Maurice Tiernay, Soldier of Fortune

CHAPTER L. THE MARCH ON VIENNA

All General Masséna’s wise counsels, and my own steady resolves to profit by them, were so far thrown away, that, on our arrival at Abensberg, we found that the Emperor had left it four hours before, and pushed on to Ebersfield, a village about five leagues to the eastward. A despatch, however, awaited Masséna, telling him to push forward with Oudinot’s corps to Neustadt, and, with his own division, which comprised the whole French right, to manoeuvre so as to menace the archduke’s base upon the Iser.

Let my reader not fear that I am about to inflict on him a story of the great campaign itself, nor compel him to seek refuge in a map from the terrible array of hard names of towns and villages for which that district is famous. It is enough for my purpose that I recall to his memory the striking fact, that when the French sought victory by turning and defeating the Austrian left, the Austrians were exactly in march to execute a similar movement on the French left wing. Napoleon, however, gave the first ‘check,’ and ‘mated’ his adversary ere he could open his game. By the almost lightning speed of his manouvres, he moved forward from Ratisbon with the great bulk of his army; and at the very time that the archduke believed him to be awaiting battle around that city, he was far on his march to Landshut.

General Masséna was taking a hurried cup of coffee, and dictating a few lines to his secretary, when a dragoon officer galloped into the town with a second despatch, which, whatever its contents, must needs have been momentous, for in a few minutes the drums were beating and trumpets sounding, and all the stirring signs of an immediate movement visible. It was yet an hour before daybreak, and dark as midnight; torches, however, blazed everywhere, and by their flaring light the artillery trains and waggons drove through the narrow street of the village, shaking the frail old houses with their rude trot. Even in a retreating army, I have scarcely witnessed such a spectacle of uproar, confusion, and chaos; but still, in less than an hour the troops had all defiled from the town, the advanced guard was already some miles on its way, and, except a small escort of lancers before the little inn where the general still remained, there was not a soldier to be seen. It may seem absurd to say it, but I must confess that my eagerness to know what was ‘going on’ in front was divided by a feeling of painful uneasiness at my ridiculous dress, and the shame I experienced at the glances bestowed on me by the soldiers of the escort. It was no time, however, to speak of myself or attend to my own fortunes, and I loitered about the court of the inn wondering if, in the midst of such stirring events, the general would chance to remember me. If I had but a frock and a shako, thought I, I could make my way. It is this confounded velvet jacket and this absurd and tapering hat will be my ruin. If I were to charge a battery, I’d only look like a merry-andrew after all; men will not respect what is only laughable. Perhaps after all, thought I, it matters little; doubtless Masséna has forgotten me, and I shall be left behind like a broken limber. At one time I blamed myself for not pushing on with some detachment – at another I half resolved to put a bold face on it, and present myself before the general; and between regrets for the past and doubts for the future, I at last worked myself up to a state of anxiety little short of fever.

While I walked to and fro in this distracted mood, I perceived, by the bustle within-doors, that the general was about to depart; at the same time several dismounted dragoons appeared leading saddle-horses, tightening girths, and adjusting curb-chains – all tokens of a start. While I looked on these preparations, I heard the clatter of a horse’s hoofs close behind, and the spluttering noise of a struggle. I turned and saw it was the general himself, who had just mounted his charger, but before catching his right stirrup the horse had plunged, and was dragging the orderly across the court by the bridle. Seeing, in an instant, that the soldier’s effort to hold on was only depriving General Masséna of all command of the horse, who must probably have fallen on his flank, I jumped forward, caught the stirrup, and slipped it over the general’s foot, and then, with a sharp blow on the soldier’s wrist, compelled him to relax his grasp. So suddenly were the two movements effected, that in less time than I take to relate it, all was over, and the general, who, for a heavy man, was a good rider, was fast seated in his saddle. I had now no time, however, to bestow on him, for the dragoon, stung by the insult of a blow, and from a peasant, as he deemed it, rushed at me with his sabre.

‘Halte-là!, cried Masséna in a voice of thunder; ‘it was that country fellow saved me from a broken bone, which your infernal awkwardness might have given me. Throw him a couple of florins for me,’ cried he to his aide-de-camp, who just rode in; ‘and do you, sir, join your ranks; I must look for another orderly.’

‘I am right glad to have been in the way, general,’ said I, springing forward, and touching my hat.

