near at hand, hoping still that the emperor Alexander would sue for
peace. No suit came. He offered terms himself, and they were not even
honored with a reply. A deeply disappointed man, the autocrat of Europe
marched out of Moscow on October 19 and began his frightful homeward
march. He had waited much too long. The Russian armies, largely
increased in numbers, shut him out from every path but the wasted one by
which he had come, a highway marked by the ashes of burnt towns and the
decaying corpses of men and animals.
On November 6, winter suddenly set in. The supplies had largely been
consumed, the land was empty of food, famine alternated with cold to
crush the retreating host, and death in frightful forms hovered over
their path. The horses, half fed and worn out, died by thousands. Most
of the cavalry had to go afoot; the booty brought from Moscow was
abandoned as valueless; even much of the artillery was left behind. The
cold grew more intense. A deep snow covered the plain, through whose
white peril they had to drag their weary feet. Arms were flung away as
useless weights, flight was the only thought, and but a tithe of the
army remained in condition to defend the rest.
The retreat of the grand army became one of incredible distress and
suffering. Over the seemingly endless Russian steppes, from whose
snow-clad level only rose here and there the ruins of a deserted
village, the freezing and starving soldiers made their miserable way.
Wan, hollow-eyed, gaunt, clad in garments through which the biting cold
pierced their flesh, they dragged wearily onward, fighting with one
another for the flesh of a dead horse, ready to commit murder for the
shadow of food, and finally sinking in death in the snows of that
interminable plain. Each morning, some of those who had stretched their
limbs round the bivouac fires failed to rise. The victims of the night
were often revealed only by the small mounds of fallen snow which had
buried them as they slept.
That this picture may not be thought overdrawn, we shall relate an
anecdote told of Prince Emilius of Darmstadt. He had fallen asleep in
the snow, and in order to protect him from the keen north wind four of
his Hessian dragoons screened him during the night with their cloaks.
The prince arose from his cold couch in the morning to find his faithful
guardians still in the position they had occupied during the
night,--frozen to death.
Maddened with famine and frost, men were seen to spring, with wildly
exulting cries, into the flames of burning houses. Of those that fell
into the hands of the Russian boors, many were stripped of their
clothing and chased to death through the snow. Smolensk, which the army
had passed in its glory, it now reached in its gloom. The city was
deserted and half burned. Most of the cannon had been abandoned, food
and ammunition were lacking, and no halt was possible. The despairing
army pushed on.
Death followed the fugitives in other forms than those of frost and
hunger. The Russians, who had avoided the army in its advance, harassed
it continually in its retreat. From all directions Russian troops
marched upon the worn-out fugitives, grimly determined that not a man of
them should leave Russia if they could prevent. The intrepid Ney, with
the men still capable of fight, formed the rear-guard, and kept at bay
their foes. This service was one of imminent peril. Cut off at Smolensk
from the main body, only Ney's vigilance saved his men from destruction.
During the night he led them rapidly along the banks of the Dnieper,
repulsing the Russian corps that sought to cut off his retreat, and
joined the army again.
The Beresina at length was reached. This river must be crossed. But the
frightful chill, which hitherto had pursued the fleeing host, now
inopportunely decreased, a thaw broke the frozen surface of the stream,
and the fugitives gazed with horror on masses of floating ice where they
had dreamed of a solid pathway for their feet. The slippery state of the
banks added to the difficulty, while on the opposite side a Russian army
commanded the passage with its artillery, and in the rear the roar of
cannon signalled the approach of another army. All seemed lost, and
only the good fortune which had so often befriended him now saved
Napoleon and his host.
For at this critical moment a fresh army corps, which had been left
behind in his advance, came to the emperor's aid, and the Russian
general who disputed the passage, deceived by the French movements,
withdrew to another point on the stream. Taking instant advantage of the
opportunity, Napoleon threw two bridges across the river, over which the
able-bodied men of the army safely made their way.
After them came the vast host of non-combatants that formed the rear,
choking the bridges with their multitude. As they struggled to cross,
the pursuing Russian army appeared and opened with artillery upon the
helpless mass, ploughing long red lanes of carnage through its midst.
