Tom Burke Of "Ours", Volume II

“When shall I muster the detachment, sir?” said the sergeant, interrupting me in the midst of my speculations.

“Now, – at once. It is past five o’clock. I see Langenau is mentioned as the first halting-place; we can reach it by eight.”

The moment the sergeant withdrew, I arose and dressed for the road, anxious to inform mademoiselle as early as possible of this sudden order of march. When I entered the salon, I found to my surprise that the breakfast table was all laid and everything ready. “What can this mean?” said I; “has she heard it already?” At the same instant I caught sight of the door of her chamber lying wide open. I approached, and looked in. The room was empty; the various trunks and boxes, the little relics of military glory I remembered to have seen with her, were all gone. Minette had departed; when or whither, I knew not. I hurried through the building, from room to room, without meeting any one. The door was open, and I passed out into the dark street, where all was still and silent as the grave. I hastened to the stable: my horse, ready equipped and saddled, was feeding; but the stall beside him was empty, – the pony of the vivandière was gone. While many a thought flashed on my brain as to her fate, I tortured my mind to remember each circumstance of our last meeting, – every word and every look; and as I called to my memory the pettish anger of my manner towards her, I grew sick at heart, and hated myself for my own cold ingratitude. All her little acts of kindness, her tender care, her unwearying good-nature, were before me. I thought of her as I had seen her often in the silence of the night, when, waking from some sleep of pain, she sat beside my bed, her hand pressed on my heated forehead; her low, clear voice was in my ear; her soft, mild look, beaming with hope and tender pity. Poor Minette! had I then offended you? was such the return I made for all your kindness?

“The men are ready, sir,” said the sergeant, entering at the moment.

“She is gone,” said I, following out my own sad train of thought, and pointing to the vacant stall where her pony used to stand.

“Mademoiselle Minette – ”

“Yes, what of her – where is she?”

“Marched with the cuirassier brigade that passed here last night at twelve o’clock. She seemed very ill, sir, and the officer made her sit on one of the wagons.”

“Which road did they take? »

“They crossed the river, and moved away towards the forest. I think I heard the troop-sergeant say something about Salzburg and the Tyrol.”

I made no answer, but stood mute and stupefied; when I was again recalled to thought by his asking if my baggage was ready for the wagons.

With a sullen apathy I pointed out my trunks in silence, and throwing one last look on the room, the scene of my former suffering, and of much pleasure too, I mounted my horse, and gave the word to move forward.

As we passed from the gate, I stopped to question the sous-officier as to the route of the cuirassier division. But he could only repeat what the sergeant had already told me; adding, there were several men slightly wounded in the squadrons, for they had been engaged twice within the week. The gates closed! and we were on the highroad.

CHAPTER II. LINTZ

As day was breaking, we came up with a strong detachment of the cavalry of the Guard proceeding to join Bessiere’s division at Lintz. From them we learned that the main body of the army was already far in advance, several entire corps having marched from Lintz with the supposed intention of occupying Vienna. Ney’s division, it was said, was also bearing down from the Tyrol; Davoust and Mortier were advancing by the left bank of the Danube; whilst Lannes and Murat, with an overwhelming force of light troops, had pushed forward two days’ march in advance on their way to the capital. The fate of Ulm was already predicted for the Austrian city, and each day’s intelligence seemed to make it only the more inevitable. Meanwhile the Emperor Francis had abandoned the capital, and retreated on Brunn, a fortified town in Moravia, there to await the arrival of his ally, Alexander, hourly expected from Berlin.

As day after day we pressed forward, our numbers continued to increase. A motley force, indeed, did we present: cavalry of every sort, from the steel-clad cuirassier to the gay hussar, dragoons, chasseurs, guides, and light cavalry, all mixed up together, and all eagerly recounting the several experiences of the campaign as it fell under their eyes in different quarters. From none, however, could I learn any tidings of Minette; for though known to many there, the detachment she had joined had taken a southerly direction, and was not crossed by any of the others on their march. The General d’Auvergne, I heard, was with the headquarters of the Emperor, then established at the monastery of Molk, on the Danube.

