_Wanderungen eines alten Soldaten_, von WILHELM BARON VON RAHDEN,
ehemaligem Hauptmann in Koenigl. Preuss. und Konigl. Niederlaend.
Diensten, designirtem Capitain im Kaiserl. Russ. Generalstabe,
zuletzt Brigade-General im Genie-Corps der Spanisch-Carlistischen
Armee von Aragon und Valencia. Erster Theil. Befreiungs Kreig von
1813, 1814, and 1815. Berlin: 1846.
Military memoirs are a popular class of literature. If few non-military
men make them their chief study, still fewer do not upon occasion
willingly take them up and dip with pleasure into their animated pages.
The meekest and most pacific, those in whose composition no spark of the
belligerent and pugnacious is discernible, yet dwell with interest upon
the strivings, dangers, and exploits of more martial spirits. Even the
softer sex, whilst gracefully shuddering at the bloodshed and horrors of
war, will ofttimes seriously incline to read of the disastrous chances,
moving accidents, and hair-breadth 'scapes that checker a soldier's
career. The poetical and the picturesque of military life appeal to the
imagination, and act as counterpoise to the massacres and sufferings
that painfully shock the feelings. Amidst the wave and rustle of silken
banners, the glitter and clash of steel, the clang of the brazen
trumpet, and hurra of the flushed victor, the blood that buys the
triumph and soaks the turf vanishes or is overlooked; the moans of those
who die upon the field, linger in hospital, or pine in stern captivity,
are faintly heard, if not wholly drowned. The pomp and pageantry of war,
the high aspirations and heroic deeds of warriors, too often make us
forget the countless miseries the strife entails--the peaceful peasant's
ravaged homestead, the orphan's tears, the widow's desolation.
Although the public mind dwells upon military matters less in England
than in France and Germany, neither of these countries has, during the
thirty years' peace, been more prolific than our own in books of a
military character. We speak not of strategical works, but of the
pleasant and sometimes valuable narratives of individual adventure that
have flowed in abundance from the pens of soldiers of every class and
grade. Not a branch of the service, from the amphibious corps of the
marines to the aristocratic cohorts of the guards, but has paid tribute,
in many cases a most liberal one, to the fund of military literature.
The sergeant and the general, the lieutenant and the lieutenant-colonel,
the showy hussar and the ponderous dragoon, the active rifleman and the
stately grenadier--men of all ranks and arms--have, upon hanging up the
sabre, taken up the pen, and laboured more or less successfully to add
their mite to the stores of history and stock of entertainment. The
change from the excitement and bustle of active service to the monotony
and inertion of peacetime, is indeed great, and renders occupation
essential to stave off ennui. In ruder days than the present, the
dice-box and pottle-pot were almost sole resources. In the rare
intervals of repose afforded by a more stirring and warlike age, the
soldier knew no other remedies, against the _taedium vitae_ that assailed
him. When "wars were all over, and swords were all idle," "the veteran
grew crusty as he yawned in the hall," and he drank. Now it is
otherwise. Refinement has driven out debauchery, and the unoccupied
_militaire_, superior in breeding and education to his brother in arms
of a former century, often fills up his leisure by telling of the
battles, sieges, and fortunes he has passed; reciting them, not, like
Othello, verbally and to win a lady's favour, but in more permanent
black and white, for the instruction and amusement of his fellows.
Whilst paying a well-merited tribute to the talents of our English
military authors, we willingly acknowledge the claims of men, who,
although born in another clime, and speaking a different tongue, are
yet allied to us by blood, have fought under the same standard, and bled
in the same cause. One of these, a German officer who shared the
reverses and triumphs of the three eventful years, 1813 to 1815,
beginning at Lutzen and ending with Waterloo, has recently published a
volume of memoirs. It contains much of interest, and well deserves a
notice in our pages.
William Baron von Rahden is a native of Silesia. His father, an officer
in the Prussian service, was separated from his wife, after ten years'
wedlock, by one of those divorces so easily procurable in Germany, and
returned to Courland, his native country, leaving his children to their
mother's care. At the age of six years, William, the second son, was
adopted by a Silesian nobleman, a soldier by profession, who had served
under Frederick the Great, and who, although he had long left the
service, still retained in full force his military feelings and
characteristics. The apartments of his country house were hung with
portraits of his warlike ancestors; the officers of the neighbouring
garrison were his constant guests. Thus it is not surprising that young
Rahden's first associations and aspirations were all military, and that
he eagerly looked forward to the day when he should don the uniform and
signalise himself amongst his country's defenders. His wishes were early
gratified. When only ten years old, he was sent to the military school
at Kalisch.
The novitiate of a Prussian officer at the commencement of the present
century was a severe ordeal, the road to rank any thing but a flowery
path, and it was often with extreme unwillingness that the noble
families of South Prussia yielded their sons to the tender mercies of
the Kalisch college. The boys had frequently to be hunted out in the
forests, where, through terror of the drill or in obedience to their
parents, they had sought refuge, and when caught they were conducted in
troops to their destination. On reaching the Prosna, a little river near
Kalisch, they were stripped naked, their hair was cut close, and they
were then driven into the water, whence, after a thorough washing, they
emerged upon the opposite bank, there to be metamorphosed into Prussian
warriors. The same operation, with the exception of the bath in the
Prosna, was undergone by the willing recruits. Baron von Rahden gives a
humorous account of the equipment of these infant soldiers, and of his
own appearance in particular.
"The little lad of ten years old, broader than he was long, with his
closely cropped head, upon the hinder part of which a bunch of hair was
left, whereto to fasten a tail eight or ten inches long, and with a
stiff stock over which his red cheeks puffed out like cushions, was
altogether a most comical figure. The old uniform coats originally blue,
but now all faded and threadbare, with facings of a brick-dust colour
and great leaden buttons, never fitted the young bodies to which they
were allotted; they were always either too long and broad, or too narrow
and short. The same was the case with the other portions of the uniform,
which were handed down from one generation of cadets to another, without
reference to any thing but the number affixed to them. I got No. 24; I
was heir to some lanky long-legged urchin, into whose narrow garments I
had to squeeze my unwieldy figure. A yellow waistcoat of immoderate
length, short white breeches, fastened a great deal too tight below the
knee, grey woollen stockings and half-boots, composed the costume, which
was completed by a little three-cornered hat, pressed low down over the
eyes, with the view of imparting somewhat of the stern aspect of a
veteran corporal to the red and white face of the juvenile wearer."
Such was the clothing of Prussia's future defenders. Their fare was of
corresponding quality; abundant, but coarse in the extreme. The harsh
and unswerving enactments of the great Frederic had as yet been but
little amended. Moreover, by the system of military economy existing in
1804, both food and raiment were lawfully made a source of profit to the
captain of this company of cadets. The director of the establishment
Major Von Berg, was an excellent man, zealous for the improvement of his
pupils, and striving his utmost to instil into them a military spirit.
Under his superintendence strict discipline was maintained, and
instruction advanced apace.
The year 1806 brought the French into Prussia. Marshal Ney visited
Kalisch, and placed a score of cadets in the newly-formed Polish
regiments. In due time the others, as they were given to understand,
were to be similarly disposed of. Young Rahden wrote to his adopted
father, begging to be removed from the college, lest he should be made
to serve with the enemies of his country. But the old officer looked
further forward than the impatient boy; he knew that it was no time for
the youth of Prussia to abandon the military career; that the day would
come when their country would claim their services. His reply was
prompt, brief, and decided. "I will not take you home," he wrote; "for
then you will learn nothing. Be a Polish or a French cadet, I care not;
only become an honourable soldier, and all that is in my power will I do
for you. But do not come to me like our young officers from Jena; for if
you do, you will get neither bread nor water, but a full measure of
disgrace. Your faithful father, T." This letter made a strong impression
upon Von Rahden, and he nerved himself to endure what he now viewed as
inevitable. For another year he remained at Kalisch, until, in December
1807, news came of the approach of Prince Ferdinand of Pless, who had
thrown himself, with a few thousand men, between the French army, then
on its march to Poland, and the Bavarians and Wurtembergers under Jerome
Buonaparte. This intelligence caused universal alarm in the college of
Kalisch, now become French.
