Although the passage of the Rhine was but the prelude to the attack on
the fortress, that exploit being accomplished, Kehl was carried at the
point of the bayonet, the French troops entering the outworks pell-mell
with the retreating enemy, and in less than two hours after the landing
of our first detachments, the tricolour waved over the walls of the
fortress.
Lost amid the greater and more important successes which since that time
have immortalised the glory of the French arms, it is almost impossible
to credit the celebrity attached at that time to this brilliant
achievement, whose highest merits probably were rapidity and resolution.
Moreau had long been jealous of the fame of his great rival, Bonaparte,
whose tactics, rejecting the colder dictates of prudent strategy, and
the slow progress of scientific manouvres, seemed to place all his
confidence in the sudden inspirations of his genius, and the indomitable
bravery of his troops. It was necessary, then, to raise the morale of
the army of the Rhine, to accomplish some great feat similar in boldness
and heroism to the wonderful achievements of the Italian army. Such was
the passage of the Rhine at Strasbourg, effected in the face of a great
enemy, advantageously posted, and supported by one of the strongest of
all the frontier fortresses.
The morning broke upon us in all the exultation of our triumph, and as
our cheers rose high over the field of the late struggle, each heart
beat proudly with the thought of how that news would be received in
Paris.
‘You ‘ll see how the bulletin will spoil all,’ said a young officer of
the army of Italy, as he was getting his wound dressed on the field.
‘There will be such a long narrative of irrelevant matter--such details
of this, that, and t’ other--that the public will scarce know whether
the placard announces a defeat or a victory.’
‘_Parbleu!_’ replied an old veteran of the Rhine army, ‘what would you
have? You’d not desire to omit the military facts of such an exploit?’
‘To be sure I would,’ rejoined the other. ‘Give me one of our young
general’s bulletins, short, stirring, and effective:--“Soldiers! you
have crossed the Rhine against an army double your own in numbers and
munitions of war. You have carried a fortress, believed impregnable, at
the bayonet. Already the great flag of our nation waves over the citadel
you have won. Forward, then, and cease not till it floats over the
cities of conquered Germany, and let the name of France be that of
Empire over the continent of Europe.’”
‘Ha! I like that, cried I enthusiastically; ‘that’s the bulletin to my
fancy. Repeat it once more, mon lieutenant, that I may write it in my
note-book.’
‘What! hast thou a note-book?’ cried an old staff-officer, who was
preparing to mount his horse; ‘let’s see it, lad.’
With a burning cheek and trembling hand I drew my little journal from
the breast of my jacket, and gave it to him.
‘_Sacrebleu!_’ exclaimed he, in a burst of laughter, ‘what have we
here? Why, this is a portrait of old General Moricier, and although a
caricature, a perfect likeness. And here comes a plan for manoeuvring a
squadron by threes from the left. This is better--it is a receipt for
an “Omelette à la Hussard”; and here we have a love-song, and a
moustache-paste, with some hints about devotion, and diseased frog
in horses. Most versatile genius, certainly!’ And so he went on,
occasionally laughing at my rude sketches and ruder remarks, till he
came to a page headed ‘Equitation, as practised by Officers of the
Staff,’ and followed by a series of caricatures of bad riding, in all
its moods and tenses. The flush of anger which instantly coloured
his face soon attracted the notice of those about him, and one of the
bystanders quickly snatched the book from his fingers, and, in the midst
of a group all convulsed with laughter, proceeded to expatiate upon
my illustrations. To be sure, they were absurd enough. Some were
represented sketching on horseback, under shelter of an umbrella;
others were ‘taking the depth of a stream’ by a ‘header’ from their own
saddles; some again were ‘exploring ground for an attack in line,’ by a
measurement of the rider’s own length over the head of his horse.
Then there were ridiculous situations, such as ‘sitting down before a
fortress,’ ‘taking an angle of incidence,’ and so on. Sorry jests all of
them, but sufficient to amuse those with whose daily associations they
chimed in, and to whom certain traits of portraiture gave all the zest
of a personality.
My shame at the exposure, and my terror for its consequences,
gradually yielded to a feeling of flattered vanity at the success of
my lucubrations; and I never remarked that the staff-officer had ridden
away from the group till I saw him galloping back at the top of his
speed.
