The snow, half melted with the heavy rains, lay still deeply on the
roads, and a dark, lowering sky stretched above, as I harried onwards,
with all the speed I could, towards the east of France.
Already the Allies had passed the Rhine. Schwartzen-berg in the south,
Blucher in the east, and Bernadotte on the Flemish frontier, were
conveying their vast armies to bear down on him whom singly none had
dared to encounter. All France was in arms, and every step was turned
eastwards. Immense troops of conscripts, many scarce of the age of
boyhood, crowded the highways. The veterans themselves were enrolled
once more, and formed battalions for the defence of their native
land. Every town and village was a garrison. The deep-toned rolling
of ammunition wagons and the heavy tramp of horses sounded through
the nights long. War, terrible war, spoke from every object around.
Strongholds were strengthening, regiments brigading, cavalry organizing
on all sides.
No longer, however, did I witness the wild enthusiasm which I so
well remembered among the soldiers of the army. Here were no glorious
outbreaks of that daring spirit which so marked the Frenchman, and made
him almost irresistible in arms. A sad and gloomy silence prevailed:
a look of fierce but hopeless determination was over all. They marched
like men going to death, but with the step and bearing of heroes.
I entered the little town of Verviers. The day was breaking, but the
troops were under arms. The Emperor had but just taken his departure
for Châlons-sur-Marne. They told me of it as I changed horses,--not
with that fierce pride which a mere passing glance at the great Napoleon
would once have evoked; they spoke of him without emotion. I asked if he
were paler or thinner than his wont: they did not know. They said that
he travelled post, but that his staff were on horseback. From this I
gathered that he was either ill, or in that frame of mind in which he
preferred to be alone. While I was yet speaking, an officer of Engineers
came up to the carriage, and called out,--
“Unharness these horses, and bring them down to the barracks. These,
sir,” said he, turning towards me, “are not times to admit of ceremony.
We have eighteen guns to move, and want cattle.”
“Enough, sir,” said I. “I am not here to retard your movements, but if
I can, to forward them. Can I, as a volunteer, be of any service at this
moment?”
“Have you served before? Of course you have, though. In what arm?”
“As a Hussar of the Guard, for some years.”
“Come along with me; I 'll bring you to the general at once.”
Re-entering the inn, the officer preceded me up stairs, and after a
moment's delay, introduced me into the presence of General Letort, then
commanding a cavalry brigade.
“I have heard your request, sir. Where is your commission? Have you got
it with you?”
I handed it to him in silence. He examined it rapidly; and then turning
the reverse, read the few lines inscribed by the minister of war.
“I could have given you a post this day, sir, this very hour,” said
he, “but for a blunder of our commissariat people. There's a troop here
waiting for a re-mount, but the order has not come down from Paris; and
our officials here will not advance the money till it arrives, as if
these were times for such punctilio. They are to form part of General
Kellermann's force, which is sadly deficient. Remain here, however, and
perhaps by to-morrow--”
“How much may the sum be, sir?” asked I, interrupting.
The general almost started with surprise at the abruptness of my
question, and in a tone of half reproof answered,--
“The amount required is beside the matter, sir; unless,” added he,
sarcastically, “you are disposed to advance it yourself.”
“Such was the object of my question,” said I, calmly, and determining
not to notice the manner he had assumed.
“_Parbleu!_” exclaimed he, “that is very different. Twenty thousand
francs, however, is a considerable sum.”
“I have as much, and something more, if need be, in my carriage,--if
English gold be no objection.”
“No, _pardie!_ that it is not,” cried he, laughing; “I only wish we saw
more of it. Are you serious in all this?”
The best reply to his question was to hasten down stairs and return with
two small canvas bags in my hands.
“Here are one thousand guineas,” said I, laying them on the table.
While one of the general's aides-de-camp was counting and examining the
gold, I repeated at his request the circumstances which brought me once
again to France to serve under the banner of the Emperor.
“And your name, sir,” said he, as he seated himself to write, “is Thomas
Burke, ci-devant captain of the Eighth Hussars of the Guard. Well, I can
promise you the restoration of your old grade. Meanwhile, you must
take command of these fellows. They are mere partisan troops, hurriedly
raised, and ill organized; but I'll give you a letter to General
Damrémont at Chalons, and he 'll attend to you.”