"On the broad road in front of our barracks, large bodies of Polish
boors, in coarse linen frocks, were drilled for the service of Napoleon
by officers in Prussian uniforms; certainly a singular mixture. At the
cry--'The Prussians are coming!' they all ran away, the officers the
very first, and this might have given me an inkling of the reasons and
motives of my father's severe letter. Under cover of the general
confusion, a Prussian artilleryman muffled me and six other Silesian
cadets in the linen frocks of the recruits, and hurried us off through
field and forest, over bog and sand, to the Prince of Pless, whom we
fell in with after thirty-six hours' wanderings. We were all weary to
death. Nevertheless, five of my companions were immediately placed
amongst the troops, who continued their route without delay; only myself
and a certain Von M----, still younger than me, were left behind, as
wholly unable to proceed. Of what passed during the next six weeks, I
have not the slightest recollection. I afterwards learned that I had
been seized with a violent nervous fever, the result of fatigue and
excitement, and that I was discovered by a Bavarian officer in a Jew
tavern near Medzibor, close to the frontier. The uniform beneath my
smock-frock, and a small pocket-book, told my name and profession, and
under a flag of truce I was sent into Breslaw, then besieged, to my
mother, whom I had not seen for seven years."
After two years passed in idleness, young Von Rahden was attached as
bombardier to the artillery at Glatz, and found himself under the
command of a certain Lieutenant Holsche, an officer of impetuous
bravery, but somewhat rough and hasty, and apt to show slight respect to
his superiors. At that time, 1809, the Duke of Brunswick was recruiting
at Nachod in Bohemia, within two German miles of Glatz, his famous black
corps, the death's-head and _memento mori_ men--the Corps of Revenge, as
it was popularly called in Germany. Numbers of Prussians, officers of
all arms, left their homes in Silesia, where they vegetated on a scanty
half-pay, to swell his battalions; and even from the garrison of Glatz
officers and soldiers daily deserted to him, eager to exchange inaction
for activity. Subsequently, many of these were tried and severely
punished for their infringement of discipline, and over-eagerness in the
cause of oppressed Germany, but the year 1813 again found them foremost
in the ranks of their country's defenders.
On a certain morning, subsequent to Von Rahden's arrival at Glatz, the
young artillery cadets were assembled on the parade-ground outside the
gates of the fortress, and went through their exercise with four light
guns, drawn, as was then the custom, by recruits instead of horses.
Holsche, who was also known as the "Straw-bonnet" commandant, from his
desperate defence of a detached work of the fort of Silberberg, which
bore that name, was present. Although usually free and jocose with his
subordinates, on that day he was grave and preoccupied, and twisted his
black mustache with a thoughtful air. It was an oppressive and stormy
morning, and distant thunder mingled with the sound of cannon, which the
wind brought over from Bohemia.
"By a succession of marches and flank movements, Holsche took us through
the river Neisse, which flowed at the extremity of the parade-ground,
and was then almost dry. We proceeded across the country, and finally
halted in a shady meadow. Here the word of command brought us round the
lieutenant, who addressed us in a suppressed voice:--'Children,' said
he, pointing towards Bohemia, 'yonder will I lead you; there you will be
received with open arms. There, horses, not men, draw the guns, and many
of you will be made sergeants and even officers. Will you follow me?' A
loud and unanimous hurra was the reply. For a quarter of an hour on we
went, over hedge and ditch, at a rapid pace. A heavy rain soaked the
earth and rendered it slippery, the wheels of the gun-carriages cut deep
into the ground, until we panted and nearly fell from our exertions to
get them along. Suddenly the word was given to halt. 'Boys,' cried the
lieutenant, 'many of you are heartily sick of this work; that I plainly
see. Listen, therefore! I will not have it said that I compelled or
over-persuaded any one. He who chooses may return, not to the town, but
home to his mother. You children, in particular,' he added, stepping up
to the first gun, to which five young lads, of whom I was the least,
were attached as bombardiers, 'you children _must_ remain behind.'
Against this decision we all protested. We would not go back, we
screamed at the top of our voices. Holsche seemed to reflect. After a
short pause, the tallest and stoutest fellow in the whole battery came
to the front, and in a voice broken by sobs, begged the lieutenant to
let him go home to his mother. 'Oho!' shouted Holsche, 'have I caught
you, you buttermilk hero? Boys!' he continued, addressing himself to all
of us, 'how could you believe that my first proposal was a serious one?
I only wished to ascertain how many cowards there were amongst you.
Thank God, there is but one! Help me to laugh at the fellow!' A triple
shout of laughter followed the command; then 'Right about' was the word,
and in an hour's time, weary and wet through, we were again in our
barracks."
The pluck and hardihood displayed on this occasion by the boy-bombardier
won the favour of Holsche, who took him into the society of the
officers, gave him private lessons in mathematics, and did all he could
to bring him forward in his profession. But, soon afterwards, Rahden's
destination was altered, and, instead of continuing in the artillery, he
was appointed to the second regiment of Silesian infantry, now the
eleventh of the Prussian line. In this regiment he made his first
campaigns, and served for nearly twenty years. In the course of the war
he frequently fell in with his friend Holsche, and we shall again hear
of that eccentric but gallant officer.
The year 1813 found Von Rahden, then nineteen years of age, holding a
commission as second lieutenant in the regiment above named, and
indulging in brilliant day-dreams, in which a general's epaulets, laurel
crowns, and crosses of honour, made a conspicuous figure. But a very
small share of these illusions was destined to realisation. For the
time, however, and until experience dissipated them, they served to
stimulate the young soldier to exertion, and to support him under
hardship and suffering. Such stimulus, however, was scarcely needed. The
hour was come for Germany to start from her long slumber of depression,
and to send forth her sons, even to the very last, to victory or death.
The disasters of the French in Russia served as signal for her uprising.
"The great events which the fiery sign in the heavens (the comet of
1811) was supposed to forerun, came to pass in the last months of the
following year. The French bulletin of the 5th December 1812, announced
the terrible fate of the Grande Armee, and removed the previously
existing doubt, whether it were possible to humble the invincible
Emperor and his presumptuous legions. It was a sad fate for veteran
soldiers, grown grey in the harness, to be frozen to death, or, numbed
and unable to use their weapons, to be defencelessly murdered. Such was
the lot of the French, and although they were then our bitterest foes,
to-day we may well wish that they had met a death more suitable to brave
men. At Malo-Jaroslawetz, at Krasnoi, and by the Beresina, whole
battalions of those frozen heroes were shot down, unable to resist. Do
the Russians still commemorate such triumphs? Hardly, one would fain
believe. No man of honour, in our sense of the word, would now command
such massacres; for only when our foes are in full possession of their
physical and moral strength, is victory glorious. But at that time I
lacked the five-and-thirty years' experience that has enabled me to
arrive at these conclusions; I was almost a child, and heartily did I
rejoice that the whole of the Grande Armee was captured, slain, or
frozen. The joy I felt was universal, if that may serve my excuse.
"Like some wasted and ghastly spectre, hung around with rags, its few
rescued eagles shrouded in crape, the remains of the great French army
recrossed the German frontier. Sympathy they could scarce expect in
Germany; pity they found, and friendly arms and fostering care received
the unfortunates. So great a mishap might well obliterate hostile
feelings; and truly, it is revolting to read, in the publications of the
time, that 'at N---- or B---- the patriotic inhabitants drove the French
from their doors, refusing them bread and all refreshment.' Then,
however, I rejoiced at such barbarity, which appeared to me quite
natural and right. One thing particularly astonished me; it was, that
amongst the thirty thousand fugitives, there were enough marshals,
generals, and staff-officers to supply the whole army before its
reverses. Either they had better horses to escape upon, or better cloaks
and furs to wrap themselves in; thus not very conscientiously fulfilling
the duty of every officer, which is to share, in all respects, the
dangers and fatigues of his subordinates."[48]
The hopes and desires of every Prussian were now concentrated on one
single object--the freedom of the Fatherland. Breslaw again became the
focus of the whole kingdom. From all sides thousands of volunteers
poured in, and the flower of Prussia's youth joyfully exchanged the
comforts and superfluities of home for the perils and privations of a
campaigner's life. Universities and schools were deserted; the last
remaining son buckled on hunting-knife and shouldered rifle and went
forth to the strife, whilst the tender mother and anxious father no
longer sought to restrain the ardour of the Benjamin of their home and
hearts. All were ready to sacrifice their best and dearest for their
country's liberation. Women became heroines; men stripped themselves of
their earthly wealth for the furtherance of the one great end. In
Breslaw the enthusiasm was at the hottest. In an idle hour, Von Rahden
had sauntered to the college, the Aula Leopoldina, and stood at an open
window listening to a lecture on anthropology, delivered by a young, but
already celebrated professor. Little enough of the learned discourse was
intelligible to the juvenile lieutenant, but still he listened, when
suddenly the stillness in the school was broken by the clang of wind
instruments.
