The Victory of Torgau Surprises Frederick
Cavalry and infantry were so exhausted by the bloody work that the King
granted them a three hours’ rest. Frederick went through the camp-lines,
where there was great rejoicing over the victory, one of the most
important results of which was the reawakening of the old battle spirit.
There had not been such a glorious event since the disaster at
Kunersdorf. He commended their valor, and assured them they should be
rewarded at the proper time. The regiment which had lost its decorations
at the close of the battle before Dresden behaved so bravely that the
King uncovered his head before its commander and cordially thanked him.
One old gray-bearded warrior, hoping that the King, while in this
gracious mood, might restore to the regiment its trophies and sidearms,
stepped forward and pleaded for them. The King quietly listened and then
with much emotion replied:
“Yes, children, you have done handsomely. I thank you. You shall have
everything back. All is forgotten and forgiven. But this day I shall
never forget.”
Loud cheers filled the air at the regiment’s good fortune. After they
were rested they formed on the field, strewn with the debris of battle,
took the cannon and prisoners along, and made a three hours’ march on
that same day. This one victory placed Silesia, partly captured from the
Austrians, in Prussian hands.
The King pursued the Austrians vigorously, and used his utmost endeavors
to force them from their position. In one of his movements it became
necessary to burn a village in the Silesian hills, to keep the Austrians
from occupying a certain height. An officer, whose mother belonged in
the village, happened to receive the order to burn it, and performed his
duty without a moment’s hesitation. This induced the King to interest
himself in the family. He not only reimbursed her generously, but every
time he met the officer he remembered the occurrence and inquired about
his mother’s health. The unconditional surrender of Silesia made that
country very dear to him. He used to call it “The Pearl of his Crown,”
and used his utmost efforts to free it from the hated enemy.
Greatly to his disappointment, he was suddenly compelled to abandon
further pursuit, for he learned that the Mark was in danger of falling
into the enemy’s hands. Forty-eight thousand Austrians and Russians had
set out to capture Berlin, and reached the frontier unchecked. They knew
that the weak city garrison was in no condition to resist the advance of
such a strong army. The Prussian Residence actually fell into the hands
of the Russian General Tottleben, October 4, 1760. Reports of cruelties
practised by the Russians on the march had preceded their coming, and
the people were greatly apprehensive of violence. Their apprehensions,
however, were needless, as Tottleben was a very noble and humane man and
exerted himself constantly to suppress all acts of violence. In reality,
the Russians conducted themselves courteously as compared with the
Saxons and Austrians, who committed outrageous acts of violence and
vandalism.[23] For eight days they gave free rein to their rapacity and
maltreatment, when suddenly the rumor spread and was publicly talked
about that the King was approaching. Its effect was electrical. Taking
all they could lay hands on, they hurriedly made off, for they feared
his wrath. When Frederick heard that the mere rumor of his approach had
so alarmed the enemy, he laughed loudly and said in the presence of his
men: “And such louts as these would cope with us Prussians!”
He liked to joke with his soldiers, and took it in the best of humor
when they joked back with him. On the march from Silesia to the Mark,
which was a very quick one, the King often said to them when they were
tired: “Straighten up, children, straighten up,” meaning that they
should march straighter and in better order.
“Fritz, we can’t do it,” was the reply; and one hussar, whom the King
had personally addressed, said to him: “Fritz, I can’t do it; I can’t
pull up my boots,” at which the King laughed heartily.
It was on such intimate footing as this that the King stood with his
men. He also knew just what demands he could make of them. They
willingly made their utmost exertions on the long, hard marches. They
would gladly die for him. He naturally shared all their troubles and
deprivations. He had good reason therefore to write these words to one
of his friends:
“You can have no conception of our dreadful fatigues. This movement is
worse than any of its predecessors. Sometimes I do not know which way to
turn. But I will not weary you with the recital of my troubles and
anxieties. All my happiness is buried with the loved and revered ones to
whom my heart clings. The close of my life is full of sorrow and pain.”
As already said, Frederick found no enemy in Charlottenburg and its
vicinity. Daun had fallen back to Saxony and taken a strong position at
Torgau, so that by skilfully distributing his force he could drive back
the Prussians and hold almost the whole country. Frederick found himself
in a very bad position. The Russians were on the Oder in his rear, and
in front the Austrians occupied an almost impregnable position. Under
such circumstances it was difficult to find a safe way out. He hastily
decided to move against the Austrians, but was at once deterred from so
doing when he found their position was impregnable. It was now really a
question of life or death. The King realized only too well that he could
hardly have found a more disagreeable situation, but he did not disclose
his anxiety. He forced himself to conceal his real feelings under a mask
of cheerfulness rather than risk losing everything. It is even asserted
indeed that in the last years of the Seven Years’ War, when Frederick
saw that the strength of his army was steadily diminishing while his
enemies maintained their numbers, he carried opium with him with which
to take his life if at last he had to succumb to their united strength.