“It is not a position for myself I seek, General,” said I. “Wherever I
can best serve the Emperor, there only I desire to be.”
“I have ventured to leave that point to General Damrémont,” said he,
smiling. “Your motives do not require much explanation. Let us to
breakfast now, and by noon we shall have everything in readiness for
your departure.”
Thus rapidly, and as it were by the merest accident, was I again become
a soldier of the Emperor; and that same day was once more at the head of
a squadron, on my way to Châlons. My troop were, indeed, very unlike
the splendid array of my old Hussars of the Guard. They were hurriedly
raised, and not over well equipped, but still they were stout-looking,
hardy peasants, who, whatever deficiency of drill they might display, I
knew well would exhibit no lack of courage before an enemy.
On reaching Châlons, I found that General Damrémont had left with the
staff for Vitry only a few hours before; and so I reported myself to the
officer commanding the town, and was ordered by him to join the cavalry
brigade then advancing on Vitry.
Had I time at this moment, I could not help devoting some minutes to
an account of that strange and motley mass which then were brigaded
as Imperial cavalry. Dragoons of every class, heavy and
light-armed,--grenadiers à cheval and hussars, cuirassiers, carbineers,
and lancers,--were all, pell-mell, mixed up confusedly together, and
hurried onwards; some to join their respective corps if they could find
them, but all prepared to serve wherever their sabres might be
called for. It was confusion to the last degree; but a tumult without
enthusiasm or impulse. The superior officers, who were well acquainted
with the state of events, made no secret of their gloomy forebodings;
the juniors lacked energy in a cause where they saw no field for
advancement; and the soldiers, always prepared to imbibe their feelings
from their officers, seemed alike sad and dispirited.
What a change was this from the wild and joyous spirit which once
animated every grade and class,--from the generous enthusiasm that
once warmed each bold heart, and made every soldier a hero! Alas! the
terrible consequences of long defeat were on all. The tide of battle
that rolled disastrously from the ruined walls of the Kremlin still
swept along towards the great Palace of the Tuileries. Germany had
witnessed the destruction of two mighty armies; the third and last was
now awaiting the eventful struggle on the very soil of their country.
The tide of fugitives, which preceded the retiring columns of Victor and
Ney, met the advancing bodies of the conscripts, and spread dismay and
consternation as they went.
The dejection was but the shadow of the last approaching disaster.
On the night of the 27th January, the cavalry brigade with which I was
received orders to march by the Forest of Bar on Brienne, where Blücher
was stationed in no expectation of being attacked. The movement,
notwithstanding the heavy roads, was made with great rapidity; and by
noon on the following day we came up with the main body of the army in
full march against the enemy.
Then once more did I recognize the old spirit of the army. Joyous
songs and gay cheers were heard from the different corps we passed.
The announcement of a speedy meeting with the Prussians had infused new
vigor among the troops. We were emerging from the deep shade of the wood
into a valley, where a light infantry regiment were bivouacked. Their
fires were formed in a wide circle, and the cooking went merrily on,
amid the pleasant song and jocund cries.
Our own brief halt was just concluded, when the bugles sounded to resume
the march; and I stood for a moment admiring the merry gambols of
the infantry, when an air I well remembered was chanted forth in full
chorus. But my memory was not left long in doubt as to where and how
these sounds were first heard. The wild uproar at once recalled both, as
they sang out,--
“Hurrah for the Faubourg of St. Antoine!”
No sooner did I hear the words, than I spurred my horse forward and rode
down towards them.
“What regiment's yours, Comrade?” said I, to a fellow hurrying to the
ranks.
“The Fifth, mon officier,” said he, “Voltigeurs of the Line.”
“Have you a certain François, a maître d'armes, still among you?”
“Yes, that we have. There he is yonder, beating time to the roulade.”
I looked in the direction he pointed, and there stood my old friend. He
was advanced in front of a company, and with the air of a tambour-major
he seemed as if he was giving time to the melody.
“Ah, _sacré_ conscripts that ye are!” cried he, as with his fist
clenched he gesticulated fiercely towards them; “can't ye keep the
measure? Once, now, and all together:--
“'Picardy first, and then--.”
“Halloo, Maître François! can you remember an old friend?”
