The Second G.A. Henty

by G. A. Henty

  Two other columns—Hulsen’s, composed principally of infantry; and Holstein’s, chiefly of cavalry—marched on parallel roads on a wider circle; and the baggage, in a column by itself, outside all.

  Daun had news of Frederick’s approach, and had strong detachments watching in the woods. The scouts of one of these parties brought in news of the king’s march. A signal cannon was fired immediately, and Daun learned thereby of the movement to attack him from the north.

  Daun at once wheeled round a portion of his force to receive Frederick’s attack. Lacy, with twenty thousand men, had been placed as an advanced guard; and now shifted his position westward, to guard what had become Daun’s rear; while two hundred fresh cannon were added, to the two hundred already placed, to defend the face threatened by Frederick.

  For an hour before the king arrived at his point of attack, a heavy artillery fire had been heard from Ziethen’s side; and it was supposed that he had already delivered his attack. Unfortunately, he had not done so. He had calculated his pace accurately, but had come upon a small Austrian force, like those Frederick had encountered. It had for a time held its ground, and had replied to his fire with cannon. Ziethen, not knowing how small the force was, drew up in order of battle and drove it back on Lacy, far to the east of his proper place of attack. Here he became engaged with Lacy, and a cannonade was kept up for some hours—precious time that should have been spent in ascending the hills, and giving aid to the king.

  When Frederick’s column emerged from the woods, there was no sign of either Hulsen or Holstein’s divisions. The king sent out his staff to hurry them up, and himself reconnoitred the ground and questioned the peasants.

  The ground proved so boggy as to be impassable, and Frederick withdrew into the wood again, in order to attack the Austrian left. This had, in Prince Henry’s time, been defended by a strong abattis; but since the cold weather set in, much of this had been used by the Austrians as firewood, and it could therefore be penetrated.

  Frederick waited impatiently. He could hear the heavy cannonade on Ziethen, and feared that that general would be crushed before he could perform his part of the plan arranged. His staff were unable to find Holstein’s cavalry, which had taken the wrong turning at some point, and were completely lost. Hulsen was still far away.

  Nevertheless, in his desire to give support to Ziethen, the king decided upon an attack with his own column, alone. The grenadiers were placed in the front line, the rest of the infantry in the centre. The cavalry, 800 strong, followed to do any service that chance might afford them.

  It took some time to bring the troops into their new position and, while this was being done, Daun opened fire, with his four hundred cannon, upon the forest through which they were marching, with a din that Frederick declared exceeded anything that he ever heard before. The small force of artillery took its place outside the wood to cover the attack but, as soon as a few shots were fired, the Austrian guns opened upon them and they were silenced.

  Frederick’s place was between the two lines of his grenadiers, and they issued from the wood within eight hundred yards of Prince Henry’s abattis, and with marvellous bravery ran forward. Mowed down in lines by the storm of cannon shot, they suffered terribly. One regiment was almost entirely destroyed, the other pressed forward as far as the abattis, fighting so desperately that Daun was obliged to bring up large reinforcements before he could drive the survivors back.

  The Austrians, believing that victory was won, charged down in pursuit; but the second line met them firmly, drove them back and, following hotly, again reached the abattis; and only retreated slowly before the overwhelming forces which the Austrian then brought up. The battle had lasted only an hour, but half Frederick’s column were already killed or wounded.

  Shortly after they had retired, Hulsen’s column came up. The four hundred guns had never ceased pouring their iron rain into the forest, but the newcomers arrived in splendid order. The remnant of Frederick’s column joined them, furious at defeat and burning to meet the enemy again.

  So stern and resolute was the attack that, for a time, it carried all before it. Daun’s line of defence was broken, most of his cannon silenced, and for a time the Prussians advanced, carrying all before them. Had Ziethen been doing his part, instead of idly cannonading Lacy, the battle would have been won; but his inactivity enabled Daun to bring up all his forces against the king. These he hurled at the Prussians and, foot by foot, drove them back and pushed them down the hill again.

