by G. A. Henty
“Certainly not. The man is an overbearing fool, and I merely wish to give him a lesson. Personally, I should be glad if the whole of the officers of the British force could be present, in order that he might be as much humiliated as possible; but even if I hated the man—and I have no shadow of feeling of that kind—I would not kill him. He is going home to England to be tried by court martial, and its sentence is likely to be a far heavier blow, to a bully of that kind, than death would be. He has a taste of it already, for I hear that he is hooted whenever he leaves his tent.”
At the appointed time the two parties arrived, almost at the same moment, at a spot arranged. Fergus was accompanied by Major Kurstad and another officer of the duke’s staff, and by the duke’s own surgeon. Formal salutations were exchanged between the seconds. The duelling swords were examined, and found to be of the same length. There was no difficulty in choosing the ground, as there was an open space in the centre of the little wood, and the sun had not risen high enough to overtop the trees. As, therefore, the glade was in shade, there was no advantage, in point of light, to either combatant.
Lord Sackville had the reputation of being a good fencer, but in point of physique there was no comparison between the combatants. Sackville was a tall and powerfully-built man, but dissipation and good living had rendered his muscles flabby and sapped his strength, although he was still in what should have been his prime. Fergus, on the other hand, had not a superfluous ounce of flesh. Constant exercise had hardened every muscle. He was a picture of health and activity.
The general viewed him with an expression of vindictive animosity; while his face, on the other hand, wore an expression of perfect indifference. The uniform coats were removed, and the dropping of a handkerchief gave the signal for them to commence.
Lord Sackville at once lunged furiously. The thrust was parried, and the next moment his sword was sent flying through the air. His second did not move to recover it.
“Why do you not bring it here?” Sackville exclaimed, in a tone of the deepest passion.
“Because, my lord,” his second said coldly, “as you have been disarmed, the duel necessarily terminates; unless your antagonist is willing that the sword shall be restored to you.”
“I shall be obliged if you will give it him, Major Buck,” Fergus said quietly. “A little accident of this sort may occur occasionally, even to a noted swordsman, when fighting with a boy.”
The general was purple with passion, when he received the sword from his second.
“Mind this time,” he said between his teeth as, after a preliminary feint or two, he again lunged.
Again the sword was wrenched from his hand, with a force that elicited an exclamation of pain from him.
“Pray, give the general his sword again, Major Buck,” Fergus said.
“You hold your rapier too tightly, General Sackville. You need a little more freedom of play, and less impetuosity. I don’t want to hurt you seriously, but your blood is altogether too hot, and next time I will bleed you on the sword arm.”
Steadying himself with a great effort, Sackville played cautiously for a time; but after parrying several of his thrusts, without the slightest difficulty, Fergus ran him through the right arm, halfway between the elbow and the shoulder, and the sword dropped from his hand.
Lord George Sackville had borne himself well in several duels, and was accounted a gentleman, though arrogant and overbearing. He stood without speaking, while the surgeon bandaged up his arm. Then he said quietly:
“I ask your pardon, Major Drummond. This matter was altogether my fault. I said that I would give you a lesson, and you have given me one, which assuredly I shall never forget. I trust that you will accept my apology for the words I uttered.”
“Certainly, general, the more so that I own I gave provocation by failing to salute you—my only excuse for which is that officers of the highest rank, in Prussia, always return the salute of a junior officer, of whatever rank; and that I did not reflect that you, having many important matters in your mind, might have neglected to return mine from pure absent mindedness, and not with any intentional discourtesy. I can only say that I have not spoken of this matter to any but my three friends here, and I am sure that the matter will not be mentioned by them, when it is my earnest request that it shall go no further.”
The parties then mutually saluted, and rode off to their respective camps. The story of the duel did not leak out from Fergus’s friends; but Sackville had openly spoken of the matter, the evening before, to several officers; and had added to their disgust at his conduct by declaring that he wished it had been the Duke of Brunswick, instead of this upstart aide-de-camp of his, with whom he had to reckon the next morning. He, on his part, exacted no pledge from the officers who had accompanied him, but rode back to camp without speaking a word, and an hour later left in a carriage for Bremen.
The news of the encounter, then, circulated rapidly, and excited intense amusement, and the most lively satisfaction, on the part of the British officers.
On Sackville’s arrival in England he was tried by court martial, sentenced to be cashiered, and declared incapable of again serving his majesty in any military capacity. This the king proclaimed officially to be a sentence worse than death and, taking a pen, he himself struck out his name from the list of privy councillors.
No satisfactory explanation has ever been given of Sackville’s conduct at Minden. Many say it is probable that he was disgusted and sulky at having to rise so early, but this would hardly be a sufficient explanation. The more probable conjecture is that, as he was on notoriously bad terms with the duke, he was willing that the latter should suffer a severe repulse at Minden, in the hope that he would be deprived of his command, and he himself appointed commander-in-chief of the allied army.