He said to a friend at this time:
“I shall never see the moment that forces me to make a disadvantageous
peace. Either I will bury myself under the ruins of the Fatherland, or,
should fate forbid me that consolation, I will put an end to my troubles
when I no longer can bear them. I have acted according to the inner
voice of conscience and honor, which guides and has always guided my
steps, and my conduct will always be grounded on those principles. I
sacrificed my youth to my father, my riper years to the Fatherland; now
I think I have the right to dispose of my old age. I have said to you,
and I repeat it, never will I put my hand to a disadvantageous peace. I
am determined to finish this campaign and to venture the most desperate
things, for I will conquer or honorably die.”
How heavily his anxiety wore upon him at this time is shown in another
letter to a friend, in which he says:
“I am slowly wasting away; I am like a living body gradually growing
speechless, and losing limb by limb. Heaven help us! We need it. You
always talk of me and my dangers. Do you not know it is not necessary
for me to live? It is only necessary to do my duty and fight for the
Fatherland and save it if possible.”
In such a despondent mood as this was the King in the presence of the
enemy at Torgau! What was to be done? If he quietly abandoned the place
to the enemy, he must spend the Winter in his own country, already
nearly exhausted. If he attacked and was defeated, he would lose all
Prussia. He must venture everything, but before acting he decided to
summon all his generals for a consultation. This took place on the
morning of November 3, 1760. General Zieten, one of his most trusted
friends, did not immediately appear, which greatly disturbed the King.
“Gentlemen,” he said to them, “we can do nothing, for one of our number
is not here.”
He anxiously looked in the direction whence Zieten should come. At last
the old general came riding up. Frederick hastened to meet him, embraced
him, and said:
“Come, my dear Zieten, I have been anxiously waiting for you, for to-day
will be a memorable one. Either I shall conquer or I shall end my
troubles, for my position is very critical.”
“What!” said the pious old Zieten, as he dismounted and stroked his
beard, “do you doubt the help of God? He has stood by us often and will
do so to-day. Your soldiers are full of courage. They trust their God.”
These words restored the King’s confidence. “Well, my dear Zieten,” he
replied, “if you think it all right, we will face the inevitable.”
Taking Zieten’s arm, they withdrew from the others for a time and had a
confidential interview, after which he returned in better spirits. It
was decided to attack, and the aides were soon flying in all directions,
carrying the orders to the generals. The attack began that day.
The Prussian army was in two divisions, one led by the King, and the
other by Zieten, who got in the rear of the enemy to attack his
entrenchments. The King’s division consisted of ten thousand grenadiers
and was posted in some woods in battle order. When Frederick advanced
with his vanguard upon Daun’s entrenchments he was greeted by a
murderous fire from two hundred cannon, so directed that even before the
troops reached the enemy’s lines they were almost unfitted for action,
as they were deafened by the terrible crashes of the artillery.
Notwithstanding the din and confusion, the King retained his composure,
and turning to one of his generals, said: “What a horrible cannonading!
Did you ever hear anything like it?”
The effect was frightful. In a short time nearly all the brave
grenadiers were shot down. Their places were filled by fresh regiments
and the cavalry was ordered to advance, but it was useless. Nothing
could withstand that murderous fire. In the meantime Frederick himself
was exposed to the greatest danger. Shots ploughed up the earth so near
him that his horse was very restive. At last he had to make a show of
composure. He rode from the first rank to the second, and came to a
dragoon regiment.
“Well, children, how goes it? ” he asked.
Some answered, “Badly, Your Majesty; we are standing here letting them
shoot us down, and we cannot defend ourselves.”
“Wait a little,” said the King to them, “the firing will soon cease;
then we will attack them.”
While saying these words a cannon-ball came so close to him that his
horse jumped to one side, knocked over a drum, and seemed about to run
away with him. The King smiled, and said to the drummer:
“You tell the Austrians if they don’t soon march off, I will take their
guns away from them.”
A new attack was ordered, but the Austrians resumed their destructive
fire. At this crisis the King noticed there was a great gap on the right
wing, between the _Garde du Corps_ and the _gens d’armes_. He rode where
the shots were falling thickest, to strengthen the weak spot. When this
had been done, he remained there a short time, watching with his glass
one of the batteries which was playing havoc with the _Garde du Corps_.
A corporal of the fourth company remarked to a guard: “If we have got to
stand here and be shot at, because they won’t let us attack, give me a
pinch of snuff.”
The guard took his box from his pouch, and as he was lifting the cover,
a cannon-ball shot off his head. In the most cold-blooded way, the
corporal turned to his second neighbor and said: “Well, now, you give me
a pinch; that one has gone to the d—l.”
