been seen by the French generals who moved the line forward. The
enemy drew back, which allowed the remnants of the 1st Hussars to
revisit the area where our unfortunate comrades had fallen.
Almost a third of the detachment were killed or wounded. There
were five sergeants at the beginning of the action; three had
perished; there remained only Pertelay the elder and myself. The
poor fellow was wounded but suffered almost more mentally, for he
adored his brother, whom we all bitterly regretted. While we were
paying him our last respects and picking up the wounded, General
Championet arrived with General Suchet, his chief-of-staff. The
commander-in-chief had witnessed the actions of the platoon. He
gathered us round the six guns which we had just captured, and
after praising the courage with which we had rid the French army
of a battery which was causing them the most grievous losses, he
added that to reward us for having saved the lives of so many of
our comrades, and contributed to the day's success, he intended
to use the power which a recent decree of the First Consul had
given him to award "Armes d'honneur" and that he would award
three sabres of honour and one promotion to sous-lieutenant to
the detachment, who should decide amongst themselves who the
recipients should be. We then regretted even more keenly the loss
of young Pertelay, who would have made such a fine officer.
The elder Pertelay, a corporal and a Hussar were awarded the
sabres of honour, which, three years later gave the right to the
Cross of the Legion of Honour. It remained to be decided which of
us would be sous-lieutenant. All my comrades put my name forward,
and the commander-in-chief, recalling that General Seras had
written to him about my conduct at Santa-Giacomo, designated me
sous-lieutenant...! I had been a sergeant for only a month! I
have to admit, however, that during the capture of the guns, I
had done no more than the rest of my companions; but as I have
already said, these good Alsatians did not feel that they had the
qualities to take command and become officers. They were
unanimous in choosing me, and General Championet, as well as
noting the favourable comments of General Seras, was perhaps also
glad to be able to please my father.
My father, however, was less than pleased with what he considered
to be my over-rapid promotion, and he wrote to me instructing me
to refuse it. I would have obeyed; but my father had written in
the same strain to General Suchet, the chief-of-staff, and this
latter had replied that the commander-in-chief would be very put
out to find that one of his divisional generals had taken it upon
himself to disapprove of a promotion which he had made. My father
then authorised me to accept, and I was gazetted sous-Lieutenant
in December 1799.
I was one of the last officers promoted by General Championet,
who, not being able to remain in Piedmont in the face of superior
forces, was compelled to re-cross the Apennines and lead his army
back to Liguria. He was greatly distressed to see his force
breaking down, because he was not given enough supplies to
support it, and he died two weeks after he had made me an
officer. My father, who was now the most senior divisional
general, was made provisional commander-in-chief of the army of
Italy, whose headquarters were at Nice. He therefore went there
and immediately sent back to Provence the few remaining cavalry,
as there was no longer any fodder in Liguria. So the 1st Hussars
went back to France, but my father kept me behind to become his
aide-de-camp.
While we were at Nice, my father received an order from the war
ministry to go and take command of the advance guard of the army
of the Rhine, where his chief-of-staff Col. Menard would join
him. We were very pleased at this, since want of supplies had
reduced the army of Italy to such a state of disorder that it
seemed impossible that it could be kept in Liguria. My father was
not sorry to be leaving an army which was disintegrating, and was
likely to be pushed back across the Var and into France. He
prepared to move as soon as General Massena, who had been
nominated to replace him, had arrived. He sent M. Gault, his
aide-de-camp, to Paris to buy maps and make various preparations
for our operations on the Rhine. But fate had decreed otherwise,
and my unfortunate father's grave was destined to be in Italy.
When Massena arrived he found no more than the shadow of an army:
the soldiers, without pay and almost without clothing and
footwear, existing on a quarter of the normal ration, were dying
of malnutrition as well as an epidemic of disease, the result of
the intolerable privations which they were suffering. The
hospitals were full but had no medicines. Some groups of
soldiers, and even whole regiments, were daily abandoning their
posts and heading for the bridge across the Var, where they
forced a passage to get into France and spread themselves over
Provence, although saying that they were willing to return if
they were given food! The generals were unable to remedy this
appalling state of affairs. They became, daily more discouraged,
and all were requesting leave or retiring on the grounds of
ill-health. Massena had expected that he would be joined in Italy
by several of the generals who had helped him to defeat the
Russians in Switzerland, among them, Soult, Oudinot and Gazan,
but none of them had yet arrived, and it was essential to do
something about the serious situation.
