Chapter 19

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_ CHAPTER XIX

An hour before, fifteen of us had entered that old barn, now there were but six to come out.

Buche and Zebede were among the living; the Pfalzbourgers had been fortunate.

Once outside it was necessary to follow the attacking column.

We advanced over the heaps of dead. Our feet encountered this yielding mass, but we did not look to see if we stepped on the face of a wounded man, on his breast, or on his limbs; we marched straight on. We found out next morning, that this mass of men had been cut down by the battery in front of the church; their obstinacy had proved their ruin. Bluecher was only waiting to serve us in the same manner, but instead of going over the bridge we turned off to the right and occupied the houses along the brook. The Prussians fired at us from every window opposite, but as soon as we were ambushed we opened our fire on their guns and they were obliged to fall back.

They had already begun to talk of attacking the other part of the village, when the rumor was heard that a column of Prussians forty thousand strong had come up behind us from Charleroi. We could not understand it, as we had swept everything before us to the banks of the Sambre. This column which had fallen on our rear, must have been hidden in the forest.

It was about half-past six and the combat at St. Amand seemed to grow fiercer than ever. Bluecher had moved his forces to that side, and it was a favorable moment to carry the other part of the village, but this column forced us to wait.

The houses on either side of the brook were filled with troops, the French on the right and the Prussians on the left. The firing had ceased, a few shots were still heard from time to time, but they were evidently by design. We looked at each other as if to say, "Let us breathe awhile now, and we will commence again presently."

The Prussians in the house opposite us, in their blue coats and leather shakos, with their mustaches turned up, were all strongly built men, old soldiers with square chins and their ears standing out from their heads. They looked as if they might overthrow us at a blow. The officers, too, were looking on.

Along the two streets which were parallel with the brook and in the brook itself, the dead were lying in long rows.

Many of them were seated with their backs against the walls. They had been dangerously wounded in the battle but had had sufficient strength to retire from the strife, and had sunk down against the wall and died from loss of blood.

Some were still standing upright in the brook, their hands clutching the bank as if to climb out, rigid in death. And in obscure corners of the ruined houses, when they were lighted up with the sun's rays, we could see the miserable wretches crushed under the rubbish, with stones and beams lying across their bodies.

The struggle at St. Amand became still more terrible, the discharges of cannon seemed to rise one above the other, and if we had not all been looking death in the face, nothing could have prevented us from admiring this grand music.

At every discharge hundreds of men perished, but there was no interruption, the solid earth trembled under our feet. We could breathe again now, and very soon we began to feel a most intolerable thirst. During the fight nobody had thought of it, but now everybody wanted to drink.

Our house formed the corner at the left of the bridge, but the little water that was running over the muddy bottom of the brook was red with blood. Between our house and the next there was a little garden, where there was a well from which to water it. We all looked at this well with its curb and its wooden posts; the bucket was still hanging to the chain in spite of the showers of shot, but three men were already lying face downward in the path leading to it. The Prussians had shot them as they were trying to reach it.

As we stood there with our loaded muskets, one said, "I would give half my blood for one glass of that water;" another, "Yes, but the Prussians are on the watch."

This was true, there they were, a hundred paces from us, perhaps they were as thirsty as we, and were guessing our thoughts.

The shots that were still fired came from these houses, and no one could go along the street, they would shoot him at once, so we were all suffering horribly.

This lasted for another half hour, when the cannonade extended from St. Amand to Ligny, and we could see that our batteries had opened with grape and canister on the Prussians by the great gaps made in their columns at every discharge.

This new attack produced a great excitement. Buche, who had not stirred till that moment, ran down through the path leading to the well in the garden and sheltered himself behind the curb. From the two houses opposite a volley was fired, and the stones and the posts were soon riddled with balls.

But we opened our fire on their windows and in an instant it began again from one end of the village to the other, and everything was enveloped in smoke.

At that moment I heard some one shout from below, "Joseph, Joseph!"

It was Buche; he had had the courage after he had drank himself, to fill the bucket, unfasten it, and bring it back with him.

[Illustration: He had had the courage to pull up the bucket.]

Several old soldiers wanted to take it from him, but he shouted, "My comrade first! let go, or I'll pour it all out!"

They were compelled to wait till I had drank, then they took their turn, and afterward the others who were upstairs drained the rest.

We all went up together greatly refreshed.

It was about seven o'clock and near sunset, the shadows of the houses on our side reached quite to the brook--while those occupied by the Prussians were still in the sunlight, as well as the hill-side of Bry, down which we could see the fresh troops coming on the run. The cannonade had never been so fierce as at this moment from our side.

