The stupendous events of the war rushed on with startling rapidity.
The invasion of France, in retaliation for the projected invasion of
Germany, was now an accomplished fact; and, day after day, the Teuton
host added victory to victory on the long list of their triumphant
battle-roll, almost every engagement swelling the number of Gallic
defeats and lessening the power of the French to resist their relentless
foe, who now, with iron-clad hand on the throat of the prostrate
country, marched onward towards Paris, scattering havoc with fire and
sword wherever the accumulating legions of armed men trod.
The battle of Woerth succeeded that of Weissembourg; Forbach that of
Woerth; and then came Vionville and Gravelotte to add their thousands of
victims to the valhalla of victory. The surrender of Sedan followed,
when the Germans passed on their way to the capital; but the brave
general Urich still held out in besieged Strasbourg, and Bazaine had not
yet made his last brilliant sortie from the invested Metz. The latter
general especially kept the encircling armies of Prince Frederick
Charles and Steinmetz on the constant alert by his continuous endeavours
to search out the weakest spot in the German armour. The real attempt
of the French Marshal to break through the investing lines was yet to
come; that of the 31st of August, to which Fritz alluded in his letter
to his mother, having been only made apparently to support Mcmahon as a
diversion to the latter's attack on Montmedy, before the surrender of
Sedan.
From this period, up to the beginning of October, the French remained
pretty quiet, the guns of the different forts lying without the
fortifications of Metz only keeping up a harassing fire on the besieging
batteries that the Germans had erected around on the heights commanding
the various roads by which Bazaine's army could alone hope to force a
passage through their lines. Summer had now entirely disappeared and
cold weather set in, so the Teuton forces found it very unpleasant work
in the trenches when the biting winds of autumn blew through their
encampments of a night, making their bivouac anything but comfortable;
while the sharp morning frosts also made their rising most unpleasantly
disagreeable; add to this, whenever they succeeded in making their
quarters a trifle more cosy than usual, as certainly would the cannon of
Fort Quelin or the monster guns of Saint Julien send a storm of shot and
shell to awaken them, causing an instant turn-out of the men in a body
to resist a possible sortie. Bazaine made perpetual feints of this
sort, with the evident intention of wearying out his antagonists, even
if he could do them no further harm.
The position was like that of a cat watching a mouse-hole, the timid
little occupant of which would every now and then put out its head to
see whether the coast were clear; and then, perceiving its enemy on the
watch, provokingly draw it in again, leaving pussy angry at her repeated
disappointments and almost inclined to bite her paws with vexation at
her inability to follow up her prey into its stronghold; for, the heavy
artillery of the fortress so protected the surrounding country adjacent
to Metz, that the Germans had to place the batteries of their works out
of its range, that is, almost at a distance of some four miles from the
French camp--of which any bombardment was found after a time to be worse
than useless, causing the most infinitesimal amount of damage in return
for an enormous expenditure of ammunition and projectiles that had to be
conveyed over very precarious roads all the way from the frontiers of
the Rhine into the heart of Lorraine.
"Oh, that the French would only do something!" cried Fritz and his
companions, sick of inactivity and the wearisome nature of their duties,
which, after the excitement of battle and the stirring campaigning they
had already gone through, seemed now far worse than guard-mounting in
Coblentz. "Oh, that the French would only do something to end this
tedious siege!"
Soon this wish was gratified.
On the morning of the 6th of October, when the investiture of Metz had
lasted some six weeks or more--just at daybreak--a heavy, dull report
was heard at Mercy-le-Haut. It was like the bursting of a mine.
"Something is up at last!" exclaimed one of the staff-officers, entering
the tent where Fritz and others were stretched on the bare ground,
trying to keep themselves as warm as they could with all the spare
blankets and other covering that could be collected heaped over
them--"Something is up at last! Rouse up; the general assembly has
sounded!"
The ringing bugle notes without in the frosty air emphasised these
words, causing the young fellows to turn out hastily, without requiring
any further summons.
