussars.
Lieutenant Belten suddenly exclaimed: “Captain Prittiwitz, yonder stands
the King.”
The captain immediately turned his horse and rode forward with his men
to the King, who was standing with folded arms upon a sandy hillock and
alone, save for a single attendant who held his horse. His sword was
sticking in the sand in front of him. The captain had considerable
trouble in persuading the King to mount his horse, for at that instant
Frederick was on the very verge of despair. To the appeal of the
captain, he replied: “Leave me, Prittiwitz; I am lost.”
“Not yet, Your Majesty,” answered Prittiwitz; “you are still King of
Prussia and commander of an army of brave soldiers.”
“Well, if you think so, forward.”
The hussars surrounded Frederick and made their way to the Oder, with
roving bands of Cossacks continually swarming about them. Prittiwitz
kept off the insolent pack and shot their leader off his horse. After
the Muhl was safely crossed there was no further trouble, and the King
was left uninjured at a ferryman’s hut. He thanked the captain, ordered
that gifts be distributed among the hussars, and gave instructions to
see that he remained undisturbed until he had time to collect himself,
for he was still overmastered by his calamity. He wrote to his minister,
Finkenstein, in Berlin:
“Provide for the safety of the Queen and the royal family at Magdeburg,
and do all you can for them.”
A few hours later, he sent the following message to him:
“It is a terrible disaster. I shall not survive it. The consequences of
the battle will be worse than the battle itself. I have no further
resources and, to tell the truth, I consider everything lost. I shall
not survive the destruction of the Fatherland. Adieu forever.”
That was the most dreadful day in the life of the great King.
It is not surprising, however, that the King was in such a despondent
mood, for on that very evening he could not have assembled five thousand
men of his magnificent army. Twenty-six thousand were killed, wounded,
or prisoners, and the others were scattered in flight. But the Russian
army also suffered dreadfully. “If I should fight one more such battle,”
said its commanding general, “I should take the news of it to St.
Petersburg myself with a staff in my hand.” It was not long, however,
before Frederick regained his composure. It was characteristic of him
that he was always the greatest when things were going badly. Messengers
flew to Berlin and Cüstrin with orders that artillery should be
despatched to him as quickly as possible. He collected his fugitive
troops, reënforced them with other detachments, and within a short time
an army of eighteen thousand men was at his disposal. The most important
thing for him now was to rouse the courage of his officers. To this end
he sent for the messenger who had brought the news of the victory in
Westphalia, and said to him in their hearing: “You have seen what has
been going on here. Hurry back, and if you find the enemy is not in
Berlin or Magdeburg, tell the Duke not much has yet been lost.”
In view of Frederick’s plight and the general condition of his affairs,
this message must have seemed ridiculous, for he had not a sufficient
force in readiness to stay the victorious advance of the Russians or to
defend the capital and the country. This was known abroad also, for word
was sent from Paris to the Russian general that the King of Prussia must
be exterminated, and Berlin and the whole Mark of Brandenburg
devastated. The Austrian Field-Marshal Daun also urged the Russians to
make a rapid advance. Soltikow, their commander, however, did not move,
and when further urged by Daun, almost suppliantly, to hurry forward, he
simply wrote to him:
“I have won two battles, and am waiting before I advance again for news
of a second one from you. It is not fair that my Emperor’s army should
have to do all the work.”
Of course this jealousy among the enemy’s leaders was of the greatest
advantage to the King and the Fatherland. The Russians were in position
at Frankfurt-on-the-Oder, and it was not until they were stirred up on
all sides that they moved at all. When they did, they could not find
subsistence, and at the end of October they went back again into Poland,
which relieved the Prussians of one imminent danger.
Field-Marshal Daun in the meantime had been held in check in Saxony in a
most masterly way by Prince Henry. The Prince was one of the ablest
generals of his time, and his brother, the King, fully recognized it. He
said of him once, “He is the only general who has not made a mistake
during the entire war.” Beside his strategic talent, he had engaging
personal qualities which commended him to friend and foe alike. To him
was assigned the duty of watching over the Electorate of Saxony. It may
well be believed that he was an unwelcome visitor in the enemy’s
country, but he was greatly respected by the Saxons, and years after
this they told with much emotion how this noble Hohenzollern in 1759,
one day in harvest-time, when a sudden storm threatened to ruin their
cornfields, allowed the peasants of a Saxon village to use his own
horses for getting in their corn. He specially displayed his brilliant
qualities in preventing Field-Marshal Daun from effecting a union with
the Russians. By swift and skilful marches he kept Daun moving here and
there, then suddenly eluded him, and destroyed a number of storehouses
with supplies sufficient to have maintained fifty thousand soldiers for
six months. This caused such a scarcity of subsistence and fodder that
the indignant troops began to complain, and Daun had to fall back to a
better position. The Mark of Brandenburg was safe, but other misfortunes
were in store for Frederick. Dresden was in the hands of the enemy as
one of the immediate results of the battle of Kunersdorf. When hardest
pressed, Frederick wrote the commander in the Saxon capital to save if
possible the seven millions of treasure in the money chests and evacuate
with honor, for he could not send him help. This occurred immediately
after the disastrous battle.
When Frederick was himself once more, he changed his mind, but alas! it
was too late. Dresden was already lost to the Prussians. Frederick
stamped with rage and declared he would retake it. He at once ordered
the army to move into Saxony, although the inclement season of the year
had begun. Prince Henry begged the King to spare his troops during the
Winter and put off any large undertakings he had in view, but it was all
in vain. The King would not listen to him. He ordered General Finck to
attack the enemy’s rear with fifteen thousand men and force him to
retreat. Every tactician foresaw the disastrous consequences. All his
generals were of opinion that the attack would end calamitously, and so
it turned out. Finck had hardly reached Maxen, November 21, 1759, before
the tables were turned. Instead of being the attacking party, he himself
was attacked on all sides. Terrible slaughter ensued. The Prussians
resisted the attack with their customary bravery, but finally had to
succumb. The army was nearly wiped out, as eleven thousand of them were
taken prisoners. Never before had a year been so disastrous for
Frederick as was 1759. Never before did a year close more gloomily for
him.