Every one now knows, that at nightfall between seven and eight o'clock the Emperor, having discovered that the column which had been signalled in our rear was the corps of General d'Erlon, which had missed its route between the battle of Ney with the English at Quatre-Bras and ours here at Ligny, had ordered the Old Guard to support us at once.

The lieutenant who was with us said, "This is the grand attack. Attention!"

The whole of the Prussian cavalry was swarming between the two villages. We felt that there was a grand movement behind us, though we did not see it. The lieutenant repeated, "Attention to orders! Let no one stay behind after the order to march! Here is the attack!"

We all opened our eyes. The farther the night advanced the redder the sky grew over St. Amand. We were so absorbed in listening to the cannonade that, we no longer thought of anything else. At each discharge you would have said the heavens were on fire. The tumult behind us was increasing.

Suddenly the broad street running along the brook was full of troops, from the bridge quite to the end of Ligny. On the left in the distance the Prussians were shooting from the windows again, while we did not reply. The shout rose--"The Guard! the Guard!" I do not know how that mass of men passed the muddy ditch, probably by means of plank thrown across, but in a moment they were on the left bank in force.

The batteries of the Prussians at the top of the ravine between the two villages, cut gaps through our columns, but they closed up immediately, and moved steadily up the hill. What remained of our division ran across the bridge, followed by the artillerymen and their pieces with the horses at a gallop.

Then we went down to the street, but we had not reached the bridge when the cuirassiers began to file over it, followed by the dragoons and the mounted grenadiers of the guard. They were passing everywhere, across and around the village. It was like a new and innumerable army.

The slaughter began again on the hill, this time the battle was in the open fields, and we could trace the outlines of the Prussian squares on the hill-side at every discharge of musketry.

We rushed on over the dead and wounded, and when we were clear of the village we could see that there was an engagement between the cavalry, though we could only distinguish the white cuirasses as they pierced the lines of the Uhlans; then they would be indiscriminately mingled and the cuirassiers would re-form and set off again like a solid wall.

It was dark already, and the dense masses of smoke made it impossible to see fifty paces ahead. Everything was moving toward the windmills, the clatter of the cavalry, the shouts, the orders of the officers and the file-firing in the distance, all were confounded. Several of the squares were broken. From time to time a flash would reveal a lancer bent to his horse's neck, or a cuirassier, with his broad white back and his helmet with its floating plume, shooting off like a bullet, two or three foot soldiers running about in the midst of the fray,--all would come and go like lightning. The trampled grain, the rain streaking the heavens, the wounded under the feet of the horses, all came out of the black night--through the storm which had just broken out--for a quarter of a second.

Every flash of musket or pistol showed us inexplicable things by thousands. But everything moved up the hill and away from Ligny; we were masters.

We had pierced the enemy's centre, the Prussians no longer made any defence, except at the top of the hill near the mills and in the direction of Sombref, at our right. St. Amand and Ligny were both in our hands.

As for us, a dozen or so of our company there alone among the ruins of the cottages, with our cartridge-boxes almost empty;--we did not know which way to turn.

Zebede, Lieutenant Bretonville, and Captain Florentin had disappeared, and Sergeant Rabot was in command. He was a little old fellow, thin and deformed, but as tough as steel; he squinted and seemed to have had red hair when young. Now, as I speak of him, I seem to hear him say quietly to us, "The battle is won! by file right! forward, march!"

Several wanted to stop and make some soup, for we had eaten nothing since noon and began to be hungry. The sergeant marched down the lane with his musket on his shoulder, laughing quietly, and saying in an ironical tone:

"Oh! soup, soup! wait a little, the commissary is coming!"

We followed him down the dark lane; about midway we saw a cuirassier on horseback with his back toward us. He had a sabre cut in the abdomen and had retired into this lane, the horse leaned against the wall to prevent him from falling off.

As we filed past he called out, "Comrades!" But nobody even turned his head.

Twenty paces farther on we found the ruins of a cottage completely riddled with balls, but half the thatched roof was still there, and this was why Sergeant Rabot had selected it; and we filed into it for shelter.

We could see no more than if we had been in an oven; the sergeant exploded the priming of his musket, and we saw that it was the kitchen, that the fireplace was at the right, and the stairway on the left. Five or six Prussians and Frenchmen were stretched on the floor, white as wax, and with their eyes wide open.

"Here is the mess-room," said the sergeant, "let every one make himself comfortable. Our bedfellows will not kick us."

As we saw plainly that there were to be no rations, each one took off his knapsack and placed it by the wall on the floor for a pillow. We could still hear the firing, but it was far in the distance on the hill.