Aye, something was up. The pioneers of the Seventh German army corps,
on the extreme right, had mined and blown up the farm buildings of
Legrange aux Bois, close to Peltre. These farm buildings had hitherto
served as a cover to the French troops when they made their foraging
sorties, but they could not be held by the Germans, for they were
situated within the line of fire of Fort Quelin; so, as may be imagined,
their destruction was hailed with a ringing cheer by the besiegers. The
artillerymen in the fort, however, apparently anticipating an attack in
force of which this explosion was but the prelude, were on the alert at
once; and, soon after sunrise, they began to pour in a heavy rain of
fire on the German works, which the conflagration of the buildings and
removal of intervening obstacles now clearly disclosed. Whole
broadsides of projectiles from the great guns flew into the valley of
the Moselle as far as Ars, sweeping away the entrenchments as if they
were mere packs of cards; and, presently, an onward movement of French
battalions of infantry, supported by field artillery and cavalry, showed
that, this time at least, something more was intended by Marshal Bazaine
than a mere feint.
Trumpet called to trumpet in the German ranks, and speedily the whole of
the second army under Prince Frederick Charles mustered its forces in
line of battle, the men gathering in imposing masses towards the
threatened point at Ars. Here the 61st and 21st infantry regiments,
which were on outpost duty, were the first: to commence hostilities,
rushing to meet the French who were advancing from Metz. Aided by the
batteries erected by the side of the Bois de Vaux, the Germans, after a
sharp conflict, succeeded in repulsing the enemy, who had ultimately to
retire again under the guns of Fort Quelin, although they made a
vigorous resistance while the engagement lasted--only falling back on
suffering severe loss from the shower of shrapnel to which they were
subjected, besides losing many prisoners. During all the time of this
attack and repulse, Fort Saint Julien, on the other side of the
fortress, was shelling the Landwehr reserve, causing many casualties
amongst the Hanoverian legion; and, but that the men here were quite
prepared for their foe, the combat might have extended to their lines.
As it was, the expected fight, for which the Tenth Corps was ready and
waiting, was only delayed for a few hours; when, if Fritz and his
comrades had complained of the cold of the weather, they found the work
cut out for them "hot" enough in all conscience!
In the afternoon of the following day, Bazaine made a desperate effort
to break through the environment of the Germans in the direction of
Thionville. On the previous evening, in resisting the attack from Saint
Julien, which had been undertaken at the same time as that from Saint
Quelin on Ars, the French had been driven from the village of
Ladonchamps, and their adversaries had established foreposts at Saint
Remy, Petites et Grandes Tapes, and Maxe; and now, under cover of a
thick fog, the French Marshal advanced his troops again and commenced a
vigorous attempt, supported by a heavy artillery fire, for the recovery
of the lost Ladonchamps. Failing in this, although possibly the attack
might have been a blind, the general being such a thorough master of
strategy, Bazaine made a dash for Petites et Grandes Tapes, annihilating
the foreposts and hurling great masses of men at their supports. Having
occupied these villages, the French Marshal then sent forward a large
body of troops to the right, close to the Moselle. These advanced up
the valley against the German entrenchments on the heights until checked
by cannon fire from batteries on both sides of the river, and were only
finally stopped by an advance in force of two brigades of the Landwehr,
the men of whom occupied a position just in front of Petites et Grandes
Tapes.
Amongst these latter troops was the regiment of our friend Fritz.
The fighting was terrific here.
Clouds of bullets came like hail upon the advancing men, reaping the
ranks down as if with a scythe, while bursting shells cleared open
spaces in their midst in a manner that was appalling; still, those in
the rear pressed on to fill the places of the fallen, with a fierce roar
of revenge, and the needle-gun answered the chassepot as quickly as the
combatants could put the cartridges into the breech-pieces and bring
their rifles again to the "present."
Fritz felt the frenzy of Gravelotte return to him as he gripped the
sword which he now wielded in place of the musket; and, urging on his
company, the men, scattering right and left in tirailleur formation were
soon creeping up to the enemy, taking advantage of every little cover
which the irregularities of the ground afforded.
Then, suddenly, right in front, could be seen a splendid line regiment
of the French, advancing in column. A sheet of flame came from their
levelled rifles, and the Fusilier battalion of the Landwehr regiment to
the left of Fritz's company were exterminated to a man, the enemy
marching over their dead bodies with a shout of victory.
Their progress, however, was not to last.
"Close up there, men!" came the order from Fritz's commanding officer;
when the troops hurriedly formed up in a hollow which protected them for
a moment from the galling fire. "Fix bayonets!"--and they awaited the
still steady advance of the French until they appeared above the rising
ground. "Fire, and aim low!" was the next order from the major; and
then, "Charge!"
With a ringing cheer of "Vorwarts!" Fritz dashed onward at the head of
the regiment, a couple of paces in front of his men, who with their
sharp weapons extended in front like a fringe of steel, came on behind
at the double.