A few days after the battle, the exultation caused by the victory at Minden was dashed by the news that a Prussian army, twenty-six thousand strong, commanded by Wedel, had been beaten by the Russians at Zuellichau; and ten days later by the still more crushing news that Frederick himself, with fifty thousand men, had been completely defeated by a Russian and Austrian army, ninety thousand in number, at Kunersdorf, on the 11th of August.
At first the Prussians had beaten back the Russians with great loss. The latter had rallied, and, joined by Loudon with the Austrian divisions, had recovered the ground and beaten off the Prussians with immense loss, the defeat being chiefly due to the fact that the Prussian army had marched to the attack through woods intersected with many streams; and that, instead of arriving on the field of battle as a whole, they only came up at long intervals, so that the first success could not be followed up, and the regiments who made it were annihilated before help came.
The news came from Berlin. A letter had been received there from the king, written on the night after the battle. He said that he had but three thousand men collected round him, that the circumstances were desperate, that he appointed his brother Prince Henry general-in-chief, and that the army was to swear fidelity to his nephew. The letter was understood to mean that Frederick intended to put an end to his life. He knew that the enmity of his foes was largely directed against him personally, and that far easier terms might be obtained for the country were he out of the way; and he was therefore determined not to survive irreparable defeat. Indeed, he always carried a small tube of deadly poison on his person.
Universal consternation was felt at the news. However, three days later came the more cheering intelligence that twenty-three thousand men had now gathered round him, and that he had again taken the command. The loss in the battle, however, had been terrible—six thousand had been killed, thirteen thousand wounded. Two thousand of the latter, too seriously wounded to escape, were made prisoners. The loss of the enemy had been little inferior, for eighteen thousand Russians and Austrians were killed or wounded.
Another letter sent off by the king that night had disastrous consequences, for he wrote to the governor of Dresden that, should the Austrians attempt
anything on the town beyond his means of maintaining himself, he was to capitulate on the best terms he could obtain.
Happily for Frederick, Soltikoff was as slow in his movements as Daun, and for two months made no attempt to take advantage of the victory of Kunersdorf, and thus afforded time to Frederick to repair his misfortunes. But during the two months Dresden had been lost. Its governor had received Frederick’s letter, and was unaware how things had mended after it was written, and that a force was pressing forward to aid him against an Austrian besieging army. Consequently, after little more than a nominal resistance, he surrendered when, unknown to him, relief was close at hand.
The French being defeated, and in full flight for the Rhine, it seemed to Fergus that it was his duty to return to the king; as there was no probability whatever of any hard fighting on the western frontier, while the position of affairs in the east was most serious. He was still on the king’s staff, and had but been lent to the Duke of Brunswick. He laid the matter before the latter, who at once agreed with him that he should rejoin the king.
“Frederick sorely needs active and intelligent officers, at present,” he said. “It is not by force that he can hope to prevent the Russians and Austrians from marching to Berlin, but by quickness and resource. His opponents are both slow and deliberate in their movements, and the king’s quickness puzzles and confuses them. It is always difficult for two armies to act in perfect concert, well-nigh impossible when they are of different nationalities. Daun will wait for Soltikoff and Soltikoff for Daun. The king will harass both of them. Daun has to keep one eye upon his magazines in Bohemia, for Prince Henry in Silesia still constantly menaces them, and not only the Austrian but the Russian army is fed from Prague.
“Were it not that I am specially bound to defend Hanover from the Confederate army, I would march with the greater portion of my force to join the king; but my orders are imperative. ’Tis for Hanover that George of England is fighting, and the British subsidy and the British troops will be lost to the king, were Hanover to be taken by the enemy. If Prince Henry could but join him, it would bring his army again to a strength with which he could fight either the Russians or Austrians; but their armies lie between Henry and the king, and unless Daun makes some grievous mistake—and slow as he is, Daun seldom makes a mistake—it seems well-nigh impossible that the prince can get through.
“However, Major Drummond, you are likely to see little fighting here; while with the king there will be incessant work for you. Therefore, by all means go to him. He must have lost many of his staff at Kunersdorf, and will, I doubt not, be glad to have you with him.”
The ride was a shorter one than it had been when going west, for the king lay little more than fifty miles to the east of Berlin. Although there was no absolute occasion for great speed, Fergus rode fast; and on the tenth day after leaving Minden arrived at the royal camp. The king was unaffectedly glad to see him.
“You have been more fortunate than I have,” he said. “You have been taking part in a victory, while I have been suffering a defeat. I should like to have seen Minden. That charge of your countrymen was superb. Nothing finer was ever done. Rash, perhaps; but it is by rashness that victory is often won. Had it not been done, one would have said that it was impossible for six battalions in line to hurl back, again and again, the charges of ten thousand fine cavalry. But the British division at Fontenoy showed us, not many years ago, that the British infantry, now, are as good as they were under Marlborough. I would give much if I had twenty thousand of them here with my Prussians. It would be the saving of us.
“Did Ferdinand send you back, or did you ask to come?”
“I asked leave to come, sire. I thought that your staff must have suffered heavily, and that I might be more useful here than with the duke.”
“Much more useful, major; and indeed, I am glad to have you with me. You have youth and good spirits, and good spirits are very scarce here. Have you heard the last news?”
