The Camp-fires of Napoleon

From the Giuliano to Castel-Ceriolo, the oblique line of the French advancing at charging pace, pushed the enemy back, and compelled them to strive to escape by way of the bridges over the Bormida.

The slaughter of the Austrians was dreadful. Their army was thus thrown into the utmost confusion in a moment; and the victory, which had seemed quite secure to them at three o’clock, was completely won by the French at six. The pursuit continued far into the night, the mixed deaths and mangling upon the dark bridges being one confused and crowded horror; while the whole of the Austrians who had remained on the left bank were taken prisoners, or driven with headlong devastation into the Bormida. The waters ran a deep red with the blood of horses and of men, and presented in some parts a clotted surface of their mangled remains. Several entire battalions surrendered at discretion, and General Zach and all his staff were made prisoners.

The greater part of the French army encamped on the field of battle.

It was now about seven o’clock in the evening. The storm of conflict was hushed; but the ghastly burden of the field was revealed in all its horror by the glare of the watch-fires, and the light of the moon. The mangled dead were lying in heaps where the struggle had been most desperate; and the Bormida was a river of blood. Near the village of San Giuliano, a single officer could be seen walking among the bodies of the slain, leading his horse. For some time it seemed as if his search would be vain. Many of the bodies had been completely stripped by the enemy, and their features were mangled so that it was almost impossible to recognise them. Suddenly, however, Savary halted. In the midst of a circle of bodies, was stretched the manly form of Desaix, which the aid-de-camp recognised by the long, flowing hair which fell upon the neck, and the noble expression of the countenance, which had not altered in the agonies of death. The young man knelt down and wept over that form, like a child; for he had learned to look up to the heroic general as a father. He loved Desaix with that noble devotion which only the highest qualities can excite, and which is so admirable as to make us proud of our human nature. Savary gave free vent to his grief, and then, wrapping his cloak around the body, he lifted it upon his horse, and slowly returned with it to head-quarters. As he passed the watch-fires, the troops, who were in the highest spirits in consequence of the unexpected victory, recognised the body of Desaix, ceased their talk, and respectfully uncovered. At length, Savary brought his melancholy burden to the head-quarters of General Bonaparte, at Torre-di-Garofolo. Leaving the body in charge of some soldiers, he entered the old mansion, which had been selected for head-quarters, and was ushered into the presence of the First Consul. Bonaparte was seated amidst his principal officers, talking over the thrilling incidents of the day, and complimenting those who had particularly distinguished themselves, and there was scarcely one who did not bear sanguine marks of the fight.

“Your business, sir?” said Bonaparte, as Savary appeared.

“Your excellency, I have found the body of General Desaix, and brought it here to await your orders.”

“Ah! Desaix!” interrupted Bonaparte in a tone full of sad feeling. He then appeared to indulge in mournful reflection, and there was a silence of a few minutes. He then continued, “This victory would have been, indeed, glorious, could I this evening embrace Desaix. I was going to make him a minister of war. I would have made him a prince, had I been able. As mild and modest in manners as he was firm and heroic in battle, he deserves a monument from France. You, and Rapp, are faithful aids.”

“General Desaix was our father,” said Savary.

“I will take you both for my aids.”

This Savary was afterwards Duke of Rovigo. He was faithful to Napoleon to the end, and General Rapp deserves the same praise.

The First Consul now gave directions to Savary as to the immediate disposal of the body of Desaix. He designed that it should be embalmed as soon as possible, and placed in a fitting sarcophagus. Having received full and accurate directions, Savary retired.

“Most of you will recollect the critical position of affairs when Desaix arrived on the field,” said the First Consul. “His coming was a happy thought. You all know the worth of his opinion. You drew around him and informed him of the events of the day. Yet most of you advised a retreat. I demurred, and asked the counsel of General Desaix. He cast his eye over the field, and then, taking out his watch and looking at the hour, replied, ‘Yes, the battle is completely lost; but it is only three o’clock. There is yet time to gain another.’ These words encouraged me, and I immediately ordered those movements which gave us the victory. What is the loss of the enemy, according to your estimate, M. de Bourrienne?”

