Marengo
Page 28
‘A chasseur on foot belonging to the Consular Guard, full of wounds, lay almost dead in the field of battle, at the moment of our retreat. Some soldiers of Bussy’s legion surrounded him, and disputed among themselves for his spoils. Nothing was already disposed of but his coat, which they had already stripped him of, when an Austrian colonel by chance came up, and driving away these inhuman fellows with his cane, asked the soldier, whom he at first took for an officer, to what corps he belonged?—I belong to the Guard of the consul whom you see before you, replied the chasseur. The colonel, after paying a compliment to that body of men had his surgeon called, and the wounded prisoner was dressed in his presence, and carried to the ambulance.’
All these things indicate the Austrians gained an ascendancy in the fight and were clearly jubilant about their success. However, the French casualty returns do not support the description of butchery implied by the oral accounts. There is no surviving battlefield report from the Foot Guards. Murat adds a footnote to his report, written two days after the battle on 16 June. He admits the Foot Guard lost 121 killed or wounded. There is no report of any prisoners, which is unsurprising because Petit tells us there was a prisoner exchange that same day and all those taken by the Austrians were returned. Later in Petit’s account he downplays the number of French captives and states only twenty-five guardsmen were taken captive in the battle. At the same time, he doubles the number of casualties suffered by the Foot Guard:
‘The loss of the Consular Guard was considerable only in infantry. In five hundred men, there were two hundred and fifty-eight killed or put hors de combat.’
We also have the admission in Soulès’ account that only 200 men remained when he withdrew, so what conclusions can we reach?
Stutterheim’s description of a massacre appears to be based on something he was told soon after the battle by some officers of the Consular Guard he met in Milan. These told him barely 100 guardsmen had escaped being killed or captured. Stutterheim took this statement at face value; but in the way soldiers might sometimes exaggerate their successes, so too they are prone to exaggerating the dangers they faced. Had the French officers told Stutterheim the truth, or was this a flippant exaggeration?
The important fact is that after Frimont’s charge, French resistance in that part of the field was broken, albeit having fulfilled its mission of preventing Ott’s troops from breaking out beyond Castelceriolo and cutting of Victor and Lannes’ line of retreat. Those guardsmen not tumbled over by enemy horsemen, or seized by belligerent Hungarian infantrymen, clumped around their colours and made their escape, probably numbering around 200, as Soulès’ biographical entry suggests. At the same time, Monnier’s troops evacuated Castelceriolo, and did so by making a break for the vines in order to protect them against enemy cavalry. Did the Consular Guard do the same? Valhubert did not see the grenadiers return in his direction, so this is perhaps the most likely conclusion.
But what of the granite redoubt in the middle of the plain, resisting everything that was thrown at it? This is so much a part of the mythology of the battle that we must explain the phenomenon. There is usually an element of truth in these accounts, so what did the Frenchmen actually see? Let us not forget Valhubert and the valiant 28th Line.24 What happened to them after the Guard departed from their side? Valhubert tells us:
‘After [the Guard’s] departure, the 28th, being isolated, formed in battalion square, dragged some abandoned artillery, and had the fortune of resisting the cavalry charges which the enemy repeated on three of his fronts throughout the evening.’25
In his after-action report, Lannes singled out the 28th Line for particular praise, writing:
‘Citizen General, the bravery of the troops at my command was so much sustained during the battle, it is impossible for me to single out any particular corps, all having fought with invincible courage. Nevertheless, I must tell you that the 28th showed the most uncommon sangfroid in all the various movements in the presence of the enemy’s cavalry.’
Is this the enduring image the soldiers on the main road remembered seeing out on the far right flank – the blue-coated square, surrounding its colours, gathering in its wounded and attempting to preserve its guns from capture amid repeated cavalry charges? These men were as heroic as any on the battlefield that day, so perhaps the honour should now be fully shared.
