CHAPTER XV. SCRAPS OF HISTORY
Nothing displays more powerfully the force of egotism than the simpletruth that, when any man sits himself down to write the events of hislife, the really momentous occurrences in which he may have borne a partoccupy a conspicuously small place, when each petty incident of a merelypersonal nature is dilated and extended beyond all bounds. In one sense,the reader benefits by this, since there are few impertinences lessforgivable than the obtrusion of some insignificant name into thenarrative of facts that are meet for history. I have made these remarksin a spirit of apology to my reader; not alone for the accuracy of mylate detail, but also, if I should seem in future to dwell but passinglyon the truly important facts of a great campaign, in which my own partwas so humble.
I was a soldier in that glorious army which Moreau led into the heartof Germany, and whose victorious career would only have ceased whenthey entered the capital of the Empire, had it not been for the unhappymistakes of Jourdan, who commanded the auxiliary forces in the north.For nigh three months we advanced steadily and successfully, superiorin every engagement; we only waited for the moment of junction withJourdan's army, to declare the Empire our own; when at last came theterrible tidings that he had been beaten, and that Latour was advancingfrom Ulm to turn our left flank, and cut off our communications withFrance.
Two hundred miles from our own frontiers--separated from the Rhine bythat terrible Black Forest whose defiles are mere gorges between vastmountains--with an army fifty thousand strong on one flank, and theArchduke Charles commanding a force of nigh thirty thousand on theother--such were the dreadful combinations which now threatened us witha defeat not less signal than Jourdan's own. Our strength, however, layin a superb army of seventy thousand unbeaten men, led on by one whosename alone was victory.
On the 24th of September the order for retreat was given; the army beganto retire by slow marches, prepared to contest every inch of ground, andmake every available spot a battlefield. The baggage and ammunition weresent on in front, and two days' march in advance. Behind, a formidablerear-guard was ready to repulse every attack of the enemy. Before,however, entering those close defiles by which his retreat lay, Moreaudetermined to give one terrible lesson to his enemy, like the huntedtiger turning upon his pursuers, he suddenly halted at Biberach, and ereLatour, who commanded the Austrians, was aware of his purpose, assailedthe Imperial forces with an attack on right, centre, and left together.Four thousand prisoners and eighteen pieces of cannon were the trophiesof the victory.
The day after this decisive battle our march was resumed, and theadvanced-guard entered that narrow and dismal defile which goes by thename of the 'Valley of Hell,' when our left and right flanks, stationedat the entrance of the pass, effectually secured the retreat againstmolestation. The voltigeurs of St. Cyr crowning the heights as wewent, swept away the light troops which were scattered along the rockyeminences, and in less than a fortnight our army debouched by Fribourgand Oppenheim into the valley of the Rhine, not a gun having been lost,not a caisson deserted, during that perilous movement.
The Archduke, however, having ascertained the direction of Moreau'sretreat, advanced by a parallel pass through the Kinzigthal, andattacked St. Cyr at Nauen-dorf, and defeated him. Our right flank,severely handled at Emmendingen, the whole force was obliged to retreaton Hueningen, and once more we found ourselves upon the banks of theRhine, no longer an advancing army, high in hope, and flushed withvictory--but beaten, harassed, and retreating!
The last few days of that retreat presented a scene of disaster suchas I can never forget. To avoid the furious charges of the Austriancavalry, against which our own could no longer make resistance, wehad fallen back upon a line of country cut up into rocky cliffs andprecipices, and covered by a dense pine forest. Here, necessarily brokenup into small parties, we were assailed by the light troops of theenemy, led on through the various passes by the peasantry, whoseanimosity our own severity had excited. It was, therefore, a continualhand-to-hand struggle, in which, opposed as we were to overpoweringnumbers acquainted with every advantage of the ground, our loss wasterrific. It is said that nigh seven thousand men fell---an immensenumber, when no general action had occurred. Whatever the actual loss,such were the circumstances of our army, that Moreau hastened to proposean armistice, on the condition of the Rhine being the boundary betweenthe two armies, while Kehl was still to be held by the French.
The proposal was rejected by the Austrians, who at once commencedpreparations for a siege of the fortress with forty thousand troops,under Latour's command. The earlier months of winter now passed in thelabours of the siege, and on the morning of New-year's Day the firstattack was made; the second line was carried a few days after, and,after a glorious defence by Desaix, the garrison capitulated, andevacuated the fortress on the 9th of the month. Thus, in the space ofsix short months, had we advanced with a conquering army into the veryheart of the Empire, and now we were back again within our own frontier,not one single trophy of all our victories remaining, two-thirds of ourarmy dead or wounded--more than all, the prestige of our superiorityfatally injured, and that of the enemy's valour and prowess as signallyelevated.
