Текст книги "Fire and Sword"

Автор книги: Simon Scarrow

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Chapter 25

Eylau, 8 February 1807

From the church bell tower Napoleon had a good view over the snow-covered roofs towards the distant lines of Russian soldiers waiting a mile and a half away to the east. According to the reports from the scouts the enemy had spent the entire night standing to, in case the French attacked under cover of darkness. Indeed, Murat and Soult had pressed the Emperor to launch an attack as night fell, but Napoleon had had no desire to take the risk. Instead the Grand Army would wait until Ney and Davout approached before initiating any attack. Staring at the stolid Russian lines Napoleon could only guess at the discomfort of the enemy soldiers who had stood in their lines through the freezing cold of the night and were still ready for battle. They must be as hardy and disciplined as they came to endure such conditions, Napoleon reflected. His own men had emerged from their winter quarters in a bitter, surly mood and only the promise of a generous pay bonus and a free issue of new clothing and equipment had persuaded them to follow their colours against the Russian army.

‘A hard fight last night, sire.’ Berthier nodded down into the streets where the blackened remains of several wagons of the imperial baggage train littered Eylau’s main square. Scores of bodies were still sprawled around them, half hidden by the flurries of snow that had swept across the white landscape since dawn. Napoleon frowned. The officer commanding the baggage train had blundered into the town, ahead of the main army, late the previous afternoon and had run into the rearguard of the Russian army. Both sides had thrown more men into the skirmish until a bitter battle raged through the streets as night fell over Eylau. Thousands of men had died on both sides before the Russians finally gave up the town and the last shots died away. A pointless waste of men on the eve of the main battle, Napoleon reflected.

He nodded at Berthier’s words. ‘Yes. But it will be as nothing compared to today’s fight. I am sure it will snow again at any moment.’

The sky was overcast and an even darker band of clouds was already edging over the town as the first tiny flakes began to drift through the still air.The thick snow on the ground already muffled most sounds and Napoleon was struck by the quiet as the men, horses and guns of the Grand Army took up their positions east of the town, opposite the enemy spread out along a low ridge. The most recent reports from Davout and Ney indicated that they would reach the battlefield later in the morning. Until then Napoleon would be outnumbered, and he had taken the precaution of having the Imperial Guard brought forward to strengthen the French line.

The snowflakes began to fall more heavily and within minutes the last of the bodies lying in the street had disappeared under a white mantle to become little more than vague lumps beneath the snow. Occasional breezes swirled the thick white flakes and obscured the view of the Russian lines as the sun continued to rise unseen and unwarming in the gloom.

As the bells in the church chimed eight there was a muffled thud from the direction of the enemy line. Looking up, Napoleon saw a brief flickering glow in the blizzard and then heard a dull rumble as the Russian guns opened fire.With thick snow on the ground there would be no ricochet as the balls struck home and the men would be spared the worst of the preliminary bombardment. Even so, the tower shuddered momentarily as a lucky shot hit it halfway down. A moment later bright stabs flared out along the French line as the Grand Army’s guns returned fire, trusting to the accuracy with which they had been laid before the blizzard closed in over the battlefield.

Napoleon’s plan depended on Davout’s corps arriving on the enemy’s left flank once the battle was under way.With good timing he should be able to roll the enemy line up and fall on their rear.Then the Russians must surely break and be crushed under the hooves of Murat’s cavalry as they were chased down. Meanwhile the artillery duel continued as both sides fired blindly into the swirling snow. As Napoleon gave up trying to penetrate the gloom and lowered his telescope with a curse there was a faint whistling noise.

‘Mortar shell!’ Berthier yelled. ‘Down!’

Before Napoleon could duck there was a bright orange flash to one side as the shell burst in the air. Fragments of iron rattled off the masonry of the tower and the slates of the church’s roof as the concussion from the blast struck the Emperor and his staff. For a moment Napoleon was deaf, and he shook his head to try to clear his ears. His hearing began to return as voices and the continuing cannonade cut through the ringing sensation in his head. He glanced round.

‘Anyone injured? Berthier?’

His chief of staff shook his head and the other officers in the tower seemed dazed but otherwise unharmed.

‘Lucky shot,’ someone said loudly as he rubbed his ears.

