WITH THE REAR-GUARD
Napoleon had as yet no idea that the fires were other than accidental,
and the next morning removed his headquarters to the Imperial Palace,
the Kremlin, from which he fondly hoped to dictate terms of peace to
Russia. But it was not long before the truth became evident. Every hour
fresh fires broke out, and, spreading rapidly, by nightfall the whole
city was in flames. On the following day the Kremlin itself became so
uninhabitable from the heat, that the Emperor was forced to withdraw
from it, and could not return till the 20th, when heavy rain
extinguished the flames, which had already consumed nine-tenths of the
city. Of 48,000 houses only 700 escaped; of 1600 churches 800 were
destroyed and 700 damaged; of 24,000 wounded French and Russians in the
hospitals more than 20,000 perished in the flames. In the meantime
Kutusow had tardily adopted the advice he had before rejected, had moved
round with his army and taken up his position on the Oka river, near
Kulouga, where he menaced the French line of communication. Already the
Cossack cavalry were hovering round Moscow, intercepting convoys and
cutting up small detachments, while the horses of the French cavalry
were so worn out by fatigue and famine that in several affairs with the
Russian cavalry the latter gained decisive advantages.
"You are right again, comrade," the old sergeant said to Julian, who had
been promoted to the rank of sergeant after the battle of Borodino, as
they stood together on the night of the 15th gazing at the terrible
spectacle of the city enveloped in flames. "_Peste!_ these Russians are
terrible fellows. Who could have thought of such a thing? It is a bad
look-out for us."
"A terrible look-out, there is no denying it," Julian agreed. "It is
impossible for the army to stay here without food, without forage,
without shelter, with our communications threatened, and the Russian
army on our flank. I see nothing for it but to retreat, and the sooner
we are out of it the better. Were I the Emperor I would issue orders for
the march to begin at daylight. In another month winter will be on us,
and none can say what disasters may befall the army."
Had the order been given that day the French army might have made its
way back to the frontier, with heavy loss doubtless, but without
disaster. But Napoleon could not bring himself to believe that the
Russians would refuse to enter into negotiations. He tried through
various sources to send proposals to Alexander, and even opened secret
negotiations with Kutusow, and had arranged for a private meeting with
him, when the matter was stopped by Sir Robert Wilson, who had received
specific instructions from the Emperor Alexander to interpose in his
name to prevent any negotiations whatever being carried on. Thus week
after week of precious time passed, and then a portion of the army moved
against the Russians. Several engagements took place, the advantage
generally resting with the Russians, especially in an engagement with
Murat, who suffered a decisive repulse.
Julian had, as soon as the fire in Moscow burnt itself out, employed
himself in endeavouring to buy some warm garments. Money was plentiful,
for there had been no means of spending it since they entered Russia,
and he was fortunate in being able to buy some very warm tinder-garments
that had been looted by the plunderers on the night of their first
arrival before Moscow. He also purchased a peasant's sheep-skin caftan
with a hood, and sewed this into his military cloak so as to form a
lining, the hood being for the time turned inside. From another
sheep-skin he manufactured a couple of bags to be used as mittens,
without fingers or thumbs. Many of his comrades laughed at him as he did
his work, but as the days grew colder most of them endeavoured to follow
his example, and the skins of sheep brought in occasionally by the
cavalry were eagerly bought up. Encouraged by his success, Julian next
manufactured a pair of sheep-skin leggings, with the wool inside. They
were sewn up at the bottom, so that they could be worn over his boots.
The shape left much to be desired, but by cutting up a blanket he made
two long bands, each three inches wide and some twenty feet long. These
he intended to wrap tightly round the leggings when in use.
The leggings, gloves, and bands were stowed away in his knapsack, almost
everything else being discarded to make room for them; for he felt sure
that there would be no inspection of kits until the frontier had been
crossed.
Still, Napoleon could not bring himself to issue a general order for a
retreat, but corps after corps was moved along the western road.
