Lost!--the battle was lost! This was the cry of woe throughout the
Prussian camp--this was the fearful cry that palsied the hands of those
who could not endure defeat.
The Prussians who had defeated the enemy at Losovitz and Prague, were
condemned to yield the palm of victory at Collin to their enemy’s
commander, Marshal Daun. They had fought bravely, desperately for this
victory; and when all was over, death would have been preferable to
defeat.
The Prussians were beaten, though their king, Ziethen, and Moritz von
Dessau--all of them heroes--were in the field. At the first thought
of the possibility of losing the battle, there was a fearful panic
throughout the army.
“We are lost! lost!”--and this cry caused them to throw down their
arms and fly, as if followed by a thousand furies; as victory--was
impossible, they wished at least to save their lives.
It was in vain that the officers implored them to rally again and fall
upon the enemy. They did not heed. In vain that the king himself rode
among them, pointing with his sword to the enemy, and crying:
“Forward’ forward, boys! Would you live forever? Death comes to all!”
They looked at him stubbornly; they feared not now his piercing, eagle
glance, his royal countenance. They looked and said:
“We have worked hard enough to-day for eightpence,” and then continued
their flight.
But the king could not yet be brought to believe the truth. He still
trusted in the possibility of victory. He clung with desperation to
this hope; he let his voice be heard--that voice that generally had such
power over his soldiers; he called them to him, and pointed out to
them the enemy’s battery; he ordered the band to play a martial air
to inspire the men. This call brought a few faithful soldiers around
him--only forty warriors were ready to follow their king.
“Forward! we will take the battery!” cried he, as he pressed on,
regardless of the shower of the enemy’s balls.
What was this to him? what had he to do with death--he whose only
thought was for the honor and glory of his army? If he succeeded in
taking this battery, it would encourage his desponding soldiers. They
would once more believe in the star of their king, and assemble bravely
around him. This it was that gave hope to the king.
Without once looking back, he pressed onward to the battery--when
suddenly, amid the clatter of trumpets and the roar of cannon, this
fearful question reached him:
“Sire, would you take the battery alone?”
The king reined in his horse and looked behind him. Yes, he was alone;
no one was with him but his adjutant, Major von Grant, who had asked
this question.
A deep groan escaped the king; his head fell upon his breast, and he
gave himself up to the bitterness of despair.
A cannon-ball fell beside him--he did not heed it; he was too utterly
wretched. Another ball struck his horse, causing it to prance with pain
and terror.
Major Grant grasped the king’s bridle.
“Sire,” said he, “are you determined to be shot? If so, let me know it,
and with your majesty’s permission I will withdraw.” The king raised his
head, and looked at the daring adjutant with a bitter smile.
“We will both withdraw,” said he, gently, advancing toward the generals
who had been seeking him throughout the battle-field. He greeted them
with a silent bow, and passed without a word. Whither he was now going,
none of the generals knew, but they followed him in silence.
The king rode up the slight eminence from which, on that morning,
his army had fallen like a glittering avalanche upon the enemy. This
avalanche was now transformed into a stream of blood, and corpse upon
corpse covered the ground. He reined in his horse and gazed at the
Austrian army, who were now withdrawing to their camp, midst shoutings
and rejoicings, to rest after their glorious victory. Then, turning his
horse, he looked at the remains of his little army flying hither and
thither in the disorder of defeat. A deep sigh escaped him. Throwing his
head back proudly, he called Prince Moritz von Dessau and the Duke of
Bevern to his side.
“Sirs,” said he, firmly; “the fate of to-day is decided. All that now
remains for us to do, is to deprive the enemy of the advantages of this
victory. Collect our scattered regiments, and lead the army through the
defile of Plainan, back to Nimburg. There we will decide what is best to
do. I go on before you, and wish no one to accompany me.”