‘Lucky for who?’ replied Napoleon, wincing from a stabbing pain in his own ears.‘Still, ten paces closer and it would have killed us all. Given a choice, I’ll take being deafened every time.’

Some of the officers laughed and smiled, then all of them flinched as another mortar shell detonated down in the streets. As the morning continued some of the shells landed in the wooden buildings in the town and set fire to them. Smoke billowed into the leaden skies, adding a grim pall to the clouds that hid the sun.

‘Time to draw the enemy’s attention to their right,’ Napoleon said to Berthier as he glanced at his watch. ‘Order Soult and Augereau to advance. They must draw the enemy into a fight while Davout approaches from the south. Go.’

Once Berthier had sent the orders off Napoleon and his staff strained their eyes to follow the progress of the attacks.The snow deadened the sound of the drums as they beat the advance and the cheers of the men were muted as they set off through the snow towards the Russians waiting silently along the ridge. For a moment the enemy’s guns ceased their bombardment of Eylau as their crews brought forward and loaded case shot to meet the approaching French infantry.There was a palpable tension on the church tower as Napoleon and his staff waited for the Russian guns to open fire again. Then there was a rippling glow from the direction of the ridge and a dull rumble like distant thunder as grapeshot blasted into the advancing French columns, before a fresh blizzard obscured the view.

‘What is the latest news from Davout?’ asked Napoleon. ‘How long before he reaches the battlefield?’

Berthier consulted his log book. ‘Marshal Davout estimates that he will be able to commence his attack at eleven o’clock, sire.’

‘That’s not soon enough. Send a message. Tell him to attack as soon as he can.’ Napoleon chewed his lip as the cannonfire from the Russian lines intensified. He could well imagine the destruction being visited on his infantry as they tested the Russian centre.‘Tell him to attack even if it means he cannot deploy his entire corps at first.’

‘Yes, sire.’

A short while after the order was given the snowstorm began to thin out and then stopped, to reveal the battlefield stretching east of the town.

‘Good God almighty,’ Berthier muttered as he and the other staff officers stared towards the Russian lines. ‘What the hell’s happened?’

In front of the main Russian battery stood the remnants of Augereau’s corps. Thousands of men lay sprawled and heaped in snow where they had been cut down as they marched blindly through the blizzard straight into the teeth of the enemy’s cannon. Napoleon felt an icy fist clench round his heart at the sight. It was clear what had happened. Augereau and his men had lost their sense of direction and blundered to the left, straight into the path of the enemy’s guns. Worse still, they had come under fire from their own guns, still engaging the enemy artillery. Mercifully, the French gunners had ceased fire the moment the blizzard cleared to reveal the carnage spread across the frozen ground between the two armies.

‘Sweet Jesus,’ one of Napoleon’s officers said. ‘What a bloodbath.’

‘It’s not over yet,’ another officer added and pointed to a movement behind the Russian guns. ‘Look there!’

A dense mass of cavalry was forming up to charge the disorganised survivors of Augereau’s corps. The Frenchmen had already seen the danger and had begun to fall back, pacing away at first, then breaking into a fast walk across the bloodied ground, then running straight for the handful of regiments in the reserve line.As the fugitives fled past the reserves the enemy cavalry charged, sweeping past their guns and surging down the slope towards the shattered corps, cutting down those wounded who could not keep up with their comrades. Augereau’s reserves hurriedly formed square, the foremost regiment edging up on to a small hillock directly in the path of the oncoming enemy cavalry. Their brave move served to halt the charge long enough for the survivors of the first line to reach the safety of Eylau’s cemetery, where their officers attempted to rally their terrified men and force them to man the walls of the cemetery to defend it against their pursuers.

The men on the hillock were engulfed by the cavalry charge, but as Napoleon watched in pained admiration of their heroism the small square held its own and was still there when the cavalry pulled back and re-formed. At once the Russian gunners had clear sight of the square and began to fire round shot into the ranks of French infantry, cutting bloody paths through the blue lines. The sergeants quickly dressed the ranks to close the gaps and the square steadily shrank as the bombardment continued, leaving the ground around them littered with the bodies of their comrades. It continued for quarter of an hour until the enemy guns fell silent and with a throaty roar the Russian cavalry surged back up the hill, curved blades gleaming, and cut the survivors to pieces. As the horsemen turned away and re-formed Napoleon could see that not a man was left standing on the hillock. A moment later the blizzard began anew and thick snowflakes blotted out the battlefield.