One bridge broke down, and all rushed to the other. Multitudes were
forced into the stream, while the Russian cannon played remorselessly
upon the struggling and drowning mass. For two days the passage had
continued, and on the morning of the third a considerable number of sick
and wounded soldiers, sutlers, women, and children still remained
behind, when word reached them that the bridges were to be burned. A
fearful rush now took place. Some succeeded in crossing, but the fire
ran rapidly along the timbers, and the despairing multitude leaped into
the icy river or sought to plunge through the mounting flames. When the
ice thawed in the spring twelve thousand dead bodies were found on the
shores of the stream. Sixteen thousand of the fugitives remained
prisoners in Russian hands.
This day of disaster was the climax of the frightful retreat. But as
the army pressed onward the temperature again fell, until it reached
twenty-seven degrees below zero, and the old story of "frozen to death"
was resumed. Napoleon, fearing to be taken prisoner in Germany if the
truth should become known, left his army on December 5, and hurried
towards Paris with all speed, leaving the news of the disaster behind in
his flight. Wilna was soon after reached by the army, but could not be
held by the exhausted troops, and, with its crowded magazines and the
wealth in its treasury, fell into the hands of the Russians.
During this season of disaster the Austrian and Prussian commanders left
behind to guard the route contrived to spare their troops.
Schwarzenberg, the Austrian commander, retreated towards Warsaw and left
the Russian armies free to act against the French. The Prussians, who
had been engaged in the siege of Riga, might have covered the fleeing
host; but York, their commander, entered into a truce with the Russians
and remained stationary. They had been forced to join the French, and
took the first opportunity to abandon their hated allies.
A place of safety was at length reached, but the grand army was
represented by a miserable fragment of its mighty host. Of the
half-million who crossed the Russian frontier, but eighty thousand
returned. Of those who had reached Moscow, the meagre remnant numbered
scarcely twenty thousand in all.
_THE DEATH-STRUGGLE OF POLAND._
The French revolution of 1830 precipitated a similar one in Poland. The
rule of Russia in that country had been one of outrage and oppression.
In the words of the Poles, "personal liberty, which had been solemnly
guaranteed, was violated; the prisons were crowded; courts-martial were
appointed to decide in civil cases, and imposed infamous punishments
upon citizens whose only crime was that of having attempted to save from
corruption the spirit and the character of the nation."
On the 29th of November the people sprang to arms in Warsaw and the
Russians were driven out. Soon after a dictator was chosen, an army
collected, and Russian Poland everywhere rose in revolt.
It was a hopeless struggle into which the Polish patriots had entered.
In all Europe there was not a hand lifted in their aid. Prussia and
Austria stood in a threatening attitude, each with an army of sixty
thousand men upon the frontiers, ready to march to the aid of Russia if
any disturbance took place in their Polish provinces. Russia invaded the
country with an army of one hundred and twenty thousand men, a force
more than double that which Poland was able to raise. And the Polish
army was commanded by a titled incapable, Prince Radzivil, chosen
because he had a great name, regardless of his lack of ability as a
soldier. Chlopicki, his aide, was a skilled commander, but he fought
with his hands tied.
On the 19th of February, 1831, the two armies met in battle, and began a
desperate struggle which lasted with little cessation for six days.
Warsaw lay in the rear of the Polish army. Behind it flowed the Vistula,
with but a single bridge for escape in case of defeat. Victory or death
seemed the alternatives of the patriot force.
[Illustration: RUSSIAN PEASANTS.]
The struggle was for the Alder Wood, the key of the position. For the
possession of this forest the fight was hand to hand. Again and again it
was lost and retaken. On the 25th, the final day of battle, it was held
by the Poles. Forty-five thousand in number, they were confronted by a
Russian army of one hundred thousand men. Diebitsch, the Russian
commander, determined to win the Alder Wood at any cost. Chlopicki gave
orders to defend it to the last extremity.