‘Is your name Tiernay, my good fellow?’ cried he, riding close up to my
side, and with an expression on his features I did not half like.
‘Yes, sir,’ replied I.
‘Hussar of the Ninth, I believe?’ repeated he, reading from a paper in
his hand.
‘The same, sir.’
‘Well, your talents as a draughtsman have procured you promotion, my
friend; I have obtained your discharge from your regiment, and you are
now my orderly--orderly on the staff, do you mind; so mount, sir, and
follow me.’
I saluted him respectfully, and prepared to obey his orders. Already
I foresaw the downfall of all the hopes I had been cherishing, and
anticipated the life of tyranny and oppression that lay before me. It
was clear to me that my discharge had been obtained solely as a means
of punishing me, and that Captain Discau, as the officer was called,
had destined me to a pleasant expiation of my note-book The savage
exultation with which he watched me, as I made up my kit and saddled
my horse--the cool malice with which he handed me back the accursed
journal, the cause of all my disasters--gave me a dark foreboding of
what was to follow; and as I mounted my saddle, my woeful face and
miserable look brought forth a perfect shout of laughter from the
bystanders.
Captain Discau’s duty was to visit the banks of the Rhine and the Eslar
island, to take certain measurements of distances, and obtain accurate
information on various minute points respecting the late engagement;
for, while a brief announcement of the victory would suffice for the
bulletin, a detailed narrative of the event in all its bearings must be
drawn up for the minister of war, and for this latter purpose various
staff-officers were then employed in different parts of the field.
As we issued from the fortress, and took our way over the plain, we
struck out into a sharp gallop; but as we drew near the river, our
passage became so obstructed by lines of baggage-waggons, tumbrils, and
ammunition-carts, that we were obliged to dismount and proceed on foot;
and now I was to see for the first time that dreadful picture which, on
the day after a battle, forms the reverse of the great medal of glory.
Huge litters of wounded men, on their way back to Strasbourg, were drawn
by six or eight horses, their jolting motion increasing the agony of
sufferings that found their vent in terrific cries and screams; oaths,
yells, and blasphemies, the ravings of madness, and the wild shouts of
infuriated suffering, filled the air on every side. As if to give the
force of contrast to this uproar of misery, two regiments of Swabian
infantry marched past as prisoners. Silent, crest-fallen, and
wretched-looking, they never raised their eyes from the ground, but
moved, or halted, wheeled, or stood at ease, as though by some impulse
of mechanism; a cord coupled the wrists of the outer files one with
another, which struck me less as a measure of security against escape,
than as a mark of indignity.
Carts and charrettes with wounded officers, in which oftentimes the
uniform of the enemy appeared side by side with our own, followed
in long procession; and thus were these two great currents--the one
hurrying forward, ardent, high-hearted, and enthusiastic; the other
returning maimed, shattered, and dying!
It was an affecting scene to see the hurried gestures, and hear the few
words of adieu, as they passed each other. Old comrades who were never
to meet again, parted with a little motion of the hand; sometimes a mere
look was all their leave-taking, save when, now and then, a halt would
for a few seconds bring the lines together, and then many a bronzed and
rugged cheek was pressed upon the faces of the dying, and many a tear
fell from eyes bloodshot with the fury of the battle! Wending our way on
foot slowly along, we at last reached the river-side, and having secured
a small skiff, made for the Eslar island--our first business being to
ascertain some details respecting the intrenchments there, and the depth
and strength of the stream between it and the left bank. Discau, who
was a distinguished officer, rapidly possessed himself of the principal
facts he wanted, and then, having given me his portfolio, he seated
himself under the shelter of a broken waggon, and opening a napkin,
began his breakfast off a portion of a chicken and some bread-viands
which, I own, more than once made my lips water as I watched him.
‘You’ve eaten nothing to-day, Tiernay?’ asked he, as he wiped his lips
with the air of a man that feels satisfied.
‘Nothing, _mon capitaine?_ replied I.
‘That’s bad,’ said he, shaking his head; ‘a soldier cannot do his duty
if his rations be neglected. I have always maintained the principle:
Look to the men’s necessaries--take care of their food and clothing. Is
there anything on that bone there?’
‘Nothing, _mon capitaine_.’
‘I’m sorry for it--I meant it for you. Put up that bread, and the
remainder of that flask of wine. Bourdeaux is not to be had every day.