Massena, who was born in La Turbie, a village in the little
principality of Monaco, was one of the most crafty Italians that
ever existed. He did not know my father, but he decided on their
first meeting that he was a big-hearted man who loved his
country, and, to persuade him to stay, he played on these
sensitive areas, his generosity and his patriotism, suggesting to
him how much nobler it would be for him to continue to serve in
the unhappy army of Italy rather than go to the Rhine. He said
that he would take the responsibility for the failure to carry
out the orders given to my father by the government if he would
agree to stay. My father, beguiled by these speeches and not
wishing to leave the new commander in a mess, consented to remain
with him. He did not doubt that his chief-of-staff, Col. Menard,
his friend, would also give up the idea of going to the Rhine;
but this was not to be. Menard stuck to the order he had been
given, although he was assured that it would be cancelled if he
wished. My father felt very badly about this desertion. Menard
hurried off to Paris, where he took the job of chief-of-staff to
general Lefebvre.
My father went to Genoa, where he took command of the three
divisions which composed the right wing of the army. Despite all
the shortages, the winter carnival was quite gay in the town, the
Italians being so pleasure-loving! We were lodged in the
Centurione Palace, where we spent the end of the winter
1799-1800. My father had left Spire at Nice with the greater part
of his baggage. He now took on Col. Sacleux as his
chief-of-staff, an admirable man, a good soldier, with a very
pleasant personality, if somewhat solemn and serious-minded. He
had as his secretary a young man by the name of Colindo, the son
of a banker, Signor Trepano of Parma, whom he had picked up after
a series of adventures too long to relate here, who became my
very good friend.
Early in the spring of 1800, my father was told that General
Massena intended to give the command of the right wing to General
Soult, who had just arrived, and was much my father's junior, and
he was ordered to go back to Savona and head his old division,
the third. My father obeyed, though his pride was hurt by this
new posting.
Chap. 11.
A serious situation was developing in Italy. Massena had received
some reinforcements; he had established a little order in his
army, and the campaign of 1800, which led to the memorable siege
of Genoa and the battle of Marengo, was about to begin.
The snows which covered the mountains separating the two armies
having melted, the Austrians attacked us, and their first efforts
were directed upon my father's division, the third, stationed at
the right of the French line, which they wished to separate from
the centre and the left by driving them back from Savona to
Genoa.
As soon as hostilities commenced, my father and Col. Sacleux sent
all the non-combatants to Genoa; Colindo was among them. As for
me, I was thoroughly enjoying myself, exhilarated as I was by the
sight of marching troops, the noisy movements of artillery and
the excitement of a young soldier at the prospect of action. I
was far from suspecting that this war would become so terrible
and would cost me so dear.
My father's division, fiercely attacked by greatly superior
forces, defended for two days positions at Cadibone and
Montenotte, but eventually, seeing themselves on the point of
being outflanked, they had to retire to Voltri, and from there to
Genoa, where they shut themselves in, together with the two other
divisions of the right wing.
I had heard all the well-informed generals deploring the
circumstances which forced our separation from the centre and the
left, but I had at that time so little understanding of the
principles of warfare that I took no notice. I understood well
enough that we had been defeated, but as I personally had
overcome, before Montenotte, an officer of Burco's Hussars, and
taking the plume from his shako, had fastened it proudly to the
head-band of my bridle, it seemed to me that I was like a knight
of the middle-ages returning laden with the spoils of the
infidel.