The rain fell in torrents. The sergeant shut the door, which creaked on its hinges, and then quietly lighted his pipe. Some of the men were already snoring when I looked up, and he was standing at the little window, in which not a pane of glass remained, smoking.

He was a firm, just man, he could read and write, had been wounded and had his three chevrons, and ought to have been an officer, only he was not well formed.

He soon laid his head on his knapsack, and shortly after all were asleep. It was long after this when I was suddenly awakened by footsteps and fumbling about the house outside.

I raised up on my elbow to listen, when somebody tried to open the door. I could not help screaming out. "What's the matter?" said the sergeant.

We could hear them running away, and Rabot turned on his knapsack saying:

"Night birds,--rascals,--clear out, or I'll send a ball after you!" He said no more and I got up and looked out of the window, and saw the wretches in the act of robbing the dead and wounded. They were going softly from one to another, while the rain was falling in torrents. It was something horrible.

I lay down again and fell asleep overcome by fatigue.

At daybreak the sergeant was up and crying, "En route!"

We left the cottage and went back through the lane. The cuirassier was on the ground, but his horse still stood beside him. The sergeant took him by the bridle and led him out into the orchard, pulled the bits from his mouth and said:

"Go, and eat, they will find you again by and by."

And the poor beast walked quietly away. We hurried along the path which runs by Ligny. The furrows stopped here and some plats of garden ground lay along by the road. The sergeant looked about him as he went, and stooped down to dig up some carrots and turnips which were left. I quickly followed his example, while our comrades hastened on without looking round.

I saw that it was a good thing to know the fruits of the earth. I found two beautiful turnips and some carrots, which are very good raw, but I followed the example of the sergeant and put them in my shako.

I ran on to overtake the squad, which was directing its steps toward the fires at Sombref. As for the rest, I will not attempt to describe to you the appearance of the plateau in the rear of Ligny where our cuirassiers and dragoons had slaughtered all before them. The men and horses were lying in heaps. The horses with their long necks stretched out on the ground and the dead and wounded lying under them.

Sometimes the wounded men would raise their hands to make signs when the horses would attempt to get up and fall back, crushing them still more fearfully.

Blood! blood! everywhere. The directions of the balls and shot was marked on the slope by the red lines, just as we see in our country the lines in the sand formed by the water from the melting snow. But will you believe it? These horrors scarcely made any impression upon me. Before I went to Lutzen such a sight would have knocked me down. I should have thought then, "Do our masters look upon us as brutes? Will the good God give us up to be eaten by wolves? Have we mothers and sisters and friends, beings who are dear to us, and will they not cry out for vengeance?"

I should have thought of a thousand other things, but now I did not think at all. From having seen such a mass of slaughter and wrong every day and in every fashion, I began to say to myself:

"The strongest are always right. The Emperor is the strongest, and he has called us, and we must come in spite of everything, from Pfalzbourg, from Saverne, or other cities, and take our places in the ranks and march. The one who would show the least sign of resistance ought to be shot at once. The marshals, the generals, the officers, down to the last man, follow their instructions, they dare not make a move without orders, and everybody obeys the army. It is the Emperor who wills, who has the power and who does everything. And would not Joseph Bertha be a fool to believe that the Emperor ever committed a single fault in his life? Would it not be contrary to reason?"

That was what we all thought, and if the Emperor had remained here, all France would have had the same opinion.

My only satisfaction was in thinking that I had some carrots and turnips, for in passing in the rear of the pickets to find our place in the battalion, we learned that no rations had been distributed except brandy and cartridges.

The veterans were filling their kettles; but the conscripts, who had not yet learned the art of living while on a campaign, and who had unfortunately already eaten all their bread, as will happen when one is twenty years old, and is on the march with a good appetite, they had not a spoonful of anything. At last about seven o'clock we reached the camp. Zebede came to meet me and was delighted to see me, and said, "What have you brought, Joseph? We have found a fat kid and we have some salt, but not a mouthful of bread."

I showed him the rice which I had left, and my turnips and carrots.

"That's good," said he, "we shall have the best soup in the battalion."

I wanted Buche to eat with us too, and the six men belonging to our mess, who had all escaped with only bruises and scratches, consented. Padoue, the drum-major, said, laughing, "Veterans are always veterans, they never come empty-handed."

We looked into the kettles of the five conscripts, and winked, for they had nothing but rice and water in them, while we had a good rich soup, the odor of which filled the air around us.

At eight we took our breakfast with an appetite, as you can imagine.

