Kitabı oku: «The Camp-fires of Napoleon», sayfa 19
Meanwhile the day was advancing; the men were exhausting themselves in vain efforts; hunger, cold, and the Cossacks became pressing, and the viceroy finally found himself compelled to order his artillery and all his baggage to be left behind. A distressing spectacle ensued. The owners were allowed scarcely a moment to part from their effects; while they were selecting from them such articles as they most needed, and loading their horses with them, a multitude of soldiers came rushing up; they fell in preference upon the vehicles of luxury; these they broke in pieces and rummaged every part, avenging their poverty on the wealth, and their privations on the superfluities they here found, and snatching them from the Cossacks, who were in the meantime looking on at a distance.
But it was provisions of which most of them were in quest. They threw aside embroidered clothes, pictures, ornaments of every kind, and gilt bronzes for a few handfuls of flour. In the evening it was a strange sight to behold the mingled riches of Paris and of Moscow, the luxuries of two of the largest cities in the world, lying scattered and despised on the snow of the desert.
At the same time, most of the artillerymen spiked their guns in despair, and scattered their powder about. Others laid a train with it as far as some ammunition wagons, which had been left at a considerable distance behind the baggage. They waited till the most eager of the Cossacks had come up to them, and when a great number, greedy of plunder, had collected about them, they threw a brand from a bivouac upon the train. The fire ran, and in a moment reached its destination; the wagons were blown up, the shells exploded, and such of the Cossacks as were not killed on the spot, dispersed in dismay.
A few hundred men, who were still called the 14th division, were opposed to these hordes, and sufficed to keep them at a respectful distance till the next day. All the rest, soldiers, sutlers, women, and children, sick and wounded, driven by the enemy’s balls, crowded the bank of the river. But at the sight of its swollen current, of the sharp and massive fragments of ice floating down its stream, and the necessity of aggravating their already intolerable sufferings from cold by plunging into its chilling waves, they all started back.
Colonel Delfanti, an Italian, was obliged to set the example and cross first. The soldiers then moved, and the crowd followed. The weakest, the least resolute, and the most avaricious, stayed behind. Such as could not make up their minds to part from their booty, and to forsake fortune which was forsaking them, were surprised in the midst of their hesitation. The next day, amid all this wealth, the savage Cossacks were seen still covetous of the squalid and tattered garments of the unfortunate creatures who had become their prisoners: they stripped them, and then, collecting them in troops, drove them along over the snow, hurrying their steps by hard blows with the shafts of their lances.
The army of Italy, thus completely dismantled, soaked in the waters of the Wop, without food, without shelter, passed the night on the snow near a village where its officers expected to have found lodgings for themselves. Their soldiers, however, beset its wooden houses. They rushed like madmen, and in swarms, on every habitation, profiting by the darkness, which prevented them from recognising their officers or being known by them. They tore down every thing, doors, windows, and even the woodwork of the roofs, feeling but little compunction in compelling others, be they who they might, to bivouac like themselves.
Their generals attempted in vain to drive them off: they took their blows without a murmur or the least opposition, but without desisting—even the men of the royal and imperial guards; for, throughout the whole army, such were the scenes that occurred every night. The unfortunate fellows kept silently but actively at work on the wooden walls, which they pulled in pieces on every side at once, and which, after vain efforts, their officers were obliged to relinquish to them, for fear they would fall upon their own heads. It was an extraordinary mixture of perseverance in their design and of respect for the anger of their superiors.
Having kindled good fires, they spent the night in drying themselves, amid the shouts, imprecations, and groans of those who were still crossing the torrent, or who, slipping from its banks, were precipitated into it, and drowned.
It is a fact by no means creditable to the enemy, that during this disaster, and in sight of so rich a booty, a few hundred men, left at the distance of half a league from the viceroy, on the other side of the Wop, were sufficient to curb for twenty hours not only the courage, but even the cupidity of Platoff’s Cossacks.