“In my opinion, they have lost about one-third of their army, which, before the battle, consisted of about twenty-eight thousand men. Besides that, General Haddick is killed, and a large number of their best generals are disabled by severe wounds. General Zach is a prisoner,” replied the secretary.

“Aye; then they have paid a portion of their debt,” said Bonaparte.

“But,” said Victor, “our staff has suffered also; Generals Mainomy, Rivaud, Mahler, and Champeaux are wounded, and it is believed that Champeaux has received his mortal stroke.”

“We have lost about one-fourth of the army, estimating it at twenty-eight thousand men,” observed Bourrienne.

“But we have gained a great victory, and the Austrians are completely prostrated,” said Bonaparte, quickly. “Let us now talk of our triumph. Little Kellermann made a fine charge—he did it just at the right time—we owe him much; see what trifles decide these affairs!”

Just then, General Kellermann, a young-looking man, of short stature and rather thin, but possessing a manly countenance, entered the room. Strange to say, the First Consul immediately changed his tone. As the gallant young general, whose charge had decided the day, approached the table at which Bonaparte was writing, he said, coldly, “You made a pretty good charge,” and as a set off to this coldness, he turned to Bessieres, who commanded the horse grenadiers of the guard, and said to him audibly, “Bessieres, the guard has covered itself with glory.” Kellermann bit his lips, and his eyes flashed; but in spite of reports to the contrary, he said nothing, and soon after retired from the room. The reason of the treatment extended to him by the First Consul has never been developed. It certainly does no credit to the general-in-chief. Kellermann had charged with about five hundred heavy cavalry. It was this handful of brave men who had cut in two the Austrian column. The guard made no charge till night-fall. Yet Kellermann was never raised to the rank of marshal.

Turning to Lannes, who seemed suffering from fatigue, the First Consul said,

“You ought to be fatigued, General Lannes. Never were witnessed efforts of bravery beyond those you have shown this day. I saw you, with your four demi-brigades. The enemy poured a storm of grape from eighty pieces of artillery upon your troops; yet you protracted your retreating fight three-quarters of a league for two whole hours. Every battle adds to the glory of the hero of Montebello.”

Lannes was pleased at receiving praise from Bonaparte, who was the god of his idolatry. Yet it was nothing more than his due. A short time previous, he had defeated the Austrians at Montebello, in a long, bloody, hand-to-hand struggle, against greatly superior numbers, and yet he had almost surpassed the achievements of that desperate fight, when, to use his own terrific expression, “the bones were cracking in his division like hail upon a sky-light,” by his unparalleled retreat at Marengo.

“I knew that so long as I maintained the right,” said Lannes, “the army preserved a sure line of retreat by Sale towards the banks of the Po. I compelled the Austrians to fight, and lose a man for every inch of ground. I blew up the caissons I could not bring off.”

It was late when the generals retired to their respective quarters, to sleep upon the laurels of Marengo. Even then the cavalry which had pursued the enemy had not all returned. The vanquished were allowed no repose. The First Consul slept but little that night. He knew that he should hear from the enemy, the next morning, and sat up, with his secretary Bourrienne, to fix upon the precise terms he should grant. He was not mistaken. The watch-fires of the victorious French had not been long extinguished, before Prince Lichtenstein, bearing a flag of truce, reached head-quarters. Negotiations for a capitulation were commenced, and the convention of Alessandria was signed on the 15th of June.

It was agreed, in the first place, that there should be a suspension of arms in Italy, until such time as an answer should be received from Vienna. Should the convention be accepted, the Austrians were free to retire, with the honors of war, beyond the line of the Mincio. They bound themselves, in withdrawing, to restore to the French all the strongholds which they occupied. The castles of Tortona, Alessandria, Milan, Arona, and Placentia, were to be surrendered between the 16th and 20th of June—27th Prairial, and 1st of Messidor—the castles of Ceva and Savona, the strongholds of Coni and Genoa, between the 16th and the 24th, and the fort of Urbia, on the 26th of June. The Austrian army was to be divided into three columns, which were to withdraw one after the other, and proportionally to the delivery of the strongholds. The immense military stores accumulated by M. de Melas, in Italy, were to be divided into two parts; the artillery of the Italian foundries was granted to the French army; the artillery of the Austrian foundries to the imperial army. The Imperialists, after having evacuated Lombardy as far as the Mincio, were to fall back behind the following line:—the Mincio, La Fossa, Maestra, the left bank of the Po, from Borgo-Forte to the mouth of that river, on the Adriatic. Peschiera and Mantua were to remain in possession of the Austrian army. It was stated, without explanation, that the detachment of this army, then actually in Tuscany, should continue to occupy that province. There could be no allusion made, in this capitulation, to the States of the Pope, or those of the King of Naples, because these potentates were strangers to the affairs of upper Italy. Should this convention not receive the emperor’s ratification, ten days’ notice was to be given of the resumption of hostilities. In the meantime, no detachment on the one side or the other, should be sent into Germany.

