A DISTURBED NIGHT--I FIND MY FRIENDS AGAIN--WE LEAVE SMOLENSK--A
NECESSARY CORRECTION--THE BATTLE OF KRASNOË--MELLÉ THE DRAGOON.
My guide disappeared suddenly, and I was at a total loss as to my
whereabouts. I was only sorry now that I had ever left the regiment.
However, I had to go in one direction or another, and, as the snow
had stopped falling, I began to search for my footmarks. And then I
remembered that I must keep the rampart on my right hand. After walking
for some minutes, I seemed to recognise the place where I met the Baden
soldier; but, to make quite sure, I marked two deep crosses in the snow
with the butt-end of my musket, before going further.
It was now about midnight, and more than an hour since I had fallen
into the cellar, and during that time the cold had increased terribly.
I saw a great many fires on my left, but dared not go in that direction
for fear of falling into holes that the snow had hidden. I walked on,
feeling my way with my head down, looking out for safe places for my
feet. I now saw that the road sloped downwards, and further on I found
it was almost blocked up by gun-carriages, intended no doubt for the
rampart. When I had arrived at the bottom, it was so fearfully dark
that I lost all idea of direction, and I was obliged to sit down on a
gun-carriage to rest, and try to think which way I ought to take.
In this dreadful predicament, as I sat with my head buried in my hands,
I was dropping off into a sleep from which I should not have awakened,
when I heard some extraordinary sounds. I got up, terrified to think of
the danger I had just escaped. I listened with all my ears, but heard
nothing more. So I think I must have been dreaming, or perhaps it was
a warning from Heaven to save me. So taking fresh courage, I began to
walk again, feeling my way, and striding over the numbers of obstacles
in the road.
At last I left all the obstacles behind me, after nearly breaking
my leg several times, and I rested a moment to take breath and get
strength enough to climb a hill in front of me. Then I heard the same
sounds which had awakened me before, but this time I recognised them
for music. I heard the slow, prolonged notes of an organ some distance
off: they produced an indescribable impression on me, alone as I was
at such a place, and at such an hour. I set out, quickening my pace,
in the direction of the sounds--up the steep ascent. When I got to
the top, I took a few steps, and then stopped--just in time! another
step, and I should have been done for--I should have fallen from top
to bottom of the rampart, more than fifty feet, on to the banks of the
Boristhène. Horrified at my narrow escape, I drew back a few steps,
and stopped to listen, but I did not hear the sound again. I began
walking once more, and, turning to the left, fortunately found the
beaten track. Slowly and cautiously I advanced, holding my head well
up, my ears open for any sound, and at last I made up my mind the music
had been an hallucination. In our present dreadful circumstances, how
could such music have been possible--and, above all, at such an hour?
Reflecting as I walked, my right foot, which already was half frozen,
and giving me some pain, struck against something hard. I cried out
with the pain, and fell all my length over a dead body, its face
touching mine, then raised myself with great difficulty, and saw that
it was the body of a dragoon, his helmet still strapped on, and his
cloak, on which he had fallen. He had probably not been there long.
My cry of pain was heard by a man on my right, who called out to me to
go to him, he had been waiting for so long. I was surprised, and very
glad to find a human being when I thought I was quite alone, and I went
in the direction of the voice. The nearer I got to it, the better I
seemed to recognise it, and at last I cried:
'Is it you, Béloque?'[27]
'Yes,' he called back.
He was as much surprised as I at our meeting at this time of night, in
such a desolate spot, and knowing no more than I did where we were. He
had at first taken me for a corporal who had gone to get men on extra
duty to help carry the sick who had been left at the gates. They had
been got so far, but then it had been necessary to send for more help.
I told him how I had been lost, and of my adventure in the cellar, but
I dared not say anything of the music I had heard, fearing he should
say I was out of my mind. He begged me to stay with him, and I was glad
to do so. Then he asked me why I had cried out, and I told him of my
fall on to the dragoon, and how my face had touched his.
'Were you very frightened, poor fellow?'
'No,' I said; 'but I hurt myself horribly.'
'It was lucky for you,' he said, 'that you were so badly hurt as to cry
out, as you might have passed on and never found me.'
We stamped backwards and forwards to keep ourselves warm while we
waited for the men who were to carry away the sick.
The poor fellows were lying on a sheepskin, propped up one against
another, and covered with the cloak and coat of a dead man. They seemed
in a terrible condition.
'I am afraid,' Béloque said, 'that we shall not have the trouble of
taking them away.'
We heard them murmur and breathe from time to time, but these were the
last efforts of dying men.
While the fearful death-rattle was going on near us, the aerial music
began again, but this time much nearer. I called Béloque's attention to
it, and told him of the strange things which had happened to me when
I heard the sounds before. And then he said that at intervals he had
heard the music too, and could not make it out. Sometimes it made an
infernal racket, and if men were amusing themselves in that way, they
must have the devil inside them. Then, coming closer to me, he said in
a low voice:
'My friend, these sounds are very like death-music. Death is all round
us; and I have a presentiment that in a few days I shall be dead too.'
Then he added, 'May God's will be done! But the suffering seems too
great. Look at those poor wretches!'--pointing to two men lying in the
snow.