Mortier's division remained last in Moscow, and marched on the 23rd of
October, after having, by Napoleon's orders, blown up the Kremlin, the
Church of St. Nicholas, and the adjoining buildings. The safest line of
retreat would have been through Witebsk, but Napoleon took the more
southern road, and the army believed that it was intended to fight
another great battle with the Russians.
The weather at first was fine. On the 24th the vanguard, under the
Viceroy, came in contact with Doctorow's division, and a fierce fight
took place near Malo Jaroslavets. The French were checked, and Kutusow,
coming up with the main army, it was apparent to all, that the French
vanguard could be overwhelmed and Napoleon's retreat brought to a
standstill. But, just as the generals were all expecting the order to
attack, Kutusow, whose previous conduct in entering into secret
negotiations with Napoleon had excited strong suspicions of his good
faith, announced that he had changed his mind, and ordered the Russian
army to draw off, thus for a time saving the French from complete
disaster.
The battle, however, had been a sanguinary one, no less than ten
thousand being killed on each side. After the retirement of the Russians
the retreat was continued. Davoust commanded the advance; Ney's division
was to cover the rear. The French army at first moved very slowly, for
it was not until the 29th that Napoleon reached Borodino. He himself had
long been in ill-health; bodily pain had sapped his energy. He had for a
long time been unable to sit on a horse, and had travelled in a close
carriage. Consequently he seemed to have lost for a time all his energy
and quickness of decision, and after five weeks thrown away at Moscow,
another was wasted in slow movements when haste was of the greatest
importance. The French suffered, too, from the disadvantage that, while
their every movement was discovered and reported by the ubiquitous
Cossacks, they themselves were in absolute ignorance of the strength and
movements of the enemy.
On the 6th of November a bitter frost set in, and the soldiers awoke
chilled to the bone, and with gloomy anticipations of what would happen
when the full rigour of a Russian winter was upon them. In some respects
the frost was an advantage, for it hardened the roads, that were before
often almost impassable from the amount of heavy traffic that had passed
over them. But, upon the other hand, floating masses of ice speedily
covered the rivers, rendering the work of fording them painful and
difficult in the extreme. A Russian division had, on the 3rd, pressed
hotly on the retreating column just as they reached the Wiazma river. A
sanguinary conflict took place, the corps of the Viceroy passed through
the town on its banks, and crossed the river in fair order, but that of
Davoust broke and crossed in great confusion, covered by Ney's division,
which retreated steadily, facing about from time to time, and repulsing
the infantry attacks, but suffering heavily from the artillery. Ney set
the town on fire to cover his retreat, crossed the bridges, and there
stemmed the further advance of the Russians.
The French loss in the engagement was 6000 killed and wounded, and 2000
prisoners. The Viceroy was directed to march on Witebsk, but he was
overtaken by the enemy when endeavouring to throw a bridge over the
half-frozen little river called the Vop. The bridge, hastily made, gave
way. The banks were extremely steep. The Grenadiers waded through the
river, though the water, full of floating ice, came up to their breasts;
but the artillery following were unable to climb the bank, and the guns
were soon frozen fast in the river, and they and the whole of the
baggage had to be left behind. A similar misfortune befell another of
the Viceroy's divisions, which had remained behind to cover the retreat,
and of the 14,000 soldiers who commenced the march but 6000 remained
with their colours, and but 12 of the 92 guns that had accompanied them.
The condition of the French army rapidly deteriorated. The cold had
already become intense, and the soldiers being weak with hunger were the
less able to support it. The horses died in great numbers, and their
flesh was the principal food upon which the troops had to rely. No one
dared straggle to forage, for the Cossacks were ever hovering round, and
the peasants, emerging from their hiding-places in the forests,
murdered, for the most part with atrocious tortures, everyone who fell
out of the ranks from wounds, exhaustion, or frost-bite.
Julian had, since their retreat began, again recovered his spirits. He
was now not fighting to conquer a country against which he had no
animosity, but for his own life and that of the thousands of sick and
wounded.
"I am glad that we are in the rear-guard," he said to a number of
non-commissioned officers who were one evening, when they were fortunate
enough to be camped in a wood, gathered round a huge fire.