  Frederick himself had been struck from his horse by a piece of case shot, fortunately almost spent, and which failed to penetrate his thick pelisse. He was badly contused, and for a short time insensible; but he quickly sprung to his feet again, mounted his horse, and maintained his place in the fight as if nothing had happened. After this second repulse he again formed up his troops, and at that moment he was joined by Holstein with his cavalry.

  The sun had already set, and the darkness favoured the attack. Daun had not yet recovered from the terrible confusion into which his troops were thrown by the attack, and the Prussians again mounted the hill, Holstein attacking Daun’s right wing.

  The main body of the cavalry found the morasses and obstacles so impracticable that they were unable to attack as arranged, but two regiments succeeded in gaining the plateau. One of these dashed upon the Austrian infantry. They met, broke into fragments, and took two whole regiments prisoners; and brought them and six guns triumphantly off. The other regiment charged four Austrian battalions, broke them, and brought the greater portion off, prisoners.

  Night fell upon a scene of general confusion. The two armies were completely mixed up. In some places Austrians were in the rear of the Prussians, in others Prussians in the rear of Austrians.

  Nothing more could to be done. So far Frederick had gained a success and, thanks to the extraordinary bravery and determination of his soldiers, had broken up Daun’s line and planted himself on the plateau; but he had suffered terribly in doing so, and could hardly hope, in the morning, to make head against the vastly superior forces of the Austrians.

  Daun himself had been wounded in the foot, and had gone down to the town to have it dressed. Had he been able to remain on the field, late as it was, he might have been able to restore order and to continue the battle; as it was, gradually the firing ceased. Exhausted by the long march and the desperate efforts they had made, the Prussians wrapped themselves in their cloaks, and lay down to sleep where they stood—if sleep they could, on so bitterly cold a night.

  On the hilltop there was no wood to be had, but in the forest great fires were lighted. Round these Prussian and Austrian stragglers alike gathered. In the morning they would be foes again, but for tonight they were content to lay their quarrel aside, none knowing who was victor and who vanquished; and which, in the morning, would be prisoners to the others.

  The king, now that the excitement was over, felt the pain of his wound. He descended the hill, and took up his quarters in the church at the little village of Elsnig, where every house was full of wounded. He had left Hulsen the charge of endeavouring to reform the scattered troops, but he could do but little that way. In vain did the generals and officers move about with orders, expostulations, and threats. For once the Prussian soldier was deaf to the word of command. He had done all that he could do, and nature triumphed over long habits of obedience; even the sound of cannon and musketry, on the other side of the hill, fell dead upon his ears. Ziethen had been cannonading all day. Nothing had come of it, and nothing could come of it.

  Still, Hulsen did a good deal, and by six o’clock had got some of the cavalry and infantry battalions in fair order, on the extreme right; where, in the morning, Daun’s left flank stood.

  Ziethen, ordinarily a brilliant and active man, had been a strange failure that day. Not even the terrible din of the king’s battle had roused him to take any measure to support him, or even to make a diversion in his favour. In vain Mollendorf, an active and enterprising
general, had implored him to attempt something, if only to draw off a portion of the Austrian strength from the king. Saldern, another general, had fruitlessly added his voice to that of Mollendorf.

  A feeling of deep gloom spread through the army, a feeling that the king had been deserted, and must have been crushed; just as, on the other side, all felt certain that some serious misfortune must have happened to Ziethen.

  At last, as darkness began to set in, at four o’clock, Ziethen was persuaded to move. He marched towards the left, to the point where he should have attacked in the morning, but which he had passed in his hot pursuit of the small Austrian force; but first sent Saldern against the village of Siptitz.

  Burning with their repressed impatience, Saldern’s infantry went at the enemy with a rush, captured the battery there, and drove the Austrians out; but the latter fired the bridge so that, for the present, farther advance was barred to the Prussians.