I said nothing, for I thought just as he did.
He stopped speaking, and we listened attentively in a silence only
broken by the heavy breathing of a dying man. Suddenly my companion
said:
'To my mind, the sounds seem to come from above.'
As he said so, the sounds did certainly seem to come from just over our
heads. All at once the noise ceased, and an awful silence followed,
broken only by a mournful cry--the last breath of one of our men.
Just then we heard footsteps, and a corporal came up with eight men, to
carry away the two who were dying; as there was now only one, he was
removed at once--covered with his dead companion's clothes--and we all
set out.
It was now past one o'clock: the wind had dropped, and the cold in
consequence was not so great, but I was so worn out that I could walk
no longer; and besides, I was so terribly tired that several times
Béloque found me standing asleep in the road. He had told me where to
find Grangier; the men of his company in charge of the only cart the
Marshal had left remaining had seen their comrades, and had recognised
the cart placed at the Marshal's door. When we got to the place where
we left the rampart, I parted from the funeral cortège, and decided to
follow the new way pointed out to me.
I had not been alone a minute, when the cursed music started again. I
stopped, and, raising my head to listen better, I saw a light in front
of me. As I walked on towards the light, the road descended rapidly and
the light disappeared. In spite of this, I continued, but was stopped
almost directly by a wall in front of me, and was forced to retrace my
steps. I turned first to the right, then to the left, and found myself
in a street of ruined houses. I strode on quickly, still guided by
the music. At the end of the street there was a building lighted up,
from which the sounds evidently came. There I was stopped by a wall
surrounding the building, which I now saw was a church.
Tired as I was, I wished to avoid going all round the wall to find an
opening, and decided to climb over it, feeling the depth on the other
side with my musket. As it was not more than three or four feet, I
climbed to the top and jumped down, and striking some round object with
my feet, I fell. I was not hurt, however, but on walking a few steps I
felt the ground uneven under my feet, and had to steady myself with my
musket. I then became aware of the fact that more than 200 dead bodies
lay on the ground, barely covered with snow. As I stumbled along,
picking my way among the legs and arms of the bodies, a melancholy
chant arose--like the Office for the Dead. Béloque's words came back to
me, and I broke out into a cold sweat, not knowing where I was and what
I was about. I found myself at last leaning against the church wall.
I came to myself in a bit, in spite of the diabolical noise, and walked
on with one hand against the wall, at length finding an open door
through which came a thick smoke. I went in, and saw a great number
of people, who in the dense smoke looked like shadows. Some of them
were singing, and others playing on the organ. All at once a great
flame burst forth and the smoke disappeared. I looked round to see
where I was; one of the singers came up to me and cried out: 'It's our
sergeant!' He had recognised my bearskin, and I saw, to my immense
surprise, all the men of my company! I was on the point of questioning
them, when one of them offered me a silver cup full of brandy. They
were all fearfully drunk!
One, rather less drunk than the others, said that they had been on
extra duty when first they came, and that they had seen two men with
a lantern coming out of a cellar; that they had banded together to go
there after the distribution of rations, to see if they could find
something to eat, and then spend the night in this church. In the
cellar they had found a small cask of brandy, a bag of rice, and a
little biscuit, besides ten capes trimmed with fur, and some Rabbi's
fur caps.
With the men of the company were several musicians of the regiment, who
had started playing the organ--being half seas over, as they say. This
explained the harmony which had puzzled me so much.
They gave me some rice, a few pieces of biscuit, and a Rabbi's cap,
trimmed with magnificent black fox fur. I put the rice carefully away
in my knapsack. The cap I placed on my head, and pulling a plank in
front of the fire, I lay down on it. I had scarcely laid my head on my
knapsack when I heard shouts and curses from the door, so we hastened
to see what was the matter. Six men were driving a cart drawn by a
worn-out horse. The cart was filled with dead bodies to be left behind
the church, with the others I had seen there. The ground was much too
hard to dig graves, and the cold preserved the bodies in the meanwhile.
These men told us that, if this sort of thing went on, there would
soon be no room anywhere for the bodies; all the churches were used
as hospitals, and were filled with the sick, whom it was impossible
to help. This was the only church not full of them, and the dead had
been laid here for the last few days. From the time that the column of
the Grand Army had made its appearance, they had been unable to supply
transport for the men who died as soon as they arrived. After hearing
all this I lay down again. These ambulance men asked us if they might
spend the rest of the night with us; they unharnessed their horse and
brought him into the church.
I slept pretty well for the remainder of the night, but was awakened
before daylight by the shrieks of an unfortunate musician, who had
just broken his leg in coming down from the organ-loft, where he had
slept. The men below had taken away some of the steps during the night
to make a fire. The poor devil had a terrible fall, it was impossible
for him to walk; most probably he never left the church. When I got up,
nearly all the men were roasting meat on the points of their swords. I
asked them where the meat came from, and they replied it was the horse
who had drawn the dead-cart, and that they had killed him while the
ambulance men were asleep. I don't blame them for doing it: one must
live somehow. An hour afterwards, when a good quarter of the horse had
disappeared, one of the undertakers told his companions what we had
done. They were furious, and threatened to inform the chief director of
the hospitals. We went on eating calmly, saying it was a pity he was so
thin, and that half a dozen like him would be wanted for rations for
the regiment. They went off threatening us, and in revenge they threw
the seven corpses they had in their cart right in the doorway, so that
we were obliged to climb over them to get out.