‘Damn that fool, Augereau!’ Napoleon growled through gritted teeth. ‘His corps is finished. He has caused a gap in our line by shifting to the left. Now there’s nothing left for it but to bring the Guard forward, before all is lost.’

Berthier was familiar with his master’s reluctance to commit his veterans to battle. ‘The Guard, sire? There are only two battalions close to the town.The rest are already committed to the line. Are you sure?’

‘Of course I am, damn it! They are all that I have left. Give the order at once.They are to advance through Eylau and take up position along the eastern side of the town. At the double. Hurry, or we may lose this battle, Berthier!’

Napoleon turned back to observe the battlefield, but the new flurry of snow blotted out all sight of any detail beyond a hundred paces. Once again the sounds of cannon and musket were muffled and it was impossible to judge the distance, or even the direction. Napoleon gripped the parapet of the church tower as he stared anxiously into the swirling white specks and strained his ears. Down below in the streets of Eylau he could see the occasional dark shapes of men fleeing from the Russians. Survivors of Augereau’s corps, Napoleon surmised.Thanks to their commander, there was now nothing between Napoleon’s command position and the enemy.

A burning sensation in his fingers made Napoleon gaze down and he realised that his hands were losing feeling in the biting cold. He cupped them against his mouth and blew hard for a moment before rubbing them vigorously until the circulation returned, painfully. He pulled his gloves out of his coat pocket and put them on.The conditions under which the battle was being fought were truly appalling, he thought. He had hoped to pin the Russians while Ney and Davout crashed into their flanks to inflict a stunning defeat on the Tsar’s army. Instead, there was no sign of Ney and Davout’s men were arriving piecemeal, and the rest of the French line was in danger of collapsing. With a sudden frightening clarity, Napoleon saw that this day might well mark the loss of the Grand Army and with it all his dreams for dominion over Europe.

It was Berthier who saw the danger first as he leaned forward over the parapet and stared into the blizzard. ‘Sire, I think the enemy are sending infantry forward.’

‘What?’

‘There, look!’ Berthier thrust his arm out and pointed over the roofs of Eylau to the edge of the town. Sure enough a dark smudge was just discernible as it emerged from the gloom. A fluke in the wind provided an instant when the sky was clear and Napoleon could see the approaching Russian column plainly. No more than two hundred paces away, marching swiftly through the snow as the officers and sergeants urged their men on, scenting the chance of victory if only they could shatter the French centre before it could be stabilised.

Napoleon turned and ran across to the far side of the church tower and stared towards the French reserves, but the lines of the Imperial Guard had still not moved forward; Berthier’s order could not have reached them yet.The Russians would be upon the men of the imperial headquarters before help could arrive. Napoleon whipped round towards his staff officers.

‘We’re going to have to fight, gentlemen.’ Napoleon stabbed his finger at the snow-covered floor of the tower. ‘This is the centre of the French line. If we lose the church then all is lost. Berthier, get downstairs. I want every available man to defend the church, and the doors barricaded as best you can. We have five minutes at the most. Go!’

Once Berthier had rushed down the stairs Napoleon turned to the others. ‘Dupuy, get ten of our men up here with muskets. We need to slow the enemy down.’

‘Yes, sire!’ Dupuy hurried off as Napoleon turned to the remaining officers. ‘It seems we are all in the infantry now. Find a weapon and prepare to fight for your lives.’

His officers nodded gravely and then clattered down the tower steps. For a moment Napoleon was alone and he made his way back to the parapet and stared at the approaching Russians. Already the first of the enemy had entered the streets of Eylau.The rest of the column led back into the snowy wasteland and was swallowed up as the blizzard intensified again. Napoleon straightened up and folded his arms as he surveyed the enemy.

‘Is this how it all ends?’ he muttered. A brief skirmish around the church before the Russians broke in and slaughtered the defenders? He smiled bitterly as he imagined the joy of his enemies when they received news of his ignominious death. Then he balled his hands into fists and shook his head. He would not give them that satisfaction. Never, as long as he drew breath.