It is possible, indeed, that the hetman made sure of destroying the viceroy on the following day. In fact, all his measures were so well planned, that at the moment when the army of Italy, after an unquiet and disorderly march, came in sight of Dukhowtchina, a town yet uninjured, and was joyfully hastening forward to shelter itself there, several thousand Cossacks sallied forth from it with cannon, and suddenly stopped its progress; while at the same time Platoff, with all his hordes, came up and attacked its rear guard and both flanks.
Several eye-witnesses assert that a complete tumult and confusion then ensued; that the disbanded men, the women, and the attendants ran headlong over each other, and broke quite through the ranks; that, in short, there was a moment when this unfortunate army was but a shapeless mass, a mere rabble rout hurrying to and fro. All seemed to be lost; but the coolness of the prince and the efforts of his officers, saved all. The best men disengaged themselves, and the ranks were again formed. They advanced, and, firing a few volleys, the enemy, who had every thing on his side excepting courage, the only advantage yet left the French, opened and retired, confining himself to a useless demonstration.
The army occupied his quarters still warm in that town, while he went beyond to bivouac, and to prepare for similar surprises to the very gates of Smolensk. For this disaster at the Wop had made the viceroy give up the idea of separating from the Emperor, near to whom these hordes became still bolder; they surrounded the 11th division. When Prince Eugene would have gone to its relief, his men and officers, stiffened with a cold of twenty degrees, which the wind rendered most piercing, remained stretched on the warm ashes of the fires. To no purpose did he point out to them their comrades surrounded, the enemy approaching, the bullets and balls which were already reaching them; they refused to rise, protesting that they would rather perish where they were than any longer endure such cruel hardships. The videttes themselves had abandoned their posts. Prince Eugene nevertheless contrived to save his rear guard.
It was in returning with it towards Smolensk that his stragglers had been driven back on Ney’s troops, to whom they communicated their panic; all hurried confusedly towards the Dnieper, where they crowded together at the entrance of the bridge, without thinking of defending themselves, when a charge made by the 4th regiment stopped the advance of the enemy.
Its colonel, young Fezenzac, contrived to infuse fresh life into these men, who were half perished with cold. There, as in every thing that can be called action, was manifested the triumph of the sentiments of the soul over the sensations of the body; for every physical feeling tended to encourage despondency and flight; Nature advised it with her hundred most urgent voices; and yet a few words of honor alone were sufficient to produce the most heroic devotedness. The soldiers of the 4th regiment rushed like furies upon the enemy, against the mountains of snow and ice of which he had taken possession, and in the teeth of the northern hurricane, for they had every thing against them. Ney himself was obliged to moderate their impetuosity.
Such fighting could only be the work of heroes, who were determined to triumph or perish. Ney proved himself worthy to command the rear guard, upon which the safety of the army depended. He was equal to a host, and around his stalwart form the troops rallied, as they would around a rock of salvation. He seemed even determined to conquer the Russian storm.
At length the army once more came in sight of Smolensk: it had reached the goal so often announced to it of all its sufferings. The soldiers exultingly pointed it out to each other. There was that land of promise where their hunger was to find abundance, their fatigue rest; where bivouacs in a cold of nineteen degrees would be forgotten in houses warmed by good fires. There they would enjoy refreshing sleep; there they might repair their apparel; there they would be furnished with new shoes, and clothing adapted to the climate.
But Smolensk was a heap of blackened ruins, and the commissary found there, was compelled to own that he had not enough provisions to supply half the army for the required time, fifteen days. If any thing was wanted to increase the wretchedness of this doomed army it was this disastrous disappointment. Napoleon himself displayed a consciousness of the terrors by which he was surrounded, and seemed to apprehend the destruction of his entire army.
THE CAMP-FIRE AT KRASNOE
Upon the retreat from Smolensk, the grand army, reduced to thirty-six thousand effective men, had been divided into four columns, commanded by Napoleon, Eugene, Davoust and Ney. These were separated by the march of a few days from each other. The Emperor reached the town of Krasnoe without difficulty; but the second division, under Prince Eugene, was compelled to fight against forces immensely superior in numbers.
