Tom Burke Of "Ours", Volume II

CHAPTER XXI. THE SUMMIT OF THE LANDGRAFENBERG

After a brief delay at Mayence, it was with sincere pleasure I received my orders to push forward to the advanced posts at Wetzlar, where General d’Auvergne was with his division. Already the battalions were crossing the Rhine, and directing their steps to different rendezvous along the Prussian frontier; some pressing on eastwards, where the Saxon territory joins the Prussian; others directly to the north, and taking up positions distant by a short day’s march from each other. The same urgent haste which characterized the opening of the Austrian campaign a year before, was here conspicuous; many of the corps being obliged to march seven and eight leagues in the day, and frequently whole companies being forwarded in wagons drawn by six or eight horses, in order to come up with the main body of their regiments. Every road eastward was covered with some fragment of the army. Now an infantry corps of young conscripts, glowing with enthusiasm and eager for the fray, would cheer the calèche in which I travelled, and which, as indicating a staff-officer, was surmounted by a small flag with an eagle. Now it was the hoarse challenge of an outpost, some veteran of Bernadotte’s army, which occupied the whole line of country from Dusseldorf to Nuremberg. Pickets of dragoons, with troops of led horses for remounts, hurried on, and long lines of wagons crammed the road.

At last I joined General d’Auvergne, who, with all the ardor of the youngest soldier, was preparing for the march. The hardy veteran, disdaining the use of a carriage, rode each day at the head of his column, and went through the most minute detail of regimental duty with the colonels under his command. From whatever cause proceeding I knew not, but it struck me as strange that he never alluded to my visit to Paris, nor once spoke to me of the countess; and while this reserve on his part slightly wounded me, I felt relieved from the embarrassment the mere mention of her name would cause me, and was glad when our conversation turned on the events of the war. Nor was he, save in this respect, less cordial than ever, manifesting the greatest pleasure at the prospect the war would open to my advancement, and kindly presaging for me a success I scarcely dared to hope for.

“Nor is the hour distant,” said he to me one morning in the latter end of September, as we rode side by side; “the grand movement is begun.”

Augereau, with his powerful corps d’armée of twenty thousand, pressed on from Frankfort and Mayence; Bernadotte moved up on his flank from Nuremberg and Bamberg; Davoust hastened by forced marches from the Danube; while Soult and Ney with a strong force remained in the south, and in observation on the Austrian frontier. Farther to the north, again, were the new levies and the whole Imperial Guard, strengthened by four thousand additional men, which, together with Murat’s cavalry, formed a vast line embracing the Prussian frontier on the west and south, and converging with giant strides towards the very heart of the kingdom. Still, mid all the thunders of marching squadrons and the din of advancing legions, diplomatists interchanged their respective assurances of a peaceful issue to their differences, and politely conveyed the most satisfactory sentiments of mutual esteem.

On the 1st of September the Emperor left Paris; but, even then, covering his designs by an affected hope of peace, he was accompanied by the Empress and her suite to Mayence, where all the splendor of a Court was suddenly displayed amid the pomp and preparation of war. On the 6th he started by daybreak; relays of horses were in waiting along the road to Wetzlar, and with all speed he hastened forward to Bamberg, where he issued his grand proclamation to the army.

With all his accustomed eloquence he represented to the army the insulting demands of Prussia, and called on them, as at Austerlitz, to reply to such a menace by one tremendous blow of victory, which should close the campaign. “Soldiers!” said he, “you were about to return to France to enjoy the well-won repose after all your victories. But an enemy is in the field; the road to Paris is no longer open to you: neither you nor I can tread it save under an arch of triumph.”

The day which succeeded the issue of this proclamation, a cavalry affair occurred at the advanced posts, in which the Prussians were somewhat the victors. Two days later, a courier arrived at the imperial headquarters with the account of another and more important action, between the grenadiers of Lannes and a part of Suchet’s corps, against the advanced guard of Prince Hohenlohe, commanded by the most daring general in the Prussian service, – Prince Louis. A cavalry combat, which lasted for near an hour, closed this brief but bloody encounter with the death of the brave prince, who, refusing to surrender, was run through the body by the sabre of a quartermaster of the Tenth Hussars.

General d’Auvergne’s brigade had no share in this memorable action, for on the 9th we were marched to Rudolstadt, some miles to the left of the scene of the encounter; but having made a demonstration in that quarter, were speedily recalled, and ordered with all haste to cross the Saale, and move on to the eastward.