While Lieutenant von Byern, who afterward became leader of a cuirassier
regiment, was speaking with the man about the accident, another ball
killed his horse. The King, who had been watching them closely, rode up
to the lieutenant, and then said to the corporal: “You have the proper
coolness of a soldier. I shall remember you.”
The corporal was overjoyed because the King had honored him by
addressing him, which aroused his hope of promotion.
The _Garde du Corps_ suffered greatly in this battle, for they were
exposed to the fire of the battery already mentioned, and every
discharge killed some of them. The King greatly deplored it, but he
could not relieve them right away. He rode up to them and said in a tone
of deep sympathy: “Children, only have patience for a few minutes.
Things will quickly change.”
At that instant a shot came close to the King and killed the file leader
of the fourth company of the second squadron. His next neighbor said to
the King: “Be careful of yourself, Your Majesty, and ride to a safer
place. It is more important you should live than we.”
The King turned a grateful look to the speaker and said: “My dear son, I
thank you for your honest intentions and good-will. I shall not forget
you.”
Hardly had the King gone when a shot killed this honest man on the spot.
The attack was renewed by the Prussians, but their valor was of no avail
against the strongly entrenched enemy. Night was approaching, but the
Austrians had not been dislodged from their position. Firing was still
kept up vigorously on both sides, and the combatants were shot down in
rows. Frederick himself did not escape untouched. A bullet stunned him,
and with the words, “I am killed,” he fell. Two of his aides instantly
ran up to him and searched for the wound, but his thick pelisse had
saved him. Opening it, they found that the bullet had passed through his
heavy clothing, but had not pierced his body. The King speedily came to
himself and coolly said: “It is a matter of no consequence.” The bullet,
however, had made a bad contusion on his breast.
As night came on, confusion spread through the ranks, and Frederick was
not a little disturbed about the result of the battle. He looked upon it
as lost, and the Austrians were rejoicing over the victory they supposed
they had gained. Both sides, however, were premature in their
conclusions, for almost immediately the situation took on a new aspect.
In carrying out his orders, Zieten had had to contend with almost
insuperable obstacles before he could get to the place to which he had
been assigned. After almost superhuman exertions he reached, toward
evening, the Süptitz heights. His soldiers dragged their cannon by hand
and planted them on a hill near the enemy. With drums beating and cannon
thundering, Zieten advanced to the attack, and at the very first onset
captured a battery, causing great alarm and confusion among the
Austrians. Field-Marshal Daun rallied all his forces and tried to drive
the Prussians out of his entrenchments, but the effort was fruitless.
Zieten, clearly realizing what was at stake, so continuously pressed his
assaults that the Austrians could not withstand them. They began to
waver, and General Daun was so badly wounded that he had to be carried
from the field. This new misfortune increased their panic, and Zieten
gave them no chance to get over it. He hurled his entire force upon
them, and the victory was won.
The King, meanwhile, knew nothing of Zieten’s successful attack and its
important results, as the intervening darkness cut off his view of the
field. Fancying the battle was lost, or at least that the victory was
doubtful, he rode to the neighboring village of Elsnitz, where he went
into a church, as all other places were filled with wounded. It was a
very cold night. While tired-out, shivering soldiers sought rest and
warmth by the watch-fires, Frederick sat upon the lowest step of the
altar and by the dim light of a lamp wrote his orders for attack on the
following day, for he was determined to make the battle decisive,
whatever the cost. It was hardly daybreak when he mounted his horse and
rode out of the village. He had not gone far when he saw a cavalry troop
approaching, with Zieten at its head. In the tone of an officer
reporting, he said to the King, “The enemy is beaten and has retreated.”
Frederick was much excited by the announcement. With the activity of a
boy, he jumped from his horse, Zieten following his example, and
embraced his faithful general. Zieten cried like a child. Then the two
rode back to the field, by different routes, to acquaint the troops with
the joyful news and thank them for the bravery they had shown.
The King rode along the front, from the left to the right wing, and
approached the generals who were gathered about the watch-fire.
Frederick dismounted and joined the brave officers and men of his
division, who were waiting for dawn to renew the attack upon the
Austrians if they had not retreated. The King talked much with his
soldiers and praised them for their valor. The grenadiers, knowing his
amiability and condescension, crowded nearer and nearer about him. One
of them, with whom the King had several times conversed and to whom he
had often given money, was bold enough to ask him where he had been
during the battle. They were accustomed to seeing him at their head,
leading them into the thickest of the fight. This time, however, not an
eye had seen him, and it was not right for him to forsake them. The King
replied most graciously to the grenadier, saying that during most of the
battle he had been at the left wing of the army and therefore could not
be with his own men. While saying this, he unbuttoned his blue overcoat,
as he was getting too warm. As he did so, the grenadier noticed a bullet
falling from his clothes and saw the wound on his breast through the
rent in his uniform. Excitedly he shouted: “Thou art still the old
Fritz! Thou sharest every danger with us. For thee we would die gladly.