The little man turned suddenly, and bringing his hand to the salute,
remained stiff and erect, as if on parade.
“Connais pas, mon capitaine,” was his answer, after a considerable
pause.
“What! not know me!--me, whom you made one of your own gallant company,
calling me 'Burke of Ours'?”
“Ah, _par la barbe de Saint Pierre!_ is this my dear comrade of the
Eighth? Why, where have you been? They said you left us forever and
aye.”
“I tried it, François; but it wouldn't do.”
“Mille bombes!” said he; “but you 're back in pleasant times,--to see
the Cossacks learning to drink champagne, and leave us to pay the score.
Come along, however; take your old place here. You are free to choose
now, and needn't be a dragoon any longer; not but that your old general
will be glad to see you again.”
“General d'Auvergne! Where is he now?”
“With the light cavalry brigade, in front; I saw him pass here two hours
since.”
“And how looks he, François?”
“A little stooped, or so, more than you knew him; but his seat in the
saddle seems just as firm. _Ventrebleu!_ if he 'd been a voltigeur, he
'd be a good man these ten years to come.”
Delighted to learn that I was so near my dearest and oldest friend
in the world, I shook Francois's hand, and parted; but not without a
pledge, that whenever I joined the infantry, the Fifth Voltigeurs of the
Line were to have the preference.
As we advanced towards Brienne the distant thunder of large guns was
heard; which gradually grew louder and more sustained, and betokened
that the battle had already begun. The roads, blocked up with dense
masses of infantry and long trains of wagons, prevented our rapid
advance; and when we tried the fields at either side, the soil, cut up
with recent rains, made us sink to the very girths of our horses. Still,
order after order came for the troops to press forward, and every effort
was made to obey the command.
It was five o'clock as we debouched into the plain, and beheld the
fields whereon the battle had been contested; for already the enemy were
retiring, and the French troops in eager pursuit. Behind, however, lay
the town of Brienne, still held by the Russians, but now little
better than a heap of smoking ruins, the tremendous fire of the French
artillery having reduced the place to ashes. Conspicuous above all rose
the dismantled walls of the ancient military college; the school where
Napoleon had learned his first lesson in war, where first he essayed
to point those guns which now with such fearful havoc he turned against
itself. What a strange, sad Subject of contemplation for him who now
gazed on it! On either side, the fire of the artillery continued till
nightfall; but the Russians still held the town. A few straggling shots
closed the combat; and darkness now spread over the wide plain, save
where the watchfires marked out the position of the French troops.
A sudden flash of lurid flame, however, threw its gleam over the town,
and a wild cheer was heard rising above the clatter of musketry. It
was a surprise party of grenadiers, who had forced their way into the
grounds of the old château, where Blücher held his headquarters. Louder
and louder grew the firing, and a red glare in the dark sky told how
the battle was raging. Up that steep street, at the top of which the
venerable château stood, poured the infantry columns in a run. The
struggle was short. The dull sound of the Russian drum soon proclaimed
a retreat; and a rocket darting through the black sky announced to the
Emperor that the position had been won.
The next day the Emperor fixed his headquarters at the château, and
a battalion of the guard bivouacked in the park around it. I had sent
forward the letter to Général Damrémont, and was wondering when and
in what terms the reply might come, when the general himself rode up,
accompanied by a single aide-de-camp.
“I have had the opportunity, sir, to speak of your conduct in the proper
quarter,” said he, courteously; “and the result is, your appointment as
major of the Tenth Hussars, or, if you prefer it, the staff.”
“Wherever, sir, my humble services can best be employed. I have no other
wish.”
“Then take the regimental rank,” said he; “your brigade will see enough
of hot work ere long. And now push forward to Mézières, where you'll
find your regiment. They have received orders to march to-morrow,
early.”
I was not sorry to be relieved from the command of my irregular horse,
who went by the title of “brigands” in the army generally; though, if
the truth were to be told, the reproach on the score of honesty came ill
from those who conferred it. Still, it was a more gratifying position to
hold a rank in a regiment of regular cavalry, and one whose reputation
was second to none in the service.
“I wish to present myself to the colonel in command, sir,” said I,
addressing an officer, who with two or three others stood chatting at
the door of a cottage.