"Why so, Jules? It seems to me that we have the hardest work, and,
besides, there is not a day that we have not to fight."
"That is the thing that does us good," Julian replied. "The columns
ahead have nothing to do but to think of the cold, and hunger, and
misery. They straggle along; they no longer march. With us it is
otherwise. We are still soldiers; we keep our order. We are proud to
know that the safety of the army depends on us; and, if we do get
knocked over with a bullet, surely that is a better fate than dropping
from exhaustion, and falling into the hands of the peasants."
"You are right, Jules," several of them exclaimed. "It is better a
thousand times."
"We have a bad prospect before us," Julian went on. "There is no denying
that; but it will make all the difference how we face it. Above all
things we have got to keep up our spirits. I have heard that the
captains of the whalers in the northern seas do everything in their
power to interest and amuse their crews. They sing, they dance, they
tell stories of adventures, and the great thing is to keep from brooding
over the present. I am but a young sergeant, and most of you here have
gone through many a campaign, and it is not for me to give advice, but I
should say that above all things we ought to try to keep up the spirits
of our men. If we could but start the marching songs we used to sing as
we tramped through Germany, it would set men's feet going in time, would
make them forget the cold and hunger, and they would march along erect,
instead of with their eyes fixed on the ground, and stumbling as if they
could not drag their feet along. We should tell them why we sing, or
they might think it was a mockery. Tell them that the Grenadiers of the
Rhone mean to show that, come what may, they intend to be soldiers to
the last, and to face death, whether from the Russians or from the
winter, heads erect and courage high. Let us show them that, as we have
ever done our duty, so we shall do it to the end, and that it will be a
matter of pride that throughout the division it should be said, when
they hear our songs, 'There go the Grenadiers of the Rhone, brave
fellows and good comrades; see how they bear themselves.'"
"Bravo, bravo, Jules! bravo, Englishman!" the whole of the party
shouted. "So it shall be, we swear it. The Grenadiers of the Rhone shall
set an example."
Suddenly the voices hushed, and Julian was about to look round to see
the cause of their silence, when a hand was laid on his shoulder, and,
turning, he saw Ney standing beside him, with three or four of his
staff. They had come up unobserved, and had stopped a few paces away
just as Julian began to speak.
"Bravo, comrade!" the marshal said; "spoken in the true spirit of a
soldier. Were there a dozen men like you in every regiment I should have
no fear for the future. Did they call you Englishman?"
"Yes, General. I was a prisoner at Verdun, though neither an English
soldier or sailor, and when a call came for volunteers, and I was
promised that I should not be called upon to fight against my own
countrymen, I thought it better to carry a French musket than to rot in
a French prison."
"And you have carried it well," the marshal said. "Had you not done so
you would not have won your stripes among the men of the Grenadiers of
the Rhone, where every man has again and again shown that he is a hero.
Carry out your brave comrade's idea, lads. We all want comforting, and
my own heart will beat quicker to-morrow as I ride along and hear your
marching song, and I shall say to myself, 'God bless the brave
Grenadiers of the Rhone;' I trust that others will follow your example.
What is your name, sergeant?"
"Julian Wyatt, General."
"Put it down in my note-book," Ney said to one of his staff.
"Good-night, comrades, you have done me good. By the way, a hundred
yards to your left I marked a dead horse as I came along; it may help
your suppers." Then, amid a cheer from the soldiers, Ney moved on with
his staff.
It was not many minutes before portions of the horse were cooking over
the fire.
"I feel another man already," one of the younger sergeants laughed, as
they ate their meal. "Jules is right; good spirits are everything."
"Bear that in mind to-morrow, Antoine," another said. "It is easy enough
to be cheerful when one is warm and has got some meat, even though it
be only horse-flesh and mightily tough at that, between your teeth; but
it is harder to be so after sixteen hours of marching and fighting."
"Well, we will try anyhow, Jacques."
Another quarter of an hour and the circle broke up, the non-commissioned
officers going off to the companies to which they belonged.