He turned his horse, rode slowly down the hill, then took the road
leading to Nimburg. Lost in deep thought, he continued his way. He was
followed by his faithful body-guard, who, at a sign from Prince von
Dessau, had hastened after him. A few flying officers and sergeants
joined him. These were the followers of Prussia’s hero-king; but they
were suddenly scattered. A soldier galloped up to them, and stated that
he had just encountered a regiment of the enemy’s hussars, who were
pursuing them. There was a cry of terror throughout the guards, and
then, as if with one accord, putting spurs to their horses, they fled in
wild disorder.
The king continued his way, slowly and quietly--slowly and quietly a few
of his guard followed him. In funereal silence they passed through the
defile of Plainan, and reached at last Nimburg, the king’s appointed
place of meeting.
The king now reined in his horse, and, looking back, he became aware of
his followers. Beckoning to his adjutant, he ordered him to get quarters
for the soldiers, and then to inform the generals that he awaited them.
“Where?” asked the astonished adjutant.
“Here!” said the king, pointing to a fallen pump, a few steps from where
he stood. He dismounted, and, when the adjutant had disappeared, he
threw himself upon the old pump, and rested his head upon his cane. Thus
he remained a long while, thinking painfully of the occurrences of
the past day. He remembered that he had appointed the site of to-day’s
battle, without listening to the warnings of his experienced generals,
and that Moritz von Dessau had implored him to put his army in another
position, before attacking the enemy. He remembered the prince saying to
him--“It would be impossible for an attack from this point to succeed,”
and his entreating him to draw back and change his position. He
remembered, also, his riding up to the prince, with his naked sword, and
inquiring, in a threatening tone, “whether he meant to obey or not?”
And Prince Moritz von Dessau had obeyed; his prophecy had been
fulfilled--the battle was lost.
“Ah,” whispered the king, “how poor, how weak is man! The happiness of
an hour intoxicates him, and he defies his coming fate; he should know
that happiness is a fleeting guest, but that misfortune is the constant
companion of man. I have allowed myself to be deceived by fortune, and
she has turned against me. Fortune is a woman, and I am not gallant. The
fickle goddess watches carefully, and makes good use of my faults. It
was a great fault to dare, with twenty-three battalions of infantry, to
attack an army of sixty thousand men, half of whom are cavalry. Ah! my
great ancestor, Frederick William, what have you to say of your poor
nephew, who, with his little host, is fighting against Russia, Austria,
a large part of Germany, and a hundred thousand French troops? Will you
assist me? Will you be my guardian angel, praying for me above? Yes,
yes! you will assist me if I assist myself, and do not give way to my
faults. Had I been killed in to-day’s battle, I would now be in a safe
haven, beyond the reach of storms. But now I must swim still farther
into the stormy sea, until at last I find in the grave that rest and
peace which I shall never attain in this world. This is a consoling
thought; it shall rouse me again to life. I am glad I did not die
to-day. I can still repair my fault. All the responsibility will be
thrown on me; it will be said, the battle would have been won, but for
Frederick’s obstinacy. But let this be! It is a necessary consequence
that a warrior should suffer for the faults of his followers. Through
me this battle was lost, and in history it will go down thus to future
generations. But many a victory shall still be recorded, and as the
defeat was owing to me, so shall the victory also come through me alone.
I alone will bear upon my shoulders Prussia’s honor, Prussia’s glory.
It lies now, with me, bleeding on the ground. It shall be lifted and
sustained by me alone!” And raising his burning eyes heavenward, he
seemed to see these future victories branded upon the skies. Gradually
the inspiration left his countenance, giving place to deep thought. He
had delivered his funeral oration to the lost battle, and now gave his
thought to his future victories. He drew lines and figures upon the sand
with his cane. It may have been a drawing of the last or a sketch of the
next battle.
The king was so absorbed in this occupation, that he did not perceive
his generals, who, having reached Nimburg with the wreck of the army,
hastened to the place of appointment, and were now assembled at a
respectful distance from him.