“You 'll find him here, sir,” said he, pointing to the hut. But, as he
spoke, the clank of a sabre was heard, and at the same instant a tall,
soldierlike figure stooped beneath the low doorway, and came forth.
“The colonel of the Tenth, I presume?” said I, handing the despatch from
General Damrémont.
“What! my old college friend and companion!” cried the colonel, as he
stepped back in amazement. “Have I such good fortune as to see you in my
regiment?”
“Can it be really so?” said I, in equal astonishment. “Are you Tascher?”
“Yes, my dear friend; the same Tascher you used to disarm so easily
at college,--a colonel at last. But why are you not at the head of a
regiment long since? Oh! I forgot, though,” said he, in some confusion;
“I heard all about it. But come in here; I've no better quarters to
offer you, but such as it is, make it yours.”
My old companion of the Polytechnique was, indeed, little altered by
time,--careless, inconsiderate, and good-hearted as ever. He told me
that he had only gained the command of the regiment a few weeks before;
“and,” added he, “if matters mend not soon, I am scarcely like to hold
it much longer. The despatches just received tell that the Allies are
concentrating at Trannes; and if so, we shall have a battle against
overwhelming odds. No matter, Burke; you have got into a famous
corps,--they fight splendidly, and my excellent uncle, his Majesty,
loves to indulge their predilection.”
I passed the day with Tascher, chatting over our respective fortunes;
and in discussing the past and the future the greater part of the night
went over. Before dawn, however, we were on the march towards Chaumière,
whither the army was directed, and the Emperor himself then stationed.
It was the 1st of February, and the weather was dark, lowering, and
gloomy. A cold wind drove the snowdrift in fitful gusts before it, and
the deep roads made our progress slow and difficult. As our line
of advance, however, was not that by which the other divisions were
marching, it was already past noon before we knew that the enemy was but
three leagues distant. On advancing farther, we heard the faint sounds
of a cannonade; and then they grew louder and louder, till the whole air
seemed tremulous with the concussion.
“A heavy fire, Colonel,” said a veteran officer of the regiment. “I
should guess there are not less than eighty or a hundred guns engaged.”
“Press on, men! press on!” cried Tascher. “When his Majesty provides
such music, it's scarcely polite to be late.”
At a quick trot we came on, and about three o'clock debouched in the
plain behind Oudinot's battalions of reserve, which were formed in two
dense columns, about a hundred yards apart.
“Hussars to the front!” cried an aide-de-camp, as he galloped past, and
waved his cap in the direction of the space between the columns.
In separate squadrons we penetrated through the defile, and came out
on an open plain behind the centre of the first line. The ground was
sufficiently elevated here, so that I could overlook the front line; but
all I could see was a dense, heavy smoke, which intervened between the
two positions, in the midst of which, and directly in front, a village
lay. Towards this, three columns of infantry were converging, and around
the sounds of battle were raging. This was La Giberie: the hamlet formed
the key of the French position, and had been twice carried by, and twice
regained from, the Allies. As I looked, the supporting columns halted,
wheeled, and retired; while a tremendous shower of grape was poured
upon them from the village, which now seemed to have been retaken by the
Allies.
“Cavalry to the front!” was now the order; and a force of six thousand
sabres advanced from between the battalions, and formed for attack. It
was Nansouty who led them, and his heavy cuirassiers were in the van;
and then came the grenadiers à cheval; ours was the third, in column.
As each regiment debouched, the word “Charge!” rang out, and forward we
went. The snow drifting straight against us, we could see nothing; nor
was I conscious of any check to our course till the shaking of the
vast column in front and then the opening of the squadrons denoted
resistance, when suddenly a flash flared out, and a hurricane of
cannon-shot tore through our dense files. Then I knew that we were
attacking a battery of guns,--and not till then. Mad cheers and cries
of wounded men burst forth upon the air, with the clashing din of sabres
and small-arms; the mass of cavalry appeared to heave and throb like
some great monster in its agony. The trumpet to retreat sounded, and we
galloped back to our lines, leaving above five hundred dead behind us,
on a field where I had not yet seen the enemy.