It is said that the First Consul was strongly affected at the sight of the field of Marengo, on which so many brave men had fallen. Under the influence of these feelings he wrote a remarkable letter to the Emperor of Austria.

“It is on the field of battle,” said he to him, “amid the sufferings of a multitude of wounded, and surrounded by fifteen thousand corpses, that I beseech your majesty to listen to the voice of humanity, and not to suffer two brave nations to cut each other’s throats for interests not their own. It is my part to press this on your majesty, being upon the very theatre of war. Your majesty’s heart cannot feel it so keenly as does mine.”

He then argued with peculiar eloquence for the cause of peace, and fortunately the conqueror of Marengo could contend with much grace for the restoration of tranquillity. He conquered the peace, and returned to Paris, to receive the homage of an admiring populace, who were now willing to concede to him the imperial crown.

THE CAMP-FIRE AT ULM

Five years of peace, following the battle of Marengo, had enabled Napoleon Bonaparte to do much for France, and more for his own elevation. Under his wise and vigorous administration, the country made wonderful progress. But the price she paid was first the Consulship for Life, and finally the imperial crown. Napoleon now appears as Emperor of France. His old brothers-in-arms, are Marshals. His beloved Josephine is an Empress. Besides, he has cherished designs of placing his brothers upon the thrones of Europe. Yet the man who has achieved all this greatness, is only thirty-eight years of age.

But now, (1805) the peace of Europe is again disturbed. The treaty of Amiens is alleged by both parties to have been violated, and once more vast armies traverse the fertile fields seeking for conflict. A coalition against Napoleon has been formed by Great Britain, Austria, and Russia. Napoleon has formed the plan of a campaign on a gigantic scale, and has executed a part of the proposed scheme with a rapidity and precision that has astonished the enemy. By a brilliant series of manœuvres, he has completely surrounded the Austrian army, commanded by General Mack, in the city of Ulm, (October 13.) In several great actions, the French had already captured twenty thousand Austrian troops, and Napoleon now has the satisfaction of knowing that thirty thousand more are within his reach.

On the 13th, Napoleon (who expected that Mack would rouse himself with one last effort to avoid a surrender) made an exciting address to the troops, on the bridge of the Lech, amid the most intense cold, the ground being covered with snow, and the troops sunk to their knees in mud. He warned them to expect a great battle, and explained to them the desperate condition of the enemy. He was answered with acclamations, and repeated shouts of “Vive l’Empereur.” In listening to his exciting words, the soldiers forgot their fatigues and privations, and were impatient to rush into the fight. אליה Bernadotte entered Munich on the 14th of October, taking eight hundred prisoners. On the same day, Marshal Ney forced the strong position of Elchingen, taking three thousand prisoners and many pieces of cannon; and the Emperor’s head-quarters were fixed there, in the evening. The French soldiers were in a state of great excitement from these rapid successes, and were with difficulty restrained.

