THE HEIGHTS OF CORBACH.
The allied British and Germans under Prince Ferdinand, though less
numerous than the troops under the Duc de Broglie, were in fine
fighting order, yet they prudently acted chiefly on the defensive.
The Duc de Broglie having quarrelled with the Comte de St. Germain
who commanded the army of the Rhine, generally failed to act in
concert with him, and thus saved the Prince from the, perhaps fatal,
hazard of meeting their united strength in another general action.
Prior to this quarrel (which ultimately compelled the Count to retire
from the service) the French arms had been very successful.
They had overrun the whole Landgraviate of Hesse, with their grand
army, leaving troops to blockade the castles of Marburg and
Dillenburg, the operations before which were successfully conducted
on the plans of Gervais Monjoy, while St. Germain marched through
Westphalia to form a junction with the Maréchal Duc, who, by the 10th
of July, had encamped on the heights of Corbach.
On hearing that his two castles had fallen into the hands of the
French, Prince Ferdinand, whom the papers I had found in the
sabretache of Boisguiller had fully informed of the intended movement
towards Corbach, commenced a retreat from Fritzlar towards the river
Dymel; and sent his son, the Hereditary Prince, with a strong
detachment towards Sachsenhausen where he meant to encamp. Some
British troops, horse and foot, accompanied the young Prince on this
expedition, and of these our regiment unluckily formed a part.
We continued to advance without opposition until the 30th of the
month, when on coming in sight of the heights of Corbach and the
distant town of Ysembourg, we found a body of French troops formed in
order of battle and barring our march to Sachsenhausen.
Their strength seemed to be about ten battalions and fifteen
squadrons, so far as we could judge at first.
"Now who or what the devil may these be?" we asked of each other,
when we saw their arms shining in the sun, their colours waving in
the wind, and the long line of white coats, three ranks deep, appear
on the green mountain slope, where we had no idea of meeting any
troops at all.
"Oh," said several, especially the staff officers who were spurring
to and fro, in evident excitement; "'tis only the vanguard of the
Comte de St. Germain, whom we must drive in."
The order was instantly given for the infantry to attack, the cavalry
to support, and now began a brief but sharp, and to us very fatal
engagement.
It was the noon of a lovely summer day.
Near us the Itter was rolling a blue flood between the green
mountains, its banks fringed by light waving willows and dark wild
laurels; beyond an opening or pass in the mountains where some French
artillery were in position, we saw a fair and fertile plain, dotted
by poplar trees, stretching far away in the sunlight, and the quaint
old town of Corbach, with its ruddy walls and latticed windows that
glittered like plates of gold.
Our infantry began the affair with great spirit, and none stood to
their colours more bravely than our 51st Foot, Brudenel's old corps,
which was led by a gallant soldier, Lieutenant-Colonel Noel Fury.
The young Prince soon found that he had made a reckless mistake, and
was engaged with the united strength of the French army, and with no
vanguard or detached force, like his own! It was too late to recede,
so madly we strove by bayonet and sabre to hew a passage towards
Sachsenhausen, but strove in vain, as De Broglie constantly poured
forward fresh supports; and although the main body of the allies
under old Prince Ferdinand was but a few miles in our rear, such was
the nature of the ground that they could yield us no assistance
whatever; so about two o'clock in the afternoon the trumpets sounded
from right to left a retreat which it became our duty to cover.
As we galloped in sections round the flank of the 51st, and just as
that regiment began to fall back from its line of dead and dying, I
saw a dreadful episode, caused by the French Artillery.
Thrown from a mortar, a cartouche fell amid their ranks, and, by its
explosion, in a single moment killed and wounded five officers and
sixty rank and file! For the information of the non-military reader,
I may state that this deadly missile is a case of wood about three
inches thick at the bottom, bound about with marline, holding ten
iron balls, each a pound in weight, and four hundred musket-balls.
It had been fired from a howitzer on the rocks above the pass, and by
one of this dreadful shower of balls the young Prince was wounded in
the shoulder.
When the retreat began, several of the German regiments fell into
confusion, and the French were not slow in taking advantage of it.
The task of repelling them fell upon the Scots Greys, with the 1st or
King's and 3rd Dragoon Guards, and with enthusiastic cheers we
followed the young Prince in a succession of brilliant charges, which
drove the enemy back, enabling our unfortunate comrades in the
Infantry to make an almost undisturbed retreat. I say almost, for
the French, who continued the pursuit till evening, brought up their
Flying Artillery, and in the dusk we could plainly see the fiery arcs
described by the shells, which the field mortars threw nearly at
random to the distance of a thousand yards. So brightly burned the
fuses, that we could avoid the falling bombs by scattering,
dismounting, and throwing ourselves flat, as their exploding
splinters always rise at an angle of several degrees from the earth.