These ambulance men had not been through the campaign, or felt the want
of anything, and they did not know that for the last few days we had
lived on any horses we could find.
When I got ready to go back to my regiment it was seven o'clock. I
told the fourteen men that were there that they must collect together
and arrive in good order. We first had some very good _purée de cheval
au riz_. After that, giving them the bag containing the Jew's fur
capes to carry, we left the church, which was already filling with
new-comers--some miserable wretches who had spent the night where they
could, and many others who had left their regiments, hoping to find
something better. They prowled about in all the corners, looking for
food. They did not seem to notice the dead bodies in the doorway, but
walked over them as if they had been wood, so stiff were they frozen.
When we reached the road I told my men of my adventure in the cellar,
and proposed to go there, and they agreed. We found the way quite
easily, for we had as sign-posts first the man whom Béloque had left
dead, and then the dragoon over whom I had fallen, and who, I now saw,
was without his cloak and his boots. After passing the gun-carriages
where I nearly fell fatally asleep, we reached the cross I had made in
the snow. After descending the slope in rather slower fashion than I
had done the day before, we stood before the door, which was shut. We
knocked, but no one answered; we burst the door in, but the birds had
flown. We only found one man, so drunk he could not speak. I recognised
him as the German who wished to turn me out. He was wrapped in a great
sheepskin cape, which was taken from him by one of our musicians,
in spite of his resistance. We found several portmanteaus and a
trunk--stolen during the night--but all were empty, and also the cask
brought by the Baden man, which had contained gin.
Before going on to the camp I noticed our position and was surprised to
find that, although I had walked so much during the night, I had been
no distance. I had simply walked round and round the church.
We then went back to the camp. As we went I met several men of our
regiment, whom I joined to those already with me. Just afterwards I saw
a non-commissioned officer in the distance, whom by his white knapsack
I recognised at once as the very man I was looking for--Grangier. I had
embraced him before he knew who I was, I had altered so much. We were
mutually looking for each other, and if I had had the patience to wait,
he said he would have taken me to his quarters and given me good soup,
and straw to sleep on, for he had searched for me at this very place
the evening before. He went with us to the camp, whither I brought my
nineteen men in good order. Grangier then made me a sign, and opening
his knapsack, he took out a piece of beef, ready cooked, which he said
he had kept for me, and also a piece of bread.
I simply devoured the food, for it was twenty-three days since I had
tasted anything like it. Then he asked me for news of a friend of his,
whom he supposed dangerously ill. I could only tell him that he was in
the town, but as we did not know the whereabouts of his regiment, he
would be obliged to go through the gate by which we had entered, as
many of the sick, unable to go further, had remained there. So we set
off at once.
We soon reached the place where the poor dragoon lay. This time we
found him almost stripped; he had been searched, no doubt, in the hope
of finding a belt containing money. I showed Grangier the cellar, and
then we arrived at the gate. The number of dead there was appalling;
near the Baden sentry were four men of the Guard, who had died during
the night. The officer on duty had forbidden the men to strip them,
and he told us of two more he had in his guard-room. We went in to see
them; they were both unconscious. The first was a Chasseur; the second,
his face hidden in a handkerchief, was in our regiment. Grangier
uncovered his face, and recognised the man he was in search of. We did
all we possibly could to bring him round, relieving him of his sword
and powder-flask and his collar, and trying to force a few drops of
brandy between his lips. He opened his eyes without seeming to see us,
and directly afterwards died in my arms. We emptied his knapsack, and
found a watch and several little knick-knacks, which Grangier took
charge of, to send as keepsakes to his family, if ever he were lucky
enough to get back to France. We placed the Chasseur as comfortably as
possible, and then left him to his melancholy fate; what else could we
do?
Grangier then took me to his post, and when, soon afterwards, he was
relieved by some Chasseurs, we asked them to look after the man we had
just left. The sergeant immediately sent four men to fetch him.
We returned to the regiment, and the rest of the day we spent in
getting our firearms into good order, in warming ourselves and talking.
We killed several horses during the day, and divided them. Rations of
rye and oatmeal were given out, consisting chiefly of straw with a
little rye mixed.
At four o'clock the next morning we were ordered under arms and sent
a quarter of a league from the town, where, in spite of the cold, we
remained in order of battle until daylight. The same thing was repeated
the few following days, as the Russian army was manoeuvring on our left.
We had been three days already at Smolensk, and we did not know if we
had to remain in this position or continue the retreat. To stay, they
said, was impossible. Why, then, did we not leave a town where there
were no houses to shelter us, and no provisions to feed us? On the
fourth day, as we returned from our position of the morning, I saw an
officer of a line regiment lying in front of a fire. We looked for
some time at each other, trying to recall each other's appearance and
features under the rags and dirt with which we were covered. I stopped;
he got up, and, coming nearer to me, he said:
'I thought I was not mistaken.'
'No,' I said.
We had recognised and embraced each other without pronouncing a
name. It was Beaulieu,[28] my messmate in the Vélites when we were at
Fontainebleau.