The sound of nailed boots clattering on the steps caused Napoleon to turn round and he saw Dupuy emerge from the staircase, musket in hand, at the head of a section of the Emperor’s personal escort.

‘Over there!’ Dupuy pointed to the parapet facing the enemy and Napoleon stepped aside as the burly soldiers took up position and held their muskets ready. The blizzard had begun to slacken again and fine flakes drifted down across the town. Overhead the sky was noticeably lighter and Napoleon sourly cursed the bad timing of the weather. If the skies had cleared earlier then Augereau would not have led his corps to its destruction. It was pointless to indulge in such regrets, he admonished himself. Then all thought stilled as his ears caught the sound of voices speaking an unfamiliar tongue and he realised that the enemy were close at hand. Sure enough, the first Russian skirmishers appeared at the end of the broad street leading to the church, cautiously picking their way forward from the shelter of one doorway to the next.

Napoleon touched Dupuy’s shoulder. ‘As soon as they are within a hundred paces, open fire.’

‘The lads won’t stand much chance of hitting anything at that range, sire.’>

‘They don’t have to. Just as long as they slow them down.’

‘Yes, sire.’

The men in the tower lowered their muskets and aimed down into the street, tracking the nearest enemies. Napoleon could hear shouts from below and the crashing of glass as the defenders prepared to shoot from the church’s windows. At the sound the Russian skirmishers paused for an instant, and then crept forward again. Then the head of the enemy column appeared at the end of the street and came on in a silent shuffle through the snow.

Napoleon spoke softly. ‘Aim for the column. It’s a better target.’

Dupuy nodded and said, ‘Make ready to fire.’

The guardsmen thumbed back their hammers and took aim and stood still, waiting for the order.

Napoleon watched the column start down the street, and heard the loud, jovial cheers and laughter of men whose spirits had most likely been raised by a generous issue of vodka before they had advanced. Once the column was well down the street he turned to Dupuy and nodded. ‘Now.’

‘Open fire!’

At Dupuy’s shout the guardsmen pulled their triggers and the air around Napoleon filled with resounding cracks that were startling after the muffled sounds of the battle so far. At once the French soldiers grounded their muskets and began reloading. As soon as the smoke cleared from the top of the church tower Napoleon could see that two of the men at the front of the column had pitched forward and lay crumpled in the snow. A third had dropped his musket and was clutching at his shoulder.The head of the column had halted and there was instant confusion as the succeeding ranks pushed forward.

‘Well done, boys!’ Napoleon smiled. ‘Keep firing as fast as you can.’

The Russian column was on the move again, stepping over the bodies in the snow. The skirmishers, much closer to the church, had taken a moment to determine the direction of the enemy fire and now aimed up at the tower, the muzzles of their muskets foreshortening before disappearing behind a flash of flame and puff of smoke. Musket balls clattered off the stonework and one of the guardsmen cried out as a chip of masonry gashed his cheek. With a shamed glance at his Emperor the man quickly turned his attention back to his weapon as he rammed home the wad.

Napoleon nodded. ‘Carry on, Dupuy.’

The officer nodded as he finished reloading his weapon and Napoleon hurried to the staircase and ran down the ancient stone steps as fast as he dared. Down in the nave of the church there was turmoil as staff officers and the men of the Emperor’s bodyguard hurriedly piled most of the heavy wooden pews against the church doors. The remaining pews had been arranged along the walls to act as firing steps. The officers of the headquarters staff stood alongside the soldiers, armed with a mixture of muskets and pistols and even swords for those who did not possess a firearm. A loud detonation echoed round the nave as the first of the guardsmen fired through his window and a moment later there were more shots as the head of the enemy column entered the square that lay before the church. The remains of the stained glass windows splintered as Russian musket balls crashed through, showering the defenders momentarily before they continued firing and reloading.

Napoleon made his way towards the main door of the church where Berthier stood behind the piled pews, sword in hand. A mixed squad of grenadiers and staff officers stood by, ready to defend any attempt to break through the makeshift barricade. Berthier nodded towards the pile of pews and a stone font. ‘Best we could do, sire.’

‘It will do.’ Napoleon nodded. ‘Until the Imperial Guard arrives.’

Before Berthier could reply there was a thud on the timbers of the church door, then another, and then more, before the latch was lifted and the door pressed against the barricade.