The people shouted joyful hurras, casements were thrown open, and
thronged with women waving their handkerchiefs. Professor and scholars
hurried to the windows and into the street. What had happened? It was
soon known. A score of couriers, blowing furious blasts upon their small
post-horns, dashed through the town-gates, and the next instant a shout
of "War! War!" burst from ten thousand throats. The couriers brought
intelligence of the alliance just contracted at Kalisch between the
Emperor Alexander and the King of Prussia.
When the clamour and rejoicing amongst the students had a little
subsided, their teacher again addressed them. All were silent. Twisting
a small silver pencil-case between his thin fingers, he began as
follows: "My young friends! It would be difficult to resume the thread
of a lecture thus abruptly broken by the sound of the war-trumpet. At
this moment our country demands of us other things than a quiet abode in
the halls of study. I propose to you, therefore, that we all, without
exception, at once join the ranks of our country's defenders, and
henceforward wield the sword instead of the pen." This patriotic
proposal was received with joyous applause. Professor Steffens and
hundreds of his hearers left the lecture-room, exchanged the university
gown for the uniform, and from that day were the pith and marrow of the
black band of Lutzow. It is matter of history how Henry Steffens, at the
head of his wild Jaegers, greatly distinguished himself in the field, won
the Iron Cross, and by his animated eloquence and noble example, drew
thousands of brave defenders around the standard of German independence.
Thirty-two years later, at Berlin, Baron von Rahden followed his mortal
remains to their last resting-place.
Other examples of devotion, less known but not less touching, are cited
in the volume before us. When the King of Prussia's celebrated
proclamation "TO MY PEOPLE," had raised German enthusiasm to its highest
pitch, and the noble-hearted women of Silesia sent their jewels to the
public treasury, replacing them by iron ornaments, a young girl at
Breslaw, who had nothing of value to contribute, cut off the luxuriant
golden tresses that adorned her graceful head, and sold them, that she
might add her mite to the patriotic fund. The purchaser gave a high
price, but yet made an enormous profit; for no sooner was the story
known, than hundreds of those then arming for the fight flew to obtain a
golden hair-ring, to wear as a talisman in the battle-field. This
heroine, Baron von Rahden believes, was a Fraulein von Scheliha, a name
noted in the annals of Prussian patriotism. The three sons of a Herr von
Scheliha, officers in various regiments, fell in the campaign of 1813.
Their mother and only sister died of broken hearts, and the father,
bowed down under his grief, sold his estate and country-house, which now
only served to remind him of his losses. The King of Prussia sent him
the Iron Cross; and that and the sympathy of all who knew his sad
history, were the only remaining consolations of the bereaved old man. A
Silesian count, named Reichenbach, wrote to the King in the following
terms: "If it please your majesty to allow me, I will send five thousand
measures of corn and my draught oxen to the military stores for rations,
and my best horses to the ---- regiment of cavalry; I will equip all the
men on my estates capable of bearing arms, and they shall join the ----
regiment of infantry, and I will pay ten thousand thalers into the
military chest. For my three sons I crave admission into the army as
volunteers. And, finally, I humbly implore of your majesty that I
myself; who, although advanced in years, am strong and willing, may be
permitted to march by their side, to teach then to fight and, if needs
be, to die. Meanwhile, my wife and daughters shall remain at home to
prepare lint, sew bandages, and nurse the sick and wounded."
A Major Reichenbach commanded Von Rahden's battalion, and under his
guidance the young lieutenant first smelled powder. It was at Lutzen, a
bloody fight, and no bad initiation for an unfledged soldier. Although
modest and reserved when speaking of his own exploits, it is not
difficult to discern that on this, as on many subsequent occasions, the
baron bore himself right gallantly. At eleven o'clock the army of the
Allies stood in order of battle, Von Rahden's battalion, which formed
part of General Kleist's division, in the centre, and well to the front.
At a distance of six or eight hundred paces, the hostile masses moved to
and fro, alternately enveloped in clouds of dust, and disappearing
behind trees and houses. The fight began with artillery. "The first
round-shot whizzed close over the heads of the battalion, and buried
itself in the ground a few hundred paces in our rear. A second
immediately followed, carrying away a few bayonets and the drum-major's
cane. Each time the whole battalion, as if by word of command, bobbed
their heads, and the men pressed closer together. In front of us sat our
commandant, Count Reichenbach, reining in his splendid English roan,
which snorted and curveted with impatience. The count had not bowed his
head; he had made the Rhine campaigns, and a cannon-ball was nothing new
to him. He turned to the battalion, slapping his leg with his right
hand, whilst a comical twitching of his nose and at the corner of his
mouth betrayed his discontent. 'Men!' said he, 'balls that whistle do
not hit, so it is useless to fear them. Henceforward, let no one dare to
stoop.' Hardly had the words left his lips when a third shot passed
close over his head and dashed into the battalion. This time very few
made the respectful salutation which had occasioned the count's reproof,
but astonishment and horror were visible on every countenance when we
saw our dear comrades struck down by our side.
"After an hour's cannonade the infantry advanced. Skirmishers were
thrown out, and the musketry came into play; and truly, often as I have
been in action, such firing as at Lutzen I never since heard. From about
mid-day till nine at night, one uninterrupted roll; not even for a
moment were single shots to be distinguished. My old comrades will bear
witness to the truth of this.
"Our light company hastened forward as skirmishers, Lieutenant Merkatz
led them on, and, with waving sword and a joyful shout, rushed towards
the foe, full a hundred paces in front of his men. Soon the wounded
straggled, and were carried past us by dozens--amongst others Anselme,
captain of the company. A rifle-ball had shattered his right shoulder.
When I saw him, twenty-five years later, as a general, he still carried
his arm in a sling, fragments of bone frequently came away, and his
sufferings were very great. Such wounds as his no gold, or title, or
decorations can repay; in the consciousness of having done one's duty
the only compensation is to be found."
Von Rahden was soon called upon to replace a wounded officer, and he
hurried to the front. Before he reached the skirmishers, he met the dead
body of the young prince of Hesse-Homburg, who served as staff-officer
in the first regiment of Silesian infantry. He had entered action as he
would have gone to parade, in full dress, with a star upon his breast,
and wearing all the insignia of his rank. General Ziethen remonstrated
with him on the imprudence of thus rendering himself a conspicuous mark,
but he was deaf to the warning, and refused to take off his star.
"This," said he, "is the soldier's most glorious parade-ground." The
next moment a ball struck him, and he fell mortally wounded from his
horse.