How much we had both altered, and how wretched our condition now! I had
not seen him since the Battle of Wagram, when he had left the Guard, to
pass as an officer into the line, with other Vélites.
I asked him after his regiment; for answer he pointed out the eagle to
me in the middle of a pile of arms. There were thirty-three of them
left. He and the Surgeon-Major were the only officers; of the others,
a great many had been killed in battle, but more than half had died of
cold and hunger; a few had been lost on the road.
Beaulieu was Captain, and he had received orders to follow the Guard. I
stayed with him for some time, and, as he had nothing to eat, we shared
the rice the men in the church had given me. In those days, when food
was not to be had for gold, this was the greatest proof of friendship
one could possibly give.
On the morning of the 14th, the Emperor left Smolensk with the
Grenadiers and Chasseurs; we followed a short time after as rear-guard,
leaving behind us the corps belonging to Prince Eugène, Davoust, and
Ney, reduced to lamentably small numbers. On first leaving the town
we crossed the Sacred Field, so called by the Russians. A little past
Korouitnia[29] we came upon a deep ravine; here we had to wait while
the artillery crossed it. I went in search of Grangier, and proposed
that we should cross first, as we were getting frozen while standing
still. When we were at the other side, I saw three men round a dead
horse; two of them staggered about as if they were drunk. The third, a
German, lay on the horse; the poor wretch was dying of hunger, and, not
being able to cut the flesh, was trying to bite it. He soon afterwards
died where he was of cold and hunger. The two others, Hussars, were
covered with blood about the hands and mouth. We spoke to them, but
they did not answer; they looked at us, laughing in a horrible way, and
then sat down close to the dead man, where they no doubt fell into the
last fatal sleep.
We went on then, walking by the side of the highroad to come up with
the right of the column, and then wait for our regiment near a fire,
if we were lucky enough to find one. We met a Hussar--I think of the
8th Regiment; the poor fellow was struggling against death, continually
rising and falling down again. We ran up to give him what help we
could; but he fell once more, not to rise again. Thus, all along our
way we were forced to step over the dead and dying. As we advanced with
great difficulty, keeping to the right of the road to get past the
convoys, we saw a man of the line sitting against a tree near a little
fire; he was busy melting snow in a saucepan to cook the liver and
heart of a horse he had just killed with his bayonet.
As we had rice and oatmeal with us, we asked him to lend us the
saucepan to cook them, so that we could all eat together. He was
delighted; so with the rice and straw-oatmeal we made some soup,
seasoning it with a little sugar Grangier had in his knapsack, as we
had no salt. While our soup was cooking, we roasted some bits of liver
and kidneys from a horse, and enjoyed it greatly. We devoured our rice
only half cooked, and hastened to join our regiment, which had passed
us. That night the Emperor slept at Korouitnia, and we in a wood a
short distance off. The next day we set out very early, so as to reach
Krasnoë; but before we could get so far, the front of the Imperial
columns was stopped by 25,000 Russians occupying the road. Stragglers
at the front caught sight of them first, and immediately turned back to
join the first regiments advancing; the greater part of them, however,
united and faced the enemy. A few men, too careless or too wretched to
care what they did, fell into the enemy's hands.
The Grenadiers and Chasseurs, formed into close columns, advanced
against the mass of Russians, who, not daring to wait for them, retired
and left the passage free; they took up a position on the hills to the
left of the road, and turned their artillery on us. When we heard the
cannon, we doubled our pace, as we were behind, and arrived just as our
gunners were answering them. The Russians disappeared behind the hills
as our fire began, and we continued our way.
An incident occurred at this time about which I cannot keep silence,
and I have heard the same incident entirely differently related. What
they say is this: That when, on first catching sight of the Russians,
the first regiments of the Guard were grouped round the Emperor,
marching as if no enemy were before them, the band played the air 'Où
peut-on être mieux qu'au sein de sa famille?' and that the Emperor
stopped the music, ordering to be played instead 'Veillons au salut de
l'Empire!'
The incident did happen, but in quite a different fashion, as it
was at Smolensk, on the day of our departure. The Prince Neuchâtel,
then Minister of War, seeing that no orders for departure came from
the Emperor, and that the whole army was in despair at being kept in
such a wretched position, collected some men from the bands under the
Emperor's window, and told them to play the air 'Où peut-on être mieux
qu'au sein de sa famille?' They had scarcely begun, when the Emperor
appeared on the balcony, and ordered them to play 'Veillons au salut de
l'Empire!' The men were forced to play it as best they could, in spite
of their pain, and immediately afterwards the order for departure on
the next morning was given. How could it have been possible for the
wretched men, even had they been to the right of the regiment, to have
blown down their instruments, or used their poor frost-bitten fingers?
This, on the other hand, was quite a possibility at Smolensk, as there
were fires where they could get warm.
In two hours after the encounter with the Russians, the Emperor
reached Krasnoë with the first regiments of the Guard--ours and the
Fusiliers-Chasseurs. We camped behind the town. I was on guard with
fifteen men at General Roguet's quarters: a miserable house in the
town, thatched with straw. I put my men in a stable, thinking myself
in luck to be under cover, and near a fire we had just lighted, but it
turned out quite otherwise.
