THE FIRST OF SEPTEMBER, 1870.--EXPERIENCES AT THE CASERNE.--WOUNDED
HORSES.--THE FRENCH RETREAT BECOMES A STAMPEDE.--SOLDIERS DESPAIR.
Full of strange forebodings, I retired to the guard-room at the end of
the building which overlooked the town, where Père Bayonne, our
Dominican chaplain, Hewitt, and myself had our stretchers. Tired out, I
slept as soundly as if nothing had happened, or was to happen. But about
a quarter to five on the following morning,--that historic Thursday, the
1st of September,--Père Bayonne and I were aroused by the strange and
terrible sound of roaring cannon. We heard the shells whizzing
continually, and by-and-by the prolonged peals of the mitrailleuse. On
looking out, we saw a thick mist lying along the valley, and clinging
about the slopes of the hills in front of us. Presently it cleared away;
the morning became beautifully fine, and the sun shone forth with genial
warmth.
Immediately beneath us lay the town, with its double fortifications, and
its trenches filled by the Meuse, which seemed a silver thread winding
through a charmingly wooded and delightful country. The whole range of
hills which commanded the town was occupied by the Prussians; and we
could see their artillery and battalions in dark blue, with their spiked
helmets and their bayonets flashing in the sunlight.
Neither had we long to wait before 150 guns were, each in its turn,
belching out fire and smoke. For the first couple of hours the heaviest
part of the fighting was kept up from the left and further extremity of
this range of hills. But as the morning wore on, the guns immediately
opposite us opened fire, although the main body of the Prussians had not
yet come up the valley into view. The plains and hills to the north and
north-east of the town and immediately behind us were covered with
French troops, the nearest being a regiment of the Line, a Zouave
regiment, and a force of cuirassiers. It was magnificent to see the
bright helmets and breast-plates of the latter gleaming in the sun, as
they swept along from time to time, and took up fresh positions. I
watched them suddenly wheel and gallop at a headlong pace for some
hundred yards, then stop as they were making a second wheel, and tear up
to the edge of a wood on a piece of high ground, where they remained
motionless. A regiment of the Line then advanced, and opened fire across
them, down into the valley beneath the wood; while for twenty minutes a
hot counter-fire was kept up by a force of advancing Prussians, the
French still moving forward, and leaving plenty of work for us in their
rear. As the firing ceased, the cuirassiers, who had been up till then
motionless spectators of the scene, suddenly began to move, first at a
walk, then breaking into a trot, and, finally, having cleared the corner
of the wood, into full gallop. They dashed down the valley of Floing and
were quickly lost to our view. This was the beginning, as I afterwards
learned, of one of the most brilliant feats of the French arms during
that day. It has been graphically described by Dr. Russell, the war
correspondent of the _Times_. Beyond doubt, until noon, when all chance
of success vanished, the French fought bravely. I shall here instance
one out of many personal feats of valour, which came under our notice.
While I was assisting in dressing a wounded soldier, he told me the
following story, which was subsequently corroborated by one of his
officers who came to see him. This soldier was St. Aubin, of the Third
Chasseurs d'Afrique, concerning whom I shall have more to say by-and-by.
He was only twenty-three, and a tall, fair, handsome fellow. He had been
in action for seven hours, and had received a bayonet thrust through the
cheek. His horse was shot under him during the flight of the French
towards Sedan. Still undismayed, he provided himself with one of the
chassepots lying about, and falling in with a body of Marines, the best
men in the French army, he, in company with this gallant band, faced the
enemy again. Numbers of his companions fell; he himself got a bullet
through the right elbow. Promptly tearing his pocket handkerchief into
strips with his teeth, he tied up his wounds, and securing his wrist to
his belt, seized his sword, determined to fight on. Unfortunately, the
fragment of a shell struck him again, shattering the right shoulder. In
this plight he mounted a stray horse, and, as he told me, holding his
sword in his teeth, put spurs to his steed, and joined his companions at
Sedan, where he sank out of the saddle through sheer exhaustion and loss
of blood.
