BATTLE OF MINDEN.
The morning of the 1st of August dawned fair and softly. The sky was
a deep blue, and light fleecy clouds were floating across it. It was
the opening of a day of battle, a day of doom to many, for who among
us were fated to fall, and who to see its close?
A gentle breeze waved the foliage of the green woods, and swayed the
ripened corn in yellow billows as it passed over the broad
harvest-fields.
Bright, clear, and sparkling amid the blue ether shone the morning
star, and lower down rolled a mass of amber-coloured cloud, on the
edges of which glittered the rays of the yet unrisen sun.
Phosphor paled, the light gradually became golden, and the last
shadows of night grew fainter as they faded away. Then the light
breeze died, and there was not a breath to stir the foliage of the
dense old forests which cast their shadows on the current of the
Weser--that watery barrier which the French were to defend, and we to
force at all hazards; hence, as the morning drew on, the air became
close, heavy, and hot, and our men--horse, loot, and artillery--while
wheeling, deploying, and getting into position among green hedgerows
and deep corn, laden as they were in heavy marching order, soon felt
their frames relaxed and the bead-drops oozing from under their
grenadier caps and heavy cocked hats.
Brightly the sun burst forth from amid his amber clouds, and ere long
the embattled walls of Minden, and its Gothic spires, Catholic and
Lutheran, were shining in light.
The allied army formed in order of battle on the plain called
Todtenhausen, in front of the town of Minden, which occupies the left
bank of the Weser, and in which there was a strong French garrison,
whose cannon commanded the famous stone bridge of six hundred yards
in length. After capturing the town from General Zastrow, the main
body of the army of M. de Contades had encamped near it.
On his left rose a steep hill, in his front lay a deep morass, and in
his rear flowed a rugged mountain-stream.
As this position was strong, Prince Ferdinand employed all his
strategy to draw the maréchal from it. With this view he had quitted
his camp on the Weser, and marched to a place named Hille, leaving,
however, General Wangenheim with a body of troops entrenched on the
plain of Todtenhausen. Then detaching his nephew (known among us as
the Hereditary Prince of Brunswick) with six thousand men, he gave
him orders to make a detour towards the French left, and thus cut off
their communication with Paderborn.
Though not ignorant of the compass of these triple dispositions,
Contades, the Duc de Broglie, and Prince Xavier of Saxony, leader of
the Household Cavalry of France, readily fell into the snare.
"Messeigneurs," said Maréchal Contades, with confidence, "the
opportunity which we have so long sought for cutting off Prince
Ferdinand's communication with the Weser has been found at last. It
is the very consummation of our wishes. Already we may behold those
vainglorious allies divided and separated in three masses without the
possibility of a reunion. Let us march, gentlemen, and by the ruin
of General Wangenheim, obtain the full command of the Weser!"
"_Vive le Roi!_" cried the whole council of war.
It was with this idea in their minds that we saw the French troops
leaving their strong position between the hill, the long and
impassable morass, and the rugged stream, and advancing into the open
plain--precisely the same fatal error committed about a hundred years
before by the Scots at the battle of Dunbar.
The allied army, composed of fifty-nine squadrons of horse and
forty-three battalions of infantry, with forty-eight 12-pound
field-pieces and four mortars, was formed in three lines.
We, the Scots Greys, were in Elliot's brigade of Lord Granby's
Cavalry Division, and with the 3rd Dragoon Guards (Howard's) and 10th
Dragoons (Mordaunt's) were on the extreme right of the second line,
when we formed up from open column of squadrons through fields of
hemp and flax.
In our front were the Horse Guards (Blue) and Inniskilling Dragoons,
who formed the right of the first line.
Over those thousands forming in order of battle the shadow of death
was passing; but no thought had we then, save of victory and triumph,
and of regilding our lost laurels!
"There will be rough work to-day--Auld Geordie has his buff-coat on,"
I heard our men muttering.
As the kettledrums beat and the trumpets sounded the usual flourish
when swords were drawn, old Preston looked along our glittering line
with a grim smile of satisfaction on his wrinkled visage.
"They have unsheathed as one man!" exclaimed Lord Granby, approvingly.
"'Tis well, my lord," said Colonel Preston, "for those swords have
killed as many Frenchmen as any blades in Europe."
As yet all was still--not a shot had stirred the morning air; but we
knew that the French were advancing, as from time to time the
sky-blue colours, with the golden lilies and the steady gleam of
bayonets appeared among the trees, the hedges, and broken ground in
front.