We shall want it for supper, Tiernay.’
I did as I was bid, wondering not a little why he said ‘we,’ seeing how
little a share I occupied in the copartnery.
‘Always be careful of the morrow on a campaign, Tiernay--no squandering,
no waste; that’s one of my principles,’ said he gravely, as he watched
me while I tied up the bread and wine in the napkin. ‘You’ll soon see
the advantage of serving under an old soldier.’
I confess the great benefit had not already struck me, but I held my
peace and waited; meanwhile he continued--
‘I have studied my profession from my boyhood, and one thing I have
acquired that all experience has confirmed--the knowledge that men must
neither be taxed beyond their ability nor their endurance. A French
soldier, after all, is human; eh, is’t not so?’
‘I feel it most profoundly, _mon capitaine_,’ replied I, with my hand on
my empty stomach.
‘Just so,’ rejoined he; ‘every man of sense and discretion must confess
it. Happily for you, too, I know it; ay, Tiernay I know it, and practise
it. When a young fellow has acquitted himself to my satisfaction during
the day--not that I mean to say that the performance has not its fair
share of activity and zeal--when evening comes and stable duty finished,
arms burnished, and accoutrements cleaned, what do you think I say to
him?--eh, Tiernay--just guess now?’
‘Probably, sir, you tell him he is free to spend an hour at the canteen,
or take his sweetheart to the theatre.’
‘What! more fatigue! more exhaustion to an already tired and worn-out
nature!’
‘I ask pardon, sir, I see I was wrong; but I had forgotten how
thoroughly the poor fellow was done up. I now see that you told him to
go to bed.’
‘To bed! to bed! Is it that he might writhe in the nightmare, or suffer
agony from cramps? To bed after fatigue like this! No, no, Tiernay; that
was not the school in which I was brought up; we were taught to think of
the men under our command; to remember that they had wants, sympathies,
hopes, fears, and emotions like our own. I tell him to seat himself
at the table, and with pen, ink, and paper before him, to write up the
blanks. I see you don’t quite understand me, Tiernay, as to the meaning
of the phrase, but I’ll let you into the secret. You have been kind
enough to give me a peep at your note-book, and you shall in return have
a look at mine. Open that volume, and tell me what you find in it.’
I obeyed the direction, and read at the top of a page the words,
‘Skeleton, 5th Prarial,’ in large characters, followed by several
isolated words, denoting the strength of a brigade, the number of guns
in a battery, the depth of a fosse, the height of a parapet, and such
like. These were usually followed by a flourish of the pen, or sometimes
by the word ‘Bom.,’ which singular monosyllable always occurred at the
foot of the pages.
‘Well, have you caught the key to the cipher?’ said he, after a pause.
‘Not quite, sir,’ said I, pondering; ‘I can perceive that the chief
facts stand prominently forward, in a fair round hand; I can also guess
that the flourishes may be spaces left for detail; but this word “Bom.”
puzzles me completely.’
‘Quite correct, as to the first part,’ said he approvingly; ‘and as to
the mysterious monosyllable, it is nothing more than an abbreviation for
“Bombaste,” which is always to be done to the taste of each particular
commanding officer.’
‘I perceive, sir,’ said I quickly; ‘like the wadding of a gun, which may
increase the loudness, but never affect the strength of the shot.’
‘Precisely, Tiernay; you have hit it exactly. Now I hope that, with a
little practice, you may be able to acquit yourself respectably in this
walk; and now to begin our skeleton. Turn over to a fresh page, and
write as I dictate to you.’
So saying, he filled his pipe and lighted it, and disposing his limbs in
an attitude of perfect ease, he began:--
‘“8th Thermidor, midnight--twelve battalions, and two batteries
of field--boats and rafts--Eslar Island--stockades--eight
guns--Swabian infantry--sharp firing, and a flourish--strong
current--flourish--detachment of the 28th carried down--‘Bom.
‘“Let me see it now--all right--nothing could be better--proceed. “The
10th, 45th, and 48th landing together--more firing--flourish--first gun
captured--Bom.--bayonet charges--Bom. Bom.--three guns taken--Bom. Bom.
Bom.--Swabs in retreat--flourish. The bridge eighty toises in length--
flanking fire--heavy loss--flourish.”’
‘You go a little too fast, _mon capitaine_,’ said I, for a sudden bright
thought just flashed across me.