Long live the King! Three times three!”
There was the greatest enthusiasm as Frederick rode up and down the
line, shaking hands with this and that old graybeard and addressing a
kindly word to everyone. On this occasion the old grenadiers were
smoking wretched tobacco in their stub pipes right under his nose. An
officer, who knew his dislike of tobacco, said to them, “Step back a
little. His Majesty cannot endure tobacco smoke.”
“No, children, stay where you are,” replied the King, with a kindly
smile. “I don’t mind the smell.”
He was thus gracious to his soldiers—for it was well known that he was
averse to tobacco all his life—and in this and other ways was constantly
manifesting his regard for them.
The loss of life at Torgau was very great on both sides. The Austrians
lost twenty thousand men beside fifty-five cannon and twenty-seven
standards, and the Prussians suffered almost as severely. Frederick,
writing about it to a friend, said:
“We have just defeated the Austrians. They have lost an extraordinary
number as well as we. This victory will perhaps allow us a little rest
this Winter and that is about all. Next year we must begin anew. I have
been hit by a shot, which grazed my breast, but it is only a
bruise,—little pain, but no danger,—therefore I shall be as busy as
ever.”
Large as was the number killed in this battle, it was compensated for by
its important results, for Prussia was saved and Saxony was once more
freed from the Austrians. The Russians had retired again into Poland,
and the Swedes had sought refuge in the farthest corners of Pomerania.
The King decided to make his Winter quarters in Leipsic. On his way
there, he reached a Saxon village near Wittenburg and took lodgings with
a preacher. Delighted with the honor conferred upon him, he went to the
door to meet the King, and said: “Come in, thou blessed of the Lord! Why
dost thou stand outside?”
The King regarded the preacher, a venerable old man, with a kindly
smile, and said to him: “How many taxpayers are there in this village?”
The preacher was so astonished at the question that he could hardly
reply, although he knew the number very well. At last he collected his
wits and said: “Twenty-two.”
“And how much do they raise?”
The preacher stated the amount of grain in bushels as nearly as he
could.
“Has the village suffered much during the war?”
“In the last eight weeks, Your Majesty, your troops and the Austrians
have alternately foraged here. We are about at the end, for we only have
our lives and cabins left.”
“Who represented the Austrians here?”
“General Luzinsky.”
“Where did he stop?”
“I had the honor of entertaining him in my house as well as I could.”
“So? Did you also call him ‘blessed of the Lord’ when he came?”
“By no means, but I could not curse him.”
“Oh, yes! You are a Saxon. Now I shall see whether I bring more
blessings to this village than Luzinsky.”
The King was shown to his room, and made much of the preacher, who
greatly entertained him. When he departed he paid him a hundred
_Friedrich d’ors_, and left an order that if Prussian troops came to the
village they should take nothing, and should pay for everything they got
outside their quarters.
Frederick always liked to talk with the country clergy. He resumed his
march to Leipsic in more cheerful spirits, but did not enter the city at
once. He had his night’s lodgings at a parson’s house in one of the
villages near Leipsic. He was kept awake all night, for the house was
overrun with mice, which made much noise in his room. Frederick arose at
daybreak, called the pastor, and said: “Listen! Do you know anything
about interpreting dreams?”
“Not particularly, Your Majesty, for I am not much of a believer in
them.”
“You may not believe in them, but many a dream has a real meaning. I
will tell you of mine. I dreamed your rooms were full of mice. What does
that signify?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, I think Heaven means me to understand by this that my
commissaries are good at plundering.”
“Oh, no, Your Majesty, I fear your dream was the result of natural
causes; for, alas! I am very much plagued by these vermin in my house
and I do not know how to get rid of them.”
“So? then I must be wrong. Now you take this _Friedrich d’or_ and buy
yourself a mouse-trap. Perhaps then I may sleep better the next time I
come.”
Frederick’s enemies continued hoping that the time would come, in the
execution of their plans, when they should find him exhausted by the
weakness of his forces; and prospects indeed seemed to point that way.
Doubtless he gained much by the victory at Torgau, but his situation
still was a difficult one. He greatly deplored the losses his army had
suffered, for he saw no way of replacing them. Signs of discontent were
also beginning to appear among his troops because they were not
regularly paid. This induced him, immediately after the battle at
Torgau, to abandon his original plan of retaking Dresden. The following
conversation shows how serious he was in this purpose. Immediately after
the victory a grenadier asked: “Your Majesty, shall we now go into good
Winter quarters?”
“We must first retake Dresden. After that, I will look out for you and
you shall be satisfied.”
In view of dissatisfactions among the soldiers and the approach of cold,
rainy weather, the King decided, at the close of the year 1760, to go
into Winter quarters.