Not even on my wedding-day did I eat a better meal, and it is a pleasure even now to think of it. When we are old we are not so enthusiastic about such things as when we are young, but still we always recall them with satisfaction.

This breakfast sustained us a long time, but the poor conscripts with only a few crumbs as it were soaked in rain water, had a hard time next day--the 18th. We were to have a short but terrible campaign.

Though all is over now, yet I cannot think of those terrible sufferings without emotion, or without thanking God that we escaped them. The sun shone again and the weather was fine,--we had hardly finished our breakfast when the drums began to beat the assembly along the whole line.

The Prussian rear-guard had just left Sombref, and it was a question whether we should pursue them. Some said we ought to send out the light-horse, to pick up the prisoners. But no one paid any attention to them,--the Emperor knew what he was doing.

But I remember that everybody was astonished notwithstanding, because it is the custom to profit by victories. The veterans had never seen anything like it. They thought that the Emperor was preparing some grand stroke; that Ney had turned the enemy's line, and so forth.

Meanwhile the roll commenced and General Gerard reviewed the Fourth corps. Our battalion had suffered most, because in the three attacks we had always been in the front.

The Commandant Gemeau and Captain Vidal were wounded, and Captains Gregoire and Vignot killed, seven lieutenants and second lieutenants, and three hundred and sixty men _hors de combat_.

Zebede said that it was worse than at Montmirail, and that they would finish us up completely before we got through.

Fortunately the fourth battalion arrived from Metz under Commandant Delong and took our place in the line.

Captain Florentin ordered us to file off to the left, and we went back to the village near the church, where a quantity of carts were stationed.

We were then distributed in squads to superintend the removal of the wounded. Several detachments of chasseurs were ordered to escort the convoys to Fleurus as there was no room for them at Ligny; the church was already filled with the poor fellows. We did not select those to be removed, the surgeons did that, as we could hardly distinguish in numbers of cases, between the living and the dead. We only laid them on the straw in the carts.

I knew how all this was, for I was at Lutzen, and I understand what a man suffers in recovering from a ball, or a musket-shot, or such a cut as our cuirassiers made.

Every time I saw one of these men taken up, I thanked God that I was not reduced to that condition, and, thinking that the same thing might befall me, I said to myself: "You do not know how many balls and slugs have been near you, or you would be horrified." I was astonished that so many of us had escaped in the carnage, which had been far greater than at Lutzen or even at Leipzig. The battle had only lasted five hours, and the dead in many places were piled two or three feet deep. The blood flowed from under them in streams. Through the principal street where the artillery went, the mud was red with blood, and the mud itself was crushed flesh and bones.

It is necessary to tell you this, in order that the young men may understand. I shall fight no more, thank God, I am too old, but all these young men who think of nothing but war, instead of being industrious and helping their aged parents, should know how the soldiers are treated. Let them imagine what the poor fellows who have done their duty think, as they lie in the street, wanting an arm or a leg, and hear the cannon, weighing twelve or fifteen thousand pounds, coming with their big well-shod horses, plunging and neighing.

Then it is that they will recall their old parents who embraced them in their own village, while they went off saying:

"I am going, but I shall return with the cross of honor, and with my epaulettes."

Yes, indeed! if they could weep and ask God's pardon, we should hear their cries and complaints, but there is no time for that; the cannon and the caissons with their freight of bombs and bullets arrive--and they can hear their own bones crack beforehand--and all pass right over their bodies, just as they do through the mud.

When we are old, and think that such horrible things may happen to the children we love, we feel as if we would part with the last sou before we would allow them to go.

But all this does no good, bad men cannot be changed, while good ones must do their duty, and if misfortune comes, their confidence in the justice of God remains. Such men do not destroy their fellows from the love of glory, they are forced to do so, they have nothing with which to reproach themselves, they defend their own lives and the blood which is shed is not on their hands.

But I must finish my story of the battle and the removal of the wounded.

I saw sights there which are incredible; men killed in a moment of fury, whose faces had not lost their horrible expression, still held their muskets in their hands and stood upright against the walls, and you could almost hear them cry, as they stared with glazed eyes, "To the bayonet! No quarter!"

It was with this thought and this cry that they appeared before God. He was awaiting them, and He may have said to them, "Here am I. Thou killest thy brethren--thou givest no quarter? None shall be given thee!"

I have seen others mortally wounded strangling each other. At Fleurus we were obliged to separate the French and the Prussians, because they would rise from their beds, or their bundles of straw, to tear each other to pieces. Ah! war! those who wish for it, and those who make men like ferocious beasts, will have a terrible account to settle above. _

Read next: Chapter 20

Read previous: Chapter 18

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