BATTLE OF PATAY.--THE FRENCH RETREAT.--KNIGHTS TEMPLARS.--THE BATTLE
CONTINUED.--ATTACK ON ORLEANS BY THE GERMANS.--BURNING OF THE PONTOON
BRIDGE.
Time went by in the ordinary routine of Hospital work, until the 1st
December, when the news of a successful sortie from Paris, made by
Trochu and Ducrot, put the whole town into a fever of excitement. Report
said that the Army of Paris was already approaching Étampes.
Next day, 2nd December, we heard heavy firing going on all along the
lines, so far as we could judge, from Neuville and Chevilly on the
right, to Patay on the left. A severe frost had set in during the past
fortnight, and there had been a heavy fall of snow during the last few
days. The ground was hard, and the air clear, so that the roar of the
guns thundered in our ears as if they had been only a few furlongs
instead of eight miles away. Of course, it was devoutly held by the
Orleaners that Trochu was fighting his way through the Prussian lines,
and would be in Orleans to-morrow.
We, however, guessed what the real state of things was. During the last
week we had obtained permission from the French authorities to have the
old Church of St. Euverte, in the Rue St. Aignan, fitted up as a
Hospital, and the Mayor had provided about 300 beds with their bedding.
We had been actively employed the past three days in transferring our
wounded from D'Allaine's to our new abode; and by the evening of the 3rd
all our arrangements were made to receive the wounded. The cooking
department was seen to by an energetic Frenchman, M. Bonjour, whose
services throughout our stay at Orleans can never be forgotten by us.
Towards the evening of that same day, the firing became fierce and
continual; it appeared to come nearer than it had been in the morning.
Both sides had heavy guns, eighteen and twenty-four pounders, hard at
work. Nor were the mitrailleuses inactive. It was not until long after
dark that the cannonading ceased. As may be supposed, no one knew,
though every one pretended to know, the result of this long engagement.
Some I heard saying that Prince Frederick Charles had been taken
prisoner with 20,000 men; while others ventilated equally foolish
reports. But ere long convoys of wounded arrived, and we soon had no
doubt as to what had happened. The French were evidently getting the
worst of it.
Next day, the 4th December, a furious cannonade raged outside the town,
making a most terrific din, though still several miles away. It told us
that the French were making a determined stand. Early in the morning our
Ambulance, minus Tilghman, Mackellar, Hayden and myself, quitted
Orleans, and went on to the battlefield. We four were left behind to
receive the wounded, as well as to look after those who were already on
our hands. I had been under orders to go; but Dr. Warren, who was
burning to be in the thick of it, asked me to effect an exchange with
him; and I consented to the arrangement, subject to the necessary
permission of our chief. My friend had never been among the bullets; and
great was his anxiety to receive what Louis Napoléon called in a famous
despatch, the "baptism of fire". As I had a great deal of useful work to
do, I was quite willing to stay. After my late experience, curiosity
alone, without the call of duty, never would prompt me to go again into
a battlefield; but I had had my baptism. As regards the success of this
expedition, I may add that, when they arrived on the scene of action,
they found the French were fighting in retreat, and there was no
possibility of establishing a temporary field Hospital. They had,
therefore, to content themselves with bringing home as many of the
wounded as they could accommodate in their waggons.
The description which they gave of the slaughter was fearful. The
Prussian artillery had raked the French lines through and through before
their eyes; and Dr. Warren confessed to me that, short as was the time
they had been on the battlefield, he had seen sights so horrible that
the recollection of them would haunt him till his dying day.
Long before the return of our comrades, we became aware that the French
must be fighting in retreat, by the extended convoys of provision and
baggage waggons, that streamed down the Rue Royale and across the Loire.
For upwards of ten hours the baggage, provision, and ammunition train of
the French army continued to pour across that bridge in unbroken
succession. It was a sight to fill one with amazement; one could hardly
believe that it was not all a dream.
In the middle of the day, while going to see some of my wounded who were
quartered in a neighbouring street, I met a convoy of Prussian prisoners
being hurried along by a detachment of marines. They must have been some
time in the hands of the French, for they looked thin and worn; and it
made my blood boil to see the malignant delight which beamed in the
faces of the townsfolk as they scanned these famished and half-frozen
wretches passing along.
But an hour later, I witnessed in the Rue Jeanne d'Arc a scene, the
novelty of which, to my mind, was without a parallel. Moving down the
street towards me at a slow hand-gallop,--almost at a walking
pace,--came a troop of African cavalry, from the borders of the Sahara.
I don't know that anything had ever excited in me so much curiosity as
did the sight of these Spahis; and a more strange and wild-looking
collection of men and beasts it would be impossible to conceive. They
halted opposite the Cathedral, so that I had ample time to take stock of
them. The townspeople displayed as much astonishment as I did, and
flocked after them in crowds, just as if they had been the outriders of
some great circus.