Wood being plentiful, great fires were kept blazing all night, and round
each was told what Julian had said, the commendation Ney had given the
regiment, and his warm approval of the plan. As soon as the order was
given to march in the morning, and Julian started one of their old
marching songs, it was taken up from end to end of the column, to the
astonishment of the officers and of the men of other regiments within
hearing. The effect upon the men themselves was electrical. The dogged
look of determination with which they had before plodded along was
supplanted by an air of gaiety. They marched along in time to the music
with a step that was almost elastic. Not since they had crossed the
Niemen had the song been heard; occasionally a singer was silent for a
minute or two, and passed his hand across his eyes as he thought of the
many voices of comrades, now hushed for ever, that had then joined in
the chorus. Half-an-hour later Ney, followed by his staff, rode along
past the column. As he reached the head he spoke to the colonel, and the
order was at once given for the regiment to form up in hollow square.
When they had done so the colonel shouted, "Attention!" Ney took off his
plumed hat and said, in a voice loud enough to be heard by all:
"Grenadiers of the Rhone, I salute you. All honour to the regiment that
has set an example to the army of cheerfulness under hardships. You will
be placed in the order of the day with the thanks of your marshal for
the spirit you have shown. Maintain it, my friends; it will warm you
more thoroughly than food or fire, and will carry you triumphantly
through whatever fate may have in store for us."
A deep cheer burst from the regiment as the gallant soldier bowed to his
horse's mane and then rode on with his staff, while the regiment, again
breaking into a song, continued its march. Late in the afternoon they
were again engaged. The long columns ahead were delayed by crossing a
narrow bridge over a river, and for two hours the rear-guard had to
stand firm against constant attacks by the Russians. At one time a heavy
column of Russian infantry moved down upon them, but Ney, riding up to
the grenadiers, said:
"I give you the post of honour, comrades. Drive back that column."
The colonel gave the order to charge, and the regiment rushed forward
with such ardour to the attack, that the Russians were compelled to fall
back with heavy loss, and shortly afterwards news came that the bridge
was clear, and the rear-guard followed the rest of the army. Forty of
the grenadiers had fallen, among them their colonel and two other
officers. The next morning, before the regiment marched, the major as
usual read out to it the order of the day. The marshal expressed his
approbation of the spirit which the Grenadiers of the Rhone had
manifested.
"This fine regiment," he said, "has ever merited eulogium for the manner
in which it has sustained the honour of its flag in every engagement in
which it has taken part. The marshal considers, however, that even
higher praise is due to it for its bearing in the present stress of
circumstances. Good spirits, and the resolution to look at things in a
cheerful light, is the best method of encountering them, and it cheered
the hearts of all near them to hear them singing their marching songs.
The marshal in passing them was struck with the renewal of their martial
appearance, as they marched, head erect, in time to their songs, and he
hopes that their example will be followed by the other regiments of the
corps, and is sure that not only will it be to the advantage of the
discipline and efficiency of the troops, but it will greatly conduce to
their own well-being, and the manner in which they will be able to
support cold, hunger, and fatigue."
The marshal had brought the conduct and fine bearing of the Grenadiers
of the Rhone under the attention of the Emperor. In spite of the fact
that the soldiers of Ney's corps had to endure a larger amount of
hardship than that of the rest of the army, from the necessity of
constant vigilance, and from the long hours they were upon the road,
their health suffered less than that of other troops. In the first
place, they had an absolute faith in their commander; in the next, they
were in the post of honour, and on them the safety of the whole army
depended. Thus the constant skirmishing, and, occasionally, hard
fighting that went on, braced them up, and saved them from the moody
depression that weighed upon the rest of the army. They had, too, some
material advantage from the broken-down waggons and vehicles of all
sorts that fell behind. Every day they obtained a certain amount of
stores, while from the bodies of those who had dropped from exhaustion,
sickness, or cold they obtained a supply of extra clothing.