The struggle that succeeded was desperate. By sheer force of numbers the
Russians made themselves masters of the wood. Then Chlopicki, putting
himself at the head of his grenadiers, charged into the forest depths,
driving out its holders at the bayonet's point. Their retreat threw the
whole Russian line into confusion. Now was the critical moment for a
cavalry charge. Chlopicki sent orders to the cavalry chief, but he
refused to move. This loss of an opportunity for victory maddened the
valiant leader. "Go and ask Radzivil," he said to the aides who asked
for orders; "for me, I seek only death." Plunging into the ranks of the
enemy, he was wounded by a shell, and borne secretly from the field. But
the news of this disaster ran through the ranks and threw the whole army
into consternation.
The fall of the gallant Chlopicki changed the tide of battle. Fiercely
struggling still, the Poles were driven from the wood and hurled back
upon the Vistula. A battalion of recruits crossed the river on the ice
and carried terror into Warsaw. Crowds of peasants, heaps of dead and
dying, choked the approach to Praga, the outlying suburb. Night fell
upon the scene of disorder. The houses of Praga were fired, and flames
lit up the frightful scene. Groans of agony and shrieks of despair
filled the air. The streets were choked with debris, but workmen from
Warsaw rushed out with axes, cleared away the ruin, and left the
passages free.
Inspirited by this, the infantry formed in line and checked the charge
of the Russian horse. The Albert cuirassiers rode through the first
Polish line, but soon found their horses floundering in mud, and
themselves attacked by lancers and pikemen on all sides. Of the
brilliant and daring corps scarce a man escaped.
That day cost the Poles five thousand men. Of the Russians more than ten
thousand fell. Radzivil, fearing that the single bridge would be carried
away by the broken ice, gave orders to retreat across the stream.
Diebitsch withdrew into the wood. And thus the first phase of the
struggle for the freedom of Poland came to an end.
This affair was followed by a striking series of Polish victories. The
ice in the Vistula was running free, the river overflowed its banks, and
for a month the main bodies of the armies were at rest. But General
Dwernicki, at the head of three thousand Polish cavalry, signalized the
remainder of February by a series of brilliant exploits, attacking and
dispersing with his small force twenty thousand of the enemy.
Radzivil, whose incompetency had grown evident, was now removed, and
Skrzynecki, a much abler leader, was chosen in his place. He was not
long in showing his skill and daring. On the night of March 30 the Praga
bridge was covered with straw and the army marched noiselessly across.
At daybreak, in the midst of a thick fog, it fell on a body of sleeping
Russians, who had not dreamed of such a movement. Hurled back in
disorder and dismay, they were met by a division which had been posted
to cut off their retreat. The rout was complete. Half the corps was
destroyed or taken, and the remainder fled in terror through the forest
depths.
Before the day ended the Poles came upon Rosen's division, fifteen
thousand in number, and strongly posted. Yet the impetuous onslaught of
the Poles swept the field. The Russians were driven back in utter rout,
with the loss of two thousand men, six thousand prisoners, and large
quantities of cannon and arms. The Poles lost but three hundred men in
this brilliant success. During the next day the pursuit continued, and
five thousand more prisoners were taken. So disheartened were the
Russian troops by these reverses that when attacked on April 10 at the
village of Iganie they scarcely attempted to defend themselves. The
flower of the Russian infantry, the _lions of Varna_, as they had been
called since the Turkish war, laid down their arms, tore the eagles from
their shakos, and gave themselves up as prisoners of war. Twenty-five
hundred were taken.
What immediately followed may be told in a few words. Skrzynecki failed
to follow up his remarkable success, and lost valuable time, in which
the Russians recovered from their dismay. The brave Dwernicki, after
routing a force of nine thousand with two thousand men, crossed the
frontier and was taken prisoner by the Austrians, who had made no
objection to its being crossed by the Russians. And, as if nature were
fighting against Poland, the cholera, which had crossed from India to
Russia and infected the Russian troops, was communicated to the Poles at
Iganie, and soon spread throughout their ranks.
The climax in this suicidal war came on the 26th of May, when the whole
Russian army, led by General Diebitsch, advanced upon the Poles. During
the preceding night the Polish army had retreated across the river
Narew, but, by some unexplained error, had left Lubienski's corps
behind. On this gallant corps, drawn up in front of the town of
Ostrolenka, the host of Russians fell. Flanked by the Cossacks, who
spread out in clouds of horsemen on each wing, the cavalry retreated
through the town, followed by the infantry, the 4th regiment of the
line, which formed the rear-guard, fighting step by step as it slowly
fell back.