On the evening of the 13th of November we arrived at Lintz, the capital of Upper Austria, but at the time I speak of one vast barrack. Thirty-eight thousand troops of all arms were within its walls; not subject to the rigid discipline and regular command of a garrison town, but bivouacking in the open streets and squares. Tables were spread in the thoroughfares, at which the divisions as they arrived took their places, and after refreshing themselves, moved on to make way for others. The great churches were strewn with forage, and filled with the horses of the cavalry; there might be seen the lumbering steeds of the cuirassier, eating their corn from the richly-carved box of a confessional; here lay the travel-stained figure of a dragoon, stretched asleep across the steps of the altar. The little chapelries, where the foot of the penitent awoke no echo as it passed, now rung with the coarse jest and reckless ribaldry of the soldiers; parties caroused in the little sacristies; and the rude chorus of a drinking song now vibrated through the groined roof where only the sacred notes of the organ had been heard to peal. The Hôtel de Ville was the quartier-général, where the generals of divisions were assembled, and from which the orderlies rode forth at every moment with despatches. The one cry, “Forward!” was heard everywhere. They who before had claimed leave for slight wounds or illness, were now seen among their comrades with bandaged arms and patched faces, eager to press on. Many whose regiments were in advance became incorporated for the time with other corps; and dismounted dragoons were often to be met with, marching with the infantry and mounting guard in turn. Everything bespoke haste. The regiments which arrived at night frequently moved off before day broke. The cavalry often were provided with fresh horses to press forward, leaving their own for the corps that were to follow. A great flotilla, provided with all the necessaries for an army on the march, moved along the Danube, and accompanied the troops each day. In a word, every expedient was practised which could hasten the movement of the army; justifying the remark so often repeated among the soldiers at the time, “Le Petit Caporal makes more use of our legs than our bayonets in this campaign.”

On the same evening we arrived came the news of the surprise of Vienna by Murat. Never was there such joy as this announcement spread through the army. The act itself was one of those daring feats which only such as he could venture on, and indeed at first seemed so miraculous that many refused to credit it. Prince Auersberg, to whom the great bridge of the Danube was intrusted, had prepared everything for its destruction in the event of attack. The whole line of woodwork was laid with combustibles; trains were set, the matches burning; a strong battery of twelve guns, posted to command the bridge, occupied the height on the right bank, and the Austrian gunners lay, match in hand, beside their pieces: but a word was needed, and the whole work was in a blaze.

Such was the state of matters when Sebastiani pushed through the faubourg of the Leopoldstadt at the head of a strong cavalry detachment, supported by some grenadiers of the Guard, and by Murat’s orders, concealed his force among the narrow streets which lead to the bridge from the left bank of the Danube. This done, Lannes and Murat advanced carelessly along the bridge, which, from the frequent passage of couriers between the two headquarters, had become a species of promenade, where the officers of either side met to converse on the fortunes of the campaign. Dressed simply as officers of the staff, they strolled along till they came actually beneath the Austrian battery; and then entered into conversation with the Austrian officers, assuring them that the armistice was signed, and peace already proclaimed between the two countries.

The Austrians, trusting to their story, and much interested by what they heard, descended from the mound, and joining them, proceeded to walk backwards and forwards along the bridge, conversing on the probable consequences of the treaty; when suddenly turning round by chance, as they walked towards the right bank, they saw the head of a grenadier column approaching at the quick step. The thought of treachery crossed their minds; and one of them, rushing to the side of the bridge, called out to the artillerymen to fire. A movement was seen in the battery, the matches were uplifted, when Murat, dashing forward, cried aloud, “Reserve your fire; there is nothing to fear!”

The same instant the Austrian officers were surrounded; the sappers rushing on the bridge cleared away the combustibles, and cut off the trains; and the cavalry, till now in concealment, pushing forward at a gallop, crossed the bridge, followed by the grenadiers in a run, – before the Austrians, who saw their own officers mingled with the French, could decide on what was to be done, – while Murat, springing on his horse, dashed forward at the head of the dragoons; and before five minutes elapsed the battery was stormed, the gunners captured, and Vienna won.

Never was there a coup de main more hardy than this, whether we look to the danger of the deed itself, or the insignificant force by which it was accomplished. A few horsemen and some companies of foot, led on by an heroic chief, thus turned the whole fortune of Europe; for, by securing this bridge, Napoleon enabled himself, as circumstances might warrant, to unite the different corps of his army on the right or left banks of the Danube, and either direct his operations against the Russians, or the Austrians under the Archduke Charles, as he pleased.

The treachery by which the bold deed was made successful, was, alas! deemed no stain on the achievement. But one rule of judgment existed in the Imperial army: Was the advantage on the side of France, and to the honor of her arms? That covered every flaw, no matter whether inflicted by duplicity or breach of faith. The habit of healing all wounds of conscience by a bulletin had become so general, that men would not trust to the guidance of their own reason till confirmed by some Imperial proclamation; and when the Emperor declared a battle gained and glory achieved, who would gainsay him? If this blind, headlong confidence tended to lower the morale of the nation, in an equal degree did it make them conquerors in the field; and thus – by a strange decree of Providence, would it seem – were they preparing for themselves the terrible reverse of fortune which, when the destinies of their leader became clouded and their confidence in him shaken, was to fall on a people who lived only in the mad intoxication of victory, and knew not the sterner virtues that can combat with defeat.