Early in the day vigorous fighting was going on outside the town, about
Balan and Bazeilles, and between us and the Belgian frontier. As early
as ten o'clock, it was evident that the Prussians were extending their
line of fire on both sides, with the ultimate object of hemming in the
French army, now being slowly forced back upon the town. By eleven
o'clock, the plains to the north and east between us and the Belgian
frontier were occupied by dense masses of the French; and at noon, the
Prussian artillery on the hills in front turned their fire over our
heads, on the French troops behind us. From this moment, we found
ourselves in the thick of the fight. Around us on every side raged a
fierce and bloody conflict. The Prussian guns in front, which had kept
up an intermittent fire since early morning, now seemed to act in
concert, and the roaring of cannon and whizzing of shells became
continuous. It was an appalling medley of sounds; and we could scarcely
hear one another speak.
During this murderous fire, we received into our hospital twenty-eight
officers of all grades (among them two colonels), and nearly 400 men of
all arms. Occasionally, one of the shells which were passing over us in
quick succession would fall short, striking, at one time, the roof of
our Hospital or the stone battlements in front, at another the
earthworks or a tree within the fort. One of these shells burst at the
main entrance, close to where I was at work, killing two _infirmiers_
and wounding a third,--the first two were, indeed, reduced to a mass of
charred flesh, a sight of unspeakable horror. A second shell burst close
to the window of the ward, in which Drs. MacCormac, Nicholl, Tilghman,
and May were operating, chipping off a fragment of the corner stone; a
third struck the coping wall of the fortification overhanging the town,
about twenty feet from our mess-room window; and a fragment entered, and
made a hole in the ceiling. The bomb-proof over our heads came in for a
shower of French mitrailleuse bullets, which so frightened our cook that
he upset a can of savoury horseflesh soup, which he had prepared for us.
But, to add to the danger, about half-past two a detachment of
artillery, bringing with them three brass nine-pounders, came into our
enclosure (for, as I have said, the guns supposed to be guarding our
fort were absolute dummies), and opened a hot fire on the enemy, in the
vain attempt to enable Ducrot's contingent to join De Wimpffen at Balan.
It was a brave and determined effort, but as futile as it was rash, for
it brought the Prussian fire down upon us; and in less than half an
hour, the French had to abandon their guns, which were soon dismantled,
while the trenches about them were filled with dead and wounded. At one
time, Dr. May and I counted on the plain a rank of eighty-five dead
horses, exclusive of the maimed. The sufferings of these poor brutes,
which were as a rule frightfully mutilated, seemed to call for pity
almost as much as those of the men themselves. For the men, if wounded
very badly, lay still, and their wants were quickly attended to; but the
horses, sometimes disembowelled, their limbs shattered, kept wildly
struggling and snorting beneath dismounted gun-carriages and upturned
ammunition waggons, until either a friendly revolver or death from
exhaustion put an end to their torment.
Everywhere on this plain, to the north of the town, there was now the
most hopeless confusion. The soldiers, utterly demoralised--more than
half of them without arms--were hugging the ramparts in dense masses,
seeking thus to escape the deadly fire directed on them by the advancing
Prussians. It was clear that the fortunes of the day were going against
the French; and if we ask the reason, some reply may be found in the
testimony of a Colonel, who told us, with sobs and tears, that for six
hours he had been under fire, and had received no orders from his
General. A little later on, about half-past three, an officer, carrying
the colours of his regiment, rushed into our Hospital in a state of the
wildest excitement, crying out that the French had lost, and entreating
Dr. May to hide his flag in one of our beds,--a request with which the
latter indignantly refused to comply.
About a quarter to four, although the din of battle was still raging, we
could see the white flag flying, and rumours of a truce were current.
The space round the Caserne D'Asfeld was at this time crowded with
troops; and a knot of them were wrangling for water about our well,
which, being worked only by a windlass and bucket, gave but a scanty
supply. The events that now followed have been described by the French
as an attempt on the part of Ducrot to get his forces through the town,
and out by the Balan gate, there to reinforce General Wimpffen, and
sustain his final attempt to break through the German lines. But what
really happened was this: The French, aware that the battle was lost,
had become panic-stricken, and getting completely out of the control of
their officers, their retreat on Sedan was, in plain truth, the stampede
of a thoroughly disorganised and routed army. It was a strange sight,
and by no means easy to picture. A huge and miscellaneous collection of
men, horses, and materials were jammed into a comparatively small space,
all in the utmost disorder and confusion. Soldiers of every
branch--cavalry, infantry, artillery--flung away their arms, or left
them at different places, in stacks four or five feet high. Heedless of
command, they made for the town by every available entrance. And I saw
French officers shedding tears at a spectacle, which no one who was not
in arms against them could witness without grief and shame.
