XX

What occurred until daybreak I know not. Baggage, wounded, and

prisoners doubtless continued to crowd across the bridge. But then a

terrific shock woke us all. We started up, thinking the enemy were

upon us, when two officers of hussars came galloping in with the news

that a powder wagon had exploded by accident in the grand avenue of

Randstadt, at the river-side. The dark, red smoke rolled up to the

sky, and slowly disappeared, while the old houses continued to shake as

if an earthquake were rolling by.

Quiet was soon restored. Some lay down to sleep: but it was growing

lighter every minute; and, glancing toward the river, I saw our troops

extending until lost in the distance along the five bridges of the

Elster and Pleisse, which follow, one after another, and make, so to

speak, but one. Thousands of men must defile over this bridge, and, of

necessity, take time in doing so. And the idea struck every one that

it would have been much better to have thrown several bridges across

the two rivers; for at any instant the enemy might attack us, and then

retreat would have become difficult indeed. But the Emperor had

forgotten to give the order, and no one dared do anything without

orders. Not a marshal of France would have dared to take it upon

himself to say that two bridges were better than one. To such a point

had the terrible discipline of Napoleon reduced those old captains!

They obeyed like machines, and disturbed themselves about nothing.

Such was their fear of displeasing their master.

As I gazed at that bridge, which seemed endless, I thought, "Heaven

grant that they may let us cross now, for we have had enough of battles

and carnage! Once on the other side and we are on the road to France,

indeed, and I may again see Catharine, Aunt Gredel, and Father

Goulden!" So thinking, I grew sad; I gazed at the thousands of

artillerymen and baggage-guards swarming over the bridge, and saw the

tall bear-skin shakos of the Old Guard, who stood with shouldered arms

immovable on the hill of Lindenau on the other side of the river--and

as I thought they were fairly on their way to France, how I longed to

be in their place! Zebede, through whose mind the same thoughts were

running, said:

"Hey! Joseph; if we were only there!"

But I felt bitterly, indeed, when, about seven o'clock, three wagons

came to distribute provisions and ammunition among us, and it became

evident that we were to become the rear-guard. In spite of my hunger,

I felt like throwing my bread against a wall. A few moments after, two

squadrons of Polish lancers appeared coming up the bank, and behind

them five or six generals, Poniatowski among the number. He was a man

of about fifty, tall, slight, and with a melancholy expression. He

passed without looking at us. General Fournier, who now commanded our

brigade, spurred from among his staff, and cried:

"By file, left!"

I never so felt my heart sink. I would have sold my life for two

farthings; but nevertheless, we had to move on, and turn our backs to

the bridge.

We soon arrived at a place called Hinterthor--an old gate on the road

to Caunewitz. To the right and left stretched ancient ramparts, and

behind, rows of houses. We were posted in covered roads, near this

gate, which the sappers had strongly barricaded. Captain Vidal then

commanded the battalion, reduced to three hundred and twenty-five men.

A few worm-eaten palisades served us for intrenchments, and, on all the

roads before us, the enemy were advancing. This time they wore white

coats and flat caps, with a raised piece in front, on which we could

see the two-headed eagle of the _kreutzers_. Old Pinto, who recognized

them at once, cried:

"Those fellows are the _kaiserliks_! We have beaten them fifty times

since 1793; but if the father of Marie Louise had a heart, they would

be with us now instead of against us."

For some moments a cannonade had been going on at the other side of the

city, where Bluecher was attacking the faubourg of Halle.

Soon after, the firing stretched along to the right; it was Bernadotte

attacking the faubourg of Kohlgartenthor, and at the same time the

first shells of the Austrians fell in our covered ways; they followed

in file; many passing over Hinterthor, burst in the houses and the

streets of the faubourg.

At nine o'clock the Austrians formed their columns of attack on the

Caunewitz road, and poured down on us from all sides. Nevertheless we

held our own until about ten o'clock, and then were forced back to the

old ramparts, through the breaches of which the Kaiserliks pursued us

under the cross-fire of the Fourteenth and Twenty-ninth of the line.

The poor Austrians were not inspired with the fury of the Prussians,

but nevertheless, showed a true courage; for, at half-past ten they had

won the ramparts, and although, from all the neighboring windows, we

kept up a deadly fire, we could not force them back. Six months before

it would have horrified me to think of men being thus slaughtered, but

now I was as insensible as any old soldier, and the death of one man or

of a hundred would not cost me a thought.

Until this time all had gone well, but how were we to get out of the

houses? Unless we climbed on the roof, retreat was no longer possible.

This again was one of those terrible moments I shall never forget. All

at once the idea struck me that we should be caught like foxes which

they smoke in their holes. The enemy held every avenue. I went to a

window in the rear, and saw that it looked out on a yard, and that the

yard had no gate except in front. I thought it not unlikely that the

Austrians, in revenge for the loss we had inflicted upon them, might

put us to the point of the bayonet. It would have been natural enough.