Meanwhile the Russians were assembling a mighty force around the
village; for now the cannonade opened with tenfold vigor in front,
and fresh guns were called up to reply to the fire. Hitherto all was
shrouded in the blue smoke of the artillery and the dense flakes of the
snowdrift, when suddenly a storm of wind swept past, carrying with it
both sleet and smoke; and now, within less than five hundred yards,
we beheld the Allied armies in front of us. Two of the three villages,
which formed our advanced position, already had been carried; and
towards the third, La Bothière, they were advancing quickly.
Ney's corps, ordered up to its defence, rushed boldly on, and the
clattering musketry announced that they were engaged; while twelve guns
were moved up in full gallop to their support, and opened their fire at
once. Scarce had they done so, when a wild hurrah was heard; and like
a whirlwind, a vast mass of cavalry,--the Cossacks of the Don and the
Uhlans of the South, commingled and mixed,--bear down on the guns.
The struggle is for life or death; no quarter given. Ney recalls his
columns, and the guns are lost.
“Who shall bring the Emperor the tidings?” said Tascher, as his voice
trembled with excitement. “I'd rather storm the battery single-handed
than do it.”
“He has seen worse than that already to-day,” said an aide-de-camp at
our side. “He has seen Lahorie's squadrons of the Dragoons of the Guard
cut to pieces by the Russian horse.”
“The Guard! the Guard!” repeated Tascher, in accents where doubt and
despair were blended.
“There goes another battalion to certain death!” muttered the
aide-de-camp, as he pointed to a column of grenadiers emerging from the
front line; “see,--I knew it well,--they are moving on La Bothière. But
here comes the Emperor.”
Before I could detect the figure among the crowd, the staff tore rapidly
past, followed by a long train of cavalry moving towards the left.
“His favorite stroke,” said Tascher: “an infantry advance, and a
flank movement with cavalry.” And as the words escaped him, we saw the
horsemen bearing down at top speed towards the village.
But now we could look no longer; our brigade was ordered to support the
attack, and we advanced at a trot. The enemy saw the movement, and a
great mass of cavalry were thrown out to meet it.
“Here they come!” was the cry repeated by three or four together, and
the earth shook as the squadrons came down.
Our column dashed forward to meet them; when suddenly through the drift
we beheld a mass of fugitives, scattered and broken, approaching: they
were our own cavalry, routed in the attempt on the flank, now flying to
the rear, broken and disordered.
Before we could cover their retreat, the enemy were upon us. The shock
was dreadful, and for some minutes carried all before it; but then
rallying, the brave horsemen of France closed up and faced the foe. How
vain all the efforts of the redoubted warrior of the Dnieper and the
Wolga against the stern soldier of Napoleon! Their sabres flashed like
lightning glances, and as fatally bore down on all before them; and as
the routed squadrons fell back, the wild cheers of “Vive l'Empereur!”
told that at least one great moment of success atoned for the
misfortunes of the day.
“His Majesty saw your charge, Colonel,” said a general officer to
Tascher as he rode back at the head of a squadron. “So gallant a thing
as that never goes unrewarded.”
Tascher's cheek flushed as he bowed in acknowledgment of the praise; but
I heard him mutter to himself the same instant, “Too late! too late!”
Fatal words they were,--the presage of the mishap they threatened!
A great attack on La Rothière was now preparing. It was to be made
by Napoleon's favorite manoeuvre of cavalry, artillery, and infantry
combined, each supporting and sustaining the other. Eighteen guns,
with three thousand sabres, and two columns of infantry numbering four
thousand each, were drawn up in readiness for the moment to move. Ney
received orders to lead them, and now they issued forth into the plain.
Our own impatience at not being of the number was quickly merged in
intense anxiety for the result. It was a gorgeous thing, indeed, to see
that mighty mass unravelling itself,--the guns galloping madly to the
front, supported on either flank by cavalry; while, masked behind,
marched the black columns of infantry, their tall shakos nodding like
the tree-tops of a forest. The snow was now falling fast, and the
figures grew fainter and fainter, and all that remained within our view
was the tail of the columns, which were only disengaging themselves from
the lines.
A deafening cannonade opened from the Allied artillery on the advance,
unreplied to by our guns, which were ordered not to fire until within
half range of the enemy. Suddenly a figure is seen emerging from the
heavy snowdrift at the full speed of his horse; another, and another,
follow him in quick succession. They make for the position of the
Emperor. “What can it be?” cries each, in horrible suspense; “see, the
columns have halted!”