My childish vanity was soon crushed by a dreadful event. During
the retreat, and at a moment when my father was giving me an
order to take, he was hit by a bullet in the left leg, which had
been wounded once before, in the army of the Pyrenees. The injury
was serious, and my father would have fallen from his horse if he
had not leaned on me. I took him out of the battle area. His
wound was dressed. I shed tears as I saw his blood flow, but he
tried to calm me, saying that a soldier should have more courage.
My father was carried to the Centurione Palace in Genoa, where he
had lived during the preceding winter. Our three divisions having
entered Genoa, the Austrians blockaded it by land, and the
English by sea.
I can hardly bring myself to describe the sufferings of the
garrison and the population of Genoa during the two months for
which this siege lasted. Famine, fighting and an epidemic of
typhus did immense damage. The garrison lost ten thousand men out
of sixteen thousand, and there were collected from the streets,
every day, seven or eight hundred of the bodies of the
inhabitants, of every age, sex, and condition, which were taken
behind the church of Carignan to an immense pit filled with
quick-lime. The number of victims rose to more than thirty
thousand.
For you to understand just how badly the lack of food was felt by
the inhabitants, I should explain that the ancient rulers of
Genoa, in order to control the populace, had from time immemorial
exercised a monopoly over grain, flour and bread, which was
operated by a vast establishment protected by cannons and guarded
by soldiers, so that when the Doge or the Senate wished to
prevent or put down a revolt, they closed the state ovens and
reduced the people to starvation. Although by this time the
constitution of Genoa had been greatly modified and the
aristocracy now had very little influence, there was not, however
a single private bakery, and the old system of making bread in
the public ovens was still in operation. Now, these public
bakeries, which normally provided for a population of a hundred
and twenty thousand souls, were closed for forty-five days out of
the sixty for which the siege lasted. Neither rich nor poor could
buy bread. The little in the way of dried vegetables and rice
which was in the shops had been bought up at the beginning of the
siege at greatly inflated prices. The troops alone were given a
small ration of a quarter of a pound of horse flesh and a quarter
of a pound of what was called bread. This was a horrible mixture
of various flours, bran, starch, chalk, linseed, oatmeal, rancid
nuts and other evil substances. General Thibauld in his diary of
the siege described as "Turf mixed with oil."
For forty five days neither bread nor meat was on sale to the
public. The richest were able (at the start the siege only,) to
buy some dried cod, figs and some other dried goods such as
sugar. There was never any shortage of wine, oil and salt, but
what use are they without solid food? All the dogs and cats in
the town were eaten. A rat could fetch a high price! In the end
the starvation became so appalling that when the French troops
made a sortie, the inhabitants would follow them in a crowd out
of the gates, and rich and poor, women, children and the old
would start collecting grass, nettles, and leaves, which they
would then cook with some salt. The Genoese government mowed the
grass which grew on the ramparts, which was then cooked in the
public squares and distributed to the wretched invalids, who had
not the strength to go and find for themselves and prepare this
crude dish. Even the soldiers cooked nettles and all sorts of
herbage with their horse flesh. The richest and most
distinguished families in the town envied them this meat,
disgusting as it was, for the shortage of fodder had made nearly
all the horses sick and even the flesh of those dying of disease
was distributed.
During the latter part of the siege, the desperation of the
people was something to fear. There were cries that, as in 1756
their fathers had massacred an Austrian army, they should now try
to get rid of the French army in the same way; and that it was
better to die fighting than to starve to death, after watching
their wives and children perish. These threats of revolt were
made more serious by the fact that if they were carried out, the
English by sea and the Austrians by land would have rushed to
join their efforts to those of the insurgents, and would have
overwhelmed us.
Amid such dangers and calamities of all sorts, Massena remained
immovable and calm, and to prevent any attempt at an uprising, he
issued a proclamation that French troops had orders to open fire
on any gathering of more than four people. Regiments camped in
the squares and the principal streets. The avenues were occupied
by cannon loaded with grape-shot. It being impossible for them to
come together, the Genoese were unable to revolt.
It may seem surprising that Massena was so determined to hold on
to a place where he could not feed the inhabitants and could
scarcely maintain his own troops; but Genoa was, at that time, of
great importance. Our army had been cut in two. The centre and
the left wing had retired behind the Var. As long as Massena
occupied Genoa, he kept part of the Austrian army occupied in
besieging him and prevented them from employing all their forces
against Provence.