On this service, which saved our Infantry from entire capture, few
officers distinguished themselves more than Count Keilmansegge,
Colonel Preston, and Major Hill of our 1st Dragoon Guards.
Our corps lost but one man, who, with his horse, was killed by a
single cannon shot that passed between Sergeant Duff and me.
By another, the colonel of the 51st was slain. I have elsewhere
mentioned two cases of presentiment, one of which was fatally
realized at the time, the other afterwards. The leader of the 51st
was inspired by a crushing emotion of this kind on that day at
Corbach, and as the anecdote is little known, being related in the
long since forgotten memoirs of a Scottish officer who served under
him, I may quote it here.
"My old Lieutenant-Colonel, Noel Fury, was one of the slain. It is
said by some that individuals may be visited by an undefined
presentiment or mental warning of their approaching fate, though such
ideas are treated by others as visionary and impossible. I shall not
attempt to enter into a discussion which might lead me into the mazes
of metaphysical inquiry, but shall content myself with a simple
narrative of what I witnessed on the morning of this engagement.
"Colonel Fury was remarkable for the liveliness and gaiety of his
disposition, and his spirits, on an occasion like the present, when
about to enter into action, were uniformly observed to be unusually
elevated. His habitual sprightliness and good humour made him a
general favourite in the regiment; besides, he was a man of
distinguished gallantry and an excellent officer. Among other good
qualities, he paid especial attention to the filling of his canteen,
and on the morning in question he sat down under a tree, inviting
several of his brother officers to breakfast.
"For the _first time_ in his life, on the eve of an engagement, he
seemed pensive and dull, and on being rallied on the subject by some
of the gentlemen present--
"'I don't know how it is,' he answered, 'but I think I shall be
killed to-day.'
"The cannonade having just begun, he mounted his horse, and rode up
to the regiment, where he had been but a very short time when his
head was carried off by a cannon shot."
Our _total_ loss was five hundred men, and fifteen pieces of cannon.
We rejoined the main body of the allied army full of rage and disgust
at our discomfiture, and clamouring for an opportunity to encounter
the foe again; nor was it long before that opportunity came.
Among the papers found in the sabretache of Boisguiller, was one
which informed Prince Ferdinand of a proposed movement of the French
from Corbach towards Ziegenheim, and on this point he fixed his
attention.
Not many days after our last affair, tidings came that a body of the
French, commanded by Major General Glaubitz and Colonel Count
Bourgneuf, had advanced in that direction.
Immediately on hearing this, our leader directed the young hereditary
prince, who was eager and burning to wipe out the late disgrace, to
drive them back, and on this service he departed, with six battalions
of Hussars, the Scots Greys, 11th Light Dragoons, Luckner's Hussars,
and two brigades of Chasseurs.
In high spirits and full of ardour we marched on the 16th of July,
came suddenly upon the enemy at Emsdorff, attacked them with great
fury, slew a great number of all ranks, took the Major-General, all
the artillery and baggage, one hundred and twenty-seven officers and
two thousand two hundred soldiers prisoners.
Count Bourgneuf, however, contrived to make his escape, after a rough
hand-to-hand combat with Captain Cunningham of the Greys.
In this action, our 11th Light Dragoons, popularly known as Elliot's
Horse, charged no less than _five_ times, and broke through the enemy
at every charge; but in these achievements they lost a great number
of officers, men, and horses. Here for the first time we found
ourselves opposed to a corps of Lancers, whose weapon was then
unknown in our army. When Preston led us to the charge against them,
their tall lances, with red pennons streaming, were erect; but when
we were within three horses' length of them, a trumpet sounded, then
they lowered them all breast-high and waved their streamers, so that
many of our horses shied wildly; but we broke through them,
nevertheless, and the spear-heads once passed, all was over with the
Lancers.
On the 22nd of August, when we attacked the French rearguard at
Zierenberg, as it was commanded by Bourgneuf, and consisted of the
regiments of Bretagne and Clermont, I hoped for an opportunity of
meeting my personal enemy, but was disappointed; for although we
burst into the town, which is surrounded by a wall and has three
gates, and in columns of troops charged into the heart of the
disordered French, cutting them down right and left, I never saw the
Count, though, amid the fury and confusion of such a conflict, I must
have been more than once within pistol-shot of him.
Here we had five men and nine horses killed, Colonel Preston and
twenty men wounded; but now came the affair which, was known in the
army as the battle of Zierenberg, where I had once again an
opportunity of meeting my unscrupulous Frenchman face to face.