Dreadful tidings! The guns are embedded in the soft ground,--the horses
cannot stir them; one-half of the distance is scarcely won, and there
they are beneath the withering cannonade of the Allied guns, powerless
and immovable! Cavalry are dismounted, and the horses harnessed to the
teams: all in vain! the wheels sink deeper in the miry earth. And now
the enemy have found out the range, and their shot are sweeping through
the dense mass with frightful slaughter. Again the aides-de-camp hasten
to the rear for orders. But Ney can wait no longer; he launches his
cavalry at the foe, and orders up the infantry to follow.
Meanwhile a great cloud of cavalry issues from the Allied lines, and
directs its course towards the flank of the column: the Emperor sees
the danger, and despatches one of his staff to prepare them to receive
cavalry. Too late! too late!--the snowdrift has concealed the advance,
and the wild horsemen of the desert ride down on the brave ranks.
Disorder and confusion ensue; the column breaks and scatters. The
lancers pursue the fugitives through the plain; and before the very eyes
of the Emperor, the Guard--his Guard--are sabred and routed.
“What is to become of our cavalry?” is now the cry, for they have
advanced unsupported against the village. Dreadful moment of suspense!
None can see them; the guns lie deserted, alike by friend and foe.
Who dares approach them now? “They are cheering yonder,” exclaimed an
officer: “I hear them again.”
“Hussars, to the front!” calls out Damrémont,--“to your comrades'
rescue! Men, yonder!” and he points in the direction of the village.
Like an eagle on the swoop, the swift squadrons skim the plain, and
mount the slope beyond it. The drift clears, and what a spectacle is
before us! The cavalry are dismounted; their horses, dead or dying,
cumber the ground; the men, sabre in hand, have attacked the village by
assault. Two of the enemy's guns are taken and turned against them,
and the walls are won in many places. An opening in the enclosure of a
farmyard admits our leading squadron, and in an instant we have taken
them in flank and rear.
The Russians will neither retreat nor surrender, and the carnage is
awful; for though overpowered by numbers, they still continue the
slaughter, and deal death while dying. The chief farmhouse of the
village has been carried by our troops, but the enemy still holds the
garden: the low hedge offers a slight obstacle, and over it we dash, and
down upon them ride the gallant Tenth with cheers of victory.
At this instant the crashing sound of cannon-shot among masonry is
heard. It is the Allied artillery, which, regardless of their own
troops, has opened on the village. Every discharge tells; the range is
at quarter distance, and whole files fall at every fire. The trumpet
sounds a retreat; and I am endeavoring to collect my scattered
followers, when my eye falls on the aigulet of a general officer among
the heap of dead; and at the same time I perceive that some old and
gallant officer has fallen sword in hand, for his long white hair is
strewn loosely across his face.
I spring down from my horse and push back the snowy locks, and with
a shriek of horror I recognize the friend of my heart,--General
d'Auvergne. I lift him in my arms, and search for the wound. Alas! a
grapeshot had torn through his chest, and cut asunder that noble heart
whose every beat was honor. Though still warm, no ray of life remained:
the hand I had so often grasped in friendship, I wrung now in the last
energy of despair, and fell upon the corpse in the agony of my grief.
The night was falling fast. All was still around me; none remained near;
the village was deserted. The deafening din of the cannonade continued,
and at times some straggling shot crashed through the crumbling walls,
and brought them thundering to the earth; but all had fled. By the pale
crescent of a new moon I dug a grave beneath the ruined wall of the
farmhouse. The labor was long and tedious; but my breaking heart took no
note of time. My task completed, I sat down beside the grave, and taking
his now cold hand in mine, pressed it to my lips. Oh, could I have
shared that narrow bed of clay, what rapture would it have brought to my
sorrowing soul! I lifted the body and laid it gently in the earth; and
as I arose, I found that something had entangled itself in my uniform,
and held me. It seemed a locket, which he wore by a ribbon round his
neck. I detached it from its place, and put it in my bosom. One lock of
the snowy hair I severed from his noble head, and then covered up the
grave. “Adieu forever!” I muttered, as I wandered from the spot.
It was the death of a true D'Auvergne,--“on the field of battle!”