A Colonel, who had carried his eagles with honour through the battles of
Wörth and Weissenburg, related how he had buried the standard of his
regiment, together with his own decorations, and burned his colours, to
save them from falling into the hands of the enemy. All these officers
had but one cry: "_Nous sommes trahis!_" openly declaring that the loss
of their country, and the dishonour of its arms, were due to the perfidy
and incompetence of their statesmen and generals. That some of these
allegations of treason were well founded is beyond question: the
universal incompetency we saw with our own eyes.
I observed one remarkable incident during this state of general
disorder. A regiment of Turcos came into our enclosure with their
officers, in perfect order, fully armed and accoutred. These
gaunt-looking fellows, fierce, bronzed, and of splendid physique, stood
stolid and silent, with their cloaks, hoods, and gaiters still
beautifully white. Watching for some minutes, I noticed a movement among
them, and they commenced a passionate discussion in their own tongue,
evidently on a subject of interest to them all. In another minute the
conclusion was manifest. Approaching the parapet in small parties, and
clubbing their rifles, they smashed off the stocks against the
stonework, and flung the pieces into the ditch beneath. In like manner
they disposed of their heavy pistols and side-arms. Then, having lighted
their cigarettes, they relapsed into a state of silent and dreamy
inactivity, in which not a word was spoken.
Along the roads leading to the gates of the town, more particularly
along the one beneath us, streamed a dense mass of soldiers belonging to
various regiments, with numbers of horses ridden chiefly by officers,
and some waggons, all bearing headlong down on the gates. As they passed
over the narrow bridges, literally in tens of thousands, packed close
together, some horses and a few men were pushed over the low parapet
into the river, and many of the fugitives were trodden under foot. At
length, between four and five P.M., the firing gradually slackened. For
some time it was still kept up, but in a desultory manner, towards
Balan. At half-past five it ceased altogether; and the sensation of
relief was indescribable.
The grounds about the Caserne D'Asfeld had, in the meanwhile, become
packed with runaway soldiers, whose first exploit was forcibly to enter
our kitchen and store-rooms, and plunder all they could lay hands on. Of
course, they were driven to these acts by the exigencies of the
situation. The blame for such excesses cannot but attach to that centre
of all corruption, the French Commissariat, which broke down that day as
it had done at every turn during the whole campaign. We had some wounded
men in the theatre, Place de Turenne, down in Sedan; but the streets and
squares were so densely crowded that it was with difficulty some of our
staff could make their way to them. All were now burning with anxiety to
know whether the French would surrender, or hostilities be resumed on
the morrow. A continuance of the struggle, as we felt, would mean that
some hundred and twenty thousand soldiers, and ourselves along with
them, were to be buried in the ruins of Sedan.
Our fears, however, were soon allayed. Before nightfall we heard that
the Emperor had opened negotiations with the German King, and that the
capitulation was certain.
At last darkness set in. The stillness of the night was unbroken, save
for a musical humming sound as if from a mighty hive of bees;--it was
the murmur of voices resounding from the hundred thousand men caged
within the beleaguered city. As we stood for a moment on the
battlements, sniffing the cool air, with which was still intermingled
the gruesome odour of the battlefield, how impressive a sight met our
gaze! Bazeilles was burning; its flames lit up the sky brilliantly, and
brought out into clear relief the hills and valleys for miles around;
they even threw a red glare over Sedan itself; while above the site of
the burning village there seemed to dance one great pillar of fire, from
which tongues shot out quivering and rocketing into the atmosphere, as
house after house burst into flames.
The number of Frenchmen wounded during those few hours of which I write,
is said to have been 12,500. Probably a third of that figure would
represent the number of Prussian casualties. As for our own ambulance,
during that day it afforded surgical aid to 100 officers and 524 men.
The number of those killed will never be known; all I can state is, that
in places the French were mown down before our eyes like grass. There is
a thicket on a lonely hill side, skirting the Bois de Garenne, within
rifleshot of the Caserne D'Asfeld, where six and thirty men fell close
together. There they were buried in one common grave; and few besides
myself remain to tell the tale.
Such is the story of Sedan as I beheld it, and as faithful a record as I
can give from my own experience, of that never-to-be-forgotten 1st of
September, 1870.