‘Very well,’ said he, shaking the ashes of his pipe out upon the rock,
‘I’ll take my doze, and you may awaken me when you’ve filled in those
details--it will be a very fair exercise for you’; and with this he
threw his handkerchief over his face, and without any other preparation
was soon fast asleep.
I own that, if I had not been a spectator of the action, it would have
been very difficult, if not impossible, for me to draw up anything like
a narrative of it from the meagre details of the captain’s note-book.
My personal observations, however, assisted by an easy imagination,
suggested quite enough to make at least a plausible story, and I wrote
away without impediment and halt till I came to that part of the action
in which the retreat over the bridge commenced. There I stopped. Was I
to remain satisfied with such a crude and one-sided explanation as
the notebook afforded, and merely say that the retreating forces were
harassed by a strong flank fire from our batteries? Was I to omit the
whole of the great incident, the occupation of the ‘Fels Insel,’ and the
damaging discharges of grape and round shot which plunged through the
crowded ranks, and ultimately destroyed the bridge? Could I--to use
the phrase so popular--could I, in the ‘interests of truth,’ forget the
brilliant achievement of a gallant band of heroes who, led on by a young
hussar of the 9th, threw themselves into the ‘Fels Insel,’ routed
the garrison, captured the artillery, and directing its fire upon the
retiring enemy, contributed most essentially to the victory. Ought I,
in a word, to suffer a name so associated with a glorious action to sink
into oblivion? Should Maurice Tiernay be lost to fame out of any neglect
or false shame on my part? Forbid it all truth and justice! cried I, as
I set myself down to relate the whole adventure most circumstantially.
Looking up from time to time at my officer, who slept soundly, I
suffered myself to dilate upon a theme in which somehow I felt a more
than ordinary degree of interest. The more I dwelt upon the incident,
the more brilliant and striking did it seem like the appetite,
which the proverb tells us comes by eating, my enthusiasm grew under
indulgence, so that, had a little more time been granted me, I verily
believe I should have forgotten Moreau altogether, and coupled only
Maurice Tiernay with the passage of the Rhine, and the capture of the
fortress of Kehl. Fortunately, Captain Discau awoke, and cut short my
historic recollections by asking me how much I had done, and telling me
to read it aloud to him.
I accordingly began to read my narrative slowly and deliberately,
thereby giving myself time to think what I should best do when I came to
that part which became purely personal To omit it altogether would have
been dangerous, as the slightest glance at the mass of writing would
have shown the deception. There was, then, nothing left, but to invent
at the moment another version, in which Maurice Tiernay never occurred,
and the incident of the ‘Fels Insel’ should figure as unobtrusively as
possible. I was always a better improvisatore than amanuensis; so that
without a moment’s loss of time I fashioned a new and very different
narrative, and detailing the battle tolerably accurately, minus the
share my own heroism had taken in it. The captain made a few, a very
few corrections of my style, in which the ‘flourish’ and ‘bom.’ figured,
perhaps, too conspicuously; and then told me frankly, that once upon a
time he had been fool enough to give himself great trouble in framing
these kind of reports, but that having served for a short period in the
‘bureau’ of the minister of war, he had learned better--‘In fact,’ said
he, ‘a district report is never read! Some hundreds of them reach
the office of the minister every day, and are safely deposited in the
“archives” of the department. They have all, besides, such a family
resemblance, that with a few changes in the name of the commanding
officer, any battle in the Netherlands would do equally well for one
fought beyond the Alps! Since I became acquainted with this fact,
Tiernay, I have bestowed less pains upon the matter, and usually deputed
the task to some smart orderly of the staff.’
So, thought I, I have been writing history for nothing; and Maurice
Tiernay, the real hero of the passage of the Rhine, will be unrecorded
and unremembered, just for want of one honest and impartial scribe
to transmit his name to posterity. The reflection was not a very
encouraging one; nor did it serve to lighten the toil in which I passed
many weary hours, copying out my own precious manuscript. Again and
again during that night did I wonder at my own diffuseness--again and
again did I curse the prolix accuracy of a description that cost such
labour to reiterate. It was like a species of poetical justice on me
for my own amplifications; and when the day broke, and I still sat at my
table writing on, at the third copy of this precious document, I vowed a
vow of brevity, should I ever survive to indite similar compositions.