[Illustration: _Napoleon._]
On quitting Moscow, the Grande Armée fell into the hands of the
Cossacks, who surrounded and pursued it to the frontier, and even some
way beyond. They so harassed the French that the word “Cossack” soon
became a synonym for “Terror,” not only in France but all over Europe,
representing the height of greed, perfidy, and barbarity. But in
pursuing and killing the enemy, the Cossacks were after all doing
nothing more than their duty. At times they undoubtedly committed
atrocities, but they often gave proof of humanity.
“The Cossacks,” says Constant, the Emperor’s _valet de chambre_, “seem
to have been created to be eternally perched on a horse. There is
nothing more amusing than to see them try to walk. Their legs, bowed
through the habit of gripping the horse’s flanks, resemble the arms of
tweezers. When he dismounts, the Cossack seems to be on an element to
which he does not properly belong.
“The Emperor, on entering Gjatsk, escorted by two of these barbarians on
horseback, ordered that vodka should be served out to them. They
swallowed it as if it were water, and held out their glasses with a most
amusing calmness for a further allowance. Their horses were small, and
had long tails. They appeared to be very docile.”
On the road to Mozjaisk 300 Cossacks attacked at night a convoy of 350
carts, having a guard of four regiments of cavalry and two battalions of
infantry. In a few moments the harness of all the carts was so hacked
about that it was impossible for the drivers to proceed.
Baron Fain speaks somewhat ironically of the Cossack tactics. “Although
Kutuzof is rather weak in a pitched battle, he is at least unrivalled on
the high-road. The audacity of these undisciplined hordes knows no
limit. We have them in front of us, behind us, on our flanks. They face
us at every turn. Perhaps the road to Viazma may free us of them for
some days.”
But after the battle of Viazma, the Russian infantry, which had taken a
parallel road to cut off the French, disappeared, and Ney’s rear-guard
was again beset by Cossacks. Importunate insects, to use Ségur’s
expression, mounted on little horses with roughed shoes, trained to
gallop on the snow, they gave the retreating army no peace.
“To complete the disorder of our retreat, which was of itself enough to
undo us,” says René Bourgeois, “the Cossacks attacked us unceasingly....
As soon as our men caught sight of them, they would scatter in every
direction. Some fled hurriedly to the front, while others fell back on
the guard, or on some of the companies that were still to be found at
intervals.”
Another witness, A. F. de B—— adds this sketch—“The number of stragglers
was so great that the Cossacks picked out their prisoners, taking those
who seemed best dressed, and whom they imagined to have loot. They
allowed the others to pass on, without seeming even to notice them.”
“That wretched cavalry, which makes a vast amount of noise, and is
incapable of breaking through a square of voltigeurs, has become
formidable through force of circumstances.” Such was Napoleon’s opinion
of the Cossacks as set forth in one of his bulletins. Platoff, however,
almost cut up the whole of the Beauharnais division. He killed 1500 men,
and took 3500 prisoners, captured 62 pieces of cannon, several flags,
and a large quantity of transport.
“Napoleon did not, and above all would not, understand that the Cossack
cavalry was unique of its kind, and in no way resembled regular horse.”
It never risked a regular action unless victory was certain. If,
however, he had seen the Cossack who, having put on the uniform of
Marshal Ney, “the bravest of the brave,” went calmly about his business,
he might have appreciated the fearlessness of these simple children of
the steppes.
“It is a historical fact,” writes Constant, “that the King of Naples
impressed these barbarians greatly. The Emperor was told that they
wished to name Murat their Hetman. Napoleon, amused at the proposal,
said he would be delighted to second the nomination. It must be admitted
that the King of Naples had something theatrical in his bearing
calculated to appeal to these barbarians. It was said that by simply
flourishing his great sabre he had put an entire horde to flight.”
The author of the _Journal de la Guerre_ relates that in spite of their
critical position, the French troops laughed heartily at an incident
that occurred during a Cossack attack. One of the enemy seized hold of
one end of an enormous roll of fine linen. The other was held fast by a
Frenchman, and as the Cossack galloped away, the roll was unwound and
continued to extend in a long serpentine strip until “the barbarian”
disappeared into a wood close by.
The Cossacks succeeded one day in capturing Napoleon’s baggage. What
pleased them most in this haul was the discovery of a number of bottles
of old “Château Margaux,” stamped with the letter N surmounted with the
Imperial crown.
Napoleon’s camp-beds, taken by the Cossacks, and now exhibited in the
Museum of Armour in Moscow, are interesting. They are two in number, one
large and the other small. The former was set up when Napoleon intended
to make a more or less protracted stay. The covers were of lilac silk,
and provided with pockets for the reception of papers, books, and
reports to be read during the night.