James Keith of Inverugie was near me. He was smiling now, and there
was a bright flush on his cheek with a feverish restlessness in his
eye, for the belief in the old prediction was stronger than ever in
his heart, and I pitied the poor lad, for he was brave as a Bayard or
a Du Guesclin.
Ere long a noisy murmur--the hum of expectation--passed along the
first line, when eight battalions of French--the vanguard, which was
led by the Duc de Broglie (who was mounted on a splendid white horse
with housings flashing in the sun), and which had passed the Weser at
midnight, after marching on with perfect confidence until they
reached the crest of an eminence, halted simultaneously, on finding
to their astonishment the whole army of the allies now acting in
unison, disposed in excellent order, and formed in three lines, the
first of which reached almost to the gates of Minden, and covered the
entire plain of Todtenhausen!
A discovery so unexpected filled the Duke with embarrassment; but it
was too late to retreat.
"St. Denis for France!" he exclaimed, waving his baton, and ordered
the Cavalry, which had covered his advance, to charge. Thus, in five
minutes, the battle began in all its fury about six o'clock, A.M.: a
battle in describing which I shall generally confine myself to a few
personal episodes.
On the Hanoverian Guards and the six regiments of British
Infantry--our brave 12th, 20th, 23rd, 25th, or Edinburgh, 37th, and
51st--fell the chief fury of the action. They were all formed in one
division, protected by a brigade of British artillery under Captains
Drummond and MacBean; and we writhed in our saddles when we saw them
knocked over like nine-pins--their red coats dotting all the green
plain in our front; and yet no order was given for us to advance and
support them.
After repulsing the French Infantry they were assailed by a column of
Swiss, with whom they exchanged several volleys at twenty yards
distance.
Shoulder to shoulder they stood, our splendid British Infantry, the
rear-ranks filling up the gaps in front, the men never pausing under
fire, save to wipe their pans, renew their priming, or change their
flints, for none would fall to the rear. In the words of the old
ballad--
"So closing up on every side,
No slackness there was found,"
amid the fierce roar of musketry and the clouds of smoke which
enveloped all the plain. Colonel Kingsley, at the head of a Cavalry
regiment on our left, had two officers shot dead by his side, two
horses killed under him, and he received a musket ball through his
hat.
Now the French brought up several _batardes_, as they term their
eight-pounders, and the range of these extended to us, the cavalry of
the second line.
Almost immediately after these guns opened, I heard a half-stifled
scream near me, and turning, saw Keith doubled in two, and falling
from his horse mortally wounded and dying. A cannon-ball had torn
away his bowels, and my heart was wrung on seeing him gasping beneath
my horse's feet, while the memory of the prediction flashed upon me.
He died in a few minutes.
The great aim of the French marshals was now to drive in or destroy
either flank of the allies. In endeavouring to effect this object, a
charge of cavalry was made. The Household Troops of France, most of
whom were noblesse, the red, grey, and black mousquetaires, with the
carabiniers and gendarmerie, came boldly on. They were led by Prince
Xavier of Saxony, brother of the Queen of France, a brave soldier,
distinguished by his bearing, his splendid uniform, which was covered
with orders, his sparkling diamond star and piebald charger. Forcing
a passage, sword in hand, through the flank of our first line, he was
advancing towards us, re-forming his glittering squadrons as they
came on, when by order of the Marquis of Granby, we advanced to repel
them.
I saw old Preston's withered cheek redden with stern joy, and his
sunken eye sparkle brightly, as he rapidly formed us in open column
of squadrons at the usual distance of twenty-four feet between each
other.
"Forward, my lads! Keep your horses well in hand--no closing--no
crowding. March!"
But when we began to move, the ordinary distance from boot-top to
boot-top between the files became closer and denser, till we formed
as it were a ponderous mass of men and horses wedged together.
"Trot!" cried the colonel; then followed, "Gallop--CHARGE!"
His voice blended with the trumpet's twang; there was a rush of
hoofs, a hard breathing of men and horses, a rustling of standards
and rattle of accoutrements, as we rushed with uplifted swords and
with a wild hurrah upon the recoiling foe.
We trod them down like the hemp-field over which we spurred; and in
that dreadful shock, down went mousequetaire, gendarme, cuirassier,
and we made a horrid slaughter of the French Household Troops.