They were tall, fine-looking men, with bronzed faces, but of various
tints, some light, some almost black, some handsome, others
square-faced, and, one had almost said, ugly. There were those among
them who had well-chiselled features, with dark eyes, and so piercing a
look as to give one the idea that they could see right through one.
Their outer dress consisted of long-flowing mantles in white flannel,
which trailed along the ground when they dismounted, and were fastened
over one shoulder, somewhat after the fashion of the Roman toga. This
garment, however, had attached to it a hood and a short cape. On their
heads I saw what appeared to be a high coil of whitewashed rope,
entangled in the hair, which, so far as I could judge, they wore long.
This coil was looped up about their head-dress like the ordinary
turban. The hood, of which I have spoken, was partly drawn up over the
turban or coil, just far enough to catch the apex, and the whole
appeared as if each man carried on his head a small turret. Add to these
details, a lean, ugly, big-boned, square-hipped, straight-shouldered
Arab horse, with a wooden frame set on a large pad for a saddle, and
having a high piece going up behind, so as to reach half-way up the
rider's back. The whole thing looked more like a diminutive chair than a
saddle. The girths by which it was secured passed round saddle, horse
and all. Wooden shoes came out at each side, with strips of hide for
stirrups; there was a strong crupper behind, and blinkers were set on
the bridles of untanned leather. It was, I think, the oddest specimen of
an equestrian turn-out that ever showed on a European battlefield.
These men are supposed to be about the best riders in the world. As they
moved on, I remarked that they all rocked in their saddles in the most
curious fashion, and thrust out their toes in tailorlike style. They
each carried a musket about the length of one's arm, a brace of pistols,
and a sword, which did not look like a sword, it was so much bent. Yet
this is their favourite weapon. I could well imagine an enemy being
taken aback when he approached these mysterious foes, and beheld their
grim dark faces peering through a small loophole at the top of a tower
of white flannel. They certainly had more the resemblance of cowled
monks than of a troop of cavalry, and might have been introduced by Sir
Walter Scott in _Ivanhoe_, as Moslem Knights Templars.
When I had seen this curious sight, I went on my way to look after a
captain of the Garde Mobile, who was shot through the foot, and a young
corporal of the Line, shot through the left lung. The latter was a very
bad case, not likely to recover; the ball had descended in the cavity of
the chest, and the air which the poor lad was breathing entered and
escaped through the perforation. Presently, a boy of about sixteen came
in, the friend and companion of the dying corporal. He had but a few
minutes to remain, and in this short time he learned from me that his
friend's wound was mortal, and that he must now bid him a hasty
farewell. The parting scene between them was most touching, for they
were attached comrades.
Among the number brought in to-day by our ambulance was one who came
under my charge, and whose case was of interest by reason of his tender
years. He was a fine lad, only seventeen, and had served in the Garde
Mobile. He had been shot through the leg; but the principal cause of his
lamentation was not his wound; it was that he had not fired a shot the
whole day, nor even so much as got a chance of bowling over a German,
though all the while shells and bullets were falling about him like
rain, and dealt wholesale destruction on his company. The account which
he gave of the fighting outside was terrible; it seemed to have made a
deep impression on his imagination, yet did not in the least take from
his courage. He told me he had not eaten for twenty-four hours. How, I
often said to myself, could soldiers fight, who were habitually
suffering from hunger, cold, and fatigue, like these poor fellows?
All this time the ground literally shook from the conflict which was
going on outside the town. I think that, as an artillery fight, it was
second only to Sedan.
It had been freezing very hard every night, and snow was lying deep on
the ground.
If people at home (and there are some who talk much around their
comfortable fires about going to war on every paltry provocation) could
have seen the waggon-loads of half-frozen wounded which were brought in
to us on the night of the 4th, and those again who lay outside the town
without assistance, their wounds uncared for, and exposed to the
bitterly cold night air, how soon they would change their idle tone! how
they would loathe and abominate the very name of war!
I can understand that men find a pleasure in studying the art of
fighting, as they do in playing a game of chess; and I have allowed in
my own case the fascination which even its horrid reality is capable of
exercising over one. But for the man who deems it a pleasure and a glory
to use the science of war as a weapon wherewith to annihilate thousands
of human beings, for the delusion called "prestige," or in the game of
politics, I would have him to know that it is a foul and monstrous
thing, full of hideous suffering, cruelty, and injustice, with nothing
to redeem it, save the courage whereby such miseries are endured.