Chapter 13
This New Thermopylae
While the action on the French right has dominated our account, we should now return to Spinetta and the struggle to hold back the Austrians in that sector. Whatever the exact circumstances of their demise, the march of the Consular Guard and the arrival of Monnier’s division in Castelceriolo had served their intended purpose. As Coignet writes: ‘Their efforts gave us respite for an hour.’ An hour in which Desaix moved ever closer to the battlefield. It is generally supposed the French continued to retreat across the plain once they quit Marengo, all the way back to San Giuliano 7km away. This does the French a great disservice, and in fact there was much heroic fighting and desperate acts of bravery, all intended to slow the Austrian Advance. Referring to this phase of the battle, Horse Grenadier Petit called the French defence: ‘this new Thermopylae’.
At the time the Guard began its march towards the right of the French line, there was a succession of uncoordinated cavalry attacks against the French. These appear to have been launched by smaller groups of cavalry and do not appear to have been massed in any way. Petit has this anecdote:
‘A cloud of Austrian cavalry debouched rapidly in the plain and formed themselves before us in battle array, masking several pieces of artillery, which did not long delay playing to the destruction of our ranks. General Berthier, who, at no great distance, had his eye upon the movement of this column, was briskly charged by a part of it, and was forced to retire upon us. Murat, at the head of the dragoons, took them in flank, protected the retreat of our infantry, and preserved the right flank of Victor.’
Coignet also appears to have become involved with this action:
‘The handsome grenadiers on horseback rushed at a gallop and overthrew the Austrian cavalry. But being unable to stand against the Consular Guard, the Austrian dragoons fell upon us. They broke down our first platoons and sabred us. I received a blow on the back of my head so hard that my tail was cut by half … The blow only touched the flesh, after cutting off the coat and opening one of my epaulettes. I fell backwards in a ditch. Kellermann came running. Three times he charged at the head of his dragoons. He led them and brought them back; and all this cavalry passed over me, who was stunned in my ditch. When I recovered my senses, I got rid of my pack, my cartridge pouch and my sabre, and seized the tail of the horse of a French dragoon who was retreating. This horse carried me away. To follow him I made enormous strides, and soon I fell flat out, unable to breathe. But thank God, I was in the middle of the French lines. I easily found a gun, a pack and a cartridge pouch, the ground was covered with them; and I resumed my rank in the second company of grenadiers of my battalion.’
At the beginning of the action involving the Foot Guards, Krettly of the Guard Horse Chasseurs was in action. As part of the First Consul’s escort, he watched as the Foot Guard climbed down into a ditch running along the side of the road. The Austrians saw them and fired two cannon shots in the Guard’s direction. A bullet from this salvo cut Krettly’s plume in half. Seeing the trumpeter unwounded, Bonaparte called out to him:
‘Ah good! You have nothing?’
‘Nothing, my general, but a rage in my heart and a smaller plume; but if you would allow it of me, I will take their guns.’
Bonaparte narrowed his eyebrows into a frown and stared at Krettly: ‘Always the same! No, I don’t want that, it is much too reckless.’
‘Reckless, my general, it is, but give me only half of the picket [approximately twenty men] and the guns are ours.’
The First Consul refused him again, but Krettly pressed him. In the end, Bonaparte consented.
‘C
omrades,’ Krettly cried, ‘a little audacity! Charge in foraging order.’1
The score of cavalry men raced off and cut down the Austrian gunners, after which they returned to protect the First Consul. Bonaparte congratulated Krettly and put him down for an honour.
Krettly witnessed another cavalry action, this time led by Bonaparte’s stepson, Eugène Beauharnais. In the same way every Austrian infantryman in a French memoir was a ‘Hungarian grenadier’, it appears the Bussy Light Horse accounted for every sighting of Austrian cavalry:
‘I had returned to my post; Prince Eugène who commanded the horse chasseurs of the consuls, seeing come at him the corps of the Austrian de Bussy Dragoons numbering around two thousand men, commanded a charge on them; a large ditch separated us from our adversaries, we had soon crossed it and the charge was so rapid that we cut into the head of this corps in the blink of an eye; in the middle of the mêlée, the general who commanded it was removed from his horse and found himself grabbed round the neck by the brave Daumesnil, who vigorously seized him and held him so tightly that it was impossible for him to move; he conducted him in this manner to headquarters. The dragoons had made a half-turn and in the pursuit that we made of them, they received vigorous sabre cuts on their backs, which made the prisoner general addressing Prince Eugène say: “Your chasseurs have strong wrists, for my dragoons all have their backs slit open.”