While we were in Krasnoë and the immediate neighbourhood, the Russians,
90,000 strong, surrounded us--to right, to left, in front, and behind,
nothing but Russians--thinking, no doubt, they could soon finish us
off. But the Emperor wished to show them it was not quite so easy a
thing as they imagined; for although we were most wretched, and dying
of cold and hunger, we still possessed two things--courage and honour.
The Emperor, therefore, annoyed at seeing himself followed by this
horde of barbarians and savages, decided to rid himself of them.
On the evening of our arrival, General Roguet received orders to
attack during the night, taking with him part of the Guard, the
Fusiliers-Chasseurs, the Grenadiers, the light companies, and
skirmishers. At eleven o'clock a few detachments were sent on first to
reconnoitre, and find out exactly where the Russians lay; we could
see their camp-fires in the two villages they held. They seem to have
expected us, for some were already prepared to receive us.
At about one o'clock in the morning, the General came to me, and said,
with his Gascon accent:
'Sergeant, leave a corporal and four men here in charge of my quarters,
and the few things I have left. Go back to the camp yourself, and
rejoin the regiment with your guard. We shall have our work cut out for
us presently.'
To tell the truth, I was very much disgusted at this order. I do not
mean that I was afraid of fighting, but I grudged the time lost for
sleep terribly.
When we got to the camp, preparations were already going on; evidently
serious things were expected. I heard several men say that they hoped
an end would at last be put to their sufferings, as they could struggle
no longer.
At two o'clock we began to move forward. We formed into three
columns--the Fusiliers-Grenadiers (I was amongst them) and the
Fusiliers-Chasseurs in the centre, the skirmishers and light companies
on the right and left. The cold was as intense as ever. We had the
greatest difficulty in walking across the fields, as the snow was up to
our knees. After half an hour of this, we found ourselves in the midst
of the Russians. On our right was a long line of infantry, opening
a murderous fire on us, their heavy cavalry on our left made up of
Cuirassiers in white uniform with black cuirasses. They howled like
wolves to excite each other, but did not dare to attack. The artillery
was in the centre, pouring grape-shot on us. All this did not stop our
career in the least. In spite of the firing, and the number of our men
who fell, we charged on into their camp, where we made frightful havoc
with our bayonets.
The men who were stationed further off had now had time to arm
themselves, and come to their comrades' help. This they did by setting
fire to their camp and the two villages near. We fought by the light of
the fires. The columns on the right and left had passed us, and entered
the enemy's camp at the two ends, whereas our column had taken the
middle.
I have omitted to say that, as the head of our column charged into
the Russian camp, we passed several hundred Russians stretched on the
snow; we believed them to be dead or dangerously wounded. These men
now jumped up and fired on us from behind, so that we had to make a
demi-tour to defend ourselves. Unluckily for them, a battalion in the
rear came up behind, so that they were taken between two fires, and in
five minutes not one was left alive. This was a stratagem the Russians
often employed, but this time it was not successful.
Poor Béloque was the first man we lost; he had foretold his death at
Smolensk. A ball struck his head, and killed him on the spot. He was a
great favourite with us all, and, in spite of the indifference we now
felt about everything, we were really sorry to lose him.
We went through the Russian camp, and reached the village. We forced
the enemy to throw a part of their artillery into a lake there, and
then found that a great number of foot soldiers had filled the houses,
which were partly in flames. We now fought desperately hand-to-hand.
The slaughter was terrible, and each man fought by himself for himself.
I found myself near our Colonel, the oldest in France, who had been
through the campaign in Egypt. A sapper was holding him up by the
arm, and the Adjutant-Major Roustan was there too. We were close to a
farmyard filled with Russians, and blockaded by our men; they could
retreat only by an entrance into a large courtyard close by a barrier.
While this desultory fighting was going on, I saw a Russian officer
on a white horse striking with the flat of his sword any of his men
who tried to get away by jumping over the barrier, and so effectually
preventing his escape. He got possession of the passage, but just as
he was preparing to jump to the other side, his horse fell under him,
struck by a ball. The men were forced to defend themselves, and the
fighting now grew desperate. By the lurid light of the fire it was a
dreadful scene of butchery, Russians and Frenchmen in utter confusion,
shooting each other muzzle to muzzle.
I tried to get at the Russian officer, who had now extricated himself
from his horse, and was trying to save himself by getting over the
barrier, but a Russian soldier got in the way and fired at me. Probably
only the priming caught fire, otherwise there would have been an end of
me; but the man who had fired reloaded his musket calmly, thinking, no
doubt, that I was dangerously wounded. The Adjutant-Major, Roustan, ran
to me and, seizing me by the arm, said:
'My poor Bourgogne, are you wounded?'
'No,' I answered.
'Then,' he said, 'don't miss him.'
That was what I meant also, and before the Russian had time to reload,
I shot him through. Mortally wounded, he did not, however, fall at
once, but reeled back, and, glaring at me, fell over the officer's
horse at the barrier. The Adjutant-Major gave him a thrust with his
sword. Just then I found myself near the Colonel, who was completely
worn out and fit for nothing more. He was alone except for his sapper.
