Chapter Eight
The Arrival of Saint Hugh
Across the Goldbach Brook Duroc and his friends watched the ghostly shapes of horsemen riding south.
"What is going on?" Poulec wanted to know.
Herbette answered, "That's us, those are our cavalry, I've seem 'em before when we were moving along the Danube. They are part of our Corps."
"How can you tell?" Millefranc asked, peering into the heavy fog which was still hung heavily in the valley between the Pratzen Plateau and the brook.
"The sabertasch," sniffed Herbette, pointing at the distinctive clothing worn by all cavalrymen.
The waiting continued.
For an hour they listened to the sound of fighting. South, towards the Menitz and Satschan Ponds, into which the Goldbach Brook finally emptied, Sokolnitz castle was under heavy attack from Austrian commanded by Prschibitschewki, and the village of Tellnitz was coming under heavy pressure from Russian troops descending from the Pratzen Plateau. At 8:30 Docturov brought a Russian brigade to help the struggling Austrian commander Kienmaier, and Allied artillery slowly began to have its effect.
"Look, they are coming back," yelled Millefranc, pointing across the brook from their position. Tension among the IInd Company was high, so the shout made them jump and pull their weapons into firing position. But it was only the retreat of Soult's cavalry. Badly mauled during their attack on the Allies around Sokolnitz, the wounded horsemen were removing themselves to a place of safety. Unknown to anyone at that time was the ride of one of these horsemen in search of Marshall Davout, whose troops were moving up the Schwarzawa river from Raigern Abbey in the direction of Brno.
When he found them he told them of the major action developing around Tellnitz, and requested immediate help. Friant's leading brigade promptly changed direction, marched due east and arrived just in time to throw its weight into the changing fortunes of the battle around and for the village. They were rewarded by mistaken fire from their own comrades, the tired troops of Legrand, who thought they were Russians coming out of the fog.
Now it was the turn of the IV Corps.
"We advance, make sure you are ready," shouted out Sargent LaGrosse.
At Napoleon's headquarters, Marshals Soult, Lannes, Murat and Bernadotte watched the sunrise which clearly illuminated the movement of Allied columns of men along the Pratzen Plateau in the direction of Tellnitz. Half an hour later, when he was sure that the Austrians and the Russians had fallen into his trap, the French Emperor gave the order to release Soult's Corps from it hiding place in the fog. They were to advance across the Goldbach Brook, climb the plateau and carry out a surprise attack on the Allied right flank.
Each member of the IInd Company loaded his musket. For the experienced troops this came automatically. The left had recovered a paper cartridge form a pouch at their side, holding their musket in the crook of their right arm, they bit off the end of the cartridge and poured a tiny amount of gunpowder onto the flash pan, which was promptly trapped by closing the pan cover and steel. The rest of the powder was poured down the muzzle of the weapon followed by the lead ball and the paper of the cartridge. The ram rod then was used three times to pack the powder, ball and paper into a compact package next to the tiny hole next to the lock, flashpan and flint.
The flintlock musket had not changed much since its invention in 1610 by Marin le Bourgeoys, who combined the best features of the Dutch snaphaunces and the Mediterranean miquelets. When the trigger of one of these weapons was pulled, a piece of flint (ironically the best flint came from a mine in England) held in a screw grip was pulled violently downwards by an internal mainspring. Striking against a serrated steel the flint did two things; it flung open the pan cover, revealing the trace of gunpowder and made a shower of sparks that, hopefully, ignited the powder and sent the flame through the tiny hole and into the larger amount of powder inside the barrel.
As he marched across the Goldbach Brook, Alain Duroc, recently of the village of Avallon and sole owner of the bones of Saint Hugh, knew the theory. He only had one problem. He had never fired his weapon in anger before, and now he was moving through the fog, up an hill and was expected to fight huge Russian troops without knowing a thing about what he was supposed to do, or how to do it.
"Stay with me," suggested Herbette, "make sure your bayonet is firmly attached, and don't even point your gun until your enemy is within spiting distance."