“I have heard no news since I left Berlin, sire.”
“Dresden is lost. Schmettau surrendered it, and that when relief was but within ten miles of him. The place should have held out for a month, at least. It is incredible. However, I will have it back again before long and, at any rate, it is one place less to guard. I should not have cared so much if the Austrians had taken it, but that that wretched Confederate army, even though they had ten Austrian battalions with them, should have snatched it from me, is heart breaking. However, they have but the capital, and it will take them some time before they can do more.”
Fink, who had been sent off, with six or seven thousand men, to aid Wunsch to relieve Dresden, on the day before the news of its fall came, did much. He and his fellow commander failed in their first object; but they were not idle, for they recaptured Leipzig and other towns that the Confederate army had taken, and snatched all Saxony, save Dresden, from its clutches.
Schmettau was relieved of his command, and never again employed. He had certainly failed in firmness, but Frederick’s own letter to him, which had never been cancelled, afforded him the strongest ground of believing that there was no chance of his being relieved. His record up to this time had been excellent, and he was esteemed as being one of Frederick’s best generals. Frederick’s harshness to him was, at the time, considered to have been excessive. The king, however, always expected from his generals as much as he himself would have accomplished, in the same circumstances, and failure to obtain success was always punished. After the dismissal of his brother and heir from his command, the king was not likely to forgive failure in others.
The time was a most anxious one for him. He had nothing to do but to wait, and for once he was well content to do so; for every day brought winter nearer, every week would render the victualling of the hostile armies more difficult, and delay was therefore all in his favour. Messenger after messenger was sent to Prince Henry, urging him to make every possible effort to make his way through or round the cordon of Austrian and Russian posts, eighty miles long and fifty or sixty broad, that intervened between them.
In the evenings the king was accustomed to put aside resolutely his military troubles, and passed his time chiefly in the society of the British ambassador, Earl Marischal Keith, and the young Scottish aide-de-camp, with occasionally one or two Prussian officers. One evening, when Fergus had been sent with an order to a portion of the force lying some miles away, Sir John Mitchell said to the king:
“I have been talking with the Earl Marischal over young Drummond’s affairs, your majesty. As you know, his father’s estates were sequestrated after the battle of Culloden, where he himself fell. I am writing a despatch to Pitt, saying that Drummond’s son has been serving under your majesty through the war, and has greatly distinguished himself; and have asked him to annul the sequestration, upon the ground that this young officer has done very valiant service to your majesty, and so to the allied cause, giving a list of the battles at which he has been present, and saying that the Duke of Brunswick had, in his report of the battle of Minden to you, spoken highly of the services he rendered him. If you would add a line in your own hand, endorsing my request, it would greatly add to its weight.”
“That I will readily do,” the king said. “I will write a short letter, which you can inclose in your own despatch.”
And sitting down at once he wrote:
“The King of Prussia most warmly endorses the request of his excellency, Sir John Mitchell. Not only has Major Fergus Drummond shown exceptional bravery upon several occasions, which resulted in his promotion to the rank of major with unprecedented rapidity, but he saved the king’s life at the battle of Zorndorf, meeting and overthrowing three Russian cavalrymen who attacked him. It would, therefore, give the king very great satisfaction if the English minister would grant the request made on Major Drummond’s behalf by his excellency, the English ambassador.”
“Thank you very much,” the latter said, as he read the note Frederick handed him. “I have no doubt
that this will be effectual. Culloden is now a thing of the past. There are many Scottish regiments in the English king’s service, and many acts of clemency have, of late, been shown to those who took part in the rebellion, and I cannot doubt that Pitt will at once act upon your request. However, I shall say nothing to Drummond on the subject until I hear that his father’s estates have been restored to him.”
As day after day passed, the king became more anxious as to the position of Prince Henry. That energetic officer had indeed been busy and, by threatening an attack upon Daun’s magazines, had compelled the Austrian commander to move to Bautzen for their protection, and finally to make a decided effort to crush his active and annoying foe. Gathering a great force in the neighbourhood of Prince Henry’s camp, he prepared to attack him on the morning of September 22nd; but when morning came Prince Henry had disappeared. At eight o’clock on the previous evening he had marched twenty miles to Rothenburg.
The retreat was superbly conducted. It was necessary to move by several roads, but the whole of the baggage, artillery, and troops arrived punctually the next morning at Rothenburg, just at the hour when Daun’s army moved down to the attack of the camp where he had been the evening before. Austrian scouting parties were sent out in all directions, but no certain news could be obtained as to the direction of the Prussian march. The baggage waggons had been seen, moving here and there, but it was four days before Daun was able to learn for certain what had become of him, having until then believed that he must have made for Glogau, to join Frederick.
Henry had, however, gone in an entirely different direction. After ordering three hours’ rest at Rothenburg he marched west, and arrived at early morning at Klitten, eighteen miles from his last halting place. Starting again after another three hours’ halt he marched twenty miles farther, still straight to the west, and fell upon General Weyler who, with thirty-three thousand men, occupied the last Austrian position to be passed.