The Camp at Bunzelwilz
The next year began less fortunately than 1760 closed. The enemy
determined to crush Frederick by weight of numbers. It was a long time,
however, before military operations commenced. The King’s forces had
been so weakened that he dared not take the offensive without reserves
to fall back upon. Nor did the enemy dare to attack singly. Every effort
was made to overwhelm him by united strength. With this end in view, in
August, seventy-two thousand Austrians under General Laudon joined the
Russians, making a total of one hundred and thirty thousand men, while
Frederick’s army was hardly fifty thousand strong. Frederick had never
before confronted so strong a combination.
At the beginning of Spring the King left Saxony for Silesia, most of
which was in the enemy’s possession. The march was made swiftly, for the
Austrians were establishing strong positions here and there. One day,
about noon, he approached a Saxon village near the Bohemian frontier, in
the vicinity of which an entrenched position was held by a detachment
under the command of an Austrian captain. As soon as he noticed the
King’s arrival at the village, he began a vigorous fire. Frederick was
leaning against a shed, deep in thought, and at first seemed to pay no
attention to the firing. His aides besought him to leave, as the place
was too dangerous.
“The bullet which is to hit me,” said the King, “will come from above.”
A few minutes later a shot struck a post three yards away, quickly
followed by a second. Remarking, “They are growing too discourteous,” he
ordered the destruction of the nest. The entrenchment was stormed and
the captain and his men were made prisoners. The Prussian soldiers took
his watch, purse, and whatever else of value he had about him, and at
last cut off the gold ornaments on his hat. This he pronounced an
insult, and demanded to be taken to the King. After a respectful
greeting, the King said:
“Your servant, my dear Captain. What can I do for you?” The captain
complained of his ill treatment.
“Do you not know the usages of war?” said the King. “This is not a
processional. Thank God that you escaped with your life. My people are
very considerate after all.”
The captain was surprised at the light manner in which the King spoke,
for, as he afterward said, he had always supposed the conqueror of
Silesia to be a strong, imperious man.
The march was immediately resumed, and whenever Austrians showed
themselves they were dispersed. Too weak to attack the Austrians at that
time investing Schweidnitz, the King kept on to Bunzelwiltz, a very
favorable position not far from Schweidnitz, where an entrenched camp
was established in such a scientific and formidable manner that it
looked like a fortress. The work of entrenching was rushed at every
point, and officers joined hands with the soldiers in the work.
Earthworks were also constructed in the churchyard in the village of
Jauernick by soldiers sent for that purpose, who worked under the
supervision of an officer. As they were throwing up the earth an old box
was struck. They did not remove it with the usual care, but broke it
open a little and found there was money in it. They would have instantly
pounced upon it, but the officer drove them back and took the box
himself, assuring them he would divide the money fairly when the work
was done. They were satisfied with this, and the box was placed by the
church door. The officer quietly retired to an unseen position, took off
his stockings and went back with bare feet in his boots. He then took
the box, shook the money out when unobserved, placed the stockings on
the bottom of it and threw in what money it would hold. When the men
were through with their work they asked for the box. The officer brought
it at once, emptied out the money, and showed them there was nothing
more in it but some old rags. There was great dissatisfaction, however,
for they suspected the captain was not dealing fairly with them; seeing
which, he threatened them with a stick. At this juncture the King came
up to inspect the work. He asked what the matter was. They related the
whole occurrence to him, whereupon he requested them to show him the
box, the money, and the pretended old rags. An old grenadier, who had
the latter in his hands, said: “Your Majesty, these are not old rags,
but a pair of linen-thread stockings with a name on them.”
Thereupon he showed them to the King, who clearly enough saw the name
“V——” on them. The King summoned the officer and asked his name. He
answered “V——.”
“Well,” said the King to the men, “don’t you see the money belongs to
him? His ancestors buried it here. Here is his name on the stockings, as
plain as if it were put there recently. Stupids, what do you mean? Give
the officer his money. I will have the box filled with genuine
two-groschen pieces, and they shall be divided equally among you. Will
that satisfy you?”
“Oh, yes, Your Majesty,” was the answer of all. They were all the better
satisfied as the coins in the box were mostly little old copper pieces.
In this way the King saved the officer from the embarrassment naturally
consequent upon discovery of dishonesty, and left him standing
speechless and ashamed.
The defences were at last completed, and in that strong position
Frederick awaited whatever might happen. As he was situated he could not
undertake an attack, and was forced to act upon the defensive. Unusual
precautions were taken in the camp. During the day the men slept by
turns, and at night officers and men were awake and ready for action. As
a rule the King left his tent every night, betook himself to a battery,
and there awaited the morning under the open heavens. One night, as he
was sitting upon the ground by the fire, enveloped in his cloak, he
seemed to be tired and somewhat sleepy. A soldier of the Wolfersdorf
regiment, noticing it, said to him: “I will make Your Majesty a pillow.”
“How will you do it?” said the King.
The soldier took off his knapsack and fixed it so the King could rest
his head upon it. He could not sleep, however, and so he talked with the
soldier about his native land, his service, and other things. The latter
asked the King several rather bold questions, which he answered very
affably. The following conversation occurred between them:
Soldier. “If Your Majesty should be taken prisoner, how could you get
released, as you are a King?”
King. “As a general, not otherwise.”
Soldier. “Hm! I don’t believe that. You are more than a general.”
King. “No! With the army I am only a general.”
Soldier (shaking his head). “They would get rich booty if they took
you.”
King. “Oh, no, they would not. I have not a groschen in my pockets.”
Soldier. “Your Majesty is trying to deceive me.”
King. “No! I tell you I have not a kreutzer” (and to convince him, the
King emptied his pockets). “There! do you not see I am right?”