All Duroc could do was nod, his mouth was so dry he felt his tongue sticking to his teeth. Along the whole front the IV Corps began to move out of the brook and up the gentle slope on the west side of Pratzen Plateau. To their right the St. Hillaire division made easy and rapid progress along a thin stream and its 8,600 men aimed themselves at the front of parallel columns of Austrian and Russian troops under the command of Kollowrat and Miloadovich. Until now, Kollowrat had been following his ally Prschibitschewski, and bringing his men towards the action around Tellnitz.
They were first to see action. Seeing their danger, the allied troops swung to their right, formed up and stiffened. Austrians charged the St. Hillaire's first brigade and checked their advance. They might even have succeeded in pushing them back, but 12-pound artillery, sent on the orders of Napoleon, reversed their fortunes and a second brigade of French began to arrive. For a while the result was in doubt; 8,000 Austrian and Russian troops held 5,000 French in a virtual stalemate.
To the left of the St. Hillaire division, the Vandamme division was making slower progress. The slope was steeper and the main ridge of the Platzen Plateau blocked the progress of the far left flank. On the extreme left, Duroc in the IInd Company was part of the 4th battalion commanded by Prince Joseph, Napoleon's brother. Lead by Captain Grandvillers, they marched as quickly as they could sideways around the obstructing ridge, but in doing so, they lost contact with the rest of their comrades in the division. Momentarily they were cut off. That's when disaster struck.
The sun broke through the fog and bright light shone down on the attacking troops. Napoleon would later use the appearance of the sun, right before one of his major victories, as a propaganda issue, and constantly recalled the "sun of Austerlitz" when talking of his battles and triumphs. But for the men of the 4th battalion, it could not have come at a worse time.
"There, there!" screamed Sargent LaGrosse pointing to his left. Coming towards them were their worst nightmare. "Form up, form up, front line prepare," yelled LaGrosse, pushing and pulling his men into some semblance of order. Several of them were out of breath from their rapid march up the slope. Across the broken ground to the north came the cream of the Russian army; the Imperial Guard. Under the direct command of Tzar's brother, the Grand Duke Constantine Pavlovich, the elite unit of 10,000 men, were coming to save the honor of their leader and that of the entire Russian army.
Despite their distance, to Duroc the Russians looked huge. Each man was over six foot high, armed with the best weapons in Russia and advancing at an alarming rate. He pulled his gun up to his shoulder, but Herbette next to him hissed "Not yet, they are still too far away." They could not have looked closer.
Like a madman, Sargent LaGrosse ran up and down the lines of the IInd Company. There was considerable confusion, but he roughly thrust each of his newer recruits in between men with combat experience, gave them a few words of encouragement, and checked their guns and bayonets. Poulec, who was whimpering and shaking, as given a hard slap that almost knocked him to the ground.
"Take hold of yourself before you get two feet of Russian steel in your belly," the sergeant shouted at him, and moved on.
The Russians were coming closer and closer.
"Wait," said Herbette, for the second time, "not yet," stopping Duroc from discharging his weapon. Almost shoulder to shoulder the line of Russian infantry was executing an almost perfect Prussian mode of attack. This military tactic had been perfected by the Prussian armies in the 18th century and adopted by all the continental ar
mies right up to the French Revolution. Troops were drilled and drilled to behave on the battlefield like automatons and march in straight lines towards their enemy, whom they engaged at close quarters. Duroc, who had never seen a battle formation, thought that it looked very effective, but by 1805 it was already out of date.
At a hundred yards, the lines of Russians halted, raised their muskets and fired in synchrony into the 4th battalion. Even the better Russian weapons, however, were less than accurate at 100 yards and most of the lead balls crashed harmlessly into the ground or went overhead. Still in total synchrony the Imperial Guard reloaded their guns, brought them to half firing position and began to advance once more. Duroc was suddenly aware that his mouth was open, totally dry and that he was moaning softly. He was a wine maker, not a soldier. He had only joined the army to get himself to England. What was he doing on a frozen hillside in Austria facing certain death at the sharp end of an anonymous Russian?
Captain Grandvillers was suddenly behind them, "Raise your weapons," he shouted and the whole company obeyed, "Fire!"