The colonel of the Mousquetaires Gris, an old officer, whose breast
was covered with stars and medals, was pistolled by one of our
corporals; and Prince Xavier of Saxony, separated from his
discomfited column, found himself engaged in a hand-to-hand conflict
with Hob Elliot.
Aware of the vast difference between them in strength and stature,
worthy Hob Elliot tried to spare and capture the Prince, of whose
rank he was ignorant, and who was a very little man; but he resisted
bravely, and gave our poor Borderer several severe sword-cuts. Hob
at last lost all patience, cut him down, and was about to capture him
by the collar, when a stray shot struck the unfortunate Prince, who
fell dead from his horse.
This occurred immediately in front of our 51st Foot.
While we waged this conflict on the right, the valour of the Prussian
and Hanoverian Dragoons under the Prince of Holstein and others on
our left, repulsed the enemy, and compelled them to seek safety in a
flight which soon became general along the whole line, despite every
effort of the Duc de Broglie and Maréchal de Contades.
"It was at this instant," says an historian of the war, "that Prince
Ferdinand sent orders to Lord George Sackville, who commanded the
British and Hanoverian Horse which composed the right wing of the
allies, to advance to the charge. If these orders had been
cheerfully obeyed, the battle of Minden would have been as decisive
as that of Blenheim. The French army would have been utterly
destroyed, or totally routed and driven out of Germany. But whatever
was the cause, the orders were not sufficiently precise, were
misinterpreted, or imperfectly understood."
The cause of the misfortune was this.
We had just re-formed after repelling the Household Cavalry, when
Major Shirley, minus his cocked-hat and kid gloves, and what was
more, his presence of mind, looking ghastly pale and wild, and so
agitated apparently that he could scarcely articulate, rode up to
Colonel Preston (who was sitting on his old horse as cool as a
cucumber, with the bullets whistling about him), and inquired for
Lord George Sackville, whose whereabouts the colonel indicated, by
pointing with his sword to a horseman whose aspect was somewhat
shadowy amid the eddying smoke.
Shirley's conventional smile had vanished now, and he rode hurriedly
on. His instructions were to order the whole line of cavalry to
pursue; but this message in his then state of mind he failed to
deliver, and hence the omission of an immediate cavalry advance--a
miscarriage for which Lord George Sackville, after being victimized
by the public press, had to appear before a general court-martial.
Shirley's undisguised panic was, however, unnecessary, as _his_
presentiment was not fulfilled, and he escaped untouched amid the
horrors of a field whereon lay one thousand three hundred and
ninety-four officers and men of our six British infantry regiments
_alone_, and I know not how many of our allies.
Two thousand French were hurled at the bayonet's point into the
Weser, and five thousand more, with Princes Xavier and De Camille,
were left dead upon the plain, with many standards and forty-three
pieces of cannon. On some of the latter I saw "25th and 51st Foot"
chalked, to indicate that these corps had taken them. The Comte de
Lutzelbourg and the Marquis De Monti, two maréchaux-de-camp, were
captured by the Greys.
The passage of the fugitives across the Weser was a scene of horror.
Beside the stone bridge already mentioned, the French engineer, M.
Monjoy, had chained across the stream two pontoons, which broke under
the weight of the passers; thus many waggons full of wounded officers
were swept away by the current, and the flower of the Cavalry,
particularly the Carabiniers and Mousquetaires, were destroyed.
Amid the shrieks, the cries, the scattered shots that filled the air,
we heard the hoarse hurrahs of the advancing Germans, with the clear
ringing cheers of the British, and the shouts of "Forward with the
Light Bobs and Buffers--support the Tow-rows!"
The latter was the nickname of the Grenadiers in those days, and they
in turn named the battalion men "buffers," or "mousers" in the
militia; while the "Light Bobs" were the pet company of every corps,
being always the smartest and most active men.
The town of Minden surrendered with five thousand men, the half of
whom were wounded. By sunset the whole of our cavalry were gone in
pursuit, save our Light Troop, which, with a few Prussian Hussars,
remained on the field to protect the wounded, to patrol after
plunderers, and oversee the working parties who interred the dead.
In the activity of that pursuit old Colonel Preston surpassed every
other officer. He actually took the Greys _two hundred_ miles from
the field, and captured a vast number of prisoners.*
* "Regimental Records."
Part of the military chest, with all the equipages of Maréchal de
Contades and the Prince of Condé fell into his hands--prizes of no
inconsiderable value.