The Adjutant-Major came up, his sword covered with blood, saying that,
to get back to the Colonel, he had been forced to cut his way with the
sword, and that he had a bayonet wound in his thigh. As he spoke, the
sapper, who was supporting the Colonel, was struck in the chest by a
ball. The Colonel instantly said:
'Sapper, you are wounded?'
'Yes, sir,' said the sapper, and, taking the Colonel's hand, he made
him feel the hole the ball had made.
'Then go back.'
The sapper replied that he was strong enough to stay and die with him
if necessary.
'And, after all,' said the Adjutant-Major, 'where could he go, in the
midst of the enemy? We do not know where we are, and I can see that we
shall have to wait here, fighting, till daylight.'
We had indeed lost all idea of our locality, blinded by the glare from
the fires.
Five minutes after the sapper had been wounded, the Russians, whom
we had held blockaded in the farm, seeing that they ran a chance of
being burnt alive, offered to surrender. They sent a non-commissioned
officer through a perfect storm of balls to make the proposal. The
Adjutant-Major therefore sent me with the order to stop firing.
'Stop firing!' said one of our wounded men; 'the others may stop if
they please, but as I am wounded, and very likely dying, I shall go on
as long as I have cartridges to fire with.'
He went on, therefore, sitting in the snow all stained with his blood,
and even asked for more cartridges when he had fired his own. The
Adjutant-Major, seeing that his orders were disregarded, came himself
with a message from the Colonel. But our men, now perfectly desperate,
took no notice, and still continued to fire. The Russians, seeing that
there was no hope for them, and probably having no more ammunition,
tried to rush out all together from the building, where they were
fast getting roasted; but our men forced them back. They made a second
attempt, not being able to endure their position, but scarcely had a
few of their number reached the yard, when the building collapsed on
the rest, more than forty of them perishing in the flames, and those in
the yard being crushed as well.
When this was over, we collected our wounded together, and gathered
round the Colonel with loaded weapons, waiting for daybreak. All this
time the rattle of musket-shots was going on continually round us,
mingled with the groans of the wounded and the dying. There is nothing
more terrible than a battle at night, when often fatal mistakes take
place.
In this way we waited for the light. As soon as it appeared, we looked
about us, and could see the result of the night's fighting. The whole
ground we had been over was strewn with the wounded and dying. I saw
the man who had tried to kill me, and who was not yet dead, so I placed
him more comfortably away from the white horse near which he had
fallen. All the houses in the village (either Kircova or Malierva) and
the whole of the Russian camp were covered with half-burnt corpses. M.
Gilet had his leg broken by a ball, and died a few days afterwards. The
sharp-shooters (skirmishers) and the light companies lost more men than
we.
During the morning I met Captain Débonnez, who came from my country and
commanded a company in the Guards. He was looking for me to see if I
were all safe. He said he had lost the third of his company, besides a
Sub-Lieutenant and his Sergeant-Major.
After this bloody contest the Russians abandoned their positions
without going very far off, and we remained on the battlefield during
the day and night of the 16th and 17th, keeping on the qui-vive,
however, all the time, neither being able to rest a moment nor even to
warm ourselves.
During the day, while we were all talking together of our miserable
discomfort and of the night's battle, the Adjutant-Major, Delaître,
came up. He was the worst man I have ever known and the cruellest,
doing wrong for the mere pleasure of doing it. He began to talk, and,
greatly to our surprise, seemed much troubled by Béloque's tragic death.
'Poor Béloque!' he said; 'I am very sorry I ever behaved badly to him.'
Just then a voice in my ear (what voice I never knew) said:
'He will die very soon.'
Others heard it also. He seemed sincerely sorry for all his bad
behaviour to those under him, especially to us non-commissioned
officers. I do not think there was a man in the regiment who would not
have rejoiced to see him carried off by a bullet. We called him Peter
the Cruel.
On the morning of the 17th, almost before it was light, we took up our
firearms, and forming into columns, set out to take up our position
by the side of the road, opposite to the field of battle. When we got
there we saw a part of the Russian army on a little hill in front of
us, near a wood, and therefore deployed in a line fronting them. On our
left and behind us was a ravine which crossed the road. This hollow
sheltered all those near it. On our right were the Fusiliers-Chasseurs,
with the head of their regiment a gun-shot from the town. In front of
us, 250 yards off, was a regiment of the Young Guard, commanded by
General Luron. Further still on the right were the old Grenadiers and
Chasseurs. The whole was commanded by the Emperor himself, on foot.
Walking with firm steps, as if on a grand parade day, he placed himself
in the midst of the field of battle, opposite the enemy's batteries.
I was with two of my friends, Grangier and Leboude, behind
Adjutant-Major Delaître. We were within half-range of the Russian
artillery, and directly they caught sight of us they opened fire.
Adjutant-Major Delaître was the first man to fall; a ball had taken
off his legs, just above his knees and his long riding-boots. He fell
without a cry, nor did he utter one at all. He was leading his horse,
the bridle on his right arm. We stopped, as he filled up the path we
walked on; we were forced to stride over him to get on at all, and as I
was next after him I did so the first. I looked at him as I passed. His
eyes were opened, and his teeth chattered convulsively. I went nearer
to listen. He raised his voice and said:
'For God's sake take my pistols and blow my brains out!'