Duroc pulled the trigger and was simultaneously kicked in the shoulder, blinded by the flash, deafened by the discharge and then wreathed in the smoke from the exploding gunpowder. His musket had fired properly, but he had no idea where the lead ball had traveled.
"Reload," screamed the sergeant, but it was too late for the recruits such as Duroc. Seasoned veterans could, under ideal circumstances, fire at a rate of five rounds a minute, but Duroc was totally disoriented by the noise, smoke, and confusion. Before he had time to find another cartridge in his pouch the Russians were upon them and the hand to hand fighting began.
Only one impression stayed with Alain Duroc, later Anton Druer, of the next few minutes of his life. A very large Russian with huge mustaches was pointing an enormous bayonet directly at his face, when, out of shear survival instinct, he lashed out with his foot and kicked the man in the groin. As he did so he lost his balance, fell over backwards, knocked his head and became even more disoriented. What happened to the Russian he never found out.
Struggling to his feet he was knocked and pressed on all sides by the bodies of men fighting for their lives, hand to hand. Some were yelling either in fear or as a release; others were grasping at their wounds which ranged from slashes across the face to ripped open bellies; others were standing side by side thrusting their own bayonets at the bodies of their enemies, jabbing and twisting the blade if it made contact with anything. For no reason he could determine, Duroc saw the three Russians closest to him take a few steps back. He took hold of his gun, swung it out away from his body and crashed the butt into the side of the Russian nearest to him. The blow was hardly felt, but it spoilt the Russian's own defensive move, and Herbette was able to slip his bayonet under the Russian's arm and stab it up and into the exposed neck. Blood spurted everywhere.
A strong blow to the back of his legs toppled him over, and he found himself half beneath a fellow member of the IInd who had just been shot by a Russian officer. Pushing hard, Duroc freed himself and for the second time struggled to his feet, only to be stabbed in the shoulder by a Guardsman fighting his way out of a knot of Frenchmen. The pain was sudden, sharp but almost instantly forgotten as a rush of French soldiers hammered the Russians in front of him and the enemy began to step back.
As quickly as it had started, Alain Duroc's first engagement with people who were trying to kill him, ended. At first he thought that his side were winning, but almost at once these hopes were dashed and a tremendous thundering sound was heard coming from their left flank, wherever that was. Before he could recover his musket, which had fallen from his hands when he had been stabbed, a cuirassier of the Russian Imperial Guard, mounted on a giant black horse, crashed through the thin line of Frenchmen and a saber flashed towards his head. The blow was slightly deflected by the helmet he was wearing, but in that instant Alain Duroc sustained what should have been a fatal head wound.
Spinning from the first saber cut, he was struck again, this time across his face as a second member of the Russian cavalry crashed into the rapidly collapsing French position. Within moments the IInd Company of the 4th battalion of the Vandamme division of the IV Corps of the Napoleonic army in Austrian, ceased to have any existence. Of the 2,000 French losses that day and of the 7,000 wounded, Alain Duroc's regiment suffered the worst.
For the French wine maker the battle and the war was over. Unconscious, he lay face down on the cold ground of the Pratzen Plateau while the Russian cavalry cut apart the battalion around him. His Emperor, seeing the troubles his brother was having, sent in his own Imperial Guard and also the Mamelukes, mounted Arabian horsemen. When they failed to drive off the Russian Guard, he then sent in the mounted chasseurs, and the mounted grenadiers of his own guard, under Marshal Bessieres and General Rapp, his aide-de-camp. The combined weight of these attacks eventually drove off the Russians from their one moment of victory that day, and the bodies of the French soldiers they had killed were left where they had fallen.
Left with the dead, Alain Duroc knew nothing of the rest of the battle. His body cooled and the blood from the wound on his head ran down his face and congealed. Under him, his musket, only fired once that day, would eventually be found by scavengers from the village of Puntowitz, who had themselves lost everything that morning. On his back, his knapsack would, by a miracle, survive. Which is how the bones of the English Saint Hugh of Lincoln arrived near a small town in Moravia called Brno.
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