It was the night of the 16th of November. The weather was bitter cold; and though Krasnoe fairly blazed with camp-fires, the soldiers of the guard shivered in spite of the sternest efforts of their wills.
The Emperor had waited for the viceroy during the whole of the preceding day. The noise of an engagement had agitated him. An effort to break through the enemy, in order to join him, had been ineffectually attempted; and when night came on without his making his appearance, the uneasiness of Napoleon was at its height. “Eugene and the army of Italy, and this long day of baffled expectation, had they then terminated together?” Only one hope remained, and that was, that the viceroy, driven back towards Smolensk, had there joined Davoust and Ney, and that on the following day they would, with united forces, attempt a decisive effort.
In his anxiety, the Emperor assembled the marshals who were with him. These were Berthier, Bessieres, Mortier and Lefebvre; they were safe; they had cleared the obstacles; they had only to continue their retreat through Lithuania, which was open to them; but would they abandon their companions in the midst of the Russian army? No, certainly; and they determined once more to enter Russia, either to deliver or to perish with them.
No sooner was this resolution taken, than Napoleon coolly made his arrangements to carry it into effect. He was not at all shaken by the great movements which the enemy was evidently making around him. He saw that Kutusoff was advancing in order to surround and take him prisoner in Krasnoe. The very night before he had learned that Ojarowski, with a vanguard of Russian infantry, had got beyond him, and taken a position at Maliewo, a village on his left. Irritated instead of being depressed by misfortune, he called his aid-de-camp Rapp, and told him “that he must set out immediately, and during the darkness attack that body of the enemy with the bayonet; this was the first time of his exhibiting so much audacity, and that he was determined to make him repent it, in such a way that he should never again dare approach so near to his head-quarters.” Then instantly recalling him, he exclaimed, “But no: let Roguet and his division go alone. As for you, remain where you are; I don’t wish you killed here; I shall have occasion for you at Dantzic.”
Rapp, as he was carrying this order to Roguet, could not help feeling astonished that his chief, surrounded by eighty thousand of the enemy, whom he was going to attack the next day with nine thousand, should have so little doubt about his safety as to be thinking of what he should have to do at Dantzic, a city from which he was separated by the winter, two hostile armies, famine, and a hundred and eighty leagues of distance.
The nocturnal attack on Ojarowski at Chirkowa and Maliewo proved successful. Roguet formed his idea of the enemy’s position by the direction of their fires: they occupied two villages, connected by a causeway, defended by a ravine. He disposed his troops into three columns of attack: those on the right and left were to advance silently, as close as possible to the Russians; then, at the signal to charge, which he himself would give them from the centre, they were to rush into the midst of the hostile corps without firing a shot, and make use only of their bayonets.
Immediately the two wings of the young guard commenced the action. While the Russians, taken by surprise, and not knowing on which side to defend themselves, were wavering from their right to their left, Roguet, with his column, rushed suddenly upon their centre, and into the midst of their camp, which he entered pell-mell along with them. Thus divided, and in utter confusion, they had barely time to throw the best part of their cannon and small arms into a neighboring lake, and to set fire to their tents, the flames of which, instead of saving them, only gave light to their destruction.
This check stopped the movements of the Russian army for four-and-twenty hours, put it in the Emperor’s power to remain at Krasnoe, and enabled Eugene to rejoin him during the following night. He was received by Napoleon with the greatest joy; whose uneasiness, however, respecting Davoust and Ney, now became proportionably greater.
Around the French, the camp of the Russians presented a spectacle similar to what it had done at Vinkowo, Malo-Yaroslawetz, and Wiazma. Every evening, close to the general’s tent, the relics of the Russian saints, surrounded by an immense number of wax tapers, were exposed to the adoration of the soldiers. While these, according to their custom, were giving proofs of their devotion by endless crossings and genuflexions, the priests were employed in exciting their fanaticism with exhortations that would have been deemed barbarous and absurd by a civilized nation.