From the height of the Abbey of Elchingen, Napoleon now beheld the city of Ulm at his feet, commanded on every side by his cannon; his victorious troops ready for the assault, and the great Austrian army cooped up within the walls. He expected a desperate sally, and prepared the soldiers for a general engagement; but four days passed without any movement whatever. Meanwhile, his own troops clamored for the assault, but he chose to wait in vigilant patience for the result. A scene of horrible carnage and the probable destruction of a fine city would have been the consequences of his acting differently; being what he would have called “unnecessary evils,” and therefore criminal in his eyes. The weather continued dreadful; the rain fell incessantly, and the soldiers were often up to their knees in mud. The Emperor only kept his feet out of the water in his bivouac, by means of a plank. He was in this situation when Prince Maurice Lichtenstein was brought before him, with a flag of truce from General Mack. The looks of the prince evidently showed that he did not expect to have found the Emperor there in person; otherwise it is probable he would not have brought such a proposition as that which he delivered. He came commissioned to treat for the evacuation of Ulm, with permission for the Austrian army to return to Vienna. The Emperor could not help smiling as he listened to him. “I have not forgotten Marengo,” he replied; “I suffered M. de Melas to go, and in two months Moreau had to fight his troops, in spite of the most solemn promises to conclude peace. You will be forced to surrender, for want of provisions, in eight days. The Russians have scarcely reached Bohemia. There is the capitulation of your general at Memingen, his whole garrison becoming prisoners of war: carry it to General Mack; I will accept no other conditions.” The same evening General Mack sent his surrender to the Emperor, and on the following morning the capitulation was signed.

On the 20th of October, the French army was drawn up on the heights, overlooking the fine city of Ulm, to receive the surrender, according to the conditions. The rain had ceased, and the sky was bright and clear. The dress and accoutrements of the French troops, and especially those of the cavalry, shone resplendent in the sun. The Emperor was posted on a slight eminence in front of the centre of his army. He had caused a large fire to be kindled there, for the air was intensely cold. A short distance in the rear, that faithful Mameluke who always accompanied Napoleon after the Egyptian campaign, held the bridle of a restless horse. His gaudy, Asiatic costume, was in singular contrast with that of the French soldiers. The French marshals and generals were grouped in the vicinity of the fire. Among them were the commanding forms of Ney, Lannes, Murat, Davoust, Duroc, Bernadotte, Bessiere, Soult and Dupont—a brotherhood of daring valor. The calm, immovable countenance of Marshal Soult was in strange contrast with the more vivacious faces near him, and bespoke the cool, steady mind of that skilful general. The Emperor stood, as usual, with his hands behind him, and his head slightly bent. His figure had grown stout, and had a decided tendency to corpulency. The countenance was stern, but the eyes were unquiet, and his mind was evidently very busy, as usual. In every lineament could be traced that keen, daring genius, which had raised the lieutenant of artillery to an imperial throne.

It was a glorious day for the French. Their drums beat, and their bands poured forth the swelling strains of triumph. The gates of Ulm were opened; and then the long line of white uniforms marked the egress of the Austrians. They advanced in silence, becoming the dejection of the vanquished, filed off slowly, and went, corps by corps, to lay down their arms upon the plain between them and the heights on which the French army appeared. The ceremony lasted the whole day. In the morning, General Mack and his principal officers, to the number of sixteen, advanced to meet the conqueror at the fire near which he stood. He received the conquered generals with respect, and addressed many remarks to them; but the officers were too deeply humiliated to reply. To General Mack, he said—

“I must complain of the iniquitous proceeding of your government, in coming without any declaration of war to seize me by the throat. The Aulic Council would have done better, if, instead of mixing up Asiatic hordes in European quarrels, it had joined with me to repel Russian encroachment.” Mack bowed, but made no reply.

During the interview, a general officer, more remarkable for his petulance than his wit, repeated aloud an expression as coming from one of the soldiers, throwing ridicule upon the vanquished. Napoleon, whose ear was quick to catch the words, immediately sent Savary to tell the officer to retire, saying then to those near him, “He must have little respect for himself, who insults men in misfortune!”

All the officers were allowed to return home, on giving their word of honor not to serve against France until a general exchange of prisoners should take place. The men were to be marched into France, to be distributed throughout the agricultural districts of the country, where their work in the field might supply the place of that of the conscripts required for the army. The unfortunate Mack was immediately consigned to a dungeon on the charge of treachery, upon his return to Vienna.