‘With me!’ Berthier called out as he sheathed his sword and pressed against the nearest pew. His hastily assembled squad followed his lead and heaved against the barricade as the doors slowly began to shift under the pressure of the Russian soldiers massing outside.Already there was a crack of light between the heavy timber frames and Napoleon could see a bearded face contorted with effort as the man shoved against the door. As the gap widened the muzzle of a musket poked through the gap and there was a flash and a roar as it fired.The ball passed over the heads of Berthier and his men and slapped into a tapestry at the back of the church. Napoleon shouted at the nearest guardsman.

‘Shoot back!’

The man nodded and moved to one side so that he had a clear view through the slowly growing gap. He raised his musket, thumbed the cock back and shot into the tight mass of bodies on the far side.There was a sharp cry of pain, and then a roar of rage from the other Russians and renewed pressure as the gap continued to widen and the pews scraped back despite the efforts of Berthier and his men.The guardsman reloaded and fired again, and the moment he grounded his musket there was another shot through the door and this time it found its target as he was flung back and fell spreadeagled on the stone slabs of the floor. Napoleon glanced down and saw that a ball had struck him in the forehead, shattering his skull into a bloody ruin of bone and brains.

Now there was enough space for a man to pass through the gap between the doors and the first of the Russians thrust his way inside the church and raised his musket overhead to stab at one of the staff officers straining to hold the barricade in place. The tip of the bayonet caught the Frenchman in the neck and he fell away with a cry of agony. He clamped a hand to the wound, spurting gouts of blood across his uniform and spattering across Berthier’s cheek as he stood next to him.

‘Shoot him!’ Napoleon called out and one of the officers at the nearest window swung round at the shout, raised his pistol, took aim and fired.The ball slammed into the Russian’s chest, and he gasped at the impact, then looked down and roared with laughter when he saw that it had struck a buckle and not injured him.With another shove the door grated open even further and more enemy soldiers pushed their way into the church and stabbed their bayonets at Berthier’s men.

‘Leave the barricade!’ Napoleon ordered. ‘Defend yourselves!’

As Berthier and the others stepped back and raised their weapons Napoleon snatched up the musket from the dead guardsman and stepped forward to join the squad defending the doors. The barricade scraped backwards as more Russians pressed into the church, and those with loaded weapons attempted to aim as they fired them at the defenders. Berthier and his men fired back, killing and wounding a handful who fell beneath the boots of their comrades and were trampled as the Russians surged on. Then both sides were locked in a vicious melee over the jumbled pile of church pews, striking out with bayonet and musket butts as weapons fired around them.

Napoleon advanced his weapon, his heart pounding with the excitement and terror of battle. He saw the sash of an officer in front of him and thrust his weapon forward, over the barricade. The officer saw the danger at the last moment and ducked, leaving the point to thrust into the air beside his head.Then he snatched out a pistol and aimed it at Napoleon, his lips parting in a triumphant grin as he took aim. Napoleon could not help flinching, but he was caught between two burly guardsmen and there were more men behind him so that he could not move.The Russian cocked his weapon and slipped his finger inside the trigger guard. Before he could fire, a French bayonet stabbed through the sleeve, thrusting the extended arm to one side so that the pistol fired harmlessly into the wall as the officer cried out in pain.

‘Sire!’ Berthier cried out in alarm. ‘You must get back!’

Napoleon shook his head and turned on another enemy, gritting his teeth as he made to thrust with the bayonet. Then hands grabbed his arm and hauled him roughly back from the barricade. Napoleon turned round with a fierce expression and looked up to see one of his grenadiers looking at him with wide eyes.

‘What are you doing?’ the Emperor demanded.

‘Saving your fucking life, sire,’ the guardsman replied through clenched teeth.‘You trying to get yourself killed? Then where would we be?’

Napoleon opened his mouth to protest, but the soldier firmly steered him away from the fight.

‘Leave the fighting to us as gets paid for it, sire,’ he said firmly, and turned away to re-join his companions as they faced a steadily growing number of enemy pressing into the church, forcing the barricade and its defenders back. Napoleon could see that it was only a question of time before the Russians’ superior numbers forced Berthier and his men to give way and then the defenders would be quickly overwhelmed and cut down. He tightened his grip on the musket and prepared to step back into the fight.

