THE CHARGE OF ZAGONYI
In battle the charge is the climax. In other kinds of fighting men have
a certain amount of shelter and respite and at long range it makes
little difference whether the fighter is strong or weak. In a charge,
however, the fighting is hand to hand. As in the days of old, men fight
at close grips with their enemy and each one must depend upon his own
strength and skill and bravery.
There have been three charges in modern battles which have been
celebrated over and over again. The first of these was the last
desperate charge of the Old Guard at Waterloo. A thin red line of
English held a hill which Napoleon, the greatest of modern generals,
saw was the keystone of the battle. If that could be taken, the whole
arch of the English and Belgium forces would crumble away into defeat.
Again and again the French stormed at this hill and each time were
driven back by the coolly-waiting deadly ranks of the English. Toward
nightfall Napoleon made one last desperate effort. The Old Guard was to
him what the great Tenth Legion had been to Julius Cæsar, the best and
bravest veterans of his army who boasted that they had never yet been
defeated. Calling them up with every last one of his reserves, he
ordered a final desperate charge to break the battle center. To the
grim drumming of what guns the little general had left, they rushed
again up that blood-stained slope in desperate dark masses of unbeaten
men. With a storm of cheers, the columns surged up in a vast blue
battle-wave which seemed as if it must dash off by its weight the
little group of silent, grim defenders. The Englishmen waited and
waited and waited until the rushing ranks were almost on them. Then
they poured in a volley at such close range that every bullet did the
work of two and with a deep English cheer sprang on the broken ranks
with their favorite weapon, the bayonet. That great battle-wave broke
in a foam of shattered, dying and defeated men and the sunset of that
day was the sunset of Napoleon's glory.
Fifty years later in the great war which England with her allies was
waging to keep the vast, fierce hordes of Russia from ruling Europe,
happened another glorious, useless charge. Owing to a misunderstanding
of orders, a little squad of six hundred cavalrymen charged down a
mile-long valley flanked on all sides by Russian artillery against a
battery of guns whose fire faced them all the way. Every schoolboy who
has ever spoken a piece on Friday afternoon knows what comes next. How
the gallant Six Hundred, stormed at with shot and shell, made the
charge to the wonder and admiration of three watching armies and how
they forced their way into the jaws of death and into the mouth of hell
and sabred the gunners and then rode back--all that was left of them.
In our own Civil War occurred the most famous charge of modern days,
Pickett's charge at the battle of Gettysburg. For three days raged the
first battle which the Confederates had been able to fight on Northern
soil. If their great General Lee, with his seventy thousand veterans,
won this battle, Washington, Philadelphia and even New York were at his
mercy. On the afternoon of the third day he made one last desperate
effort to break the center of the Union forces. Pickett's division of
the Virginia infantry was the center of the attacking forces and the
column numbered altogether over fifteen thousand men. For two hours Lee
cannonaded the Union center with one hundred and fifteen guns. He was
answered by the Union artillery although they could only muster eighty
guns. Finally the Union fire was stopped in order that the guns might
cool for Hunt, the Union chief of artillery, realized that the
cannonade was started to mask some last great attack. Suddenly three
lines, each over a mile long, of Virginia, North Carolina, Alabama,
Georgia and Tennessee regiments started to cover the mile and a half
which separated them from the Union center. The Union crest was held by
the Pennsylvania regiments who were posted back of the stone wall on
the very summit. As the gray lines rushed over the distance with a
score of fierce battle flags flaming and fluttering over their ranks,
the eighty guns which had cooled so that they could now be used with
good effect opened up on them first with solid shot and then with the
tremendous explosive shells. As they charged, the Virginia regiments
moved away to the left leaving a gap between them and the men from
Alabama on the right. The Union leaders took advantage of this gap and
forced in there the Vermont brigade and a half brigade of New York men.
By suddenly changing front these men were enabled to attack the
charging thousands on their flank. The Union guns did terrible
execution, opening up great gaps through the running, leaping, shouting
men. As the charge came nearer and nearer the batteries changed to the
more terrible grape and canister which cut the men down like grass
before a reaper. Still they came on until they were face to face with
the waiting Union soldiers who poured in a volley at short range. For a
moment the battle flags of the foremost Confederate regiments stood on
the crest. The effort had been too much. Over half of the men had been
killed or wounded and many others had turned to meet the flank attack
of the Vermont and New York regiments so that when the Pennsylvania
troops met them at last with the bayonet, the gray line wavered, broke,
and the North was saved.