It is asserted that a spy had represented to Kutusoff, Krasnoe as being filled with an immense number of the imperial guard, and that the old marshal was afraid of hazarding his reputation by attacking it. But the sight of the distress emboldened Bennigsen; this officer, who was chief of the staff, prevailed upon Strogonoff, Gallitzin, and Miloradowitch, with a force of more than fifty thousand Russians, and one hundred pieces of cannon, to venture to attack at daylight, in spite of Kutusoff, fourteen thousand famished, enfeebled, and half-frozen French and Italians.
This was a danger, the imminence of which Napoleon fully comprehended. He might have escaped from it, for the day had not yet appeared. He was still at liberty to avoid this fatal engagement; by rapid marches along with Eugene and his guard, he might have gained Orcha and Borizoff; there he could have rallied his forces, and strengthened himself with thirty thousand French, under Victor and Oudinot, with the corps of Dombrowski, Regnier, and Schwartzenberg, been within reach of all his depots, and, by the following year, have made himself as formidable as ever.
On the 17th, before daylight, he issued his orders, armed himself, and going out on foot at the head of his Old Guard, began his march. But it was not towards Poland, his ally, that he directed it, nor towards France, where he would still be received as the head of a new dynasty, and the Emperor of the West. His words on grasping his sword on this occasion were, “I have sufficiently acted the emperor; it is time I should become the general.” He turned back upon eighty thousand of the enemy, plunging into the thickest of them, in order to draw all their efforts against himself, to make a diversion in favor of Davoust and Ney, and to rescue them from a country, the gates of which were closed against them.
Daylight at last appeared, exhibiting on the one part the Russian battalions and batteries, which on three sides, in front, on the right, and in the rear, bounded the horizon, and on the other Napoleon, with his six thousand guards, advancing with a firm step, and proceeding to take his place in the centre of that terrible circle. At the same time, Mortier, a few yards in front of the Emperor, deployed, in the face of the whole Russian army, with the five thousand men still remaining to him.
Every moment strengthened the enemy and weakened Napoleon. The noise of artillery, as well as Claparede, apprized him that in the rear of Krasnoe and his army, Bennigsen was proceeding to take possession of the road to Liady, and entirely cut off his retreat. The east, the west, and the south were flashing with the enemy’s fires; one side alone remained open, that of the north and the Dnieper, towards an eminence, at the foot of which were the high road and the Emperor. The French fancied they saw the enemy already covering this eminence with their cannon. In that situation they would have been just over Napoleon’s head, and might have crushed him at a few yards’ distance. He was apprized of his danger, cast his eyes for an instant towards the height, and uttered merely these words, “Very well, let a battalion of my chasseurs take possession of it!” Immediately afterward, without giving farther heed to it, his whole attention was directed to the perilous situation of Mortier.
Then, at last, Davoust made his appearance, forcing his way through a swarm of Cossacks, whom he dispersed by a precipitate movement. At the sight of Krasnoe this marshal’s troops disbanded themselves, running across the fields to get beyond the right of the enemy’s line, in the rear of which they had come up; and Davoust and his generals could only rally them at that place.
The first corps was thus preserved; but it was learned at the same time that the rear guard could no longer defend itself at Krasnoe; that Ney was probably still at Smolensk, and that they must give up waiting for him any longer. Napoleon, however, still hesitated: he could not determine on making this great sacrifice.
But at last, as all were likely to perish, his resolution was taken. He called Mortier, and pressing his hand sorrowfully, told him “that he had not a moment to lose; that the enemy were overwhelming him in all directions; that Kutusoff might already reach Liady, perhaps Orcha, and the last elbow of the Borysthenes before him; and that he would therefore proceed thither rapidly, with his Old Guard, in order to occupy that passage. Davoust would relieve him, Mortier, but both of them must endeavor to hold out in Krasnoe until night, after which they must advance and rejoin him.” Then, with his heart full of Ney’s misfortune, and of despair at abandoning him, he withdrew slowly from the field of battle, traversed Krasnoe, where he again halted, and thence cleared his way to Liady.
