Tom Burke Of Ours, Volume II

by Charles James Lever

  CHAPTER XXXIX. THE BRIDGE OF MONTEREAU

  Ere I left the village, a shower of shells was thrown into it from theFrench lines, and in a few minutes the whole blazed up in a red flame,and threw a wide glare over the battlefield. Spurring my horse tohis speed, I galloped onward, and now discovered that our troops wereretiring in all haste. The Allies had won the battle, and we werefalling back on Brienne.

  Leaving seventy-three guns in the hands of the enemy, above one thousandprisoners, and six thousand killed in battle, Napoleon drew off hisshattered forces, and marched through the long darkness of a winter'snight. Thus ended the battle of Arcis-sur-Aube,--the most fatal for thehopes of the Emperor since the dreadful day of Leipzic.

  From that hour Fortune seemed to frown on those whose arms she had sooften crowned with victory; and he himself, the mighty leader of somany conquering hosts, stood at the window of the chateau at Briennethe whole night long, dreading lest the enemy should be on his track.He whose battles were wont to be the ovations of a conqueror, now beheldwith joy his masses retiring unpursued.

  Why should I dwell on a career of disaster, or linger on the expiringmoments of a mighty Empire? Of what avail now are the reinforcementswhich arrived to our aid,--the veteran legions of the Peninsula? The cryis ever, "Too late! too late!" Dreadful words, heard at every moment!sad omens of an army devoted and despairing!

  From Brienne we retreat to Troyes; from thence to Bar-sur-Aube,--evernearer and nearer to that capital to which the Allies tend with wildshouts of triumph. On the last day of February our headquarters are atNogent, not thirty leagues from Paris,--Nogent, with the great forestof Fontainebleau on its left; and Meaux, the ancient bishopric of theMonarchy, on its right; and behind that screen, Paris!

  Leaving Bourmont in command of the line which holds the Austrians incheck, the Emperor himself hastens to oppose Bluecher,--the most intrepidand the most daring of all his enemies. A cross-march in the depth ofwinter, with the ground covered with half-frozen snow, will bring himon the flank of the Prussian army. It is dared! Dangers and difficultiesbeset every step; the artillery are almost lost, the cavalry exhausted.But the cry of "The enemy!" rouses every energy: they debouch on theplain of Champ-Aubert, to fall on the moving column of the Russiansunder Alsufief. Glorious stroke of fate! Victory again caresses thespoiled child of fortune: the enemy is routed, and retires on Montmirailand Chalons. The advanced army of the Prussians hear the cannonade, andfall back to support the Allies on Montmirail. But the Emperor alreadyawaits them with the battalions of the Old Guard, and another greatbattle ends in victory. Areola and Rivoli were again remembered, andrecalled by victories not less glorious; and once more hope returned tothe ranks it seemed to have quitted forever. Another dreadful blow isaimed at Blucher's columns; Marmont attacks them at Vaux-Champs, and thearmy of Silesia falls back beaten.

  And now the Emperor hastens towards Nogent, where he has left Bourmontin front of the Austrians. "Too late! too late!" is again the cry,--thecolumns of Oudinot and Victor are already in retreat. Schwartzenberg,with a force triple their own, advances on the plains of the Seine; theCossacks bivouac in the forest of Fontainebleau. Staff-officers hurryonward with the news that the Emperor is approaching; the victoriousarmy which had subdued Blucher is on the march, reinforced by theveteran cavalry of Spain and the tried legions of the Peninsula. Theyhalt, and form in battle. The Allies arrest their steps at Nangis, andagain are beaten: Nangis becomes another name of glory to the ears ofFrenchmen.

  Let me rest one instant in this rapid recital of a week whose greatdeeds not even Napoleon's life can show the equal of,--the last flash ofthe lamp of glory ere it darkened forever.

  Three days had elapsed from the sad hour in which I laid my dearestfriend in his grave, ere I opened the locket I had taken from hisbosom. The wild work of war mingled its mad excitement in my brain withthoughts of deep sorrow; and I lived in a kind of fevered dream, andhurried from the affliction which beset me into the torrent of danger.