Frederick continued to sketch. The generals gazed at him in silence,
anxiously awaiting the moment when he would arouse himself. He suddenly
looked up, and did not seem surprised to see them; lifting his hat
slightly, he greeted them, and rose from his lowly seat.
“It is well, sirs, that you are here,” said he. “We must now make our
preparations for the future; for our enemies, having beaten us once,
will think us no longer capable of resisting them, and will fall upon us
with renewed courage. We will convince them, gentlemen, that though we
are stricken to the ground for a moment, we are not crushed, not dead.
We will convince them that we still live to tear from them the laurels
they have taken from us this day. Prince von Dessau, hasten immediately
to our army at Prague. I command the Prince of Prussia to raise the
siege there at once. He shall call all his generals together, and hold
council with them as to the most suitable mode of retreat. He shall
determine with them how the siege can best be raised; to avoid, as far
as possible, the appearance of flying from their enemy. With gay music
they should leave their posts; they should not all leave together, but
in groups, so as to mislead the enemy. In small companies should
also the retreat through Bohemia to Lausitz be made, for it would be
difficult for a large army to pass this mountainous district; but they
should remain as near together as possible, choosing the widest, most
convenient roads. These are the orders you are to deliver my brother,
the Prince of Prussia, and his generals. I give to the prince the
command of this portion of my army, and require of him to hasten to
Lausitz. I will join him in Bautzen. And then, gentlemen, we will seek
an occasion to repay our enemies for their civilities of to-day.”
The generals had listened to him with breathless attention; and as he
now dismissed them, with a glorious smile upon his lips, they repeated
unanimously his last words, “We will repay our enemies for their
civilities.”
As if inspired by this shout, the soldiers, lying about the market
place, at a slight distance from the king, broke into a loud hurrah, and
shouted, “Long live our king!”
The king turned slowly toward them, but when he saw all that remained of
his noble army, he became pale, and pressed his lips tightly together,
as if to suppress a cry of horror. Then advancing, followed by his
generals, to where his weary, wounded soldiers were lying, he said:
“Children, is this all that is left of you?”
“Yes, father, we are the last,” said an old gray-headed officer,
standing before the king. “There were many thousands of us, now there
are two hundred and fifty.”
“Two hundred and fifty!” repeated the king, with a bitter smile.
“And it was not our fault,” continued the old officer, “that we did not
fall with the rest. We fought as bravely as they; but Death did not want
us. Perhaps he thought it best to leave a few of us, to guard our king.
We all think so! Some were left to repay those abominable Saxons for
their to-day’s work.”
“And why alone the Saxons?” asked the king.
“Because it was those infamous Saxon troops that hewed down our
regiment. They fell upon us like devils, and striking their cursed
swords into us, cried out, ‘This is for Striegau!’”
“Ah! you see,” cried the king, “that while beating you, they could but
think of the many times you had conquered them.”
“They shall think of this again, father,” said another soldier, raising
himself with great pain from the ground. “Wait until our wounds have
healed, and we will repay them with interest.”
“You are wounded, Henry?” said the king.
“Yes, your majesty, in the arm.”
“And old Klaus?”
“Is dead!”
“And Fritz Verder?”
“Dead! He lies with the others upon the battle-field. There are seven
hundred and fifty of us in heaven, and only two hundred and fifty on
earth. But those above, as well as below, still cry--‘Long live our
king!’”
“Long live our king,” cried they all, rising.
The king made no reply; his eye passed from one to the other pale,
exhausted countenance, and an inexpressible sorrow overcame him.
“Dead!” murmured he, “my faithful guards dead! seven hundred and fifty
of my choice men have fallen.” And overpowered by his emotion, the king
did not force back the tears welling to his eyes. They stole softly down
his cheek, and Frederick was not ashamed. He did not blush, because his
warriors had seen him weep.
“Children,” cried the old officer, after a pause, and wiping the tears
from his weary eyes, “from now on it will be glorious to die, for when
we are dead, our king weeps for us.”