The morning after the reading of Ney's order of the day commending the
regiment, an order from Napoleon himself was read at the head of the
regiment, Ney taking his place by the side of the newly promoted
colonel. The Emperor said that he had received the report of Marshal Ney
of the conduct and bearing of the Grenadiers of the Rhone, together with
a copy of his order of the day, and that this was fully endorsed by the
Emperor, who felt that the spirit they were showing was even more
creditable to them than the valour that they had so often exhibited in
battle, and that he desired personally to thank them. The marshal had
also brought before his notice the conduct of Sergeant Wyatt of that
regiment, who had, he was informed, been the moving spirit in the
change that he so much commended, and, as a mark of his approbation, he
had requested the marshal himself, as his representative, to affix to
his breast the ribbon of the cross of the Legion of Honour.
The colonel called upon Sergeant Wyatt to come forward. Julian did so,
saluted, and stood to attention, while the marshal dismounted and pinned
to his breast the insignia of the order, while the regiment saluted,
and, as Julian returned to his place in the ranks, burst into a hearty
cheer. As soon as the marshal had ridden off, and the regiment fell out,
the officers gathered round Julian and congratulated him upon the honour
he had received, and, at the same time, thanked him heartily for the
credit that the regiment had gained, through his means, while the
enthusiasm of the soldiers knew no bounds. A word of praise from the
Emperor was the distinction that French soldiers and French regiments
most coveted, and to have been named, not only by their marshal in his
orders, but by the Emperor in a general order to the army, was an honour
that filled every heart with pride.
Julian had been a favourite before, but henceforth his popularity was
unbounded. Many of the other regiments followed the example of the
grenadiers, and, in spite of the ever-increasing cold and the constantly
augmenting hardships, Ney's corps retained their discipline and
efficiency. Their appearance, indeed, was no longer soldierly. Their
garments were in rags. Many wore three or four coats. Their legs were
encased in hay-bands, strips of blanket, or sheep-skins. Julian now took
out for the first time from his knapsack the leggings that he had
manufactured, and, with the strips of blanket that he wound round them,
they differed in appearance in no degree from the leggings of some of
his comrades, except that they enveloped the feet also. On the day
following the reading of Napoleon's order, the grenadiers came upon an
overturned caleche. It had been ransacked by a regiment that had
preceded them. The driver and a woman lay dead beside it, and they would
have passed on without paying any attention to it, had it not been for a
faint cry that met the ears of Julian, as his company passed close by
it. He dropped back a few paces to an officer, and asked leave to fall
out for a minute. Going to the carriage he found lying there among the
cushions a little girl some five or six years old. Her cloak had been
stripped off her, and she was blue with cold. Julian hesitated.
"I will try anyhow," he muttered to himself. He first ripped open one of
the cushions, pulled out the woollen stuffing, and wrapped it round the
child's arms and legs, binding it there with strips of the velvet
covering the cushions. Then he took off his cloak, and raised her on to
his back, having first cut off one of the reins. With this he strapped
her securely in that position, put on his warm cloak again, and then,
hurrying forward, soon overtook the rear of his regiment.
"Bravo, Jules!" many of his comrades said, as he passed along the
column; while others asked, "Why do you encumber yourself with that
child? It is enough now for every man to look to himself, and you cannot
carry her far."
"I will do what I can," he replied. "She is not so heavy as my knapsack
when it is full, and it is empty now; I am only keeping it because it is
useful as a pillow. I can't say how far I can carry her, but as long as
I can go she shall. We have taken lives enough, heaven knows. It is as
well to save one if one gets the opportunity."
In half an hour Julian felt a movement on the part of his little burden,
whose hands he had been chafing with his own unoccupied one. Presently
something was said in Russian. He did not reply, and then there was a
little struggle, and the voice said in French: "Nurse, where am I? Where
are you taking me? Where is the carriage?"
"Do not fret, little one," Julian replied in the same language. "I am a
friend, and will take care of you. Your carriage broke down, and so I am
carrying you until we can get you another. Are you warm?"
"Yes," the child said. "I am quite warm, but I want my nurse."
"Nurse can't come to you now, my dear; but I will try to be a good nurse
to you."
"I want to see what you are like."
"You shall see presently," he said. "It would be very cold if you were
to put your head outside. The best thing that you can do is to try to
get to sleep."