‘What, Tiernay – this you?’ cried he. ‘How is this? have I forgotten you all this time? What’s to be done now? You ought to have gone on with the rest, monsieur. You should have volunteered with some corps, eh?’

‘I hoped to have been attached to yourself, general. I thought I could perhaps have made myself useful.’

‘Yes, yes, very true; so you might, I’ve no doubt; but my staff is full – I ‘ve no vacancy. What’s to be done now? Lestocque, have we any spare cattle?’

‘Yes, general; we’ve your own eight horses, and two of Gambronne’s.’

‘Ah, poor fellow, he ‘ll not want them more. I suppose Tiernay may as well take one of them, at least.’

‘There’s an undress uniform, too, of Cambronne’s would fit Monsieur de Tiernay,’ said the officer, who, I saw, had no fancy for my motley costume alongside of him.

‘Oh, Tiernay doesn’t care for that; he’s too old a soldier to bestow a thought upon the colour of his jacket,’ said Masséna.

‘Pardon me, general, but it is exactly one of my weaknesses; and I feel that until I get rid of these trappings I shall never feel myself a soldier.’

‘I thought you had been made of other stuff,’ muttered the general, ‘and particularly since there’s like to be little love-making in the present campaign.’ And with that he rode forward, leaving me to follow when I could.

‘These are Cambronne’s keys,’ said Lestocque, ‘and you’ll find enough for your present wants in the saddlebags. Take the grey, he’s the better horse, and come up with us as fast as you can.’

I saw that I had forfeited something of General Masséna’s good opinion by my dandyism; but I was consoled in a measure for the loss, as I saw the price at which I bought the forfeiture. The young officer, who had fallen three days before, and was a nephew of the General Gambronne, was a lieutenant in Murat’s celebrated corps, the Lancers of ‘Berg,’ whose uniform was the handsomest in the French army. Even the undress scarlet frock and small silver helmet were more splendid than many full parade uniforms; and as I attired myself in these brilliant trappings, I secretly vowed that the Austrians should see them in some conspicuous position ere a month was over. If I had but one sigh for the poor fellow to whose galanterie I succeeded, I had many a smile for myself as I passed and repassed before the glass, adjusting a belt, or training an aigrette to fall more gracefully. While thus occupied, I felt something heavy clink against my leg, and opening the sabretache, discovered a purse containing upwards of forty golden Napoleons and some silver. It was a singular way to succeed to a ‘heritage’ I thought, but, with the firm resolve to make honest restitution, I replaced the money where I found it, and descended the stairs, my sabre jingling and my spurs clanking, to the infinite admiration of the hostess and her handmaiden, who looked on my transformation as a veritable piece of magic.

I’m sure Napoleon himself had not framed one-half as many plans for that campaign as I did while I rode along. By a close study of the map, and the aid of all the oral information in my power, I had at length obtained a tolerably accurate notion of the country; and I saw, or I thought I saw, at least, half-a-dozen distinct ways of annihilating the Austrians. I have often since felt shame, even to myself, at the effrontery with which I discussed the great manoeuvres going forward, and the unblushing coolness with which I proffered my opinions and my criticisms; and I really believe that General Masséna tolerated my boldness rather for the amusement it afforded him than from any other cause.

‘Well, Tiernay,’ said he, as a fresh order reached him, with the most pressing injunction to hurry forward, ‘we are to move at once on Moosburg – what does that portend?’

‘Sharp work, general,’ replied I, not noticing the sly malice of the question; the Austrians are there in force.’

‘So your grenadiers say so?’ asked he sarcastically.

‘Nor general; but as the base of the operations is the Iser, they must needs guard all the bridges over the river, as well as protect the highroad to Vienna by Landshut.’

‘But you forget that Landshut is a good eight leagues from that!’ said he, with a laugh.

‘They’ll have to fall back there, nevertheless,’ said I coolly, ‘or they suffer themselves to be cut off from their own centre.’

‘Would you believe it,’ whispered Masséna to a colonel at his side, ‘the fellow has just guessed our intended movement?’