“General,” the brave Daumesnil replied pleasantly, “it is because we took them for Paris mackerels [pimps].”’2
More than anything else, the artillery fire was causing the French terrible problems. With every moment, the Austrians advanced more guns across the Fontanone and brought them to bear on the French. Kellermann’s horsemen were suffering such terrible casualties from this artillery that he asked for volunteers to ride out and kill the gunners of the nearest pieces. Corporal Lecomte of the 8th Dragoons and six of his men rode out and charged down one of the nearest pieces, which was protected by a detachment of twenty grenadiers. Lecompte wounded the officer in charge and took him prisoner; the grenadiers were driven off and the gun taken.3
On the French side, artillery was very much in short supply. In the regimental history of the 1st Artillery Regiment we find two stories of heroes trying to rescue the guns during the retreat. The first was First Gunner Juillet, who attempted to fight off a group of horsemen armed only with his trail spike. He was eventually overpowered, but then escaped, joining a group of light infantry carabiniers, with whom he remained the rest of the day. Gunner Jean Renaud had already come to the attention of the First Consul on the campaign during the siege of Fort Bard, aiming a gun which had been raised up into the clock tower of the church at Bard. At Marengo, Renaud found himself manning a gun threatened by a group of Austrian horsemen. Unsupported by infantry, Renaud’s colleagues ran off, but the intrepid gunner refused to quit his piece. Instead he lay on the floor close to the barrel and when the Austrian horsemen were no more than twenty paces away, he leapt up and fired a round of canister into the startled riders. The firing of the artillery piece was noticed by the First Consul, who despatched an aide to find out what had occurred. Renaud was recognized from his action at Fort Bard, so Bonaparte sent the gunner instructions to fire on a battery of guns which was firing at his guardsmen. The First Consul ensured Renaud was the first recipient of a ‘grenade of honour’, writing the citation in his own hand.4
Eventually the pressure began to tell, and the French started to retreat further eastwards, onto the higher ground behind Spinetta – the same ground Duvignau’s cavalry brigade had to cut its way through the day before. Petit gives a vivid description:
‘The consul who was all the while in the centre, encouraged the remains of the gallant corps which defended the road, and the defile which it crossed, shut up on the one side by a wood, and on the other by some bushy vineyards of lofty growth. The village of Marengo [sic – read Spinetta] flanked this cruelly memorable spot to the left. What torrents of blood were shed in that place! What numbers of brave men perished there! An invincible courage had unceasingly to struggle against numbers of the obstinate foe, perpetually increasing. Our artillery, in part dismounted or taken, had but little ammunition. Thirty pieces of cannon, actively served by the enemy, cut in two both men and trees, the branches of which, in their fall, further crushed to death those who were before wounded, and who had sought an insecure refuge under them.’
On the right, Lannes was extremely hard pressed. He later complained he was without a gun or a man on horse at the time of his retreat. In what was to become something of a long-running feud, Lannes ordered Bessières to support him with the Guard cavalry, and to mount what would have been a suicidal charge. The episode is told by Eugène Beauharnais:
‘General Lannes, pressed a little briskly by the enemy, wanted to make us make a charge without success; he had in front of him, two battalions and two artillery pieces, behind which was a mass of cavalry in closed columns; his troops retired in disorder, such that, to have the time to breathe and rally them, he ordered Colonel Bessières, who commanded us, to charge on the enemy column. The terrain was not favourable, because it was necessary to traverse the vines; however we passed and arrived in musket range of these two battalions, waiting for us at support arms and in the finest bearing. Colonel Bessières, having formed us, prepared to order the charge, when he perceived that the enemy cavalry deployed itself on our left and was going to turn us. Consequently, he made a half-turn to the left, and we crossed the vines under canister fire and musketry; but, arriving on the other side, we held a good enough bearing to impose on the enemy cavalry. General Lannes was very discontented by this operation and complained bitterly. However it is probable that, if we had executed his orders, few among us would have returned.’