  The gambler who cares not to win rarely loses, so he that seeks deathin battle comes unscathed through every danger. Each day I threw myselfheadlong into some post where escape seemed scarcely possible; butrecklessness has its own armor of safety. On the field of Montmirail Iwas reported to the Emperor; and for an attack on the Austrian rearguardat Melun made colonel of a cuirassier regiment on the field of battle.Such promotions rained on every side: hundreds were falling each day;many regiments were commanded by officers of twenty-three or twenty-fouryears of age. Few expected to carry their new epaulettes beyond theengagement they gained them in; none believed the Empire itself couldsurvive the struggle. Each played for a mighty stake; few cared tooutlive the game itself. The Emperor showered down favors on the headswhich each battlefield laid low.

  It was on the return from Melun I first opened the locket, which Icontinued to wear around my neck. In the full expansion of a momentarytriumph to see myself at the head of a regiment, I thought of him whowould have participated in my pride. I was sitting in the doorway of alittle cabaret on the roadside, my squadrons picketed around me, fora brief halt; and as my thoughts recurred to the brave D'Auvergne, Iwithdrew the locket from my bosom. It was a small oval case of gold,opening by a spring. I touched this, and as I did so, the locket sprangopen, and displayed before me a miniature of Marie de Meudon. Yes!beautiful as I had seen her in the forest of Versailles: her dark hairclustering around her noble brow,--and her eyes, so full of tenderloveliness, shadowed by their deep fringes,--were there as I rememberedthem; the lips were half parted, as though the artist had caught thespeaking expression,--and as-I gazed, I could fancy that voice, somusically sweet, still ringing in my ears. I could not look on itenough: the features recalled the scenes when first I met her; and thestrong current of love, against which so long I struggled and contended,flowed on with tenfold force once more. Should we ever meet again,--andhow? were the questions which rushed to my mind, and to which hope andfear dictated the replies.

  The locket was a present from the Empress to the general,--at least,so I interpreted an inscription on the back; and this--shall I confessit?--brought pleasure to my heart. Like one whose bosom bore somewondrous amulet, some charm against the approach of danger, I now rodeat the head of my gallant band. Life had grown dearer to me, withoutdeath becoming more dreaded. Her image next my heart made me feel as ifI should combat beneath her very eyes, and I burned to acquit myselfas became one who loved her. A wild, half frantic joy animated me as Iwent, and was caught by the gay companions around me.

  At midnight a despatch reached me, ordering me to hasten forward by aforced march to Montereau, the bridge of which town was a post of thegreatest importance, and must be held against the Austrians till Victorcould come up. We lost not a moment. It was a calm frosty night, with abright moon, and we hastened along without halting. About an hour beforedaybreak we were met by a cavalry patrol, who informed us that Gerardand Victor had both arrived, but too late: Montereau was held by theWurtemberg troops, who garrisoned the village, and defended the bridgewith a strong force of artillery; twice the French troops had beenbeaten back with tremendous loss, and all looked for the morrow to renewthe encounter. We continued our journey; and, as the sun was rising,discovered, at a distance on the road beside the river, the mass of aninfantry column: it was the Emperor himself, come up with the Guard, toattack the position.

  Already the preparations for a fierce assault were in progress. Abattery of twelve guns was posted on a height to command the bridge;another, somewhat more distant, overlooked the village itself. Differentbodies of infantry and cavalry were disposed wherever shelter presenteditself, and ready for the command to move forward. The approach to thebridge was by a wide road, which lay for some distance along the riverbank; and this was deeply channelled by the enemy's artillery, which,stationed on and above the bridge, seemed to defy any attempt toadvance.

  Never, indeed, did an enterprise seem more full of danger. Every housewhich looked on the bridge was crenelated for sma
ll-arms, and garrisonedby sharpshooters,--the fierce Jager of Germany, whose rifles are theboast of the Vaterland. Cannon bristled along the heights; their widemouths pointed to that devoted spot, already the grave of hundreds.Withdrawn under cover of a steep hill, my regiment was halted, with twoother heavy cavalry corps, awaiting orders; and from the crest of theridge I could observe the first movements of the fight.