The capitulation of Ulm gave Napoleon the remainder of the Austrian army, which had numbered fifty thousand men. The campaign was, perhaps, unexampled in the annals of war. Of the French army, scarcely fifteen hundred men were killed and wounded; while the enemy had lost an immense number of men in battle, fifty thousand excellent troops by capitulation, two hundred cannon, ninety flags, and a large number of horses. Such were the glorious results of Napoleon’s skilful manœuvres and rapid movements.

The Emperor slept that night at Elchingen. Joy pervaded the French camp. The troops were now more strongly convinced than ever, that their Emperor was invincible.

THE CAMP-FIRE AT AUSTERLITZ

The victory of Austerlitz is considered by many competent judges as the most splendid triumph ever gained by Napoleon; and the “sun of Austerlitz,” is a watchword with the French soldiery to the present day. The scene of this great battle is in the vicinity of the small seignoral town of Austerlitz, situated on the Littawa, in Moravia.

Napoleon, with that military tact which he had received from nature, and which he had so greatly improved by experience, had adopted, among other positions which he might have taken about Brunn, one which could not fail to insure to him the most important results, under the supposition that he should be attacked—a supposition which had become a certainty.

The mountains of Moravia, which connect the mountains of Bohemia with those of Hungary, subside successively towards the Danube, so completely that near that river Moravia presents but one wide plain. In the environs of Brunn, the capital of the province, they are not of greater altitude than high hills, and are covered with dark firs. Their waters, retained for want of drains, form numerous ponds, and throw themselves by various streams into the Morawa, or March, and by the Morawa and the Danube.

All these characters are found together in the position between Brunn and Austerlitz, which Napoleon has rendered forever celebrated. The high road of Moravia, running from Vienna to Brunn, rises in a direct line to the northward, then, in passing from Brunn to Olmutz, descends abruptly to the right, that is to the east, thus forming a right angle with its first direction. In the angle is situated the position in question. It commences on the left towards the Olmutz road, with heights studded with firs; it then runs to the right in an oblique direction towards the Vienna road, and after subsiding gradually, terminates in ponds full of deep water in winter. Along this position, and in front of it, runs a rivulet, which has no name known in geography, but which, in part of its course, is called Goldbach by the people of the country. It runs through the little villages of Girzikowitz, Puntowitz, Kobelnitz, Sokolnitz, and Telnitz, and, sometimes forming marshes, sometimes confined in channels, terminates in the ponds above mentioned, which are called the ponds of Satschau and Menitz.

Concentrated with all his forces on this ground, defended on the one hand upon the wooded hills of Moravia, and particularly upon a rounded knoll to which the soldiers of Egypt gave the name of the Centon, defended on the other, upon the ponds of Satschau and Menitz—thus covering by his left the Olmutz road, by his right the Vienna road—Napoleon was in a condition to accept with advantage a decisive battle. He meant not, however, to confine his operations to self-defence, for he was accustomed to reckon upon greater results; he had divined, as though he had read them, the plans framed at great length by General Weirother. The Austro-Russians, having no chance of wresting from him the point d’appui which he found for his left in the high wooded hills, would be tempted to turn his right, which was not close to the ponds, and to take the Vienna road from him. There was sufficient inducement for this step; for Napoleon, if he lost that road, would have no other resource but to retire into Bohemia. The rest of his forces, hazarded towards Vienna, would be obliged to ascend separately the valley of the Danube. The French army, thus divided, would find itself doomed to a retreat, eccentric, perilous, nay, even disastrous, if it should fall in with the Prussians by the way.

Napoleon was perfectly aware that such must be the plan of the enemy. Accordingly, after concentrating his army towards his left and the heights, he left towards his right, that is towards Sokolnitz, Telnitz, and the ponds, a space almost unguarded. He thus invited the Russians to persevere in their plans. But it was not precisely there that he prepared the mortal stroke for them. The ground facing him presented a feature from which he hoped to derive a decisive result.

Beyond the stream that ran in front of the position, the ground spread at first, opposite to the left, into a slightly undulated plain, through which passed the Olmutz road; then, opposite to the centre, it rose successively, and at last formed facing the right a plateau, called the plateau of Pratzen, after the name of a village situated half-way up, in the hollow of a ravine. This plateau terminated on the right in rapid declivities towards the ponds, and at the back in a gentle slope towards Austerlitz, the chateau of which appeared at some distance.