It was now that Napoleon’s manoeuvres became apparent. The same intrigue which succeeded at Ulm was again to be employed here: the enemy’s flank was to be turned, the communication with his reinforcements cut off, and a battle engaged, in which defeat must prove annihilation. Such, then, was the complete success of the Emperor’s movements, that on the 12th the French army was posted with the rear upon the Elbe, while the Prussians occupied a line between them and the Rhine. This masterly movement at once compelled the enemy to fall back and concentrate his troops around Jena and Weimar, which, from that instant, Napoleon pronounced must be the scene of a great battle.

All this detail I have been obliged to force on my reader, and now again return to my story.

On the morning of the 13th, Murat appeared for the first time at our headquarters, below Jena; and after a short consultation with the staff, our squadrons were formed and ordered to push on with haste towards Jena.

Everything now showed that the decisive hour could not be distant: couriers passed and repassed; messengers and orderlies met us at every step; while, as is ever the case, the most contradictory rumors were circulated about the number and position of the enemy. As we neared Lausnitz, however, we learned that the whole Prussian army occupied the plateau of Jena, save a corps of twenty thousand men which were stationed at Auerstadt. From the elevated spot we occupied, the columns of Marshal Berna-dotte’s division could be seen marching to the eastward. A halt was now commanded, and the troops prepared their bivouacs; when, as night was falling, a staff-officer rode up, with orders from the Emperor himself to push on without delay for Jena.

The road was much cut up by the passage of cavalry and wagons, and as the night was dark, our pace was occasionally impeded. I was riding with one of the leading squadrons, when General d’Auvergne directed me to take an orderly with me, and proceed in advance to make arrangements for the quarters of the men at Jena. Selecting a German soldier as my guide, I dashed forwards, and soon left the squadron out of hearing. We had not gone far, when I remarked, from the tramp of the horses, that we were upon an earthen road, and not on the pavement. I questioned my orderly, but he was positive there had been no turning since we started. I paid no more attention to the circumstance, but rode on, hard as ever. At last the clay became deeper and heavier, the sides of the way closer, and all the appearance, as well as the gloom would allow us to guess, rather those of a byroad than the regular chaussée. To return would have been hopeless; the darkness gave no prospect of detecting at what precise spot we had left the main road, and so I determined to make my way straight onwards at all hazards.

After about an hour’s fast trotting, the orderly, who rode some paces in advance, called out, “A light!” and then, the moment after, he cried, “There are several lights yonder!”

I reined in my horse at once, for the thought struck me that we had come down upon the Prussian lines. Giving my horse to the soldier, with orders to follow me noiselessly at a little distance, I walked on for above a mile, my eyes steadily fixed upon the lights, which moved from place to place, and showed, by their taper glare, that they were not watchfires. At length I gained a little ridge of the ground, and could distinctly see that it was a line of guns and artillery wagons, endeavoring to force their way through a narrow ravine; a few minutes after, I heard the sounds of French, and relieved of all apprehensions, I mounted my horse and soon came up with them.

They were four troops of Lannes’s artillery, which, by a mistake similar to my own, had left the highroad and entered one of the field-tracks, which thus led them astray; and here they were, jammed up in a narrow gorge, unable to get back or forward. The officer in command was a young colonel, who was completely overwhelmed by his misfortune; for he informed me that the whole artillery of the division was following him, and would inevitably be involved in the same mishap. The poor fellow, who doubtless would have faced the enemy without a particle of fear, was now so horrified by the event, that he ran wildly from place to place, ordering and counter-ordering every instant, and actually increasing the confusion by his own excitement. Some of the leading trains were unharnessed, and efforts made to withdraw the guns from their position; but the axles were, on both sides, embedded in the rock, and seemed to defy every effort to disengage them.

At this moment, when the confusion had reached its height, and the horses were unharnessed from the guns, the men standing in groups around or shouting wildly to one another, a sullen silence spread itself over the whole, and a loud, stern voice called out, —

“Who commands this division?”

“General Latour,” was the answer.

“Where is he?” said the first speaker, so close to my ear that I started round, and saw the short square figure of a man in a great coat, holding a heavy whip in his hand.

“With the main body at the rear.”

“Cannoneers, dismount!” said the other. “Bring the torches to the front.”

Scarcely was the order obeyed, when the light of the firewood fell upon his features, and I saw it was the Emperor himself. In an instant the whole scene was changed. The park tools were taken out, working parties formed, and the ravine began to echo to the strong blows of the brawny arms; while Napoleon, with a blazing torch in his hand, stood by to light their labors. Giving directions to the under-officers and the men, he never deigned a word to the officers, who now stood trembling around him, and were gradually joined by several more, who came up with the remainder of the train.

I think still I can see that pale, unmoved face, which, as the light flickered upon it, gazed steadily at the working party. Not a syllable escaped him, save once, when he muttered half to himself, “And this was the first battery to open its fire to-morrow!”