  As usual, a fierce cannonade was opened from either side; which,directed mainly against the artillery itself, merely resulted indismantling a stray battery here and there, without further damage. Atlast the hoarse roll of a drum was heard, and the head of an infantrycolumn was seen advancing up the road. They passed beneath a rock onwhich a little group of officers were standing, and as they went a cheerof "Vive l'Empereur!" broke from them. I strained my eyes towardsthe place, for now I knew the Emperor himself was there. I couldnot, however, detect him in the crowd, who all waved their hats inencouragement to the troops.

  On they went, descending a steep declivity of the highroad to thebridge. Suddenly the cannonade redoubles from the side of the enemy;the shot whistles through the air, while ten thousand muskets peal forthtogether. I rivet my eyes to watch the column. But what is my horror toperceive that none appear upon the ridge! The masses move up; theymount the ascent; they disappear behind it; and then are lost to sightforever. Not one escapes the dreadful havoc of the guns, which from adistance of less than two hundred yards enfilades the bridge.

  But still they moved up. I could hear, from where i lay, the commandsof the officers, as they gave the word to their companies: no fear norhesitation,--there they went to death; in less than fifteen minutestwelve hundred fell, dead or wounded. And at last the signal to fallback was given, and the shattered fragment of a column reeled backbehind the ridge. Again the cannonade opened, and increasing on bothsides, was maintained for above an hour without intermission. Duringthis, our guns did tremendous execution on the village, but withouteffecting anything of importance respecting the bridge.

  The Grenadiers of the Guard had reached the scene of combat, by forcedmarches, from Nangis; and after a brief time to recruit their strength,were now ordered up. What a splendid force that massive column,conspicuous by their scarlet shoulder-knots and tall shakos of blackbearskin! with what confidence they move! They halt beneath the rock.The Emperor is there too. And see! the officer who stands beside himdescends from the height, and puts himself at the head of the column:it is Guyot, the colonel of the battalion; he waves his plumed hat inanswer to the Emperor,--that salute is the last he shall ever give onearth.

  The drums roll out; but the hoarse shout of "En avant!" drowns theirtumult. On they rush; they are over the height; they disappear down thedescent. And see! there they are on the bridge! "Vive la Garde!" shoutedten thousand of their comrades, who watch them from the heights; "Vivela Garde!" is echoed from the tall cliffs beyond the river. The columnmoves on, and already reaches the middle of the bridge, when eighteenguns throw their fire into it: the blue smoke rolls down the rockyheights and settles on the bridge, broken here and there by flashes,like the forked gleam of lightning; the cloud passes oyer; the bridge isempty, save of dead and dying: the Grenadiers of the Guard are no more!

  "What heart is his who gives his fellow-men to death like this!" was myexclamation as I witnessed this terrible struggle.

  "The Cuirassiers and Carbineers of the Guard to form by threes in columnof attack!" shouted an aide-de-camp, as he rode up to where I lay. Andno more thought had I of _his_ motives, who now opened the path of gloryto myself.

  The squadrons were arrayed under cover of the ridge; the shot and shellsfrom the enemy's batteries flew thickly over us,--a presage of the stormwe were about to meet. The order to mount was given; and as the mensprang into their saddles, a group of horsemen galloped rapidly roundthe angle of the cliff, and approached. One glance showed me it was theEmperor and his staff.

  "Cuirassiers of the Guard," said he, as with raised chapeau he salutedhis brave followers, "I have ordered two battalions to carry thatbridge; they have failed. Let those who never fail advance to the storm.Montereau shall be inscribed on your helmets, men, when I see you onyonder heights. Go forward!"

  "Forward! forward!" shouted the mailed ranks, half maddened by theexciting presence of Napoleon.