The warmth doubtless did more than Julian's exhortation, for the child
said no more, and Julian felt certain after a short time that she had
gone off to sleep. He was now in his place with his company again, and
joined in the song that they were singing, softly at first, but, as he
felt no movement, louder and louder until, as usual, his voice rose high
above the chorus. Nevertheless, his thoughts were with the child. What
was he to do with her? how was she to be fed? He could only hope for the
best. So far Providence had assuredly made him the means of preserving
her life, and to Providence he must leave the rest. It might be all for
the best. The weight was little to him, and there was a sense of warmth
and comfort in the little body that lay so close to his back. What
troubled him most was the thought of what he should do with her when he
was engaged with the Russians. He decided that she must stay then in one
of the carts that carried the spare ammunition of the regiment, and
accompanied it everywhere. "At any rate, if I should fall," he said,
"and she be left behind, she has only to speak in Russian when the enemy
come up, and no doubt they will take care of her. Her father must be a
man of some importance. The carriage was a very handsome one. If she can
make them understand who she is, there is no doubt they will restore
her to her parents."
There was but little fighting that day, and when the regiment fell out,
fortunately halting again in a wood, Julian waited until the fires were
lighted, and then unloosened the straps and shifted the child round in
front of him. She opened her eyes as he did so.
"Well, little one, here we are at our journey's end," he said
cheerfully. "You have had a nice sleep, and you look as warm as a
toast."
She was indeed changed. A rosy flush had taken the place of the
bluish-gray tint on her cheeks; her eyes were bright, and she looked
round at the strange scene with a face devoid of all fear.
"Are you my new nurse?" she asked.
"Yes, dear."
"You look nice," she said calmly, "but I should like Claire, too."
"She can't come at present, little one, so you must put up with me."
"Are you one of those wicked Frenchmen?" she asked.
"I am an Englishman. Some of them are Frenchmen, but all Frenchmen are
not wicked. You will see that all my friends here will be very kind to
you, and will do everything they can to make you comfortable, till we
can send you to your friends again."
The child was silent for some time.
"There was a great noise," she said gravely, "and guns fired, and the
coachman fell off the box, and then nurse called out and opened the door
and jumped out, and then the horses plunged and the carriage fell over,
and I don't know any more."
"There was an accident," Julian said. "Don't think about that now. I
will tell you about it some day."
"I am hungry," the child said imperiously. "Get me something to eat."
"We are going to cook our suppers directly, dear. Now let us go and sit
by that fire. I am afraid you won't find the supper very nice, but it is
the best we have got. What is your name?"
"I am the Countess Stephanie Woronski," the little maid said; "and what
is your name?"
"My name is Julian Wyatt."
"It is a funny name," the child said; "but I think I like it."
Julian carried her to the fire, and seated her with her feet before it.
"Where is my cloak," she asked, as on setting her down she perceived the
deficiency; "and what are those ugly things?" and she looked at the
swathing round her arms and legs.
"Some bad men took your cloak," he said; "none of these men here did it;
and you were very cold when I found you, so I put some of the stuffing
from the cushions round you to keep you warm, and you must wear them
till I can get you another cloak. Comrades," he went on, to the soldiers
who had gathered round to look at the little figure, "this is the
Countess Stephanie Woronski, and I have told her that you will all be
very kind to her and make her as comfortable as you can as long as she
is with us."
There was a general hum of assent, and when the child went gravely among
them, shaking hands with each, many an eye was moistened, as the men's
thoughts went back to their own homes, and to little sisters or nieces
whom they had played with there. Soon afterwards the colonel came by,
and Julian, stepping forward, saluted him and said:
"I have picked up a little girl to-day, Colonel."
"So I have been told, Sergeant. I think it was a mistake, but that is
your business. Everyone is getting weaker, and you are not likely to be
able to carry her for long. However, of course, you can take her if you
like, and as long as there are horses to drag the ammunition carts you
can put her in them when you choose."
"It is only when we are fighting that I should want to stow her away.
She does not weigh more than a knapsack, Colonel."