The short annals of a successful soldier are often comprised in the fewwords which state how he was made lieutenant at such a date, promoted tohis company here, obtained his majority there, succeeded to the commandof his regiment at such a place, and so on. Now my exploits may even bemore briefly written as regards this campaign--for, whether at Kehl,at Nauendorf, on the Elz, or at Huningen, I ended as I began--asimple soldier of the ranks. A few slight wounds, a few still moreinsignificant words of praise, were all that I brought back with me; butif my trophies were small, I had gained considerably both in habitsof discipline and obedience. I had learned to endure, ably and withoutcomplaining, the inevitable hardships of a campaign, and, better still,to see that the irrepressible impulses of the soldier, however promptedby zeal or heroism, may oftener mar than promote the more mature plansof his general. Scarcely had my feet once more touched French ground,than I was seized with the ague, then raging as an epidemic among thetroops, and sent forward with a large detachment of sick to the MilitaryHospital of Strasbourg.
Here I bethought me of my patron, Colonel Mahon, and determined towrite to him. For this purpose I addressed a question to theAdjutant-General's office to ascertain the colonel's address. The replywas a brief and stunning one--he had been dismissed the service. Nopersonal calamity could have thrown me into deeper affliction; nor hadI even the sad consolation of learning any of the circumstances of thismisfortune. His death, even though thereby I should have lost my onlyfriend, would have been a lighter evil than this disgrace; and coming asdid the tidings when I was already broken by sickness and defeat, morethan ever disgusted me with a soldier's life. It was then with a feelingof total indifference that I heard a rumour which at another momentwould have filled me with enthusiasm--the order for all invalidssufficiently well to be removed, to be drafted into regiments serving inItaly. The fame of Bonaparte, who commanded that army, had now surpassedthat of all the other generals; his victories paled the glory of theirsuccesses, and it was already a mark of distinction to have served underhis command.
The walls of the hospital were scrawled over with the names of hisvictories; rude sketches of Alpine passes, terrible ravines, orsnow-clad peaks, met the eye everywhere; and the one magical name,'Bonaparte,' written beneath, seemed the key to all their meaning. Withhim war seemed to assume all the charms of romance. Each action wasillustrated by feats of valour or heroism, and a halo of glory seemed toshine over all the achievements of his genius.
It was a clear, bright morning of March, when a light frost sharpenedthe air, and a fair, blue sky overhead showed a cloudless elasticatmosphere, that the 'invalides,' as we were all called, were drawnup in the great square of the hospital for inspection. Two superiorofficers of the staff, attended by several surgeons and an adjutant,sat at a table in front of us, on which lay the regimental books an
dconduct-rolls of the different corps. Such of the sick as had receivedsevere wounds, incapacitating them for further service, were presentedwith some slight reward--a few francs in money, a greatcoat, or a pairof shoes, and obtained their freedom. Others, whose injuries were lessimportant, received their promotion, or some slight increase of pay,these favours being all measured by the character the individual borein his regiment, and the opinion certified of him by his commandingofficer. When my turn came, and I stood forward, I felt a kind ofshame to think how little claim I could prefer either to honour oradvancement.
'Maurice Tiernay, slightly wounded by a sabre at Nauendorf--flesh-woundat Biberach--enterprising and active, but presumptuous and overbearingwith his comrades,' read out the adjutant, while he added a few words Icould not hear, but at which the superior laughed heartily.
'What says the doctor?' asked he, after a pause.
'This has been a bad case of ague, and I doubt if the young fellow willever be fit for active service--certainly not at present.'
'Is there a vacancy at Saumur?' asked the general. 'I see he has beenemployed in the school at Nancy.'
'Tes, sir; for the third class there is one.'
'Let him have it, then. Tiernay, you are appointed as aspirant of thethird class at the College of Saumur. Take care that the report of yourconduct be more creditable than what is written here. Your opportunitieswill now be considerable, and, if well employed, may lead to furtherhonour and distinction; if neglected or abused, your chances areforfeited for ever.'
I bowed and retired, as little satisfied with the admonition as elatedwith a prospect which converted me from a soldier into a scholar,and, in the first verge of manhood, threw me back once more into thecondition of a mere boy.
Eighteen months of my life--not the least happy, perhaps, since in thepeaceful portion I can trace so little to be sorry for--glided overbeside the banks of the beautiful Loire, the intervals in the hour ofstudy being spent either in the riding-school, or the river, where, inaddition to swimming and diving, we were instructed in pontooning andrafting, the modes of transporting ammunition and artillery, and theattacks of infantry by cavalry pickets.
I also learned to speak and write English and German with great easeand fluency, besides acquiring some skill in military drawing andengineering.
It is true that the imprisonment chafed sorely against us, as we read ofthe great achievements of our armies in various parts of the world--ofthe great battles of Cairo and the Pyramids, of Acre and Mount Thabor,and of which a holiday and a fete were to be our only share.
The terrible storms which shook Europe from end to end only reached usin the bulletins of new victories, and we panted for the time when we,too, should be actors in the glorious exploits of France.
It is already known to the reader that of the country from which myfamily came I myself knew nothing. The very little I had ever learned ofit from my father was also a mere tradition; still was I known among mycomrades only as 'the Irishman,' and by that name was I recognised,even in the record of the school, where I was inscribed thus--'MauriceTiernay, _dit l'Irlandais_.' It was on this very simple and seeminglyunimportant fact my whole fate in life was to turn; and in this wise-Butthe explanation deserves a chapter of its own, and shall have it.