But so was it. Napoleon commanded the legions and described their achievements; he led them to the charge and he apportioned their glory; the heroism of the soldier had no existence until acknowledged by the proclamation after the battle; the valor of the general wanted confirmation till sealed by his approval. To fight beneath his eyes was the greatest glory a regiment could wish for; to win one word from him was fame itself forever.

If I dwell on these thoughts here, it is because I now felt for the first time the sad deception I had practised on myself; and how little could I hope to realize in my soldier’s life the treasured aspirations of my boyhood Î Was this, then, indeed the career I had pictured to my mind, – the chivalrous path of honor? Was this the bold assertion of freedom I so often dreamed of? How few of that armed host knew anything of the causes of the war, – how much fewer still cared for them! No sentiment of patriotism, no devotion to the interests of liberty or humanity, prompted us on. Yet these were the thoughts first led me to the career of arms; such ambitious promptings first made my heart glow with the enthusiasm of a soldier.

This gloomy disappointment made me low-spirited and sad. Nor can I say where such reflections might not have led me, when suddenly a change came over my thoughts by seeing a wounded soldier, who had just arrived from Mortier’s division, with news of a fierce encounter they had sustained against Kutusof’s Russians. The poor fellow was carried past in a litter, – his arm had been amputated that same morning, and a frightful shot-wound had carried away part of his cheek; still, amid all his suffering, his eye was brilliant, and a smile of proud meaning was on his lips.

“Lift it up, Guillaume; let me see it again,” said he, as they bore him along the crowded street.

“What is it he wishes?” said I. “The poor fellow is asking for something.”

“Yes, mon lieutenant. It is the sabre d’honneur the Emperor gave him this morning. He likes to look at it every now and then; he says he doesn’t mind the pain when he sees that before him. And it is natural, too.”

“Such is glory!” said I to myself; “and he who feels this in his heart has no room for other thoughts.”

“Oh, give to me the trumpet’s blast, And the champ of the charger prancing; Or the whiz of the grape-shot flying past, That ‘a music meet for dancing.

“Tralararalal” sang a wild-looking voltigeur, as he capered along the street, keeping time to his rude song with the tramp of his feet.

“Ha! there goes a fellow from the Faubourg!” said an officer near me.

“The Faubourg?” repeated I, asking for explanation.

“Yes, to be sure. The Faubourg St. Antoine supplies all the reckless devils of the army; one of them would corrupt a regiment, and so, the best thing to do is to keep them as much together as possible. The voltigeurs have little else; and proof is, they are the cleverest corps in the service, and if they could be kept from picking and stealing, lying, drinking, and gambling, there’s not a man might not be a general of division in time. There goes another!”

As he spoke, a fellow passed by with a goose under his arm, followed by a woman most vociferously demanding restitution; while he only amused himself by replying with a mock courtesy, deploring in sad terms the unhappy necessities of war and the cruel hardships of a campaign.

“It’s no use punishing those fellows,” said the officer. “They desert in whole companies if you send one to the salle de police; and so we have only one resource, which is, to throw them pretty much in advance, and leave their chastisement to the enemy. And, sooth to say, they ask for nothing better themselves.”

Thus, even these fellows seemed to have their own sentiment of glory, – a problem which the more I reasoned over the more puzzled did I become.

While a hundred conjectures were hourly in circulation, none save those immediately about the person of Napoleon could possibly divine the quarter where the great blow was to be struck, although all were in expectation of the orders to prepare for battle. News would reach us of marchings and counter-marchings; of smart skirmishes here, and prisoners taken there; yet could we not form the slightest conception of where the chief force of the enemy lay, nor what the direction to which our own army was pointed. Indeed, our troops seemed to scatter on every side. Marmont, with a strong force, was despatched towards Gratz, where it was said the Archduke Charles was at the head of a considerable army; Davoust moved on Hungary, and occupied Presburg; Bernadotte retraced his steps towards the Upper Danube, to hold the Archduke Frederick in check, who had escaped from Ulm with ten thousand men; Mortiers corps, harassed and broken by the engagement with Kutusof, were barely sufficient to garrison Vienna; while Soult, Lannes, and Murat pushed forward towards Moravia, with a strong cavalry force and some battalions of the Guard. In fact, the whole army was scattered like an exploded shell; nor could we see the means by which its wide extended fragments were to be united at a moment, much less divine the spot to which their combined force was to be directed.