Thinking thus, I ran back to a room, where a dozen of us yet remained,

and there I saw Sergeant Pinto leaning against the wall, his arms

hanging by his sides, and his face as white as paper. He had just

received a bullet in the breast, but the old man's warrior soul was

still strong within him, as he cried:

"Defend yourselves, conscripts! Defend yourselves! Show the

Kaiserliks that a French soldier is yet worth four of them! ah the

villains!"

We heard the sound of blows on the door below thundering like

cannon-shot. We still kept up our fire, but hopelessly, when we heard

the clatter of hoofs without. The firing ceased, and we saw through

the smoke four squadrons of lancers dashing like a troop of lions

through the midst of the Austrians. All yielded before them. The

Kaiserliks fled, but the long, blue lances, with their red pennons,

were swifter than they, and many a white coat was pierced from behind.

The lancers were Poles--the most terrible warriors I have ever seen,

and, to speak truth, our friends, and our brothers. They never turned

from us in our hour of need; they gave us the last drop of their blood.

And what have we done for their unhappy country? When I think of our

ingratitude, my heart bleeds. The Poles rescued us. Seeing them so

proud and brave, we rushed out, attacking the Austrians with the

bayonet, and driving them into the trenches. We were for the time

victorious, but it was time to beat a retreat, for the enemy were

already filling Leipzig; the gates of Halle and Grimma were forced, and

that of Peters-Thau delivered up by our friends the Badeners and our

other friends the Saxons. Soldiers, citizens, and students kept up a

fire from the windows, on our retiring troops.

We had only time to re-form and take the road along the Pleisse; the

lancers awaited us there: we defiled behind them, and, as the Austrians

again pressed around us, they charged once more to drive them back.

What brave fellows and magnificent horsemen were those Poles! How

those who saw them charge--in such a moment--must admire them!

The division, reduced from fifteen to eight thousand men, retired step

by step before fifty thousand foes, and not without often turning and

replying to the Austrian fire.

We neared the bridge--with what joy, I need not say. But it was no

easy task to reach it, for infantry and horse crowded the whole width

of the avenue, and continued to come from all the neighboring roads,

until the crowd formed an impenetrable mass, which advanced slowly,

with groans and smothered cries, which might be heard at a distance of

half a mile, despite the rattling of musketry. Woe to those upon the

sides of the bridge! they were forced into the water and no one

stretched a hand to save them. In the middle, men and even horses were

carried along with the crowd; they had no need of making any exertion

of their own. But how were we to get there? The enemy were advancing

nearer and nearer every moment. It is true we had stationed a few

cannon so as to sweep the principal approaches, and some troops yet

remained in line to repulse their attacks, but they had guns to sweep

the bridge, and those who remained behind must receive their whole

fire. This accounted for the press on the bridge.

At two or three hundred paces from the bridge, the idea of rushing

forward and throwing myself into the midst of the crowd, entered my

mind; but Captain Vidal, Lieutenant Bretonville, and other old officers

said:

"Shoot down the first man that leaves the ranks!"

It was horrible to be so near safety, and yet unable to escape.

This was between eleven and twelve o'clock. The fusillade grew nearer

on the right and left, and a few bullets began to whistle over our

heads. From the side of Halle we saw the Prussians rush pellmell out

with our own soldiers. Terrible cries now arose from the bridge.

Cavalry, to make way for themselves, sabred the infantry, who replied

with the bayonet. It was a general _sauve qui peut_. At every

movement of the crowd, some one fell from the bridge, and, trying to

regain his place, dragged five or six with him into the water.

In the midst of this horrible confusion, this pandemonium of shouts,

cries, groans, musket-shots, and sabre-strokes, a crash like a peal of

thunder was heard, and the first arch of the bridge rose upward into

the air with all upon it.

Hundreds of wretches were torn to pieces, and hundreds of others were

crushed beneath the falling ruins.

A sapper had blown up the arch!

At this sight, the cry of treason rang from mouth to mouth. "We are

lost--betrayed!" was now the cry on all sides. The tumult was fearful.

Some, in the rage of despair, turned upon the enemy like wild beasts at

bay, thinking only of vengeance; others broke their arms, cursing

heaven and earth for their misfortunes. Mounted officers and generals

dashed into the river to cross it by swimming, and many soldiers

followed them without taking time to throw off their knapsacks. The

thought that the last hope of safety was gone, and nothing now remained

but to be massacred, made men mad. I had seen the Partha choked with

dead bodies the day before, but this scene was a thousand times more

horrible; drowning wretches dragging down those who happened to be near

them; shrieks and yells of rage, or for help; a broad river concealed

by a mass of heads and struggling arms.

Captain Vidal, who, by his coolness and steady eye, had hitherto kept

us to our duty, even Captain Vidal now appeared discouraged. He thrust

his sabre into the scabbard, and cried, with a strange laugh:

"The game is up! Let us be gone!"