Low as he spoke, my quick ears caught the words, and my heart thumped with delight as I heard them. This was the Emperor’s strategy – Masséna was to fall impetuously on the enemy’s left at Moosburg, and drive them to a retreat on Landshut; when, at the moment of the confusion and disorder, they were to be attacked by Napoleon himself, with a vastly superior force. The game opened even sooner than expected, and a few minutes after the conversation I have reported, our tirailleurs were exchanging shots with the enemy. These sounds, however, were soon drowned in the louder din of artillery, which thundered away at both sides till nightfall. It was a strange species of engagement, for we continued to march on the entire time, the enemy as steadily retiring before us, while the incessant cannonade never ceased.

Although frequently sent to the front with orders, I saw nothing of the Austrians; a low line of bluish smoke towards the horizon, now and then flashing into flame, denoted their position, and as we were about as invisible to them, a less exciting kind of warfare would be difficult to conceive. Neither was the destruction important; many of the Austrian shot were buried in the deep clay in our front; and considering the time, and the number of pieces in action, our loss was insignificant. Soldiers, if they be not the trained veterans of a hundred battles, grow very impatient in this kind of operation; they cannot conceive why they are not led forward, and wonder at the over caution of the general. Ours were mostly young levies, and were consequently very profuse of their comments and complaints.

‘Have patience, my brave boys,’ said an old sergeant to some of the grumblers; ‘I’ve seen some service, and I never saw a battle open this way that there wasn’t plenty of fighting ere it was over.’

A long, low range of hills bounds the plain to the west of Moosburg, and on these, as night closed, our bivouac fires were lighted, some of them extending to nearly half a mile to the left of our real position, and giving the Austrians the impression that our force was stationed in that direction. A thin drizzly rain, cold enough to be sleet, was falling; and as the ground had been greatly cut up by the passage of artillery and cavalry, a less comfortable spot to bivouac in could not be imagined. It was difficult, too, to obtain wood for our fires, and our prospects for the dark hours were scarcely brilliant. The soldiers grumbled loudly at being obliged to sit and cook their messes at the murky flame of damp straw, while the fires at our left blazed away gaily without one to profit by them. Frenchmen, however, are rarely ill-humoured in face of the enemy, and their complaints assumed all the sarcastic drollery which they so well understand; and even over their half-dressed supper they were beginning to grow merry, when staff-officers were seen traversing the lines at full speed in all directions.

‘We are attacked – the Austrians are upon us!’ cried two or three soldiers, snatching up their muskets.

‘No, no, friend,’ replied a veteran, ‘it’s the other way – we are going at them.’

This was the true reading of the problem. Orders were sent to every brigade to form in close column of attack – artillery and cavalry to advance under their cover, and ready to deploy at a moment’s notice.

Moosburg lay something short of two miles from us, having the Iser in front, over which was a wooden bridge, protected by a strong flanking battery. The river was not passable, nor had we any means of transporting artillery across it; so that to this spot our main attack was at once directed. Had the Austrian general, Heller, who was second in command to the Archduke Louis, either cut off the bridge, or taken effectual measures to oppose its passage, the great events of the campaign might have assumed a very different feature. It is said, however, that an entire Austrian brigade was encamped near Freising, and that the communication was left open to save them.

Still it must be owned that the Imperialists took few precautions for their safety; for, deceived by our line of watch-fires, the pickets extended but a short distance into the plain; and when attacked by our light cavalry, many of them were cut off at once; and of those who fell back, several traversed the bridge, with their pursuers at their heels. Such was the impetuosity of the French attack, that although the most positive orders had been given by Masséna that not more than three guns and their caissons should traverse the bridge together, and even these at a walk, seven or eight were seen passing at the same instant, and all at a gallop, making the old framework so to rock and tremble, that it seemed ready to come to pieces. As often happens, the hardihood proved our safety. The Austrians counting upon our slow transit, only opened a heavy fire after several of our pieces had crossed, and were already in a position to reply to them. Their defence, if somewhat late, was a most gallant one, and the gunners continued to fire on our advancing columns till we captured the block-house and sabred the men at their guns. Meanwhile the Imperial Cuirassiers, twelve hundred strong, made a succession of furious charges upon us, driving our light cavalry away before them, and for a brief space making the fortune of the day almost doubtful. It soon appeared, however, that these brave fellows were merely covering the retreat of the main body, who in all haste were falling back on the villages of Furth and Arth. Some squadrons of Kellermann’s heavy cavalry gave time for our light artillery to open their fire, and the Austrian ranks were rent open with terrific loss.