  The force was formed in four separate columns of attack: the FirstCuirassiers leading; followed by the Carbineers of the Guard; then myown regiment; and lastly, the Fourth, the corps of poor Pioche. Whatwould I have given to know he was there! But there was not time for suchinquiry now. The squadrons were ready awaiting the moment to dash on.

  A loud detonation of nigh twenty guns shook the earth; and in the smokethat rolled from them the bridge was concealed from view. A trumpetsounded, and the cry of "Charge!" followed. The mass sprang forth. Whata cheer was theirs as they swept past! The cannonade opens again;the whole ground trembles. The musketry follows; and the clatter of athousand sabres mingles with the war-cries of the combatants. It is butbrief,--the tumult is already subsiding.

  And now comes the order for the carbineers to move up; the cuirassiershave been cut to pieces. A few, mangled and bleeding, have reeled backbehind the hill; but the regiment is gone!

  "Where are the troops of Wagram and Eylau?" said the Emperor, inbitterness, as he saw the one broken squadron, sole remnant of a gallantcorps, reeling, bloodstained and dying, to the rear. "Where is thatcavalry that carried the Russian battery at Moskowa? You are not whatyou once were!"

  This cruel taunt, at the very moment when the earth was steeped in theblood of his brave soldiers, was heard in mournful silence. None spoke aword, but with clenched lip and clasped hand sat waiting the commandto charge. It came; but no cheer followed. The carbineers dashed on,prepared to die: what death so dreadful as the cold irony of Napoleon!

  "En avant! cuirassiers of the Tenth," called out the Emperor, as thelast squadrons of the carbineers went by, "support your comrades! Followup there, men of the Fourth! I must have that bridge."

  And now the whole line moved up. As we turned the cliff in full trot,the scene of combat lay before us: the terrible bridge now actuallychoked up with dead and wounded, the very battlements strewn withcorpses. In an instant the carbineers were upon it; and strugglingthrough the mass of carnage, they rode onward. Like men goaded todespair, they pressed on, and actually reached the archway beyond,which, defended by a strong gate, closed up the way. Whole files nowfell at every discharge; but others took their places, to fall asrapidly beneath the murderous musketry.

  "A petard to the gate!" is now the cry,--"a petard, and the bridge iswon!"

  Quick as lightning, four sappers of the Guard rush across the road andgain the bridge. They carry some thing between them, but soon are lostin the dense masses of the horse. The enemy's fire redoubles; the bridgecrashes beneath the cannonade, when a loud shout is raised,--

  "Let the cavalry fall back!"

  A cheer of triumph breaks from the town as they behold the retiringsquadrons; they know not that the petard is now attached to the gate,and that the horsemen are merely withdrawn for the explosion.

  The bridge is cleared, and every eye is turned to watch the dischargewhich shall break the strong door, and leave the passage open. Butunhappily the fuze has missed, and the great engine lies inert andinactive. What is to be done? The cavalry cannot venture to approach thespot, which at any moment may explode with ruin on every side; and thusthe bridge is rendered impregnable by our own fault.

  "Fatality upon fatality!" is the exclamation of Napoleon, as he heardthe tidings. "This to the man who puts a match to the fuze!" said he, ashe detaches the great cross of the Legion from his breast, and holds italoft.

  With one spring I jump from my saddle, and dash at the burning match agunner is holding near me. A rush is made by several others; but I amfleetest of foot, and before they reach the road I am on the bridge. Theenemy has not seen me, and I am half-way across before a shot is aimedat me. Even then a surprise seems to arrest th
eir fire, for it is asingle ball whizzes past. I see the train; I kneel down; the fuze isfaint, and I stoop to blow it; and then my action is perceived, anda shattering volley sweeps the bridge. The high projecting parapetprotects me, and I am unhurt. But the fuze will not take: horriblemoment of agonizing suspense,--the powder is clotted with blood,and will not ignite! I remember that my pistols are in my belt, anddetaching one, I draw the charge, and scatter the fresh powder along theline. My shelter still saves me, though the balls are crashing like hailaround me. It takes, it takes! the powder spits and flashes, and a loudcry from my comrades bursts out, "Come back! come back!"