  Fortunately at this moment Mollendorf, more to the west, came upon the road by which Ziethen should have marched. It was carried firmly over the marsh ground, and by a bridge over a stream between two of the ponds. Seizing this pass over the morasses, Mollendorf sent to Ziethen; who, roused at last, ordered all his force to hurry there.

  The Austrians had now taken the alarm, and hurried to oppose the passage; but Mollendorf had already many troops across the bridge, and maintained himself till he was sufficiently reinforced to push forward.

  For an hour and a half a desperate fight raged. The Prussians gained but little ground, while the Austrians were constantly being reinforced from Lacy’s command, on their left. Hulsen, however, just as he had got a portion of his infantry and cavalry into some sort of order, had marked the sudden increase of the cannonade on the other side of the hill; and, presently seeing the glow of a great fire, guessed that it must come from the village of Siptitz. Then came a furious cannonade, and the continuous roar of musketry that spoke of a battle in earnest. Ziethen, then, was coming at last, and the old general determined to help him.

  His own riding horses had all been killed, and he had been sorely bruised by the falls. Sending for a cannon, he got astride of it, called up the infantry round him—the brigade of General Lestwitz—begged the drummers to strike up the Prussian march and, through the blackness of the night, started for the point where the din of battle was going on unceasingly.

  Forgotten now were the fatigues of the day. The Prussians pressed on with their quick strides, their excitement growing higher and higher as they neared the scene of action; and breaking out into a roar of cheering as, sweeping round on the side of the hill, they joined Ziethen’s hardly-pressed troops and rushed upon the enemy.

  But though the news of their coming cheered all the line to fresh exertions, not yet was the combat finished. The whole of Lacy’s command was opposed to them, swelled by reinforcements sent down from above by O’Donnel who, in Daun’s absence, was in command. It was another hour before the foe gave way, and the Prussians pressed steadily up the hill; until at nine o’clock they were planted on the top of the Siptitz hill, on the highest point of the plateau, whence their cannon commanded the whole ground down to Torgau.

  Daun, conscious of the danger, had, as he heard of Ziethen’s advance, sent order after order that he must at all costs be driven back; and even when the Prussians gained the position, they had still to struggle fiercely for another hour to hold it. Daun knew that, with Frederick established on one side of the position, and with Ziethen well planted upon the other and commanding the whole of it with his guns, there was nothing for it but to retreat; and already he had sent orders that a strong force should form in order of battle to repel an attack, close to the suburbs of Torgau. As soon as this disposition was effected, he ordered the retreat to commence.

  Fortunately he had four bridges across the river; and he had, on the previous day, taken the precaution of sending the whole of his baggage wagons over. On occasions of this kind Daun’s dispositions were always admirable, and he drew off his army across the river in excellent order; half the Prussian army knowing nothing of what was going on, and the other half being too exhausted to attempt to interfere, ignorant as they were of the position and state of Frederick’s division.

  Had the king known earlier what was taking place, comparatively few of the Austrian army would have got across the river. But it was not until long after the battle was done that Frederick, sitting depressed and heavy hearted, dictating his despatches in the little church seven or eight miles away, learned that what had seemed likely to terminate in a terrible disaster, had ended with a decisive victory. Daun lost in the battle twelve thousand killed and wounded, eight thousand prisoners, and forty-five cannon; while the Prussians lost between thirteen and fourteen thousand, of whom four thousand were prisoners.

  It was not until nearly one o’clock in the morning that Ziethen learned that the Austrians were already across the river. Then he pushed down into Torgau, and crossed the town bridge in time to capture twenty-six pontoons.

  Daun retreated by the right side of the river, Lacy by the left; and the two forces rejoined at Dresden, and took up their position, as usual, in the Plauen stronghold; while Frederick, after finishing the clearance of all Saxony save the capital, took up his winter quarters at Leipzig on the 6th of December.