All three of these great charges were brave, glorious failures. This is
the story of a charge, an almost forgotten charge, just as brave, just
as glorious, which succeeded, a charge in which one hundred and sixty
men and boys broke and routed a force of over two thousand entrenched
infantry and cavalry.
At the breaking out of the war, one of the most popular of the Union
commanders was John C. Fremont, the Pathfinder. He had opened up the
far West and had made known to the people the true greatness of the
country beyond the Mississippi. At the birth of the Republican or
Free-Soil Party, he was the first candidate. The country rang with a
campaign song sung to the tune of the Marseillaise, the chorus of which
was:
"March on, march on, ye braves,
And let your war cry be,
Free soil, free press, free votes, free men,
Fremont and victory."
He was one of the first generals appointed. Among those whom the
fascination of his romantic and adventurous life had attracted to his
side was a Hungarian refugee named Zagonyi. In his boyhood he had
fought in the desperate but unsuccessful war which Hungary made to free
herself from the Austrian yoke. He served in the Hungarian cavalry; and
in a desperate charge upon the Austrians, in which half the force were
killed, Zagonyi was wounded and captured and for two years was a
prisoner. He was finally released on condition that he leave his
country forever. As an experienced soldier, he was welcomed by General
Fremont and was authorized to raise a company to be known as Fremont's
Body-Guard. In a few days two full companies, composed mostly of very
young men, had been enrolled. A little later another company composed
entirely of Kentucky boys was included in the guards. They were all
magnificently mounted on picked horses and very handsomely uniformed.
Because of their outfit and name they soon excited the envy of the
other parts of the army who used to call them the "kid-glove brigade."
Although well-trained and enthusiastic, they had no active service
until October, 1861, when Zagonyi, who had been appointed their major,
was ordered to take one hundred and sixty of his men and explore the
country around Springfield, Missouri, through which the main army was
intending to advance. There were rumors that a Confederate force was
approaching to take possession of the city of Springfield and the
body-guard marched seventeen hours without stopping in order to occupy
this town before the enemy should arrive. As they came within two miles
of Springfield, however, they were met by a farmer who informed them
that the Confederates had beaten them in the race to Springfield and
were already in camp on a hill about half a mile west of the town.
Their rear was protected by a grove of trees and there was a deep brook
at the foot of the hill. The only way to approach them was through a
blind lane which ran into fences and ploughed fields. This was covered
by sharpshooters and infantry while four hundred Confederate horsemen
were posted on the flank of the main body of infantry which guarded the
top of the hill. Altogether the force numbered over two thousand men.
It seemed an absolutely hopeless undertaking for a little body of tired
boys to attack twenty times their own number. Zagonyi, however, had
been used to fighting against odds in his battles with the Austrians.
He hurriedly called his men together and announced to them that he did
not intend to go back without a fight after riding so far.
"If any of you men," he said, "are too tired or too weak, or too
afraid, go back now before it is too late. There is one thing about
it," he added grimly, "if there are any of us left when we are through
we won't hear much more about kid gloves."
Not a man stirred to go back. Zagonyi gathered them into open order and
drawing his sabre gave the word to start up the fatal lane. At first
there was no sight or sound of any enemy, but as the horses broke into
a run, there was a volley from the woods and a number of men swayed in
their saddles and sank to the ground. Down the steep, stony lane they
rushed in a solid column in spite of volley after volley which poured
into their ranks. Some leaped, others crashed through fences and across
the ploughed fields and jumped the brook and finally gained the shelter
of the foot of the hill. There was a constant whistle of bullets and
scream of minie balls over their heads. They stopped for a minute to
re-form, for nearly half the squad was down. Zagonyi detached thirty of
his best horsemen and instructed them to charge up the hill at the
Confederate cavalry which, four hundred strong, were posted along the
edge of the wood, and to hold them engaged so that the rest of the
force could make a front attack on the infantry. The rest of the troop
watched the little band gallop up the hillside and they were fully
half-way up before it dawned upon the Confederates that these thirty
men were really intending to attack a force over ten times their
number. As they swept up the last slope, the Confederate cavalry poured
a volley from their revolvers instead of getting the jump on them by a
down-hill charge.