Massena knew also that the First Consul was assembling at Dijon,
Lyon, and Geneva, an army of reserve, with which he proposed to
cross the Alps by the St. Bernard pass, to enter Italy and to
surprise the Austrians by falling on their rear while they were
directing their efforts at taking Genoa. We therefore had the
greatest interest in holding the town for as long as possible.
These were the orders of the First Consul, and were subsequently
justified by events.
To return to the siege. When he heard that my father had been
brought to Genoa, Colindo Trepano hurried to his bedside, and it
was there that we met once more. He helped me most tenderly to
care for my father, for which I am even more beholden to him
because, in the midst of these calamities my father had no one
about him. All his staff officers had been ordered to go and
attend the commander-in-chief; soon rations were refused to our
servants, who were forced to go and take up a musket and line up
with the combatants to have a right to the miserable ration which
was distributed to the soldiers. No exception was made, apart
from a young valet, named Oudin, and a young stable-lad, who
looked after the horses; but Oudin deserted us as soon as he knew
that my father had typhus.
My father fell ill with this dreadful disease, and at a time when
he was in the greatest need of care, there was no one with him
except me, Colindo and the stable lad Bastide. We did our best to
follow the doctor's instructions, we hardly slept, being
endlessly busy massaging my father with camphorated oil and
changing his bedclothes and linen.
My father could take no nourishment except soup and I had nothing
with which to make it but rotten horse-meat. My heart was
breaking.
Providence sent us some help. The huge buildings of the public
ovens were next to the walls of the palace where we were living.
The terraces were almost touching. It was on the immense terraces
of the public ovens that the crushing and mixing took place of
all sorts of chicken food which was added to the rotten flour to
make the garrison's bread. The stable lad Bastide had noticed
that when the workmen of the bakery left the terraces, they were
invaded by horde of pigeons who had their nests in the various
church towers of the town, and were in the habit of coming to
pick up the small amounts of grain which had spilled onto the
flagstones. Bastide, who was a very clever lad, crossed the
narrow space which separated the terraces, and on that of the
public ovens he set up snares and other devices with which he
captured pigeons which we used to make soup for my father, who
found it excellent, compared to that made from horse.
To the horrors of famine and typhus were added those of a
merciless and unceasing war, for the French troops fought all day
on land against the Austrians, and when nightfall put an end to
the Austrian assaults, the English, Turkish, and Neapolitan
fleets, which were protected by darkness from the port's cannons
and the batteries on the coast, drew close to the town, into
which they hurled a great number of bombs which did fearful
damage.
The noise of the guns and the cries of the wounded and dying
reached my father and greatly disturbed him. He lamented his
inability to place himself at the head of the men of his
division. This state of mind worsened his condition. He became
more gravely ill from day to day, and progressively weaker.
Colindo and I did not leave him for a moment. Eventually, one
night when I was on my knees by his bedside, sponging his wound,
he spoke to me, perfectly lucidly, and placed his hand
caressingly on my head, saying, "Poor child, what will happen to
him, alone and without support in the horrors of this terrible
siege?" Then he mumbled some words, among which I could
distinguish the name of my mother, dropped his arms and closed
his eyes...
Although very young and without much length of service, I had
seen many dead on various battlefields, and above all on the
streets of Genoa; but they had fallen in the open, still in their
clothes, which gave them a very different appearance to someone
who had died in bed. I had never witnessed this last sad
spectacle and I believed that my father had fallen asleep.
Colindo knew the truth but had not the heart to tell me, so I was
not aware of my error until some time later, when M. Lacheze
arrived and I saw him pull the sheet over my father's face,
saying, "This is a dreadful loss for his family and friends".
Only then did I understand that my father was dead.
My grief was so heartbroken that it touched even General Massena,
a man not easily moved, particularly in the present situation
when he had need of such resolution. The critical position in
which he found himself drove him to behave toward me in a way
which I thought atrocious, although now I would do the same in
the same circumstances.