  The result of the battle of Torgau was not to be measured by the respective losses of the two armies. It had the effect of entirely undoing all the advantages that the Austrians had gained, throughout the campaign; and left the king in a better position than when it opened in the spring. The Russian army had been attacked and beaten, while the Austrians were shut up in their natural stronghold, near Dresden. The whole of Saxony had been recovered; and Silesia, with the exception of one or two fortresses, was still in Frederick’s hands. How light hearted the king felt, after the load of care that had lain upon him had been lifted, may be judged by an extract from a letter, written a fortnight after the battle to an elderly lady of the court at Magdeburg.

  “I am exact in answering, and eager to satisfy you (in that matter of the porcelain). You shall have a breakfast set, my good Mamma: six coffee-cups, very pretty, well diapered, and tricked out with all the little embellishments which increase their value. On account of some pieces which they are adding to the set, you will have to wait a few days; but I flatter myself this delay will contribute to your satisfaction, and produce for you a toy that will give you pleasure, and make you remember your old adorer. It is curious how old people’s habits agree. For four years past I have given up suppers, as incompatible with the trade I am obliged to follow; and on marching days my dinners consist of a cup of chocolate.

  “We hurried off like fools, quite inflated with our victory, to try if we could not chase the Austrians out of Dresden. They made a mockery of us from the tops of their mountains. So I have withdrawn, like a bad little boy, to conceal myself, out of spite, in one of the wretchedest villages in Saxony. And here the first thing will be to drive the Circle gentlemen (Reich’s army) out of Freyberg into Chemnitz, and get ourselves soon to quarters, and something to live upon.

  “It is, I swear to you, a hideous life; the like of which nobody but Don Quixote ever led before me. All this tumbling and toiling, and bother and confusion that never ceases, has made me so old that you would scarcely know me again. On the right side of my head the hair is all gray. My teeth break and fall out. I have got my face wrinkled like the falbalas of a petticoat, my back bent like a fiddle bow, and spirit sad and cast down like a monk of La Trappe. I forewarn you of all this lest, in case we should meet again in flesh and bone, you might feel yourself too violently shocked by my appearance. There remains to me nothing but the heart, which has undergone no change; and which will preserve, as long as I breathe, its feelings of esteem and of tender friendship for my good Mamma.

  “Adieu.”

  Fergus knew nothing of the concluding scenes of the battle of Torgau until some little time afterwards. He was not with the king w
hen the grenadiers first made their attack on the hill, having been despatched to find and bring up Hulsen’s column. Having discovered it, he guided it through the forest to the point where Frederick was so anxiously expecting its arrival; and when it advanced, with the survivors of the grenadiers, to the second attack, he took his place behind the king. They were halfway up the ascent when a cannon ball struck him on the left arm, carrying it away just above the elbow.

  As he fell from his horse, Karl, who was riding behind him, leapt from his saddle with a hoarse cry of rage. Then, seeing the nature of the wound, he lifted him in his arms, mounted Fergus’s horse, and rode down through an interval between the regiments of the second line; and then into the wood, to the spot where the surgeons were dressing the wounds of those hurt in the first charge. One who had just finished attending one of the grenadiers, seeing that the trooper was carrying a colonel of the king’s staff, at once helped Karl to lower him to the ground.

  “You have done well to bring him down at once, my man,” he said. “It may be the saving of his life.”

  As he spoke, he was cutting off the tunic.

  “There is not much flow of blood. You see, the contusion has closed the main artery. If we can keep it from bursting out, he will do.”

  He took out from his case some stout tape, passed it round the arm, asked Karl for a ramrod out of one his pistols and, with this, twisted the tape until it almost cut into the skin. Then he gave a few more turns, to hold the ramrod securely in its place. Then he called a young surgeon to him.

  “We had better make a good job of this, at once,” he said. “This is Colonel Drummond, one of the king’s favourite officers, and a most gallant young fellow. It will not take us five minutes.”