SOLFERINO.
One of the most momentous battles in history was in progress, and the
battalion in which Manasseh Adorjan still served as a sergeant stood
from early morning until afternoon among the reserves, watching the
fight.
Leaning on his gun, Manasseh thoughtfully observed the transformation of
that earthly paradise into a scene of slaughter. He thought how, in
times of peace, the cry of a single human being in distress would call
ready succour and excite the warmest sympathy; but now, when men were
dying by thousands, their fellows looked on in the coldest indifference.
He asked himself whether this fearful state of things, this deplorable
sacrifice of a country's best and bravest sons, was a necessity, and
must still go on for ages to come. And while he thus communed with
himself he, too, held in his hands a weapon calculated to carry not only
death to a valiant foe, but also sorrow and anguish to that foeman's
wife and mother, and perhaps destitution to his family.
To the north of the fortress of Solferino rose a wooded height, since
known to the historians of that battle as Cypress Hill, and
distinguished as the point around which the conflict raged most
fiercely. Occupied alternately by each side, the opposing batteries
stormed it in succession, and the squadrons, now of one army, now of the
other, marched up to assault it. But though they marched up, Manasseh
saw none of them return. Austrians, French, and Italians, all seemed to
be swallowed up alike in that maelstrom of blood and fire.
At four o'clock in the afternoon the battle was at its height. In the
heat of the conflict one could see uniforms of all three armies mingled
in inextricable confusion. The Austrian forces were at last becoming
exhausted with toil and hunger. Whole regiments were there that had not
tasted meat for a week--where were those forty thousand cattle?--and the
bread dealt out to them was ill-baked, mouldy, gritty, and altogether
unfit to eat.
A final and concentrated effort was determined upon. Reserves to the
front! Cypress Hill was to be stormed once more. A battalion of yagers,
the pride of the Austrian army, charged up the fatal hill and succeeded
in taking it, after which the rattle of musketry beyond announced that
the fight was being continued on the farther side.
At this point Manasseh's battalion was ordered to hold the hill while
the yagers were pushed farther forward. The order was obeyed, and then
Manasseh learned what the cypress-crowned height really was: it was a
cemetery, the burial-ground of the surrounding district, and each
cypress marked a grave. But the dead under the sod lay not more closely
packed than the fallen soldiers with whose bodies the place was covered.
Cypress Hill was a double graveyard, heaped with dead and dying
Frenchmen, Italians, Austrians, Hungarians, Poles, and Croatians, their
bodies disfigured and bleeding and heaped in chaotic confusion over the
mounds beneath which slept the regular occupants of the place.
In the soldier's march to glory each step is a human corpse. Manasseh
took care to step over and between the prostrate forms before him.
Gaining the summit of the hill, he had an open view of the prospect
beyond. A large farm, since known to history as the _Madonna della
Scoperta_, lay before him. A high terrace facing the hill had been
converted by the enemy into a fortress, which commanded the cemetery,
and which the yagers were now pressing forward to take. The charge was
gallantly led, but after a fierce struggle, in which the assailants
exhausted their ammunition, and the engagement became a hand-to-hand
fight, the Austrians were driven back in confusion.
Manasseh's battalion was then commanded to charge the terrace, from
which the enemy's battery was dealing such deadly destruction, and to
capture and hold the _Madonna della Scoperta_. The major gave the
necessary orders, but it was to Manasseh that every eye was turned at
this critical moment. Had he but shaken his head the whole battalion
would have stood still and refused to advance a step. If he said the
word, however, his comrades would follow him, and attempt the
impossible.
Manasseh looked up at the clouded heavens above, and breathed a sigh.
The hour had come when he must bow before the iron will of destiny. He,
the apostle of peace, must plunge into the midst of bloody strife. "Thy
will be done!" he murmured, then advanced to the front of the battalion,
and turned to address his comrades.
"Forward!"
They obeyed him with alacrity, singing as they advanced, "A mighty
fortress is our God," and so began the assault.
Not a shot was fired as they pushed forward at double-quick in the face
of a murderous artillery discharge from the terrace above. Gaining the
foot of the scarp, they planted their bayonets in the earthern wall, and
so mounted the rampart, those behind helping up those in front. As they
sang the last stanza of their hymn, the _Madonna della Scoperta_ was
taken--without the firing of a single shot. The major of the battalion
was beside himself with pride and exultation. He embraced Manasseh, and
kissed him on both cheeks.
"To-morrow will see you an officer with a medal of honour on your
breast," was his confident prediction.
Manasseh smiled sadly. He knew better than the other what to expect.
Meanwhile the enemy had not given up the fight. The terrace, they
perceived, must be retaken, and a detachment of French troops was
advancing to storm it.
"Let them come on!" cried the major, confidently. "We can handle them,
ten to one. Give them a volley, my lads!"
But this time Manasseh shook his head, whereupon the whole battalion
grounded arms.
"What do you mean?" exclaimed the major, astounded.
Manasseh raised his hand to heaven. "_Egy az Isten!_" he cried, and all
his comrades followed his example.
"What do you say?" asked the bewildered officer.
"We swear by the God who has said 'Thou shalt not kill!'" was Manasseh's
reply.
"But you are soldiers, and on the battle-field."
"We do our duty, we go whither we are ordered, and we can die if we
must; but we will not take human life except in defence of our homes
and our fatherland."
"But, man, the enemy will kill you."
"So be it."
The commander threatened, begged, wept--all in vain. The only reply was,
"_Egy az Isten!_" The men were willing to discharge their pieces if
necessary, but it would only be a waste of ammunition: they would fire
into the air.
Troops were now rapidly moving on the threatened position from two
directions, one party to assault, the other to defend. Fearful slaughter
seemed imminent, and nothing was left for those who had so gallantly
carried the terrace but to die where they stood. Suddenly, however, a
third power took a hand in the fray, and smote both assailants and
defenders with equal fury. The black clouds that had been gathering over
the battle-field opened and began such a cannonade as neither side could
withstand. Wind, hail, lightning, and thunder, accompanied by an ominous
darkness in which friend was indistinguishable from foe, played such
havoc with the puny combatants and their mimic artillery, that all were
forced to seek shelter and safety from the angry elements. Thus neither
side was left in possession of the field, but a third and a mightier
power than either claimed the victory in that day's fight.
Manasseh and his comrades fled with the rest before the fury of the
storm. They succeeded in gaining a sheltered position where they found
campfires burning, and thought themselves among friends. But they were
mistaken. They had stumbled in the darkness upon the enemy's camp.