We shall not follow Baron Von Rahden through the bloody day of Lutzen,
in the course of which he received a wound, not sufficiently severe,
however, to compel him to leave the field. Neither of that action, nor
of any subsequent one, does he give a general account, but professes
merely to relate what he himself saw. As a subaltern officer, his sphere
of observation was, of course, very limited. He recites his own
adventures and the proceedings of his battalion, or, at most, of the
division to which it was attached, and is careful to name those officers
who particularly distinguished themselves. He urges the surviving
veterans of those eventful campaigns to follow his example, and publish
their reminiscences, as a means of rescuing from unmerited oblivion the
names of many who especially signalised themselves whilst defending the
holy cause of German independence. It was a period prolific in heroes;
and if the manoeuvres and discipline of the Prussian army had been
more in proportion with the gallant spirit that animated the majority of
its members, doubtless the struggle would have been briefer. As it was,
the campaign of 1813 opened with a reverse which it was vainly
endeavoured to cloak by mendacious bulletins. "The nobly fought and
gloriously won action of Gross-Groeschen," said the official accounts of
the battle of Lutzen. But stubborn facts soon refuted the well-intended
but injudicious falsehoods, propounded to maintain the moral courage of
the nation. The French entered Dresden, driving out the rear-guard of
the retreating Allies, who, on the evening of the 12th of May,
established their camp, or rather their bivouac, for tents they had
none, near Bautzen, and fortified their position by intrenchments and
redoubts. On the 20th the fight began; 28,000 Prussians and 70,000
Russians, so says the baron, against 150,000 French. A large
disproportion; and, moreover, the troops of the Allies were not made the
most of by their commanders. General Kleist's corps, consisting of but
5000 men, was left from ten in the morning till late in the afternoon to
defend itself unassisted against over-powering numbers of the French.
And most gallant their defence was. They fought before the eyes of both
armies, on the heights of Burk, which served as a stage for the
exhibition of their courage, and of the calm skill of their commander.
Von Rahden records the fact, that the Emperor Alexander sent several
times to Kleist to express his praise and admiration; and that his last
message was, that he could kiss Kleist's feet (a thorough Russian
testimony of respect) for his splendid behaviour with the advanced
guard. At length large bodies of the French having moved up to support
the assailants, a reinforcement was sent to Kleist to cover his retreat.
It consisted of Von Rahden's battalion, which, on the retrograde
movement being commenced, was for some time completely isolated, and
bore the whole brunt of the fight. Orders were given to clear a
corn-field which afforded shelter to the enemy. Here is a spirited
description of the fight that ensued.
"I led the skirmishes of the first and second company. We entered the
field, and instantly found ourselves within fifteen or twenty paces of
the French marines, whom Napoleon had attached to the army, and whom we
recognised by the red lace on their shakos. We were so near each other,
that when our opponents fired I felt the heat of the burnt powder. The
battalion was about fifty paces behind us, but on rather higher ground.
It deployed into line, and fired a volley over our heads, which some of
the bullets missed by a trifle. A very unpleasant sensation and critical
moment; and many of my men showed an eagerness to get out of this double
fire, or at least to shelter themselves from it as much as possible. The
bugler tried to run; I caught him by the coat skirt, and ordered him to
sound the assembly, meaning to retire with my skirmishers to the right
flank of the battalion. He obeyed, clapped his bugle to his lips, and
began a quavering call. Suddenly the sounds ceased, and the bugler fell
backwards, spitting and sputtering with his mouth, stamping and striking
out with his feet and hands; then, jumping up, he ran off like a madman.
A bullet had entered the sound-hole of his bugle. At the same moment I
felt a hard rap on the right hip, and was knocked down. It was a
canister-shot; the blood poured out in streams, and, before I could join
the battalion, my boot was full of it. My comrades were hard at work;
after a few volleys, they kept up an incessant file-fire. They were
drawn up in line, only two deep, the third rank having been taken for
skirmishers. Luckily the enemy had no cavalry at hand, or it would have
been all up with us, for we should never have been able to form a
square. It was all that the officers and serrafiles could do to keep the
men in their places. The French infantry surrounded us on three sides,
but they kept behind the hedges, and amongst the high corn, and showed
no disposition to come to close quarters, when the bayonet and but-end
would have told their tale. On the other hand, from the adjacent heights
the artillery mowed us down with their canister. The fight lasted about
an hour; half a one more, and to a certainty we should all have been
annihilated or prisoners, for we were wholly unsupported. Sporschil and
other writers have said that Blucher sent General Kleist a reinforcement
of three thousand infantry. To that I reply that our battalion was at
most six hundred strong, and I did not see another infantry soldier in
the field. The other troops had retired far across the plain. Suddenly
the earth shook beneath our feet, and two magnificent divisions of
Russian cuirassiers charged to the rescue. The French infantry sought
the shelter of their adjacent battery, and we retreated wearily and
slowly towards our lines. The sun, which had shone brightly the whole
day, had already set when we reached a small village, and again extended
our skirmishers behind the walls and hedges. Once more the earth
trembled; and, with unusual rapidity for an orderly retreat, back came
the brilliant cuirassiers, with bloody heads, and in most awful
confusion. The French infantry and artillery had given them a rough
reception. A few hostile squadrons followed, and, as soon as the
Russians were out of the way, I opened fire with my skirmishers; but I
was ordered to cease, for the distance was too great, and it was mere
waste of ammunition."
Von Rahden's hurt was but a flesh wound, and did not prevent his sharing
in the next day's fight, and in the retreat which concluded it. He was
then obliged to go into hospital, and only on the last day of June
rejoined his regiment in cantonments between Strehlen and Breslaw. At
the latter town he visited his mother. She had mourned his death, of
which she had received a false account from a soldier of his regiment,
who had seen him struck down by a bullet at Lutzen, and had himself been
wounded and carried from the field before Von Rahden regained
consciousness and rejoined his corps.
The truce which, during the summer of 1813, afforded a brief repose to
the contending armies, was over, and the cause of the Allies
strengthened by the accession of Austria. Hostilities recommenced; and
on the 27th August we find our young lieutenant again distinguishing
himself, at the head of his sharpshooters, in the gardens of Dresden.
Several wet days, bad quarters, and short commons, had pulled down the
strength and lowered the spirits of the Allied troops. Exhausted and
discouraged, they showed little appetite for the bloody banquet to which
they were invited. Suddenly a hurra, but no very joyous one, ran through
the ranks. The soldiers had been ordered to utter it, in honour of the
Emperor Alexander and King of Prussia, who now, with their numerous and
brilliant staff, rode along the whole line of battle, doubtless with the
intention of raising the sunken spirits of the men. Close in front of
the baron's battalion the two monarchs halted; and there it was that
General Moreau was mortally wounded, at Alexander's side, by a French
cannon-shot. The following details of his death are from the work of a
well-known Russian military author, General
Michailefski-Danielefski:--"Moreau was close to the Emperor Alexander,
who stood beside an Austrian battery, against which the French kept up a
heavy fire. He requested the Russian sovereign to accompany him to
another eminence, whence a better view of the battle-field was
obtainable. 'Let your majesty trust to my experience,' said Moreau, and
turning his horse, he rode on, the emperor following. They had proceeded
but a few paces, when a cannon-ball smashed General Moreau's right foot,
passed completely through his horse, tore away his left calf, and
injured the knee. All present hurried to assist the wounded man. His
first words, on recovering consciousness, were--'I am dying; but how
sweet it is to die for the right cause, and under the eyes of so great a
monarch!' A litter was formed of Cossack lances; Moreau was laid upon
it, wrapped in his cloak, and carried to Koitz, the nearest village.
There he underwent, with the courage and firmness of a veteran soldier,
the amputation of both legs. The last bandage was being fastened, when
two round-shot struck the house, and knocked down a corner of the very
room in which he lay. He was conveyed to Laun, in Bohemia, and there
died, on the 2d of September. Such was the end of the hero of
Hohenlinden."
General Michailofski, it must be observed, has been accused by Sporschil
of stretching the truth a little, when by so doing he could pay a
compliment to his deceased master. The adulatory words which he puts
into Moreau's mouth, may therefore never have been uttered by that
unfortunate officer. Some little inexactitudes in the account above
quoted are corrected by Captain Von Rahden. Moreau's litter was composed
of muskets, and not of lances; he was taken to Raecknitz, and not to
Koitz; and so forth. Upon the 2d of September, Von Rahden and eighteen
other Prussian officers, stood beside the bed whereon Moreau had just
expired, and divided amongst them a black silk waistcoat that had been
worn by the deceased warrior. "I still treasure up my shred of silk,"
says the baron, "as a soldierly relic, and as I should a tatter of a
banner that had long waved honourably aloft, and at last tragically
fallen. In these days few care about such memorials, and a railway share
is deemed more valuable. Practically true; but horribly unpoetical!"