Across the bridges poured the retreating Poles. The Russians followed
the rear-guard hotly into the town. Soon the houses were in flames.
Disorder reigned in the streets. The fight continued in the midst of the
conflagration. Russian infantry took possession of the houses adjoining
the river and fired on the retreating mass. Artillery corps rushed to
the river bank and planted their batteries to sweep the bridges. All the
avenues of escape were choked by the columns of the invading force.
The 4th regiment, which had been left alone in the town, was in imminent
peril of capture, but at this moment of danger it displayed an
indomitable spirit. With closed ranks it charged with the bayonet on the
crowded mass before it, rent a crimson avenue through its midst, and
cleared a passage to the bridges over heaps of the dead. Over the
quaking timbers rushed the gallant Poles, followed closely by the
Russian grenadiers. The Polish cannon swept the bridge, but the gunners
were picked off by sharp-shooters and stretched in death beside their
guns. On the curving left bank eighty Russian cannon were planted, whose
fire protected the crossing troops.
Meanwhile the bulk of the Polish army lay unsuspecting in its camp.
Skrzynecki, the commander, resting easy in the belief that all his men
were across, heard the distant firing with unconcern. Suddenly the
imminence of the peril was brought to his attention. Rushing from his
tent, and springing upon his horse, he galloped madly through the
ranks, shouting wildly, as he passed from column to column, "Ho!
Rybinski! Ho! Malachowski! Forward! forward, all!"
The troops sprang to their feet; the forming battalions rushed forward
in disorder; from end to end of the line rushed the generalissimo, the
other officers hurrying to his aid. Charge after charge was made on the
Russians who had crossed the stream. As if driven by frenzy, the Poles
fell on their foes with swords and pikes. Singing the Warsaw hymn, the
officers rushed to the front. The lancers charged boldly, but their
horses sank in the marshy soil, and they fell helpless before the
Russian fire.
The day passed; night fell; the field of battle was strewn thick with
the dead and dying. Only a part of the Russian army had succeeded in
crossing. Skrzynecki held the field, but he had lost seven thousand men.
The Russians, of whom more than ten thousand had fallen, recrossed the
river during the night. But they commanded the passage of the stream,
and the Polish commander gave orders for a retreat on Warsaw, sadly
repeating, as he entered his carriage, Kosciusko's famous words, "Finis
Poloniae."
The end indeed was approaching. The resources of Poland were limited,
those of Russia were immense. New armies trebly replaced all Russian
losses. Field-Marshal Paskievitch, the new commander, at the head of new
forces, determined to cross the Vistula and assail Warsaw on the left
bank of the stream, instead of attacking its suburb of Praga and
seeking to force a passage across the river at that point, as on former
occasions.
The march of the Russians was a difficult and dangerous one. Heavy rains
had made the roads almost impassable, while streams everywhere
intersected the country. To transport a heavy park of artillery and the
immense supply and baggage train for an army of seventy thousand men,
through such a country, was an almost impossible task, particularly in
view of the fact that the cholera pursued it on its march, and the sick
and dying proved an almost fatal encumbrance.
Had it been attacked under such circumstances by the Polish army, it
might have been annihilated. But Skrzynecki remained immovable, although
his troops cried hotly for "battle! battle!" whenever he appeared. The
favorable moment was lost. The Russians crossed the Vistula on floating
bridges, and marched in compact array upon the Polish capital.
And now clamor broke out everywhere. Riots in Warsaw proclaimed the
popular discontent. A dictator was appointed, and preparations to defend
the city to the last extremity were made. But at the last moment twenty
thousand men were sent out to collect supplies for the threatened city,
leaving only thirty-five thousand for its defence. The Russians,
meanwhile, had been reinforced by thirty thousand men, making their army
one hundred and twenty thousand strong, while in cannon they outnumbered
the Poles three to one.
Such was the state of affairs in beleaguered Warsaw on that fatal 6th of
September when the Russian general, taking advantage of the weakening
of the patriot army, ordered a general assault.