However, let me go on with my proper theme. Immediately the darkness set
in on the 3rd, the cannonading ceased. This night we snatched but a few
hours' sleep; for, at the first dawn of daylight, a repetition of
yesterday's performance began with redoubled vigour. From the belfry
tower of our church, during the past two days, we had been able to get a
fair idea how the battle was going. It commanded a fine view of the
country around. But now that the Germans had driven the French back on
the outskirts of the town we could see much more of the contest. Early
on the 4th we beheld the whole cavalry, numbering about 3000 men, come
down the Rue Royale and pass over the bridge on the Quai du
Châtelet,--some at a swinging trot, others at a gallop. It was a rare
sight, for here were represented men of every regiment in
France--Cuirassiers, Lancers, Chasseurs d'Afrique and the rest. This
host of armed men and horses, extending as far as the eye could reach
(which was certainly half a mile), formed a _coup d'oeil_ not easily
forgotten; and the clatter they made on the pavement, during their
stampede, was loud enough to have been heard far outside the town.
Towards evening I availed myself of a few minutes' leisure to ascend the
church tower and watch the battle, which still continued. The roar of
the fighting, which was now going on in the vineyards and entrenchments
at the end of the Faubourg Bannier, baffles description. The heavy
French marine guns were all going simultaneously, while on each side of
the town the infantry also were in close conflict. Quite near us, at the
end of our own Faubourg St. Vincent, just where the convent stood in
which Miss Pearson and Miss McLoughlin were at work, the fighting seemed
heaviest. On some portion of the ground that was not so thickly covered
with vineyards, the dead were strewn in heaps, many being the victims of
their own mitrailleuses which the Germans had captured, and were now
using with more precision and deadly effect than their original
possessors. But all this time, the French, though retreating, kept up a
continuous and well-directed fire upon the advancing Prussians, whose
losses, as we afterwards discovered, were quite as great as those of the
vanquished.
This they attributed themselves to the great tact and ability which the
French marines displayed in the management of their heavy guns. But for
these, indeed, as I have heard the French say, it would have been
difficult, if not impossible, for them to have covered the retreat of
their army.
The sun shone brilliantly that afternoon of the 4th, and the arms and
accoutrements of the contending forces were flashing brightly, as they
moved about among the vineyards. In the distance we could see in several
places the field-artillery galloping along in different directions,
wheeling round suddenly, and stopping, when the little puffs of smoke
told us their reason for doing so. But these reports were lost in the
general tumult of the battle. One or two more repetitions of these
little puffs, then a limber-up, and a dash ahead as before in their
onward course, only to repeat the same manoeuvres further on; such were
the tactics which, as from a box at the theatre, we repeatedly noticed,
standing in the belfry of Ste. Euverte.
And here I may mention an incident witnessed by Drs. May and Tilghman.
There was a hot contest being waged close to the Hospital, among the
double rows of trees on the Boulevard St. Vincent, when, in the midst of
the confusion, a young lieutenant of the Line was seen stepping out from
a house just beside the church. He had gone but a few paces, when a
young girl rushed out after him and took a last embrace, after which he
moved quickly out of her sight. But evidently he was not yet out of the
mind of the young girl; for she stood as if rooted to the spot, gazing
after her lover, heedless of the bullets which were whistling past, and
of the storm of the battle raging round her. In another moment, May and
Tilghman realised her frightful situation. May sprang over the paling
which was between them, but arrived only in time to receive her bleeding
and senseless into his arms. A spent bullet had struck her between the
angle of the eye and the cheek bone, and had stripped back the soft
parts of the side of the face as far as the ear, with a portion of the
scalp.
The wound, though not so very dangerous,--for the bone of the head was
only grazed and not broken,--was, nevertheless, an ugly one. The girl
was at once taken into her own house, where May and Tilghman skilfully
adjusted the torn portions of the scalp by a neat operation, bestowing
on the case every attention in their power. It will doubtless be
gratifying to my reader when I tell him that this girl made a splendid
recovery. I had the privilege of watching her convalescence in the
absence of Dr. May. Nor was she much disfigured; for, in consequence of
the prompt treatment, the parts united admirably, leaving an almost
imperceptible scar, which was, however, sufficiently well marked to
remind her of that romantic, but perilous, moment at Orleans. Love is
proverbially blind. In this case, love was blind and deaf too.
I was kept hard at work in the Hospital, and could steal only a moment
to observe the stirring scenes which were going on around. Each
new-comer brought with him, in addition to his own sad story, a list of
harrowing details from the day's battlefield. But things were all going
one way. Early in the afternoon, the main body of the French army had
fallen back upon the town. The Germans had gained possession of the two
principal approaches of the Faubourgs Bannier and St. Vincent, and had
already demolished numerous buildings on the outskirts. They did not,
however, shell the town itself, as we feared they were on the point of
doing; and when night set in, there was a temporary armistice. Both
sides, by mutual consent, desisted, on the understanding that the
bridges were not to be blown up.
