"Warm work, eh, Pierre," said one French grenadier to another, as his
cap was knocked off by a bullet, while a second tore a strip of skin
from his shoulder.
"True enough, comrade," answered the other, wiping the blood from a
wound in his cheek; "but the Little Corporal will get us through it all
right."
The Little Corporal (otherwise called the Emperor Napoleon) was indeed
doing his best to get them through it; but honest Jacques might well say
that it was warm work. The great fight which was to be known in history
as the battle of Jena was at its hottest, and no one--among the common
soldiers at least--could yet say which side was likely to get the best
of it. True, the French were ninety thousand strong against forty
thousand Prussians, and had taken their enemies completely by surprise;
but, on the other hand, the Prussians were up on a high hill, where it
was not easy to get at them, and the centre of their line was covered by
a village, which they had fortified and filled with cannon, making it
altogether "a hard nut to crack."
Fighting their way through a terrible cannonade, the French had reached
the village, and burst into it; but they found all the streets
barricaded, and the houses crammed with musketeers, who kept up a
terrible fire upon them. Could they have brought their whole force to
bear at once, the affair would soon have been over; but by some
mischance the supports had been delayed, and all that the van-guard
could do was to intrench themselves in the houses which they had taken,
and wait for the main body to come up.
Foremost in the fight was a dashing captain of light-infantry--tall,
strong, black-browed, and terrible as any chief in Homer. He had the
name of being the strongest man and best swordsman in the whole
regiment, and liked nothing better than a chance of showing his strength
in a hand-to-hand fight. So when he found himself driven to stand behind
the corner of a wall, with nothing to do but watch the enemy's bullets
smashing the window-frames, or going "plug" into the timbers of the
house front, it was no wonder if "Captain Dreadnaught" (as his men had
justly nicknamed him) began to feel rather sulky.
"Pretty work for a soldier," growled he, under his huge black mustache;
"to be knocked on the head like a caged rat by a pack of rogues whom one
can't even see! Ah, if the rascals would only come out into the open,
and let us have a fair chance at them!"
But better luck was at hand. All at once a tremendous shout rose high
above all the din of the firing, and forward came the French supports at
a run, right up the slope of the hill, and into the village. The moment
the blue frocks were seen advancing, Captain Dreadnaught, too eager even
to wait until he could get down to the door, leaped right out of the
window into the street, waving his sword and shouting like a madman. His
men followed him, and the nearest houses were cleared with a rush, and
every man in them killed or made prisoner.
Just then was heard a sudden crackling and hissing, while a fierce red
glare shot up over the roofs of the surrounding cottages. The shells had
set the village on fire, and what with sparks and hot ashes raining down
upon them, clouds of stifling smoke rolling around them on every side,
and blazing timbers crashing down close to their heads, the French
soldiers had anything but a comfortable time of it. However, they still
held their ground unflinchingly, although their smarting eyes could
hardly see to take aim, and every breath that they drew seemed to come
from the mouth of a furnace.
On a sudden a strange sound began to be heard in the distance, like rain
pattering on fallen leaves. Louder and nearer it came, until it swelled
into a deep hollow roll that seemed to shake the very earth; and out
from the smoke in front broke a mass of fierce men's faces, and horses'
heads, and gleaming sabres, and gay uniforms. The Prussian cavalry were
charging them. One hasty crackle of musketry, one clash and whirl of
sabres, and then the wave was upon them, and passed over them; and
nothing was left in its track but the dying and the dead.
Captain Dreadnaught, who had been flung aside into a doorway by the
shock of the charge, was just scrambling to his feet again when he saw
his color-sergeant fall under the sabre of a powerful trooper, who
seized the regimental colors. With one spring the Captain was out in the
middle of the street, and in another moment the Prussian went down in
his turn under a blow that might have cleft a rock, while Captain
Dreadnaught clutched the rescued standard, just as five of the enemy
fell upon him at once.
A sudden bound foiled the charge of the foremost two, while another good
sabre-cut rid him of the third. Firing his one remaining pistol through
the head of one assailant, he dealt the other a blow in the face with
the broken staff, which knocked out half his teeth. But in the mean time
the first two had reined up and faced about, and now they both made at
him at once.
Another moment and all would have been over with the daring Captain. But
just at that instant a fresh shout was heard behind, and one of the
Prussian troopers, struck by a bullet, fell heavily to the ground. The
other turned his horse and rode off, while the second line of French
infantry, against which the Prussian charge had broken itself, came on
in its turn, just as the Captain, still clasping the flag, sank
exhausted on the ground.
Three hours later all was over. The great battle had been fought and
lost; the splendid Prussian army had melted into a rabble of fugitives.
Napoleon, surrounded by his generals, was standing in triumph amid the
ruins of the village which had been the centre of the enemy's position.
"Sire," said a big, hard-faced man in the gorgeous uniform of a Marshal
of France, leading forward our friend the Captain, who, although very
pale, and with a blood-stained bandage around his forehead, looked as
fearless and resolute as ever, "this is the brave officer whom I saw
defending his regimental colors on foot against five mounted Prussians."
"Captain Dreadnaught, is it not?" said the Emperor, who seemed to know
by sight not merely every officer but even every private in his whole
army. "It is the best of all names for a French soldier, and no reward
is too great for the man who fears nothing. Wear this, _Colonel_" (and
he took from his breast the cross of the Legion of Honor, which he had
lately instituted), "as my gift to the bravest man in the regiment; and
let it remind you that you have a commander who never lets any gallant
deed go unrewarded."
Every one expected to see the new-made Colonel look overwhelmed with
joy; but except for the faint flush that crossed it, his dark face never
changed a whit.
"Sire," answered he, firmly, "this is the proudest moment of my life;
but I can not accept what does not belong to me."
A murmur of astonishment ran through the group, and even Napoleon's
marble face wore a look of surprise.
"What do you mean?" he asked. "You have fairly won this cross, and I
give it to you freely."
"Your Majesty has said," replied Dreadnaught, "that you give it to the
bravest in the regiment; and there is one who has this day done a far
braver deed than mine."
"Indeed?" said the Emperor. "Well, I should like to see the man who
could do that. Where is he?"
"Here," answered the officer, stepping suddenly back among his men, and
leading out a little drummer-boy barely twelve years old, whose blue
eyes widened into a stare of terrified wonder as he found himself, for
the first time in his life, face to face with the great Emperor.
"I saw this boy," said Dreadnaught, "drag two wounded soldiers out of a
burning house in the village yonder; and he had hardly got them out when
down came the roof, singeing his hair, as you see."
"Good!" growled Marshal Ney, rubbing his hands.
"And as if that was not enough," continued Dreadnaught, "he went into
the thickest of the fire to fetch water for our wounded; but as he was
coming back with it, a ball hit his leg, making him stumble and spill
the water. What does he do but hobble all the way back and fill his pail
again, with the blazing timbers falling on every side, and the enemy's
shot flying about his ears like hail!"
[Illustration: THE EMPEROR NAPOLEON PRESENTING THE CROSS OF THE LEGION
OF HONOR TO THE DRUMMER-BOY.]
The listening soldiers broke into a cheer that made the air ring, and
Napoleon, with a smile such as few men had ever seen him wear, stepped
forward and fixed the cross with his own hands upon the drummer-boy's
breast.
"I'll find _you_ another cross to-morrow, Colonel," said he; "but you
say truly that this fine fellow should go first. It's the first time
I've heard of him, but I'll warrant it won't be the last."
He was right; for, not many years later, the little drummer-boy had
become a General.
[Illustration: IN THE CORNER.]