"Well; just as you like, Sergeant. If you wanted to take along ten
children I could not say no to you. She is a pretty little thing," he
added, as he went nearer to her.
"Yes, Colonel. She says that she is a countess."
"Poor little countess!" the colonel said tenderly. "She will want
something warmer than she has got on now."
"We will manage that, Colonel. She will be warm enough as long as she is
on the march with me; but as, even before that fire, she has not enough
on her, we will contrive something. In the first broken-down
baggage-waggon that we come across, we are pretty sure to find something
that we can fit her out in."
As yet the pressure of hunger had not come severely upon the grenadiers.
In the fights with the Russians some of the horses of their own cavalry
and artillery, and those of the enemy, were daily killed, besides the
animals which dropped from fatigue were at once shot and cut up.
Moreover, a small ration of flour was still served out, and the supper
that night, if rough, was ample. Julian sat facing the fire with his
cloak open and the child nestling up close to him. As soon as supper was
over half a dozen of the soldiers started off.
"We will bring back a fit-out, Jules, never fear. It will be strange if
there is not something to be picked up in the snow between us and the
next corps."
In half an hour they came in again, one of them carrying a bundle. By
this time the child was fast asleep, and, taking off his cloak and
wrapping it round her, Julian went across to them on the other side of
the fire.
"What have you got?"
"A good find, Jules. It was a young officer. He was evidently coming
back with an order, but his horse fell dead under him. The lad had lost
an arm, at Borodino I expect, and was only just strong enough to sit his
horse. We think that the fall on the hard snow stunned him, and the
frost soon finished the work. He had been well fitted out, and some of
his things will do for the little one. He had a fur-lined jacket which
will wrap her up grandly from head to foot. Here are a pair of thick
flannel drawers. If we cut them off at the knee you can tuck all her
little clothes inside it, and they will button up under her arms and
come down over her feet. She will look queer, but it will keep her warm.
This pair of stockings will pull up her arms to her shoulders, and here
is another pair that was in his valise. They are knitted, and one will
pull down over her ears. You see they are blue, and if you cut the foot
off and tie up the hole it will look like a fisherman's cap, and the
other will go over her head and tie up under her chin."
"Splendid, comrade! That is a first-rate fit-out. I am obliged to you
indeed."
"You need not talk of a little thing like that, Sergeant. There is not a
man in the regiment who would not do a good deal more than that for you:
besides we have all taken to the child. She will be quite the pet of the
regiment. Moreover, the lad's valise was well filled. We have tossed up
for choice, and each of us has got something. Henri got the cloak, and a
good one it is. I had the next choice, and I took his blanket, which is
a double one. Jacques had the horse rug, Ferron had another pair of
drawers and his gloves, and Pierre, who has got a small foot, took his
boots. So we have all done well."
As Julian lay down with his hood over his head and the child held
closely in his arms under his cloak, he felt strangely warm and
comfortable, and breathed a prayer that he might be spared to carry the
little waif he had rescued, in safety across the frontier.
"I will keep her with me," he said, "until she gets a bit bigger. By
that time the war may be all over, and I will send her to my aunt, if I
dare not go home myself. She will take care of her, and if she should
have gone, I know Frank will do the best he can for the child, and may
be able, through the Russian embassy, to send her back to her friends."
The cold was so intense in the morning that the child offered no
objection to her novel habiliments. Some inches had to be cut from the
bottom of the jacket to keep it off the ground, and the strip served as
a band to keep it close round her waist.
"It is too big," she said a little fretfully.
"It is large, Stephanie," Julian said, "but then, you see, there is the
advantage that when you like you can slip your arms altogether out of
the sleeves, and keep them as warm as a toast inside. Now you get on my
back and we will fasten you more comfortably than I could do yesterday."
This, with the assistance of a couple of soldiers, was done. Then,
putting on his cloak again, Julian fell in with his comrades, and, as
usual, striking up a merry song, in which the rest at once joined,
continued his march.