No one dared do this service for him, and without answering we went on
our way--most luckily as it happened, for before we had gone six yards
a second discharge carried off three of our men behind us, killing the
Adjutant-Major.
Directly afterwards the Emperor arrived, and we began fighting. The
enemy made terrible havoc in our ranks with their artillery. We had
only a few pieces to reply with, and some of them were soon dismounted.
Our men died without moving, and until two o'clock in the afternoon we
maintained this dreadful position.
The Russians sent a part of their army to take up a position on the
road beyond Krasnoë, and to cut off our retreat; but the Emperor
anticipated them by sending a battalion of the Old Guard there.
While we stood thus exposed to the enemy's fire, our numbers
continually diminishing, we saw to our left the remainder of Marshal
Davoust's army in the midst of a swarm of Cossacks calmly marching
towards us. With them was the canteen man's cart containing his wife
and children. A ball intended for us struck them, and we heard the
woman's shrieks, but we could not tell whether one of them was killed
or only wounded.
Just then the Dutch Grenadiers of the Guard abandoned an important
position, which the Russians instantly filled with their artillery, and
directed their fire against us. Our position after this was untenable.
A regiment sent to recover the ground was forced to retire; another
moved forward as far as the foot of the batteries, but was stopped by
a body of Cuirassiers. It then retired to the left of the battery,
forming into a square. The enemy's cavalry came on to the attack again,
but were received by a heavy fire, which killed a great many. A second
charge was made, and met with the same reception. A third charge,
supported by grape-shot, was successful. The regiment was overwhelmed.
The enemy broke into the square and finished off the remainder with
their swords. These poor fellows, nearly all very young, having their
hands and feet mostly frost-bitten, had no power to defend themselves,
and were absolutely massacred.
We witnessed this scene without being able to help our comrades.
Eleven men only returned; the rest were all killed, wounded, or taken
prisoners, driven by sword-thrusts into a little wood opposite. The
Colonel himself,[30] covered with wounds, was made prisoner, with
several other officers.
I must not omit to say that as we were getting into order of battle,
the Colonel had given the word of command: 'Drapeaux, guides généraux
sur la ligne!'
I was therefore _guide général_ on the right of our regiment. But they
omitted to give the order for our return, and as I made it a point of
honour to remain at my post, there I stayed for more than an hour,
holding the butt-end of my musket in the air, and in spite of the
bullets flying round me, I did not move.
By two o'clock we had lost a third of our men, but the
Fusiliers-Chasseurs were the worst off of all, as, being nearer to the
town, they were exposed to a more deadly fire. For the last half-hour
the Emperor had drawn back with the first regiments of the Guard to
the highroad. We remained on the field alone with a very few men
from different corps, facing more than 50,000 of the enemy. Marshal
Mortier then ordered us to retreat, and we began to move, drawing
off at walking pace as if we were on parade, the Russian artillery
overwhelming us with grape-shot all the while. We took with us the
least dangerously wounded of our men.
It was a terrible scene as we left the field, for when our poor wounded
men saw that they were being abandoned, surrounded by the enemy, many
of them dragged themselves painfully on their knees after us, staining
the snow with their blood, and raising their hands to heaven with
heart-rending cries, imploring us to help them. But what could we do?
The same fate was in store for us, for at every moment men fell from
our ranks, and were in their turn abandoned.
I saw, as I passed the position occupied by the Fusiliers-Chasseurs,
several of my friends stretched dead on the snow, horribly mutilated by
grape-shot. A man named Capon, from Bapaume, was one of my best friends.
After passing the Fusiliers-Chasseurs, as we entered the town, we saw
on our left some pieces of artillery, firing at the Russians for our
protection; they were served and supported by about forty men, gunners
and Light Infantry--all that was left of General Longchamp's brigade.
He was there himself with the remnant of his men, determined to save
them or die with them.
As soon as he caught sight of our Colonel, he came to him with open
arms. They embraced as two friends who had not met for long, and who
perhaps were never to meet again. The General, with his eyes full of
tears, showed the two guns and the few remaining men to our Colonel.
'Look,' he said; 'that is all I have left!'
They had been through the Egyptian campaign together.
After this battle, Kutusow, the General-in-Chief of the Russian army,
was heard to say that the French, so far from being disheartened by
their cruel sufferings, only rushed more madly on the guns which
destroyed them. Wilson,[31] the English General who was present at this
battle, called it the Heroes' Battle. The word ought to be applied to
us, and to us only, who, with a few thousand men, fought against the
whole Russian force of 90,000.
General Longchamps, with his poor remainder, was forced to leave his
guns, all the horses being killed, and follow our retreat, taking
advantage of what shelter he could find behind houses or banks as he
went.
We were scarcely within the town of Krasnoë when the Russians, their
guns mounted on sledges, took up a position near the outlying houses,
and opened a fire of grape-shot on us. Three men of our company were
wounded. A ball, which grazed my musket and split the stock, struck
a young drummer on the head and killed him on the spot. The town of
Krasnoë is divided in two by a deep hollow, which must be crossed.
Arrived there, we saw at the bottom a herd of oxen dead of cold and
hunger. So stiff were they frozen, that our sappers could scarcely cut
them up with hatchets. Only their heads were visible, their eyes still
open; their bodies were covered with snow. These bullocks belonged to
the army, and had not been able to reach us: the extreme cold and want
of fodder had killed them.