Had these Russians been fabulous creatures of a legend, instead of men of mortal mould, they could scarcely have been endowed with more attributes of ubiquity than we conferred on them. Sometimes we believed them at one side of the Danube, sometimes at the other; now we heard of them as retreating by forced marches into their native fastnesses, now as encamped in the mountain regions of Moravia. Yesterday came the news that they laid down their arms and surrendered as prisoners of war; to-day we heard of them as having forced back our advanced posts and carried off several squadrons as prisoners.

At length came the positive information that the allied armies were in cantonments around Olmutz; while Napoleon had pushed forward to Brunn, a place of considerable strength, communicating by the highroad with the Russian headquarters. It was no longer doubtful, then, where the great game was to be decided, and thither the various battalions were now directed by marches day and night.

On the 29th of November our united detachments, now numbering several hundred men, arrived at Brunn. I lost no time in repairing to headquarters, where I found General d’Auvergne deeply engaged with the details of the force under his command: his brigade had been placed under the orders of Murat; and it was well known the prince gave little rest or respite to those under his command. From him I learned that three days of unsuccessful negotiation had just passed over, and that the Emperor had now resolved on a great battle. Indeed, every moment was critical. Russia had assumed a decidedly hostile aspect; the Swedes were moving to the south; the Archduke Charles, by a circuitous route, was on the march to join the Russian army, to whose aid fresh reinforcements were daily arriving, and Benningsen was hourly expected with more. Under these circumstances a battle was inevitable; and such a one, as, by its result, must conclude the war.

This much did I learn from the old general as we rode over the field together; examining with caution the nature of the ground, and where it offered facilities, and where it presented obstacles, to the movement of cavalry. Such were the orders issued that morning by Napoleon to the generals of brigade, who might now be seen with their staffs traversing the plain in every direction. As we moved along we could discover in the distance the dark columns of the enemy marching, not towards us, but in a southerly direction towards our extreme right. This movement attracted the attention of several others, and more than one aide-de-camp was despatched to Brunn to carry the intelligence to the Emperor.

The same evening couriers departed in every direction to Bernadotte and Davoust to hasten forward at once; even Mortier, with his mangled division, was ordered to abandon Vienna to a division of Marmont’s army, and move on to Brunn. And now the great work of concentration began.

Meanwhile the Russians advanced, and on the 30th drove in an advanced post, and compelled our cavalry to fall back behind our position. The following morning the allies resumed their flank movement. And now no doubt could be entertained of their plan; which was, by turning our right, to cut us off from our supporting columns resting at Vienna, and throw our retreat back upon the mountainous districts of Bohemia. In this way five massive columns moved past us scarce half a league distant from our advanced posts, numbering eighty thousand men, of which fifteen were cavalry in the most perfect condition.

Our position was in advance of the fortress of Brunn; the headquarters of the Emperor occupied a rising piece of ground, at the base of which flowed a small stream, a tributary to some of the numerous ponds by which the field was intersected. The entire ground in our front was indeed a succession of these small lakes, with villages interspersed, and occasionally some stunted woods; great morasses extended around these ponds, through which led the highroads or such bypaths as conducted from one village to another. Here and there were plains where cavalry might act with safety, but rarely in large bodies.

Our right rested on the lake of Moeritz, where Soult’s division was stationed; behind which, thrown back in such a manner as to escape the observation of the enemy, was Davoust’s corps, the reserve occupying a cliff of ground beside the convent of Eeygern. Our left, under Lannes, occupied the hill of Santon, – a wooded eminence, the last of a long chain of mountains running east and west. Above, and on the crest of the height, a powerful park of artillery was posted, and defended by strong intrenchments. A powerful cavalry corps was placed at the bottom of the mountain. Next came Bernadotte’s division, separated by the highroad from Brunn to Olmutz from the division under Murat, which, besides his own cavalry, contained Oudinot’s grenadiers and Bessière’s battalions of the Imperial Guard; the centre and right being formed of Soult’s division, the strongest of all; the reserve, consisting of several battalions of the Guard and a strong force of artillery, being under the immediate orders of Napoleon, to be employed wherever circumstances demanded.

These were the dispositions for the coming battle, made with all the precision of troops moving on parade; and such was the discipline of the army at Boulogne, and so perfectly arranged the plans of the Emperor, that the ground of every regiment was marked out, and each corps moved into its allotted space with the regularity of some piece of mechanism.

CHAPTER III. AUSTERLITZ

The dispositions for the battle of Austerlitz occupied the entire day. From sunrise Napoleon was on horse-back, visiting every position; he examined each battery with the skill of an old officer of artillery; and frequently dismounting from his horse, carefully noted the slightest peculiarities of the ground, – remarking to his staff, with an accuracy which the event showed to be prophetic, the nature of the struggle, as the various circumstances of the field indicated them to his practised mind.