Day passed after day. The Russians pressed hotly on the rear, and many
times Ney's corps had to face about and repel their attacks. Sometimes
when the fighting was likely to be serious Julian handed his charge over
to the care of the driver of one of the ammunition carts, but as a rule
he carried her with him, for she objected strongly to leaving him. On
the march she often chose to be carried on his shoulder--a strange
little figure, with the high fur collar of the jacket standing up
level with the top of her head, and a yellow curl or two making its way
through the opening in front. She soon picked up the songs that were
most often sung, and her shrill little voice joined in. She was now a
prime favourite with all the men.
[Illustration: "ON THE MARCH LITTLE STEPHANIE OFTEN CHOSE TO BE CARRIED
ON JULIAN'S SHOULDER."]
Food became scarcer every day. The cavalry were now almost wholly
dismounted, the horses still available being taken for the guns. Among
the divisions in front the disorganization was great indeed. It was a
mob rather than an army, and only when attacked did they form up, and
with sullen fury drive off the foe. At other times they tramped along
silently, ragged, and often shoeless, their feet wrapped in rough
bandages. Whenever one fell from weakness, he lay there unnoticed, save
that sometimes a comrade would, in answer to his entreaties to kill him
rather than to leave him to the mercy of the peasants, put his musket to
his head and finish him at once. No one straggled, except to search a
deserted cottage on the line, for all who fell into the hands of the
peasants--who followed the army like wolves after a wounded stag--were
either put to death by atrocious tortures, or stripped and left to
perish by cold. All the sufferings inflicted by the army in its advance
upon the peasantry were now repaid an hundredfold, and the atrocities
perpetrated upon all who fell into their hands were so terrible that Sir
Robert Wilson wrote to the Czar, imploring him for the honour of the
country to put a stop to them. Alexander at once issued a proclamation
offering the reward of a gold piece for every French prisoner brought
in, and so saved the lives of many hundreds of these unfortunates. In
the French army itself all feelings of humanity were also obliterated.
The men fought furiously among themselves for any scrap of food, and a
dead horse was often the centre of a desperate struggle. Those who fell
were at once stripped of their garments, and death came all the sooner
to put an end to their sufferings. The authority of the officers was
altogether unheeded.
Day by day the numbers dwindled away. The safety of the French army thus
far was chiefly due to the vacillation, if not the absolute treachery,
of Kutusow. Moving on by roads well supplied with provisions, and
perfectly acquainted with the movements of the enemy, he was able to
outmarch them, and several times had it absolutely in his power to
completely overwhelm the broken remains of Napoleon's army. But, in
spite of the entreaties of the generals and the indignation of the army,
he obstinately refused to give the order. The French army no longer
travelled by a single road; sometimes the corps were separated from each
other by great masses of Russian troops. Numerous detached battles were
fought; but in each of these the French troops, although suffering
heavily, displayed their old courage, and either by hard fighting cut
their way through obstacles, or managed by long and circuitous marches
to evade them.
Napoleon's plans, which, if carried out, would have saved the army, were
brought to nought by the incapacity of the generals charged with the
duty. The vast depôts and stores that had been formed at various points
fell successively into the hands of the various Russian armies now
operating against the French. Bridges of vital importance on the line of
retreat were captured and destroyed, and repeated defeats inflicted upon
the armies that should have joined Napoleon as he fell back. Everywhere
fatal blunders were made by the French commanders, and it seemed as if
Heaven had determined to overthrow every combination formed by
Napoleon's sagacity, in order that the destruction of his army should be
complete. The army of Macdonald, that should have joined him, was itself
warmly pressed by the forces of Wittgenstein and the garrison of Riga,
which had been greatly reinforced. Schwarzenberg, with the Austrian
army, fell back without striking a blow; for the Austrians, in view of
the misfortunes that had befallen Napoleon, were preparing to cast off
their alliance with him; and to aid in his discomfiture, Wittgenstein
was ordered by Alexander to withdraw at once from his operations against
Macdonald and to march upon Borizov on the Berezina, the point towards
which Napoleon was making; while Admiral Tchichagow, with the army of
the Danube, that had been engaged in watching the Austrians, was to
march in the same direction, and also interpose to cut off the French
retreat.