In 1813, one battle followed hard upon the heels of the other. It was a
war of giants, and small breathing-time was given. The echoes of the
fight had scarcely died away at Dresden, when they were reawakened in
the fertile vale of Toeplitz. The action of Kulm was a glorious one for
the Allies. On the first day, the 29th of August, the Russians, under
Ostermann Tolstoy, reaped the largest share of laurels; on the 30th,
Kleist and the Prussians nobly distinguished themselves. The latter,
after burning their baggage, made a forced march over the mountains, and
fell upon the enemy's rear on the afternoon of the second day's
engagement. Here Von Rahden was again opposed to his old and gallant
acquaintances the French marines, who, refusing to retreat, were
completely exterminated. The action over, his battalion took up a
position near Arbesau, with their front towards Kulm. On the opposite
side of the road a Hungarian regiment was drawn up.
"The sun had set, and distant objects grew indistinct in the twilight,
when we suddenly saw large masses of troops approach us. These were the
French prisoners, numbering, it was said, eight or ten thousand. First
came General Vandamme, on horseback, his head bound round with a white
cloth: a Cossack's lance had grazed his forehead. Close behind him were
several generals, (Haxo and Guyot;) and then, at a short interval, came
twenty or thirty colonels and staff-officers. On the right of these
marched an old iron-grey colonel, with two heavy silver epaulets
projecting forwards from under his light-blue great-coat, the cross of
the Legion of Honour on his breast, a huge chain with a bunch of gold
seals and keys dangling from his fob. He had been captured by very
forbearing foes, and he strode proudly and confidently along. He was
about ten paces from the head of our battalion, which was drawn up in
column of sections, when suddenly three or four of our Hungarian
neighbours leaped the ditch, and one of them, with the speed of light,
snatched watch and seals from the French colonel's pocket. Captain Von
Korth, who commanded our No. 1 company, observed this, sprang forward,
knocked the blue-breeched Hungarians right and left, took the watch from
them, and restored it to its owner. The latter, with the ease of a
thorough Frenchman, offered it, with a few obliging words, to Captain
Von Korth, who refused it by a decided gesture, and hastened back to his
company. All this occurred whilst the French prisoners marched slowly
by, and the captain had not passed the battalion more than ten or
fifteen paces, when he turned about, and with the cry of "_Vive le brave
capitaine Prussien!_" threw chain and seals into the middle of our
company. The watch he had detached and put in his pocket. Von Korth
offered ten and even fifteen _louis d'ors_ for the trinkets, but could
never discover who had got them; whoever it was, he perhaps feared to be
compelled to restore them without indemnification."
"The Emperor Alexander received Vandamme, when that general was brought
before him as prisoner, with great coolness, but nevertheless promised
to render his captivity as light as possible. Notwithstanding that
assurance, Vandamme was sent to Siberia. On his way thither, the proud
and unfeeling man encountered many a hard word and cruel taunt, the
which I do not mean to justify, although he had richly earned them by
his numerous acts of injustice and oppression. In the spring of 1807,
he had had his headquarters in the pretty little town of Frankenstein in
Silesia, and, amongst various other extortions, had compelled the
authorities to supply him with whole sackfuls of the delicious red
filberts which grow in that neighbourhood. When, upon his way to the
frozen steppes, he chanced to halt for a night in this same town of
Frankenstein, the magistrates sent him a huge sack of his favourite
nuts, with a most submissive message, to the effect that they well
remembered his Excellency's partiality to filberts, and that they begged
leave to offer him a supply, in hopes that the cracking of them might
beguile the time, and occupy his leisure in Siberia."
At Kulm the captain of Von Rahden's company was slain. He had ridden up
to a French column, taking it, as was supposed, for a Russian one, and
was killed by three of the enemy's officers before he found out his
mistake. Each wound was mortal; one of his assailants shot him in the
breast, another drove his sword through his body, and the third nearly
severed his head from his shoulders with a sabre-cut. The day after the
battle, before sunrise, Von Rahden awakened a non-commissioned officer
and three men, and went to seek and bury the corpse. It was already
stripped of every thing but the shirt and uniform coat; they dug a
shallow grave under a pear-tree, and interred it. The mournful task was
just completed when a peasant came by. Von Rahden called him, showed him
the captain's grave, and asked if he might rely upon its not being
ploughed up. "Herr Preusse," was the answer, "I promise you that it
shall not; for the ground is mine, and beneath this tree your captain
shall rest undisturbed." The promise was faithfully kept. In August
1845, the baron revisited the spot. The tree still stood, and the
soldier's humble grave had been respected.
Whilst wandering over the field of battle, followed by Zaenker, his
sergeant, Von Rahden heard a suppressed moaning, and found amongst the
brushwood, close to the bank of a little rivulet, a sorely wounded
French soldier. The unfortunate fellow had been hit in three or four
places. One ball had entered behind his eyes, which projected, bloody
and swollen, from their sockets, another had shattered his right hand,
and a third had broken the bones of the leg. He could neither see, nor
move, nor die; he lay in the broad glare of the sun, parched with
thirst, listening to the ripple of the stream, which he was unable to
reach. In heart-rending tones he implored a drink of water.
Six-and-thirty hours had he lain there, he said, suffering agonies from
heat, and thirst, and wounds. "In an instant Zaenker threw down his
knapsack, filled his canteen, and handed it to the unhappy Frenchman,
who drank as if he would never leave off. When at last satisfied, he
said very calmly, 'Stop, friend! one more favour; blow my brains out!' I
looked at Zaenker, and made a sign with my hand, as much as to say, 'Is
your gun loaded?' Zaenker drew his ramrod, ran it into the barrel quite
noiselessly, so that the wounded man might not hear, and nodded his head
affirmatively. Without a word, I pointed to a thicket about twenty paces
off, giving him to understand that he was not to fire till I had reached
it, and, hurrying away, I left him alone with the Frenchman. Ten minutes
passed without a report, and then, on turning a corner of the wood, I
came face to face with Zaenker. 'I can't do it, lieutenant,' said he.
'Thrice I levelled my rifle, but could not pull the trigger.' He had
left the poor French sergeant-major--such four gold chevrons on his
coat-sleeve denoted him to be--a canteen full of water, had arranged a
few boughs above his head to shield him from the sun, and as soon as we
reached the camp, he hastened to the field hospital to point out the
spot where the wounded man lay, and procure surgical assistance."
The battle of Kulm was lost by the French through the negligence of
Vandamme, who omitted to occupy the defiles in his rear--an
extraordinary blunder, for which a far younger soldier might well be
blamed. The triumph was complete, and, in conjunction with those at the
Katzbach and Gross-Beeren, greatly raised the spirits of the Allies. At
Kulm, the French fought, as usual, most gallantly, but for once they
were outmanoeuvred. A brilliant exploit of three or four hundred
chasseurs, belonging to Corbineau's light cavalry division, is worthy
of mention. Sabre in hand, they cut their way completely through
Kleist's corps, and did immense injury to the Allies, especially to the
artillery. Of themselves, few, if any, escaped alive. "Not only," says
Baron Von Rahden, "did they ride down several battalions at the lower
end of the defile, and cut to pieces and scatter to the winds the staff
and escort of the general, which were halted upon the road, but they
totally annihilated our artillery for the time, inasmuch as they threw
the guns into the ditches, and killed nearly all the men and horses. By
this example one sees what resolute men on horseback, with good swords
in their hands, and bold hearts in their bosoms, are able to
accomplish." In a letter of Prince Augustus of Prussia, we find that
"the artillery suffered so great a loss at Kulm, that there are still
(this was written in the middle of September, fifteen days after the
action) eighteen officers, eighty non-commissioned officers, one hundred
and twenty-six bombardiers, seven hundred and eighteen gunners, besides
bandsmen and surgeons, wanting to complete the strength." In both days'
fight the present King of the Belgians greatly distinguished himself. He
was then in the Russian service, and, on the 29th, fought bravely at the
head of his cavalry division. On the 30th, the Emperor Alexander sent
him to bring up the Austrian cavalry reserves, and the judgment with
which he performed this duty was productive of the happiest results.