Now it was that the whole French army commenced their hurried march
across the Loire, by the pontoon bridge, and the two permanent ones. It
was a bright, still, moonlight night, and nothing was to be heard but
the trampling of feet, as that mighty host hurried along. I stood at the
corner of the Quai du Châtelet and watched them. Some of the regiments,
which had happened to lag behind, doubled down the Rue Royale, but they
marched over the pontoons at the regulation pace.
Not a word was spoken,--an unusual state of things among Frenchmen,--and
all, as they well might, seemed dispirited. Some of the men had no arms;
many had lost their képis; and all showed visible signs of having lately
seen hard times. Tired, at length, of watching them pass in that
unbroken stream, I went to my quarters at No. 64 on the Quai hard by.
I had hardly entered, when my attention was called by the tramp of feet
on the pavement outside the open window. On looking out, I beheld what
appeared to be the remains of several regiments. Most of them were
without arms, and all went limping along, evidently quite foot-sore,
while numbers were slightly wounded, to judge from various bandages,
which they displayed round their heads, legs, and arms. They looked more
like a procession of invalids out for a walk, than soldiers still
capable of fighting. The poor fellows were dead beat, and did not so
much march as shuffle along, some in a tottering condition, and lagging
behind the rest, having evidently done as much as was in their power.
But what was my rage and indignation, when a captain, in the rear, who
carried in his hand not a sword, but a thick cane, belaboured with it,
again and again, any unfortunate who did not keep up with the rest! One
of these poor fellows made a sign to me for something to drink. Swiftly
as possible, I seized a large can of water which stood beside the
window, and poured it slowly on the footway. Several that were near put
their mouths under the little jet, and then began a sort of scramble for
what one of them told me he had not tasted during fourteen hours. But
their gallant leader, having dealt half a dozen blows at random with his
stick among this thirsty crowd, dispersed them, indulging the while in
strong language, and gesticulated at me in the most excited manner.
However, the frame of mind I was in--to say nothing of my safe
position--made me equal to the occasion. I complimented him on the able
style in which _Monsieur le Maréchal_ used his _bâton_; and he slunk
away, muttering curses, as he did so, at me and his men.
This piece of excitement over, I went to the pontoon bridge, where the
stream of soldiers continued to pour across. Although I had been on duty
the previous night and all that day, I could not but stay up to watch
this historic and interesting spectacle,--the retreat of 200,000 men,
composing the whole Army of the Loire, across that river. It was now
nearly eleven o'clock, and they had been passing for hours. But the
living current flowed on unceasingly during the night, until the last of
the troops were over. When this had been accomplished, then the silence
of the frosty scene was broken by the sound of hammers, hatchets, and
saws; and the air resounded with the hacking and the chopping of the
sappers, who were busily engaged cutting the moorings and the cross
planks, while others set fire to the bridge in about a dozen places.
Just at the same hour, there was a great tramp and rattle of horses and
waggons over the permanent bridge to our right, caused by a number of
batteries of artillery, which galloped furiously onwards in headlong
career. They were the last of the fugitive army. The battle of Patay had
been lost and won.
Now the Loire was much flooded, and the blocks of ice borne down in the
current were very large, so that when the different sections of the
bridge were cut loose,--and, later on, when they became again
subdivided, as well as during the process of freeing themselves,--the
grating, groaning, creaking, and crashing of one against the other, and
also against the great blocks of ice, was unlike any other sound I ever
heard. Moreover, every raft of boats and planks formed the base of a
pillar of fire, which brilliantly illuminated the snow-covered slopes,
the trees, and the ice-bound banks of the river,--reflecting in the
water above and below us, as if in a looking-glass, the arches and the
battlements of two of the finest bridges in France, which now stood out,
in all their architectural beauty, relieved against the pitchy darkness
of the night.
As each of these burning sections of the pontoon became disconnected
from its fellow, it turned round on its own axis, and staggered about in
the river for a short time, until finally, having arrived in mid stream,
it swept down with the current,--making a loud grating noise as it
struck the ice blocks,--and at last with a tremendous crash was hurled
against the mighty granite bulwarks of the bridge. There it either
became a total wreck, or, being broken up into fragments, swirled hither
and thither till it passed out of view. It was a strange and magnificent
spectacle, unequalled by anything I have seen before or since, in the
combination of light and dark, the enormous power displayed, and the
gigantic ruin upon the waters.
When I was taking a last look at all this before retiring to rest, a
number of soldiers came up, intending to cross over; but they found the
bridge demolished, and themselves cut off from retreat.
These, I heard afterwards, were some few hundred men, inclusive of the
Foreign Legion, who formed the rear guard of the army, and had got lost
in the darkness. They neglected to avail themselves of the railway
bridge nearest them, which, like that in our neighbourhood, was also,
during this night, taken and guarded by the Prussians.