Whiz, sang a bullet by his ear, but he did not mind that; crash, plunged
a shell into the ground in front, tearing up a hole that he nearly fell
into; when, jumping over this at the run, in another second he had
crossed swords with one of the officers of the French battalion, who
rushed out as eagerly to meet him.
They had not time, though, to exchange a couple of passes before a
fragment of a bursting bomb carried away the French officer's head,
bespattering Fritz with the brains and almost making him reel with
sickness; while, at the same moment, the men of the German regiment bore
down the French line, scattering it like chaff, for the sturdy
Hanoverians seemed like giants in their wrath, bayoneting every soul
within reach!
This was only the beginning of it.
"On," still "on," was the cry; and, not until the lost villages were
recaptured and the unfortunate German foreposts avenged did the advance
cease.
But the struggle was fierce and terribly contested. Three several times
did the Germans get possession of Petites et Grandes Tapes, and three
several times did the French drive them out again with their fearful
mitrailleuse hail of fire; the bayonet settled it at last, in the hands
of the northern legions, who had not forgotten the use of it since the
days of Waterloo, nor, as it would appear, the French yet learnt to
withstand it!
Beyond a slight touch from a passing bullet which had grazed his lower
jaw, having the effect of rattling his teeth together, as if somebody
had "chucked him under the chin," Fritz had escaped without any serious
wound up to the time that the French were beaten back after the third
attempt to carry their positions; but then, as they turned to run and
the Hanoverians pressed on in pursuit, he felt suddenly hit somewhere in
the breast. A spasm of pain shivered through him as the missile seemed
to rend its way through his vitals; and then, throwing up his arms, he
fell across the corpse of a soldier who must have been shot almost
immediately before him, for the body was quite warm to the touch.
How he was hurt he could not tell; he only knew that he was unable to
stir, and that each breath of air he drew came fainter and fainter, as
if it were his last.
He heard, from the retreating tramp of footsteps and distant shouts,
that his regiment had moved on after the enemy; but, as he lay on his
back, he could not see anything save the sky, while each moment some
stray shot whistled by in the air or threw up earth over him,
threatening to give him his finishing blow should the wound he had
received not be sufficient to settle him.
Then, he felt thirsty, and longed to cry out for help; but, no sound
came from his lips, while the exertion to speak caused such intolerable
agony that he wished he could die at once and be put out of his misery.
When charging the French battalion, he recollected putting his foot on
the dead face of some victim of the fight, and he could recall the
thrill of horror that passed through him as he had done this
inadvertently; now, each instant he expected, too, to be trampled on in
the same manner.
Ha! He could distinguish footsteps pressing the ground near. "Oh,
mother!" he thought, "the end is coming now, for the fight must be
drawing near again. I wish a shell or bullet would settle the matter!"
But the footsteps he imagined to be the tramp of marching men--on
account of his ear being so close to the ground and thus, of course,
magnifying the sound--were only those of the faithful Gelert, who with
the instinct of a well-trained retriever was searching for his new-found
friend. He had tracked his path over the valley from the advanced post
which the regiment had occupied in the morning, and where the dog had
been kept by Fritz to watch his camp equipments until he should return.
Gelert evidently considered that he had waited long enough for duty's
sake; and, that, as his adopted master did not come to fetch him, he
ought to start to seek for him instead, one good turn deserving another!
At the moment, therefore, when Fritz expected to have the remaining
breath trampled out of him by a rush of opposing battalions across his
poor prone body, he felt the dog licking his face, whining and
whimpering in recognition and mad with joy at discovering him.
"Dear old Gelert, you brave, good doggie," he ejaculated feebly, in
panting whispers. "You'll have to try and find a third master now!" and
then, overcome by the effort, which taxed what little strength was left
in him, he swooned away like a dead man--the last distinct impression he
had being that of seeing a bright star twinkle out from the opal sky
above him as he lay on the battlefield, which seemed to be winking and
blinking at him as if beckoning him up to heaven!
His awakening was very different.
On coming to his consciousness again, he felt nice and warm and
comfortable, just as if he were in bed; and, opening his eyes, he saw
the sweet face of a young girl bending over him.
"I must be dreaming," he murmured to himself lazily. He felt so utterly
free from pain and at ease that he did not experience the slightest
anxiety or perplexity to know where he was. He was perfectly satisfied
to take what came. "I must be dreaming, or else I am dead, and this is
one of the angels come to take me away!"