  Forgetting everything in the intense anxiety of the moment, I spring tomy legs; but scarce is my head above the parapet when a bullet strikesme in the chest. I fall covered with blood.

  "Save him! save him!" is the cry of a thousand voices; and a rush ismade upon the bridge. The musketry opens on these brave fellows, andthey fall back wounded and discouraged.

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  Crouching beneath the parapet, I try to stanch my wound; but the bloodis gushing in torrents, my senses are reeling, the objects around growdimmer, the noise seems fainter. But suddenly I feel a hand upon myneck, and at the same instant a flask is pressed to my lips. I drink,and the wine rallies me; the bleeding is stopped. My eyes open again;and dare I trust their evidence? Who is it that now shelters beneath theparapet beside me? Minette, the vivandiere! her handsome face flushed,her eyes wild with excitement, and her brown hair in great tangledmasses on her back and shoulders.

  "Minette, is it indeed thee?" said I, pressing her hand to my lips.

  "I knew you at the head of your regiment some days ago, and I thought weshould meet ere long. But lie still; we are safe here. The fire slackenstoo; they have fallen back since the gate was forced."

  "Is the gate forced, Minette?"

  "Ay, the petard has done its work; but the columns are not come up. Liestill till they pass."

  "Dear, dear girl! what a brave heart is thine!" said I, gazing on herbeautiful features, tenfold handsomer from the expression which herheroism had lent them.

  "You would surely adventure as much for me," said she, half-timidly, asshe pressed her handkerchief against the wound, which still oozed blood.

  The action entangled her fingers in a ribbon. She tried to extricatethem; and the locket fell out, opening by accident at the same moment.With a convulsive energy she clasped the miniature in both hands, andriveted her eyes upon it. The look was wild as that of madness itself,and her features grew stiff as she gazed, while the pallor of deathoverspread them. It was scarce the action of a second; in another, sheflung back the picture from her and sprang to her feet. One glanceshe gave me, fleeting as the lightning flash, but how full of storiedsorrow!

  The moment after she was in the middle of the bridge. She waved her capwildly above her head, and beckoned to the column to come on. A cheeranswered her. The mass rushed forward; the fire again pealed forth; ashriek pierced the din of all the battle, and the leading files halt.Four grenadiers fall back to the rear, carrying a body between them:it is the corpse of Minette the vivandiere, who has received herdeath-wound!

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  The same evening saw me the occupant of a bed in the ambulance of theGuard. Dreadful as the suffering of my wound was, I carried a deeper onewithin my heart.

  "The Emperor has given you his own cross of the Legion, sir," said thesurgeon, endeavoring to rally me from a dejection whose source he knewnot.

  "He has made him a general of brigade, too," said a voice behind him.

  It was General Letort who spoke; he had that moment come from theEmperor with the tidings. I buried my head beneath my hands, and felt asthough my heart was bursting.

  "That was a gallant girl, that vivandiere," said the rough old general;"she must have had a soldier's heart within that corsage. _Parbleu!_ I'drather not have another such in my brigade, though, after what happenedthis evening."

  "What is it you speak of?" said I, faintly.

  "They gave her a military funeral this evening,--the Fourth Cuirassiers.The Emperor gave his permission, and sent General Degeon of the staffto be present. And when they placed her in the grave, one of thesoldiers,--a corporal, I believe,--kneeled down to kiss her before theycovered in the earth; and when he had done so, he lay slowly down on hisface on the grass. 'He has fainted,' said one of his comrades; and theyturned him on his back. _Morbleu!_ it was worse than that: he was stonedead,--one of the very finest fellows of the regiment!"

  "Yes, yes! I know him," muttered I, endeavoring to smother my emotion.

  The general looked at me as if my mind was wandering, and brieflyadded,--

  "And so they laid them in the same grave, and the same fusillade gavethe last honors to both."

  "Your story has affected my patient overmuch, General," said the doctor;"you must leave him to himself for some time."