To avoid anything that could lower the morale of the troops,
Massena had forbidden any funeral ceremonies, and as he knew that
I had been unwilling to desert the mortal remains of my
much-loved father, and thought it was my intention to go with him
to his graveside, he feared that his troops might be adversely
affected by the sight of a young officer, scarcely more than a
boy, following, in tears, his father's bier. So he came the next
day before dawn to the room where my father lay, and taking me by
the hand, he led me under some pretext or other to a distant
room, while, on his orders, twelve Grenadiers, accompanied only
by one officer and Col. Sacleux, took the body in silence, and
placed it in a provisional grave on the rampart facing the sea.
It was only after this mournful ceremony was over that General
Massena told me of it and explained his motives for this
decision. I was overcome by misery. It seemed to me that I had
lost my poor father for a second time; that he had been deprived
of my last services. My protests were in vain and there was
nothing I could do but go and pray by my father's grave. I did
not know where it was, but Colindo had followed the burial party,
and he led me there. This good young man gave me the most
touching evidences of sympathy, and this at a time when everyone
thought only of themselves.
Nearly all the officers of my father's staff had been killed or
carried off by typhus. Out of the eleven which we were at the
start of the campaign, there remained only two; the commandant
R*** and me! But R*** was interested only in himself, and instead
of offering support to his general's son, he lived alone in the
town. M. Lacheze abandoned me also. Only the good Col. Sacleux
showed any interest in me, but having been given the command of a
brigade, he was constantly outside the walls combatting the
enemy. I stayed alone in the huge Centurione Palace with Colindo,
Bastide, and the ancient concierge.
A week had scarcely passed since my father's death when General
Massena, who needed a large number of officers in attendance
because some were killed or wounded almost every day, ordered me
to come and serve as aide-de-camp, as did R*** and all the
officers on the staff of those generals who were dead or unable
to mount a horse. I obeyed. I followed the general all day in
battle, and when I was not detained at headquarters, I went back
to the Palace, and at nightfall, Colindo and I, passing among the
dying and the dead bodies of men, women, and children which
littered the streets, went to pray at my father's tomb.
The famine in the town continued to worsen. An order went out
forbidding any officer from having more than one horse, the rest
were to be butchered. There were several of my father's left and
I was most unhappy at the thought of these poor beasts being
killed. I managed to save their lives by proposing that I should
give them to officers of the general staff in exchange for their
worn out mounts, which I then sent to the butchery. These horses
were later paid for by the state, on production of an order for
their delivery. I have kept one of these orders as a curiosity;
it bears the signature of General Oudinot, Massena's
chief-of-staff.
The cruel loss which I had just suffered, the position in which I
found myself, and the sight of the truly horrible scenes in which
I was involved every day, taught me more in a short time than I
would have learned in a number of happier years. I realised that
the starvation and disaster of the siege had made egoists of all
those who a few months before had been smothering my father with
attention.
I had to find within myself the courage and resource not only for
my own needs but to look after Colindo and Bastide. The most
pressing requirement was to find something for them to eat, since
they were given no food from the army stores. I had, it is true,
as an officer, two rations of horse meat and two rations of
bread, but all this added together did not amount to more than a
pounds weight of very bad food, and we were three! We very rarely
caught pigeons now, for their numbers had infinitely diminished.
In my position as aide-de-camp to the commander-in- chief, I was
entitled to a place at his table, where once a day was served
some bread, some roast horse and some chick peas; but I was so
embittered at General Massena having deprived me of the sad
consolation of attending my father's burial, that I could not
bring myself to sit down at his table, although all my comrades
were there and a place was reserved for me. But at last the wish
to help my two unfortunate companions decided me to go and eat
with the commander-in-chief. From then on Colindo and Bastide had
each a quarter of a pound of horse meat and the same amount of
bread. As for me, I did not have enough to eat, for the portions
served at the general's table were exceedingly small, and I was
worked hard. Often I had to lie on the ground to stop myself from
fainting.