A large convent in this wretched town and all the houses were filled
with wounded, who shrieked in despair when they heard they were to be
left to the Russians. We were forced to leave them thus to a savage and
brutal enemy, who stripped and robbed these unfortunate men without
pity for their wounds or their condition.
The Russians still followed us, but slowly, and they were unable to
do us much harm. Our road was through a deep cutting, and the bullets
passed over our heads; the cavalry on our right also prevented the
enemy coming to close quarters.
At a quarter of a league's distance from the town things grew quieter.
We walked on sadly and silently, thinking of our dreadful situation,
and of our unfortunate comrades left in the hands of the enemy. I
seemed still to hear them begging for help; and looking back, we could
see some of the slightly wounded already stripped almost naked by the
Russians, and left in that condition. We were luckily able to save the
poor fellows--at least, for the time, and we spared all we could to
cover them.
That night the Emperor slept at Liadouï, a village built of wood. Our
regiment camped a little further off. As I passed through the village I
stopped near a wretched hovel to warm myself at a fire. There I had the
good fortune to meet Sergeant Guignard again--from my own village--and
his Hungarian _cantinière_. They gave me a little oatmeal broth and
some horseflesh. I was badly in want of the food, as I was shockingly
weak, having eaten hardly anything for two days. The sergeant told me
that their regiment had suffered considerably in the battle, and their
numbers were much diminished, but not nearly as greatly as ours; that
he had thought much of me, and was heartily glad to see me again with
a whole skin. He asked me after Captain Débonnez, but I had not seen
him since the 16th. I left him to go back to my regiment, encamped near
the highroad. We spent a dreadful night; there was a high wind, and
half-melted snow was falling, which wetted us through, and we had very
little fire. All this, however, was nothing compared to what we went
through afterwards.
During this dreadful night many of the sharp-shooters came to warm
themselves at our fire. I asked them for news of several of my friends,
especially of two from my part who were in the Vélites with me. One was
M. Alexandre Legrand, of the Quatre fils Aymon at Valenciennes; and
the other, M. Laporte, from Cassel, near Lille, had been killed by a
grape-shot.
At midnight one of our sentinels told me he could see a man on
horseback appearing to come from our side. I ran at once with two
of our men to see who it could be. I could distinguish the horseman
perfectly, and in front of him a foot soldier, whom he was apparently
forcing on before him. When they got near us I recognised a Dragoon
of the Guard, who had made his way into the Russian camp to get food
for himself and his horse. He had disguised himself by means of the
helmet of a Russian Cuirassier whom he had killed the day before. He
had brought away from the enemy's camp a bundle of straw and a little
flour, and had wounded one sentinel and knocked down another, whom he
made prisoner and brought along with him. This brave fellow was called
Mellé, and he came from Condé. He stayed with us for the rest of the
night. He said that he had run this risk for his horse, called Cadet,
and not for himself; at any cost he had determined to get the animal
some food. 'If I save my horse, he will save me afterwards.' This
was the second time he had got inside the Russian camp since leaving
Smolensk. On the first occasion he had brought back a horse already
harnessed.
He was fortunate enough to return to France with his horse. They had
already been through the Prussian and Polish campaigns of 1806-7
together, in Spain in 1808, in Germany in 1809, in Spain again 1810-11,
and in Russia 1812; afterwards in Saxony in 1813, and France 1814. The
poor horse was finally killed at Waterloo, after being through more
than twelve great battles commanded by the Emperor, and over thirty
smaller engagements. I met Mellé again during this wretched campaign
on a lake breaking a hole in the ice with a hatchet to get water for
his horse; and another time I saw him at the top of a burning barn, in
peril of his life, getting straw from the roof for him, for the horses
were as badly off as we were. The poor animals had to gnaw at the trees
to feed themselves, until in their turn they fed us.
After this others followed Mellé's example and got into the Russian
camp for provisions. Many of them were seized, and died afterwards.
Our destitution was now so great that our men left their regiments
at the least sign of a road in the faint hope of its leading to some
village--if one can give that name to the collection of wretched hovels
made out of tree-trunks, and containing absolutely nothing. I could
never discover what these peasants lived on. Our men would come back
sometimes bringing bits of bread as black as coal, and filled with
long pieces of straw and grains of barley, so terribly hard that no
teeth could bite into them; and, besides, our lips were all split and
cracked by frost. During all this miserable campaign I never saw a man
bring so much as a cow or a sheep with him. What these savages live on
no one can tell. They have no beasts, that is certain, or we should
have seen some. It is the devil's own country, for it is hell all
through.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 27: Béloque was one of my friends, a sergeant-vélite like
me.--_Author's Note._]
[Footnote 28: Beaulieu was from Condé, in Valenciennes, my native
country. When I came out of prison in 1814, his sister, Mme. Vasté,
told me that her unfortunate brother had been killed by a bullet at
Dresden.--_Author's Note._]
[Footnote 29: Korouitnia, a small village.--_Author's Note._]
[Footnote 30: Colonel Luron.--_Author's Note._]
[Footnote 31: He was serving in the Russian army.]