THE CAMP-FIRE AT BORYSTHENES
Ney, “the bravest of the brave,” the commander of the rearguard of the grand army, had been given up as lost by most of his heroic brethren in arms. But Napoleon could not believe it. He knew that the chances were those of desperation, but he expected all things from the lion-hearted marshal. The Emperor had reached Orcha, on the Borysthenes, with ten thousand men. He found there abundance of provisions and his troops encamped by ample fires. But his anxiety for the fate of Ney rendered him very much dejected. He could not bring his mind to the idea of quitting the Borysthenes.
It appeared to him that this would be like a second abandonment of the unfortunate Ney, and a final casting off of his intrepid companion in arms. There, as at Liady and Dombrowna, he was calling every hour of the day and night, and sending to inquire if no tidings had been received of that marshal. But nothing was heard of him through the intervening Russian army; and four days this fatal silence had lasted, and yet the Emperor still continued to hope.
Being at length, on the 20th of November, compelled to quit Orcha, he left there Eugene, Mortier, and Davoust, and halted after a march of two leagues from that place, still inquiring for Ney, and still expecting him. The same feeling of grief pervaded the portion of the army remaining at Orcha. As soon as the most pressing wants allowed a moment’s rest, the thoughts and looks of every one were directed towards the Russian bank. They listened for any warlike sounds which might announce the arrival of Ney, or, rather, his last desperate struggle with the foe; but nothing was to be seen but parties of the enemy, who were already menacing the bridges of the Borysthenes. One of the three marshals now proposed to destroy them, but the others would not consent, as this would be separating themselves still more widely from their companion in arms, and acknowledging that they despaired of saving him, an idea which, from their unhappiness at the thought, they could not bear to entertain.
But with the fourth day all hope had vanished, and night only brought with it an agitated repose. They blamed themselves for Ney’s misfortune, forgetting that it was utterly impossible to have waited longer for him in the plains of Krasnoe, there to fight for another twenty-four hours, when they had scarcely strength and ammunition left for one.
Already, as is always the case in such painful losses, they began to seek for some soothing recollections. Davoust was the last who had quitted the unfortunate marshal, and Mortier and the viceroy were inquiring of him what were his last words. At the first reports of the cannonade of the enemy on the 15th, it would seem that Ney was anxious to evacuate Smolensk immediately, in the suite of the viceroy; but Davoust refused, pleading the orders of the emperor, and their obligation to destroy the ramparts of the town. The two chiefs became warm; and Davoust insisting to remain until the following day, Ney, who had been appointed to bring up the rear, was compelled to wait for him.
It is true that on the 16th, Davoust sent to warn him of his danger; but Ney, either from change of opinion, or from feelings of resentment against Davoust, returned for answer “that all the Cossacks in the universe should not prevent him from executing his instructions.”
After exhausting these recollections and all their conjectures, they had relapsed into a gloomy silence, when suddenly they heard the steps of horses, and then the joyful cry, “Marshal Ney is safe! here are some Polish cavalry come to announce his approach!” One of his officers now galloped in, and informed them that the marshal was advancing on the right bank of the Borysthenes, and had sent him to ask for assistance.
Night had just set in; and Davoust, Eugene, and Mortier were allowed only its short duration to revive and animate the soldiers, who had hitherto constantly bivouacked. For the first time since they left Moscow, these poor fellows had received a sufficient supply of provisions; and they were about to prepare them and to take their rest, warm and under cover. How was it possible, then to make them resume their arms, and turn them from their comfortable asylums during that night of rest, whose inexpressible sweets they had just begun to taste! Who could persuade them to interrupt it, to trace back their steps, and once more, in the midst of darkness, return into the frozen deserts of Russia?