The Russian guards fought nobly at Kulm, and held the valley of Toeplitz
one whole day against four times their numbers. To reward their valour,
the King of Prussia gave them the Kulm Cross, as it was called, which
was composed of black shining leather with a framework of silver. The
Prussians were greatly annoyed at its close resemblance to the first and
best class of the Iron Cross, which order had been instituted a few
months previously, and was sparingly bestowed, for instances of
extraordinary personal daring, upon those only who fought under Prussian
colours. It was of iron with a silver setting, and could scarcely be
distinguished from the Kulm cross. "Many thousands of us Prussians,"
says the Baron, "fought for years, poured out our blood, and threw away
our lives, in vain strivings after a distinction which the Muscovite
earned in a few hours. For who would notice whether it was leather or
iron? The colour and form were the same, and only the initiated knew the
difference, which was but nominal. In the severe winter of 1829-30, when
travelling in a Russian sledge and through a thorough Russian
snow-storm, along the shores of the Peipus lake, I passed a company of
soldiers wrapped in their grey coats. On the right of the company were
ten or twelve Knights of the Iron Cross, as it appeared to me, and of
the first class of that order. This astonished me so much the more, that
in Prussia it was an unheard-of thing for more than one or two private
soldiers in a regiment to achieve this high distinction. I started up,
and rubbed my eyes, and thought I dreamed. At Dorpat I was informed that
several hundred men from the Semenofskoi regiment of guards, (the heroes
of Kulm,) had been drafted into the provincial militia as a punishment
for having shared in a revolt at St Petersburg."
On the 14th of October occurred the battle of cavalry in the plains
between Gueldengossa, Groebern, and Liebertwolkwitz, where the Allied
horse, fifteen thousand strong, encountered ten to twelve thousand
French dragoons, led by the King of Naples, who once, during that day,
nearly fell into the hands of his foes. The incident is narrated by Von
Schoening in his history of the third Prussian regiment of dragoons, then
known as the Neumark dragoons. "It was about two hours after daybreak;
the regiment had made several successful charges, and at last obtained a
moment's breathing-time. The dust had somewhat subsided; the French
cavalry stood motionless, only their general, followed by his staff,
rode, encouraging the men, as it seemed, along the foremost line, just
opposite to the Neumark dragoons. Suddenly a young lieutenant, Guido von
Lippe by name, who thought he recognised Murat in the enemy's leader,
galloped up to the colonel. 'I must and will take him!' cried he; and,
without waiting for a Yes or a No, dashed forward at the top of his
horse's speed, followed by a few dragoons who had been detached from the
ranks as skirmishers. At the same time the colonel ordered the charge to
be sounded. A most brilliant charge it was, but nothing more was seen of
Von Lippe and his companions. Two days afterwards, his corpse was found
by his servant, who recognised it amongst a heap of dead by the scars of
the yet scarcely healed wounds received at Lutzen. A sabre-cut and a
thrust through the body had destroyed life." An interesting confirmation
of this story may be read in Von Odeleben's "Campaign of Napoleon in
Saxony in the year 1813," p. 328. "He (Murat) accompanied by a very
small retinue, so greatly exposed himself, that at last one of the
enemy's squadrons, recognising him by his striking dress, and by the
staff that surrounded him, regularly gave him chase. One officer in
particular made a furious dash at the king, who, by the sudden facing
about of his escort, found himself the last man, a little in the rear,
and with only one horseman by his side. In the dazzling anticipation of
a royal prisoner, the eager pursuer called to him several times, 'Halt,
King, halt!' At that moment a crown was at stake. The officer had
already received a sabre-cut from Murat's solitary attendant, and as he
did not regard it, but still pressed forward, the latter ran him through
the body. He fell dead from his saddle, and the next day his horse was
mounted by the king's faithful defender, from whose lips I received
these details. Their truth has been confirmed to me from other sources.
Murat made his rescuer his equerry, and promised him a pension. The
Emperor gave him the cross of the legion of honour."
The second Silesian regiment suffered terribly at the great battle of
Leipzig. Von Rahden's battalion, in particular, was reduced at the close
of the last day's fight to one hundred and twenty effective men,
commanded by a lieutenant, the only unwounded officer. Kleist's
division, of which it formed part, had sustained severe losses in every
action since the truce, and after Leipzig it was found to have melted
down to one-third of its original strength. Disease also broke out in
its ranks. To check this, to recruit the numbers, and repose the men,
the division was sent into quarters. Von Rahden's regiment went to the
duchy of Meiningen, and his battalion was quartered in the town of that
name. The friendly and hospitable reception here given to the victors of
Kulm and Leipzig was well calculated to make them forget past hardships
and sufferings. The widowed Duchess of Meiningen gave frequent balls and
entertainments, to which officers of all grades found ready admittance.
The reigning duke was then a boy; his two sisters, charming young women,
were most gracious and condescending. In those warlike days, the
laurel-wreath was as good a crown as any other, and raised even the
humble subaltern to the society of princes.
"It chanced one evening," says the Baron, "that our major, Count
Reichenbach, stood up to dance a quadrille with the Princess Adelaide of
Meiningen. His toilet was not well suited to the ball-room; his boots
were heavy, the floor was slippery, and he several times tripped. At
last he fairly fell, dragging his partner with him. His right arm was in
a sling, and useless from wounds received at Lutzen, and some short time
elapsed before the princess was raised from her recumbent position by
the ladies and gentlemen of the court, and conducted into an adjoining
apartment. With rueful countenance, and twisting his red mustache from
vexation, Count Reichenbach tried to lose himself in the crowd, and to
escape the annoyance of being stared at and pointed out as the man who
had thrown down the beautiful young princess. It was easy to see that he
would rather have stormed a dozen hostile batteries than have made so
unlucky a _debut_ in the royal ball-room. In a short quarter of an hour,
however, when the fuss caused by the accident had nearly subsided, the
princess reappeared, looking more charming than ever, and sought about
until she discovered poor Count Reichenbach, who had got into a corner
near the stove. With the most captivating grace, she invited him to
return to the dance, saying, loud enough for all around to hear, 'that
she honoured a brave Prussian soldier whose breast was adorned with the
Iron Cross, and whose badly-wounded arm had not prevented his fighting
the fight of liberation at Leipzig, and that with all her heart she
would begin the dance again with him.' The Count's triumph was complete;
the court prudes and parasites, who a moment before had looked down upon
him from the height of their compassion, now rivalled each other in
amiability. With a well-pleased smile the Count stroked his great beard,
led the princess to the quadrille, and danced it in first-rate style."
The reader will have recognised our excellent Queen Dowager in the
heroine of the charming trait which an old soldier thus bluntly
narrates. The kind heart and patriotic spirit of the German Princess
were good presage of the benevolence and many virtues of the English
Queen. "When, in May 1836," continues Captain Von Rahden, "I was
presented, as captain in the Dutch service, to the Princess Adelaide,
then Queen of England, at St James's Palace, her majesty perfectly
remembered the incident I have here narrated to my readers. To her
inquiries after Count Reichenbach, I unfortunately had to reply that he
was long since dead."
In January 1814, the Baron's regiment left Meiningen, crossed the Rhine,
joined the great Silesian army under old Blucher, and began the campaign
in France. The actions of Montmirail, Mery sur Seine, La Ferte sous
Jouarre, and various other encounters, followed in rapid succession.
Hard knocks for the Allies, many of them. But all Napoleon's brilliant
generalship was in vain; equally in vain did his young troops emulate
the deeds of those iron veterans whose bones lay bleaching on the
Beresina's banks, and in the passes of the Sierra Morena. The month of
February was passed in constant fighting, and was perhaps the most
interesting period of the campaigns of 1813-14. On the 13th, the
Prussian advanced guard, Ziethen's division, was attacked by superior
numbers and completely beaten at Montmirail. Von Rahden's battalion was
one of those which had to cover the retreat of the routed troops, and
check the advance of the exulting enemy. Retiring slowly and in good
order, the rearmost of the whole army, it reached the village of Etoges,
when it was assailed by a prodigious mass of French cavalry. But the
horsemen could make no impression on the steady ranks of Count
Reichenbach's infantry.