The relations between the French prisoners and their Cossack captors
were at times marked with the utmost cordiality, if we may credit the
following statement made by the author of the _Journal de la
Guerre_—“Our artillery having been captured, the gunners were disarmed
and marched off roped together. In the evening the Cossacks celebrated
their victory by a great festivity, in which drinking and dancing played
the principal part. In the expansiveness of their hearts they wished
every one to participate in their good fortune, and remembering their
prisoners, invited them to take part in the general merry-making. The
unfortunate artillerymen desired nothing better than rest after their
labours, but little by little, restored by the good cheer lavished upon
them, they joined in the dances, and took a hearty part in the
amusements of their captors. The Cossacks were so much delighted by this
display of good-fellowship that they allowed the French to don their
tunics and shakos, restored their side-arms, shook hands vigorously with
their new friends, who embraced them in turn, and made the best of their
way back to their quarters.”
An equally pleasing story is told by a marine of the Guard who was taken
prisoner by the Cossacks. “While we were warming ourselves round some
pine-logs, a Cossack came up—a tall, lean, wiry man, of such a ferocious
countenance that we involuntarily drew back. He approached us with a
military salute and began talking; but we were unable to understand a
word he said. He was probably questioning us about something. Annoyed at
our failure to understand him, he showed signs of his displeasure, which
caused us some alarm; but when he saw this he at once assumed a kindly
expression, and, noticing that my comrade’s clothes were stained with
blood, he indicated a wish to examine his wound, and signed to us to
follow him.
“He took us into the nearest hut. A woman appeared, and he told her to
spread some straw and bring some warm water. Then he went away, giving
us to understand by signs that he was coming back again. The woman threw
down a little straw, but forgot all about the water, and we did not like
to bother her about it. When he returned he at once signed to us, asking
if we had had anything to eat. We shook our heads. He apparently bade
the woman give us some supper, and when she refused, he rated her
soundly. Then she showed him a basin containing some sort of broth in
it, vowing, to all appearance, that that was all she had. The Cossack
stormed and threatened, but in vain—she would do nothing but warm some
water. The Cossack left us again, and soon returned with a piece of salt
bacon; and we at once fell to, although it was quite raw. While we ate,
the Cossack looked on with pleasure and signed to us not to eat too much
at once.
“When we had satisfied our hunger, he again spoke to the
woman—apparently about bandages for our wounds. He asked her for some
rags, but she refused to give him any, and tried to put him off with the
answer—‘_Nyema_—I have none.’ Then the gallant soldier took hold of her
by the arm and made her turn out every corner of the hut, but he found
nothing. At last, irritated by her obstinacy, he drew his sword; she
began to scream, and we threw ourselves at his feet, thinking that he
was going to kill her. He smiled at us, as much as to say—‘You don’t
know me, I only want to frighten her.’
“The woman trembled in every limb, but still refused to give him
anything. So he threw away his coat and pulled off his shirt, which he
proceeded to cut in strips with his sword, and set to work to re-bandage
our wounds. He talked the whole time he was engaged in this task, using
a number of Polish and German words in the course of his remarks; but,
however unintelligible this running accompaniment was, his actions
clearly showed the nobility of his heart. I believe he was trying to
make us understand that he had been accustomed to warfare for more than
twenty years—he was about forty—that he had been in a number of great
battles, and knew that one must learn after victory to be generous to
the unfortunate. He pointed to his medals, as much as to say that such
tokens of courage imposed upon him certain obligations. We were
delighted at his magnanimity, and he could no doubt read in our faces
the expression of our gratitude. I should have liked to say to
him—‘Friend, rest assured that your kindness will never fade from our
memory. There are but two witnesses of your humanity, for this woman is
incapable of appreciating it. Only tell us your name, that we in turn
may tell it to our comrades.’ At first he knelt down, but afterwards
becoming tired of that attitude he sat on the floor with a leg on either
side of my comrade. He washed the wound in his shoulder and dressed it
with the utmost care. Then, looking towards me, as if for advice, he
showed me that he intended, if possible, to extract the ball with a rude
knife which he now produced. He tried to probe the wound, but my friend
screamed so loudly in his agony that he stopped. Laying his cheek on my
comrade’s head, he seemed to ask pardon for the pain he had caused. At
the sight of so much tenderness I could not forbear from seizing his
hands and pressing them warmly. Summoning all the resources of my
Polish, Russian, and German vocabulary, I tried to speak, but could
not—my heart was full, and my eyes were wet with tears.
“‘My dear, dear camarade!’ said he, making haste to get the wound
dressed, for he seemed to fear there would not be time enough.
“When my turn came, the kindly Cossack, having examined my wound, gave
me by signs to understand that it was not deep, and would heal up of its
own accord. The force of the lance-thrust must have been broken by my
clothing.
“He was still attending to our wants when one of his comrades called to
him from the street—‘Pavlovski’—so that at last I learned his name—and
he left us at once, followed by our blessing.
“We thought we should probably never see our gallant Cossack again, but
he returned very early the next day and examined the dressing of our
wounds. He also brought us a couple of Russian biscuits apiece, and
expressed his regret that he could do no more.”
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