At daybreak the attack began with a concentrated fire from two hundred
guns. The troops, who had been well plied with brandy, rushed in a
torrent upon the battered walls, and swarmed into the suburb of Wola,
driving its garrison into the church, where the carnage continued until
none were left to resist.
From Wola the attack was directed, about noon, upon the suburb of
Czyste. This was defended by forty guns, which made havoc in the Russian
ranks, while two battalions of the 4th regiment, rushing upon them in
their disorder, strove to drive them back and wrest Wola from their
hands. The effort was fruitless, strong reinforcements coming to the
Russian aid.
Through the blood-strewn streets of the city the struggle continued,
success favoring now the Poles, now the Russians. About five in the
afternoon the tide of battle turned decisively in favor of the Russians.
A shower of shells from the Russian batteries had fired the houses of
Czyste, within whose flame-lit streets a hand-to-hand struggle went on.
The famous 4th regiment, intrenched in the cemetery, defended itself
valiantly, but was driven back by the spread of the flames. Night fell,
but the conflict continued. The dawn of the following day saw the city
at the mercy of the Russian host. The twenty thousand men sent out to
forage were still absent. Nothing remained but surrender, and at nine in
the evening the news of the capitulation was brought to the army, to
whom orders to retire on Praga were given.
Thus ended the final struggle for the freedom of Poland. The story of
what followed it is not our purpose to tell. The mild Alexander was no
longer on the Russian throne. The stern Nicholas had replaced him, and
fearful was his revenge. For the crime of patriotism Poland was
decimated, thousands of its noblest citizens being transported to the
Caucasus and Siberia. The remnant of separate existence possessed by
Poland was overthrown, and it was made a province of the Russian empire.
Even the teaching of the Polish language was forbidden, the youth of the
nation being commanded to learn and speak the Russian tongue. As for the
persecution and suffering which fell upon the Poles as a nation, it is
too sad a story to be here told. There is still a Polish people, but a
Poland no more.
_SCHAMYL THE HERO OF CIRCASSIA._
In the region lying between the Black Sea and the Caspian Sea rise the
rugged Caucasian Mountains, a mighty wall of rock which there divides
the continents of Europe and Asia. Monarch of those lofty hills towers
the tall peak of Elbrus, called by the natives "the great spirit of the
mountains." Farther east Kasbek lifts its lofty summit, and at a lower
level the whole jagged line, "the thousand-peaked Caucasus," rises into
view. Below these a lower range, dark with forests, marks its outline on
the snowy summits beyond. Fruitful clearings appear to the height of
five thousand feet on the western slopes; garden terraces mount the
eastward face, and the valleys, green with meadows or golden with grain,
are dotted with clusters of cottages. Sheep and goats browse in great
numbers on the hill-sides; lower down the camel and buffalo feed; herds
of horses roam half wild through the glades, and from the higher rocks
the chamois looks boldly down on the inhabited realms below.
In these mountain fastnesses dwells a race of bold and liberty-loving
mountaineers who have preserved their freedom through all the historic
eras, yielding only at last, after years of valiant resistance, when the
whole power of the Russian empire was brought to bear upon them in
their wilds. For years the heroic Schamyl, their unconquerable chief,
braved his foes, again and again he escaped from their toils or hurled
them back in defeat, and for a quarter of a century he defied all the
power of Russia, yielding only when driven to his final lair.
In the _aoul_ or village of Himri, perched like an eagle's nest high on
a projecting rock, this famous chief was born in the year 1797. The only
access to this high-seated stronghold was by a narrow path winding
several hundred feet up the slope, while a triple wall, flanked by high
towers, further defended it, and the overhanging brow of the mountain
guarded it above. Such is the character of one of the strongholds of
this mountain land, and such an example of the difficulties its foes had
to overcome.
There are no finer horsemen than the daring Circassian mountaineers, who
are ready to dash at full speed up or down precipitous steeps, to leap
chasms, or to swim raging torrents. In an instant, also, they can
discharge their weapons, unslinging the gun when at full gallop, firing
upon the foe, and as quickly returning it to its place. They can rest
suspended on the side of the horse, leap to the ground to pick up a
fallen weapon, and bound into the saddle again without a halt. And such
is the precision of their aim that they are able to strike the smallest
mark while riding at full speed.