There was a crash from outside the church as a volley was fired. Both sides started momentarily and stared out into the street.Then there was a cry from one of the men at the windows.

‘It’s the Guard! The Imperial Guard is here!’

The men of the bodyguard and the staff officers cheered and flung themselves back against the Russians who had made it into the church. Already panic had seized the enemy and they backed away, cramming themselves through the entrance and into the street. Another volley ripped through their ranks and then, with a roar, the men of the Imperial Guard charged down the street, scattering the Russians who stood before the church. There was a brief skirmish as the guardsmen killed those who resisted and then chased after the stream of enemy soldiers running back down the street.

Inside the church the defenders cheered and clapped each other on the shoulder. Napoleon drew a deep breath as he handed his musket to one of the guardsmen. Berthier came up to him, grinning like a boy, bloodied sword in hand.

‘Haven’t seen action like that in years, sire.’

‘Let’s hope we never have to again,’ Napoleon replied. ‘Now then, we must act quickly. Those two battalions aren’t going to restore the centre of the line by themselves.As soon as the enemy re-form they will counter-attack and sweep them aside.’ He thought for a moment and then nodded grimly to himself.‘There’s only one thing I can do to save the army. Murat must charge the Russian centre.’

‘But he will be needed for the pursuit, sire. Once the battle is won.’

‘It won’t be won. Not now. Not without Murat. He must charge. Murat must buy us the time to re-form our line and for Ney and Davout to move into position. He must charge at once. See to it.’

The snow had almost stopped as Murat’s cavalry, eighty squadrons of superbly mounted men, trotted forward to the right of the town in a vast column of brilliant uniforms and gleaming horseflesh.The officers in the church tower gazed on the spectacle with awe, and desperate hope. Only Murat could save the Grand Army now. The chasseurs led the charge, carving a path through the re-forming infantry column that the two battalions of the Imperial Guard had driven out of Eylau. Across the front of the French centre the enemy recoiled and then fled, running for the main Russian line stretching across the ridge one and a half miles away. Murat’s cavalry chased them down without mercy, sabres flashing as his men struck again and again at enemy fugitives, leaving bodies scattered across the battlefield to add to the corpses of Augereau’s men.

As Napoleon watched the charge through his telescope he could just pick out the flamboyant uniform of Murat at the head of the second wave of cavalry, brandishing his riding crop as he urged his men on.The vast column of horsemen charged, through the remnants of the first Russian line and up the slope towards the ridge. The crews of the cannon that had cut Augereau’s men to ribbons fired a few last shots at the oncoming French cavalry and then turned and ran for the safety of the squares that were forming along the Russian centre. The cavalry raced on, engulfing the squares and passing on through the heart of the enemy army. A handful of men paused by the abandoned guns to drive iron spikes into the vents with small mallets to make the cannon unusable for the rest of the battle.

Even Napoleon was taken aback by the grandeur and shock effect of the cavalry charge. Europe had seen nothing like it, and mounted as they were on the pick of the Prussian horses captured after Jena the French riders were invincible.The enemy’s cavalry attempted a counter-attack but their mounts were lighter and easily brushed aside. The last wave of French horsemen disappeared over the ridge and for a moment a brief lull hung over the battlefield as the battered French soldiers took full advantage of the respite Murat had bought them and began to re-form their line. A message arrived from Davout informing the Emperor that the marshal’s corps was in position and ready to begin its flanking attack.

‘But where is Ney?’ Napoleon fumed. ‘Does he not know that he is needed if we are to deliver a fatal blow to the enemy? Where the devil is Ney?’

As noon passed and the skies began to clear, there was a sudden flurry of activity along the ridge and a moment later the French cavalry reappeared over the crest, scattering some of the enemy soldiers before they rode back down the slope, cutting down any Russians that remained in their path, and returned to the flat area south of Eylau where they had been positioned at the start of the battle.

The sound of cannon fire from the right flank announced that Davout was beginning to launch his attack on the Russian left and all eyes in the church tower turned in that direction.As the afternoon wore on and the sounds of fighting intensified the first reports from Davout claimed that the enemy to his front was steadily being forced back. Still there was no sign of Ney and Napoleon’s frustration and anger at his subordinate’s tardiness tore at his self-control so that he stamped a foot angrily.