The horses which they reported seeing to the left were two regiments of Austrian cavalry, the 3rd Erzherzog Johann Dragoons and the 9th Lichtenstein Light Dragoons – twelve squadrons in total. The 3rd Dragoons led the way and began to head round the French left flank, to the south of Spinetta. The French position was becoming untenable. At one point Bonaparte placed himself at the head of the single battalion from the 72nd Line and ordered them to follow him forwards in a desperate last charge. They refused to obey him, exclaiming, ‘We do not want the First Consul to expose himself to danger.’5 Bullets were seen falling around him, driving up the ground between his horse’s legs; Berthier was imploring him to move to safety. In the end it was Murat who rode up to the First Consul and said frankly: ‘General, it is time for us to retire. There is the Austrian cavalry which will turn us.’6
By now it was clear the Austrians were extending on the flanks, and if the French remained in position they would be surrounded.
‘I believe so,’ the Bonaparte replied. ‘Oh well, let us retire.’
The timing of this decision is given as 4.00 pm by Victor’s ADC, Quiot. He also appears to have noticed the fighting flare up at Castelceriolo at the same time (as recorded by Soult), and confirms Monnier’s men also began their withdrawal at this point. The retreating battalions formed themselves in masses, ready to form square against cavalry if necessary. The battalions retreated in a chequerboard pattern, led by those on the left of the line. The French cavalry stationed itself on the wings and prevented the Austrians from venturing too near. The line of troops soon exited the vineyards and entered a large open expanse, followed by a line of eighty Austrian guns. In this open ground, the battalion of the 72nd Line which had followed the Consular Guard to Spinetta was also engaged by cavalry. Unable to form a square in the time available, the third rank of the battalion is said to have turned round to fire on the Austrian cavalry.
One of Berthier’s ADCs, Maurice Dupin, provides a vivid description of the French army at the moment of retreat:
‘The right flank had been turned back by the enemy, whose artillery now formed a cross-fire with our centre. Cannonballs were raining down on all sides. At the time, the general staff was having a meeting. A
cannonball passes under the belly of the horse of General Dupont’s aide-de-camp. Another grazes the rump of my horse. A shell lands in our midst, explodes, and no one is hurt. They are still deliberating over what should be done. The commanding general dispatches to the left flank one of his aides-de-camp, Laborde by name, with whom I am on rather good terms. He hasn’t gone a hundred paces when his mount is killed. I go [to] the left flank with the Adjutant General Stabenrath. On the way, we meet a platoon of the 1st Regiment of Dragoons. The commanding officer comes toward us sadly, shows us twelve men with him, and tells us that that is what’s left of the fifty men who made up his platoon that morning. While he is talking, a cannonball passes under the nose of my mount and so stuns him that he falls over on top of me as if dead. I quickly get out from under him. I thought he was killed and was quite surprised when I saw him get up again. He wasn’t hurt. I get back on, and the adjutant general and I ride off to the left flank. We find them retreating, and we do our best to rally a battalion. But hardly was that done when we see even farther off to the left a column of deserters taking to their heels. The general sends me to stop them, which is impossible. I find infantry mixed in with cavalry, baggage carts and pack horses; the wounded abandoned on the road and crushed by the caissons and the artillery. The screaming is dreadful, the dust so thick you can’t see two feet in front of you. In this extreme confusion, I hurl myself out of the roadway and gallop ahead, shouting, “Halt up there, at the head of the column!” I gallop on; not one commander, not one officer. I encounter the younger Caulaincourt, wounded in the head and fleeing, carried off by his horse. Finally, I find an aide-de-camp. We set out to try and stop the disorder. We hit some with the flat of our sabres and praise some of the others, for among these poor devils there were still plenty of brave men. I dismount, I have a piece put in position, I form a platoon. I start to form a second. I had hardly begun, when the first one had already bolted. We abandon the enterprise and ride off to rejoin the commanding general. We see Bonaparte beating a retreat.’7