Soldier. “That is strange, but—you have a beautiful ring, which
certainly is worth something.”
King. “Well—and what do you think it is worth? Give a guess.” (Saying
this, the King held up the ring for his examination.)
Soldier. “The ring may well have cost ten thousand thalers.”
King. “Fool! I will let you have it for five hundred thalers, and even
then make money.”
Soldier. “I would not believe that to all eternity. It is not true.”
King. “Certainly it is. Look here—I will count up the cost. This little
stone here is perhaps worth three hundred and some odd thalers. The
large one in the middle is a table diamond, which at the utmost did not
cost over thirty thalers, and the rest of the ring, outside of the plain
setting, is of no value.”
Soldier. “I certainly wouldn’t have believed it.”
Day had dawned in the meantime. The King arose and ordered an aide, who
had come up to make report, to give the soldier a _Friedrich d’or_,
saying at the same time, “Are you convinced now that I have no money?”
Frederick often availed himself of the darkness to ride about and see
what was going on. Once the King and Zieten, riding early in the
morning, came to a little wood. Seeing no signs of an enemy Frederick
began whistling softly, as was often his habit when not talking. All at
once, as they ascended an eminence, Zieten noticed some of the enemy’s
troopers in the distance, wearing white cloaks.
“Be quiet, Your Majesty. Quick, put my white undercoat over your
shoulders and ride slowly. They will think we are friends coming to meet
them.”
This evidently was the Austrians’ opinion, for they seemed to be
directing their course straight toward them; but suddenly the King and
Zieten put spurs to their horses, changed their direction, and
fortunately escaped. The King laughed and said: “My dear Zieten, that
was a neat trick. Now, can I go on with my whistling?”
As was always his habit, the King continued to share all dangers and
privations with his soldiers. Like them, he ate out of tin dishes and
the hard ground was his bed whatever the weather might be.
“Take along a bundle of straw,” he once said, as he started for a ride
through the camp, “so that I won’t have to lie on the bare ground, as I
did last night.”
The King was forced to remain inactive for three weeks in this
distressing situation, for the combined Russian and Austrian forces were
stretched out until they shut him in on all sides. He was in a critical
condition. His stores were giving out and his troops were getting
uneasy. He resolved therefore to risk a decisive stroke. It was
fortunate for him that Laudon did not have supreme command, else he
would have been crushed. The larger part of the army was under command
of the Russian Field-Marshal Butterlin, who disliked Laudon and
frequently quarrelled with him. This of course prevented coöperation. If
one favored attacking, the other would refuse; if one gave an order to
assault at a certain point, the other would issue an exactly contrary
order. In this dissension lay the possibility of the King’s escape,
though he did not know it, for he had never heard even a hint of their
enmity. His situation appeared to him desperate enough. Whichever way he
turned he saw no prospect of escape. This greatly disturbed him. With an
anxious heart he often hurried to old Zieten’s little hut for
consolation. This brave general confidently looked for better days in
the future. His devotion and loyalty to the King never permitted him to
doubt the success of his undertakings. In sheer desperation, the King
would often say: “It cannot be done; it is impossible.”
Whenever he said this, Zieten would reply: “Have courage, Your Majesty.
Everything will come out right.” Once he said this with so much
assurance that the King quickly asked: “Have you secured the help of
some new allies?”
“No,” replied the general, “only our old help from above, which will
never forsake us.”
“Ah!” sighed the King, “the days of miracles are over.”
“There is no need of miracles,” replied the pious old hero. “He is on
our side and will not let us be defeated.”
Brave Zieten spoke truly, for three weeks afterward the Russians
suddenly broke camp and departed. The cause was partly the disagreement
between Butterlin and Laudon, but the principal reason for the sudden
exit was the difficulty of procuring subsistence for man and beast.
Silesia had been the scene of war so long and had been so ravaged that
its people had to kill most of their animals for food and had been
living for some time in a most wretched plight. It was manifestly
impossible therefore to feed this great army. To save his, the Russian
general had no alternative but to break camp and hurry off to Poland.
How delighted was the King when he saw that he was freed from the
enemy’s investment! It was with a strange feeling he left the prison
from which he had never expected to escape alive.
The close of the year, however, brought fresh trouble. The fortress of
Schweidnitz, in Silesia, at last fell into the hands of the Austrians,
and this strengthened the Russian force at Colberg, in the East.
Frederick’s immediate situation was not very enviable in any sense, for
there had been a lack of subsistence for his troops for a long time,
resulting in general discontent as well as disobedience. His financial
resources were also well-nigh exhausted. But what made him most
despondent was the great shrinkage of his numerical strength and the
apparent impossibility of making it good. It was no longer possible to
maintain discipline among his troops after they had been reduced to the
bare necessities. The _Garde du Corps_ and _gens d’armes_, who had been
most loyally devoted to the King, now loudly asserted that if they were
attacked, they would surrender. Such was the spiritless condition of his
army! Is it any wonder the King was dejected as he contemplated the
situation? Only his feeling of duty and his love for the Fatherland
helped him to bear this heavy burden of trouble and care. In a letter
written immediately after the taking of Schweidnitz, he says:
“This painful duty of service to the Fatherland is a heavy burden. With
sadness I see its glory dimmed, its people despairing of deliverance,
and devastation everywhere. Fatherland! Beloved name! Thy sorrows have
moved me to devote the last remaining energies of my unfortunate life to
thy rescue. Away with fruitless complaints—I will again take the field.
Patriotism inspires me. A new day is dawning. I will revenge the State
and end its troubles. I will forget my own distress and think only of
it. My strong arm shall be its support. Notwithstanding his inclinations
one must swim with the current, die for Fatherland, or accomplish his
purposes.”