"Here the hostile dragoons, formed in columns of squadrons and
regiments, charged us at least twelve or fifteen times, always without
success. Each time Count Reichenbach let them approach to within fifty
or sixty paces, then ordered a halt, formed square, and opened a heavy
and well-sustained fire, which quickly drove back the enemy. As soon as
they retired, I and my skirmishers sprang forward, and peppered them
till they again came to the charge, when we hurried back to the
battalion. Count Reichenbach himself never entered the square, but
during the charges took his station on the left flank, which could not
fire, because it faced the road along which our artillery marched. Our
gallant commander gave his orders with the same calm coolness and
precision as on the parade ground. His voice and our volleys were the
only sounds heard, and truly that was one of the most glorious
afternoons of Count Reichenbach's life. Our western neighbours love to
celebrate the deeds of their warriors by paint-brush and graver; our
heroes are forgotten, but for the occasional written reminiscences of
some old soldier, witness of their valiant deeds. And truly, if Horace
Vernet has handed Colonel Changarnier down to posterity for standing
_inside_ his square whilst it received the furious but disorderly charge
of semi-barbarous horse, he might, methinks, and every soldier and true
Prussian will share my opinion, find a far worthier subject for his
pencil in Count Reichenbach, awaiting _outside_ his square the
formidable attacks of six thousand French cavalrymen.
"It became quite dark, and the enemy ceased to charge. Pity it was! for
such was the steadiness and discipline of our men, that the defence went
on like some well-regulated machine, and might have been continued for
hours longer, or till our last cartridge was burnt. The count seemed
unusually well pleased. Twirling his mustache with a satisfied chuckle,
he offered several officers and soldiers a dram from a little flask
which he habitually carried in his holster, and turned to me with the
words, 'Well done, my dear Rahden, bravo!' On hearing this praise, short
and simple as it was, I could have embraced my noble commander for joy,
and with feelings in my heart which only such men as Reichenbach know
how to awaken, I resumed my place on the right of the battalion, which
now marched away."
Gradually the Allies approached Paris. On the 28th March, at the village
of Claye, only five leagues from the capital, Kleist's division came to
blows with the French troops under General Compan, who had marched out
to meet them. As usual, Von Rahden was with the skirmishers, as was also
another lieutenant of his battalion, a Pole of gigantic frame and
extraordinary strength, who here met his death. He was rushing forward
at the head of his men, when a four-pound shot struck him in the breast.
It went through his body, passing very near the heart, but, strange to
say, without causing instant death. For most men, half an ounce of lead
in the breast is an instant quietus; but so prodigious was the strength
and vitality of this Pole, that he lingered, the baron assures us, full
six-and-thirty hours.
"We now followed up the French infantry, which hastily retreated to a
farm-yard surrounded by lofty linden and chestnut trees, and situated on
a small vine-covered hill. When half-way up the eminence, we saw, upon
the open space beneath the trees, several companies of the enemy in full
parade uniform, with bearskin caps, large red epaulets upon their
shoulders, and white breeches, form themselves into a sort of phalanx,
which only replied to our fire by single shots. Presently even these
ceased. Scheliha and myself immediately ordered our men to leave off
firing; and Scheliha, who spoke French very intelligibly, advanced to
within thirty paces of the enemy and summoned them to lay down their
arms, supposing that they intended to yield themselves prisoners. They
made no reply, but stood firm as a wall. Scheliha repeated his summons:
a shot was fired at him. This served as a signal to our impatient
followers, who opened a murderous fire upon the dense mass before them.
We tried a third time to get the brave Frenchmen to yield; others of our
battalions had come up, and they were completely cut off; but the sole
reply we received was a sort of negative murmur, and some of them even
threatened us with their muskets. Within ten minutes they all lay dead
or wounded upon the ground; for our men were deaf alike to commands and
entreaties, and to the voice of mercy. Most painful was it to us
officers to look on at such a butchery, impotent to prevent it." It
afterwards appeared that these French grenadiers, who belonged to the
_Jeune Garde_, had left Paris that morning. By some mismanagement their
stock of ammunition was insufficient, and having expended it, they
preferred death, with arms in their hands, to captivity.
At eight o'clock on the thirtieth, Kleist's and York's corps, now
united, passed the Ourcq canal, and marched along the Pantin road
towards Paris. Upon that morning they saw old Blucher for the first time
for more than a month. He seemed on the brink of the grave, and wore a
woman's bonnet of green silk to protect his eyes, which were dangerously
inflamed. He was on horseback, but was soon obliged to return to his
travelling carriage in rear of the army, and to give up the command to
Barclay de Tolly. "Luckily," says the baron, "the troops knew nothing of
the substitution." Although it would probably hardly have mattered much,
for there was little more work to do. For that year this was the last
day's fight. After some flank movement which took up several hours, the
allied infantry attacked the village of La Villette, but were repulsed
by the artillery from the adjacent barrier. The brigade batteries
loitered in the rear, and Prince Augustus, vexed at their absence, sent
an aide-de-camp to bring them up. One of them was commanded by
Lieutenant Holsche, Von Rahden's former instructor at the artillery
school, of whom we have already related an anecdote. Although an
undoubtedly brave and circumspect officer, on this occasion he remained
too far behind the infantry; and Captain Decker,[49] who was dispatched
to fetch him, was not sorry to be the medium of conveying the Prince's
sharp message, the less so as he had observed a certain nonchalance and
want of deference in the artillery lieutenant's manner of receiving the
orders of his superiors. At a later period, Baron Von Rahden heard from
Decker himself the following characteristic account of his reception by
the gallant but eccentric Holsche.
"I came up to the battery," said Decker, "at full gallop. The men were
dismounted, and their officer stood chatting with his comrades beside a
newly-made fire. 'Lieutenant Holsche,' said I, rather sharply, 'his
Royal Highness is exceedingly astonished that you remain idle here, and
has directed me to command you instantly to advance your battery against
the enemy.'
"'Indeed?' was Holsche's quiet reply, 'his Royal Highness is
astonished!' and then, turning to his men with the same calmness of tone
and manner, 'Stand to your horses! Mount! Battery, march!'
"I thought the pace commanded was not quick enough, and in the same loud
and imperious voice as before, I observed to Lieutenant Holsche that he
would not be up in time; he had better move faster. 'Indeed! not quick
enough?' quietly answered Holsche, and gave the word, 'March, march!' We
now soon got over the ground and within the enemy's fire, and,
considering my duty at an end, I pointed out to the Lieutenant the
direction he should take, and whereabouts he should post his battery.
But Holsche begged me in the most friendly manner to go on and show him
exactly where he should halt. I naturally enough complied with his
request. The nearer we got to the French, the faster became the pace,
until at last we were in front of our most advanced battalions. The
bullets whizzed about us on all sides; I once more made a move to turn
back, and told Holsche he might stop where he was. With the same
careless air as before, he repeated his request that I would remain, in
order to be able to tell his Royal Highness where Lieutenant Holsche and
his battery had halted! What could I do? It was any thing but pleasant
to share so great a danger, without either necessity or profit; and
certainly I might very well have turned back, but Holsche, by whose side
I galloped, fixed his large dark eyes upon my countenance, as though he
would have read my very soul. We were close to our own skirmishers; on
we went, right through them, into the middle of the enemy's riflemen,
who, quite surprised at being charged by a battery, retired in all
haste. It really seemed as if the artillery was going over to the enemy.
At two hundred paces from the French columns, however, Holsche halted,
unlimbered, and gave two discharges from the whole battery, with such
beautiful precision and astounding effect, that he sent the hostile
squadrons and battalions to the right about, and even silenced some of
the heavy guns within the barriers. That done he returned to me, and
begged me to inform the Prince where I had left Lieutenant Holsche and
his battery. 'Perhaps,' added he, 'his Royal Highness will again find
occasion to be astonished; and I shall be very glad of it.' And truly
the Prince and all of us _were_ astonished at this gallant exploit; it
had been achieved in sight of the whole army, and had produced a
glorious and most desirable result."