General Savary stood at his side, but never dared to address him. Too well he knew that his deepest anger showed itself by silence. By degrees the granite wall gave way, the axles once more became free, and the horses were again harnessed; the gun-carriages moved slowly through the ravine. Nor did the Emperor quit the spot before the greater part of the train passed; then mounting his horse, he turned towards Jena, and notwithstanding the utter darkness of the night he rode at full speed. Following the clatter of the horse’s hoofs, I rode on, and in less than an hour reached a small cluster of houses, where a cavalry picket was placed, and several large fires were lighted, beside which, at small tables, sat above a dozen staff-officers busily writing despatches. The Emperor halted but for a second or two, and then dashed forward again; and I soon perceived we were ascending a steep hill, covered with ferns and brushwood. We had not gone far, when a single aide-de-camp who accompanied him turned his horse’s head and rode rapidly down the mountain again.

Napoleon was now alone, some fifty paces in front. I could see the faint outline through the darkness, my sight guided by my hearing to the spot. His pace, wherever the ground permitted, was rapid; but constantly he was obliged to hold in, and pick his steps among the stones and dwarf wood that covered the mountain. Never shall I cease to remember the strange sensations I felt as I followed him up that steep ascent. There was he, the greatest monarch of the universe, alone, wending his solitary way in darkness, his thoughts bent on the great event before him, – the tremendous conflict in which thousands must fall. There was a sense of awe in the thought of being so near to one on whose slightest word the destiny of nations seemed to hang; and I could not look on the dark object before me without a superstitious feeling, deeper than fear itself, for that mightiest of men.

My thoughts permitted my taking no note of time, and I know not how long it was before we reached the crest of the hill, over whose bleak surface a cold, cutting wind was blowing. It seemed as if a great tableland extended now for some distance on every side, over which the Emperor took his way, as though accustomed to the ground. While I was wondering at the certainty with which he appeared to determine on his road, I remarked the feeble flickering of a light far away towards the horizon, and by which it was evident he guided his steps. As we rode on, several watchfires could be seen towards the northwest, stretching away to a great distance, and throwing a yellowish glare in the dark sky above them. Suddenly I perceived the Emperor halt and dismount, and as speedily again he was in the saddle; but now his path took a different direction, and diverged considerably to the southward. Curious to learn what might have caused his change of direction, I rode up to the spot, and got off. It was the embers of a watchfire; they were almost extinguished, but still, as the horse’s hoof struck the wood, a few sparks were emitted. It was this, then, which altered his course; and once more he pressed his horse to speed.

A steep ascent of some hundred yards lay before us now. But on gaining the top, a brilliant spectacle of a thousand watchfires met the eye: so close did they seem, it looked like one great volcanic crater blazing on the mountain top; while above, the lurid glow reddened the black sky, and melted away into the darkness in clouds of faint yellowish hue. Far, very far away, and to the north, stretched another much longer line of fires, but at great intervals apart, and occupying, as well as I might guess, about two leagues in extent. Several smaller fires dotted the plain, marking the outpost positions; and it was not difficult to trace the different lines of either army even by these indications.

While I yet looked, the Emperor had gained a short distance in advance of me; and suddenly I heard the hoarse challenge of a sentry, calling out, “Qui vive?” Buried in his own thoughts, – perhaps far too deeply lost in meditation to hear the cry, – Napoleon never replied nor slackened his speed. “Qui vive?” shouted the voice again: and before I could advance, the sharp bang of a musket-shot rang out; another and another followed; and then a roll of fire swept along the plain, happily not in the direction of the Emperor. But already he had thrown himself from his horse, and lay flat upon the ground.

Not a moment was now to be lost. I dashed my spurs into my jaded horse, and rode forwards, calling aloud, at the top of my voice, “The Emperor! the Emperor!” Still, the panic overbore my words, and another discharge was given: with one bullet I was struck in the shoulder, another killed my horse; but springing to my legs in an instant, I rushed on, repeating my cry. Before I could do more than point to the spot, Napoleon came forward, leading his horse by the bridle. His step was slow and measured, and his face – for many a torchlight was now gathered to the place – was calm and tranquil.

“Ye are well upon the alert, mes enfant!” said he, with a smile; “see that ye be as ready with your fire to-morrow!” A wild cheer answered these words, while he continued: “These are the new levies, Lieutenant; the Guards would have had more patience. Where is the officer who followed me?”

“Here, Sire,” said I, endeavoring to conceal the appearance of being wounded.

“Mount, sir, and accompany me to headquarters.”

“My horse is killed, Sire.”

“Yes, parbleu!” said a young soldier, who had not learned much respect before his superiors; “and he has a ball in his neck himself.”