Lieutenant Mathenyi, another Hungarian and an accomplished swordsman,
led the attack and cut his way through the first line of the
Confederate horsemen, closely followed by the score of men who had
managed to get up the hill. With their sabres flashing over their
heads, they disappeared in the gray cloud of Confederates which awaited
them. At that moment Zagonyi gave the word for the main charge and his
column opened out and rushed up the hill from all sides like a
whirlwind. Even as they breasted the slope they saw the solid mass of
Confederate cavalry open out and scatter in every direction while a
blue wedge of men cut clear through and turned back to sabre the
scattering Confederates. With a tremendous cheer, Zagonyi and the rest
of the band rushed on to the massed infantry.
They had time for only one volley when the young horsemen were among
them, cutting, thrusting, hacking and shooting with their revolvers. In
a minute the main body followed the example of the cavalry and broke
and scattered everywhere. Some of them, however, were real fighters;
they retreated into the woods and kept up a murderous fire from behind
trees. One young Union soldier dashed in after them to drive them out,
but was caught under the shoulders by a grape-vine and swept off his
horse and hung struggling in the air until rescued by his comrades.
Down into the village swarmed the fugitives with the guards close at
their heels. At a great barn just outside of the village a number of
them rallied and drove back the Kentucky squad which had been pursuing
them. This time Zagonyi himself dashed up, and shouting, "Come on, old
Kentuck, I'm with you," rushed at the group which stood in the doorway.
As he came on, a man sprang out from behind the door and leveled his
rifle at Zagonyi's head. The latter spurred his horse until he reared,
and swinging him around on his hind legs, cut his opponent clear
through the neck and shoulders with such tremendous force that the
blood spurted clear up to the top of the door.
Another hero of the fight was Sergeant Hunter, the drill-master of the
squad. It had always been an open question with the men as to whether
he or Major Zagonyi was the better swordsman. In this fight Hunter
killed five men with his sabre, one after the other, showing off fatal
tricks of fence against bayonet and sabre as coolly as if giving a
lesson, while several men fell before his revolver. His last encounter
was with a Southern lieutenant who had been flying by, but suddenly
turned and fought desperately. The sergeant had lost three horses and
was now mounted on his fourth, a riderless, unmanageable horse which he
had caught, and was somewhat at a disadvantage. In spite of this he
proceeded to give those of his squad who were near him a lecture on the
fine points of the sabre.
"Always parry in secant," said he, suiting his action to the word,
"because," he went on, slashing his opponent across the thigh, "a
regular fencer like this Confed is liable to leave himself open. It is
easy then to ride on two paces and catch him with a back-hand sweep,"
and at the words he dealt his opponent a last fatal blow across the
side of the head which toppled him out of his saddle.
A young Southern officer magnificently mounted refused to follow the
fugitives, but charged alone at the line of the guards. He passed clear
through without being touched, killing one man as he went. Instantly he
wheeled, charged back and again broke through, leaving another Union
cavalryman dead. A third time he cut his way clear up to Zagonyi's side
and suddenly dropping his sabre, placed a revolver against the major's
breast and fired. Zagonyi, however, was like lightning in his
movements. The instant he felt the pressure of the revolver he swerved
so that the bullet passed through his tunic, and shortening his sabre
he ran his opponent through the throat killing him before he had time
to shoot again.
Holding his dripping sabre in his hand, the major shouted an order to
his men to come together in the middle of the town. One of the first to
come back was his bugler, whom Zagonyi had ordered to sound a signal in
the fiercest part of the fight. The bugler had apparently paid no
attention to him, but darted off with Lieutenant Mathenyi's squad and
was seen pursuing the flying horsemen vigorously. When his men were
gathered together, Major Zagonyi ordered him to step out and said:
"In the middle of the battle you disobeyed my order to sound the
recall. It might have meant the loss of our whole company. You are not
worthy to be a member of this guard and I dismiss you."
The bugler was a little Frenchman and he nearly exploded with
indignation.
"No," he said, "me, you shall not dismiss," and he showed his bugle to
his major with the mouthpiece carried away by a stray bullet. "The
mouth was shoot off," he said. "I could not bugle wiz my bugle and so I
bugle wiz my pistol and sabre."
The major recalled the order of dismissal.
So ended one of the most desperate charges of the Civil War. One
hundred and forty-eight men had defeated twenty-two hundred, with the
loss of fifty-three killed and more than thirty wounded.