For this feat Holsche was rewarded with the Iron Cross of the first
class. He had already at Leipzig gained that of the second, and on
receiving it his ambition immediately aspired to the higher decoration.
Many a time had he been heard to vow, that if he obtained it, he would
have a cross as large as his hand manufactured by the farrier of his
battery, and wear it upon his breast. To this he pledged his word. The
manner in which he kept it is thus related by his old friend and pupil.
"We were on our march from Paris to Amiens, when we were informed, one
beautiful morning, that our brigade battery, under Lieutenant Holsche,
was in cantonments in the next village. The music at our head, we
marched through the place in parade time, and paid Holsche military
honours as ex-commandant of the Straw-bonnet, which title he still
retained. Intimate acquaintance and sincere respect might well excuse
this little deviation from the regulations of the service. Our hautboys
blew a favourite march, to which Holsche himself had once in Glatz
written words, beginning:--
'Natz, Natz, Annemarie,
Da kommt die Glaetzer Infanterie.'
In his blue military frock, with forage cap and sword, Holsche stood
upon a small raised patch of turf in front of his quarters, gravely
saluting in acknowledgment of the honours paid him, which he received
with as proud a bearing as if he was legitimately entitled to them. This
did not surprise us, knowing him as we did, but not a little were we
astonished when we saw an Iron Cross of the first class, as large as a
plate, fastened upon his left breast. The orders for the battle of Paris
and the other recent fights in France had just been distributed; Holsche
was amongst the decorated, and the jovial artilleryman took this
opportunity to fulfil his oft-repeated vow. Only a few hours before our
arrival he had had the cross manufactured by his farrier."
This dashing but wrong-headed officer soon afterwards became a captain,
and subsequently major, but his extravagances, and especially his
addiction to wine, got him into frequent trouble, until at last he was
put upon the retired list as lieutenant-colonel, and died at Schweidnitz
in Silesia.
At six in the evening of the 30th March, the last fight of the campaign
was over, and aides-de-camp galloped hither and thither, announcing the
capitulation of Paris. Right pleasant were such sounds to the ears of
the war-worn soldiers. Infantry grounded their arms, dragoons
dismounted, artillerymen leaned idly against their pieces; Langeron
alone, who had begun the storm of Montmartre, would not desist from his
undertaking. Officers rode after him, waving their white handkerchiefs
as a signal to cease firing, but without effect. The Russians stormed
on; and if Langeron attained his end with comparatively small loss, the
enemy being already in retreat, there were nevertheless four or five
hundred men sacrificed to his ambition, and that he might have it to say
that he and his Russians carried Montmartre by storm. Whilst the rest of
the troops waited till he had attained his end, and congratulated each
other on the termination of the hardships and privations of the
preceding three months, a Russian bomb-carriage took fire, the drivers
left it, and its six powerful horses, scorched and terrified by the
explosion of the projectiles, ran madly about the field, dragging at
their heels this artificial volcano. The battalions which they
approached scared them away by shouts, until the unlucky beasts knew not
which way to turn. At last, the shells and grenades being all burnt out,
the horses stood still, and, strange to say, not one of them had
received the slightest injury.
Terrible was the disappointment of Kleist's and York's divisions, when
they learned on the morning subsequent to the capitulation that they
were not to enter Paris; but, after four-and-twenty hours' repose in the
faubourg Montmartre, where they had passed the previous night, were to
march from the capital into country quarters. Their motley and
weather-beaten aspect was the motive of this order--a heart-breaking one
for the brave officers and soldiers who had borne the heat and burden of
the day during a severe and bloody campaign, and now found themselves
excluded on the earthly paradise of their hopes. They had fought and
suffered more than the Prussian and Russian guards; but the latter were
smart and richly uniformed, whilst the poor fellows of the line had
rubbed off and besmirched in many a hard encounter and rainy bivouac
what little gilding they ever possessed. So long as fighting was the
order of the day, they were in request; but it was now the turn of
parades, and on these they would cut but a sorry figure. So "right
about" was the word, and Amiens the route. A second day's respite was
allowed them, however; and although they were strictly confined to their
quarters, lest they should shock the sensitiveness of the Parisian
_bourgeoisie_ by their ragged breeks, long beards, and diversity of
equipment, some of the officers obtained leave to go into Paris. Von
Rahden was amongst these, and, after a dinner at Very's, where his
Silesian simplicity and campaigning appetite were rather astonished by
the exiguity of the _plats_ placed before him, whereof he managed to
consume some five-and-twenty, after admiring the wonders of the Palace
Royal, and the rich uniforms of almost every nation with which the
streets were crowded, he betook himself to the Place Vendome to gaze at
the fallen conqueror's triumphant column. It was surrounded by a mob of
fickle Parisians, eager to cast down from its high estate the idol they
so recently had worshipped. One daredevil fellow climbed upon the
Emperor's shoulders, slung a cord round his neck, dragged up a great
ship's cable and twisted it several times about the statue. The rabble
seized the other end of the rope, and with cries of "_a bas ce
canaille!_" tugged furiously at it. Their efforts were unavailing,
Napoleon stood firm, until the Allied sovereigns, who, from the window
of an adjacent house, beheld this disgraceful riot, sent a company of
Russian grenadiers to disperse the mob. The masses gave way before the
bayonet, but not till the same man who had fastened the rope, again
climbed up, and with a white cloth shrouded the statue of the once
adored Emperor from the eyes of his faithless subjects. It is well known
that, a few weeks later, the figure was taken down by order of the
Emperor Alexander, who carried it away as his sole trophy, and gave it a
place in the winter palace at St Petersburg. When Louis XVIII. returned
to Paris, a broad white banner, embroidered with three golden lilies,
waved from the summit of the column; but this in its turn was displaced,
by the strong south wind that blew from Elba in March 1815, when
Napoleon re-entered his capital. A municipal deputation waited upon him
to know what he would please to have placed on the top of the triumphant
column. "A weathercock" was the little corporal's sarcastic reply. Since
that day, the lilies and the tricolor have again alternated on the
magnificent column, until the only thing that ought to surmount it, the
statue of the most extraordinary man of modern, perhaps of any, times,
has resumed its proud position, and once more overlooks the capital
which he did so much to improve and embellish.
"I now wandered to the operahouse," says the baron, "to hear Spontini's
_Vestale_. The enormous theatre was full to suffocation; in every box
the Allied uniforms glittered, arms flashed in the bright light, police
spies loitered and listened, beautiful women waved their kerchiefs and
joined in the storm of applause, as if that day had been a most glorious
and triumphant one for France. The consul Licinius, represented, if I
remember aright, by the celebrated St Priest, was continually
interrupted in his songs, and called upon for the old national melody
'Vive Henri Quatre,' which he gave with couplets composed for the
occasion, some of which, it was said, were improvisations. In the midst
of this rejoicing, a rough voice made itself heard from the upper
gallery. '_A bas l'aigle imperial!_' were the words it uttered, and in
an instant every eye was turned to the Emperor's box, whose purple
velvet curtains were closely drawn, and to whose front a large and
richly gilt eagle was affixed. The audience took up the cry and repeated
again and again--'_A bas l'aigle imperial!_' Presently the curtains were
torn asunder, a fellow seated himself upon the cushioned parapet, twined
his legs round the eagle, and knocked, and hammered, till it fell with a
crash to the ground. Again the royalist ditty was called for, with _ad
libitum_ couplets, in which the words '_ce diable a quatre_' were only
too plainly perceptible; the unfortunate consul had to repeat them till
he was hoarse, and so ended the great comedy performed that day by the
'Grande Nation.' Most revolting it was, and every right-thinking man
shuddered at such thorough Gallic indecency."
Baron Von Rahden tells the story of his life well and pleasantly,
without pretensions to brilliancy and elegance of style, but with
soldierly frankness and spirit. We have read this first portion of his
memoirs with pleasure and interest, and may take occasion again to refer
to its lively and varied contents.