Eugene and Mortier disputed the honor of making this effort, and the first carried it only in right of his superior rank. Shelter and the distribution of provisions had effected that which threats would have failed to do. The stragglers were rallied, and the viceroy again found himself at the head of four thousand men; all were ready to march at the idea of Ney’s danger; but it was their last effort.
They proceeded in the darkness, by unknown roads, and had marched two leagues at random, halting every few minutes to listen. Their anxiety instantly increased. Had they lost their way? Were they too late? Had their unfortunate comrades fallen? Was it the victorious Russian army they were about to meet? In this uncertainty Prince Eugene directed some cannon-shot to be fired. Immediately after, they fancied they heard signals of distress on that sea of snow: they were not mistaken; they proceeded from the third corps, which having lost all its artillery, could answer the cannon of the fourth only by some volleys of platoon firing.
The two corps were thus directed towards their meeting. Ney and Eugene were the first to recognise each other: they ran up, Eugene the most eagerly, and threw themselves into each other’s arms. Eugene wept, but Ney only let fall some angry words. The first was delighted, melted, and elevated at the sight of the chivalrous hero whom he had just had the happiness to save. The latter still heated from the combat, irritated at the dangers which the honor of the army had run in his person, and blaming Davoust, whom he wrongfully accused of having deserted him.
Some hours afterwards, when the latter sought to justify himself, he could draw nothing from Ney but a severe look and these words, “Monsieur le Marechal, I have no reproaches to make you: God is our witness and your judge!”
As soon as the two corps had fairly recognised each other, they could no longer be kept in their ranks. Soldiers, officers, generals, all rushed forward together. The soldiers of Eugene, eagerly grasping the hands of those of Ney, held them with a joyful mixture of astonishment and curiosity, and embraced them with the tenderest sympathy. They lavished upon them the refreshments which they had just received, and overwhelmed them with questions. Then they proceeded in company towards Orcha, all burning with impatience, Eugene’s soldiers to hear, and Ney’s to relate, their story. There they were soon gathered around the cheerful camp-fire, and resting from their toils.
The officers of Ney stated that on the 17th of November they had quitted Smolensk with twelve cannon, six thousand infantry, and three hundred cavalry, leaving there five thousand sick to the mercy of the enemy; and that, had it not been for the noise of Platoff’s artillery and the explosion of the mines, their marshal would never have been able to draw from the ruins of that city seven thousand unarmed stragglers who had taken shelter among them. They dwelt upon the attentions which their leader had shown to the wounded, and to the women and their children, proving upon this occasion that the bravest are also the most humane.
Ney’s officers continued to speak in the most enthusiastic terms of their marshal; for even his equals could not feel the slightest jealousy of him. He had, indeed, been too much regretted, and his preservation had excited emotions far too grateful to allow of any feelings of envy; besides, Ney had placed himself completely beyond its reach. As for himself, he had in all this heroism gone so little beyond his natural character, that, had it not been for the eclat of his glory in the eyes, the gestures, and the acclamations of every one, he would never have imagined that he had performed an extraordinary action.
And this was not an enthusiasm of surprise, for each of the few last days had had its remarkable men: that of the 16th, for instance, had Eugene, and that of the 17th, Mortier; but from this time forward Ney was universally proclaimed the hero of the retreat.
When Napoleon, who was two leagues farther on, heard that Ney had again made his appearance, he leaped and shouted for joy, exclaiming, “Then I have saved my eagles! I would have given three hundred millions from my exchequer sooner than have lost such a man.”
Such a man! Where else in history shall we find such a man? Davoust, Mortier, Junot, Murat, and other celebrated officers of that army were brave—wonderful men, indeed—but Ney towered above them all, in a courage which was full of sublimity—a courage which found resource when others saw nothing left for them but a resignation to death.
That night the marshal slept beside the camp-fire of his beloved Emperor—the sweet sleep which grows from the consciousness of duty performed.
