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 t
o 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.
‘Why does Ney not march to the sound of the guns? Has he not learned the first principle of command?’
Berthier finally brought news of Ney late in the afternoon, just as word arrived from Davout that the Russians had heavily reinforced their left flank and were pressing Davout’s men back in the gathering dusk.
‘Sire, report from Marshal Soult’s headquarters,’ Bethier panted after his hurried climb up the stairs.‘Ney’s corps is arriving on the left flank. He intends to attack at once.’
‘How good of him,’ Napoleon replied acidly.‘He may be just in time to save us from defeat rather than complete the victory that should have been mine.’
The rolling thunder of artillery sounded from the north, and as the Emperor and his staff waited for further news the winter night drew in and darkness crept across the battlefield, punctuated by squibs of bright light as cannon and musket volleys from both sides were fired into the gloom.As Napoleon hoped, Ney’s attack forced the Russians to ease the pressure on Davout. Slowly, as the night dragged on, the firing on both sides petered out. By midnight the battlefield was silent, save for the pitiful cries of the wounded still lying on the frozen, snow-covered ground.
Napoleon had descended from the tower and stood in the nave warming himself at a fire that had been made from the pews. He had summoned his marshals to consider the next day’s action. His officers gathered round the fire, faces lit in the wavering glow of the flames.The exhaustion of the day’s fighting was etched into their faces as they attended their Emperor. Napoleon turned first to Ney.
‘Would you care to explain why it took you so long to join us today, Marshal?’
Ney frowned and there was no hiding the anger in his reply. ‘I did not receive your order to close up on the main army until after two in the afternoon, sire.’
‘Did you not hear the guns? You must have done.’
‘The wind and the snow prevented the sound from carrying to us, sire.’>
Even though it was true, it still sounded like an excuse and Ney shifted uneasily under the gaze of the other officers. Napoleon stared at him for a moment before taking a deep breath and turning to the rest.
‘We have been hit hard, gentlemen, according to the first strength returns to reach headquarters. Only a quarter of Augereau’s corps are still fit to fight and there have been heavy casualties to all formations, except Ney’s.We can only hope that the enemy have also suffered badly.’
Soult sniffed. ‘They have, sire. Our bullets were not made of cotton.’
‘Thank you, Soult,’ Napoleon said testily. ‘The question is, will the Russians still have any fight left in them come the morning? If so, will our men be able to withstand an attack? Should we even consider a withdrawal? Your thoughts, gentlemen?’
‘We should attack,’ Ney said firmly. ‘Now. While the enemy are still shaken. Seize the initiative, sire.’
Napoleon shook his head. ‘The army is in no condition to attack. The men are exhausted and I dare say their only thought at the moment is finding somewhere warm enough to spend the night so that they don’t freeze to death.’
&nb
sp; Augereau cleared his throat. ‘Sire, we cannot attack. Equally we cannot retreat.The men’s morale is low enough as it is. If we turn from the enemy now we risk a general breakdown in discipline. If the enemy pursue us, we’re finished. We must hold our position, for a day at least. While the men recover.’
Several of the other senior officers nodded and Napoleon considered the matter as he rubbed the bristles on his chin. There seemed to be little choice. ‘Very well, then. The army stands to for the night, in case the enemy mount an attack. When dawn comes, Ney’s corps will open an assault on the enemy’s flank.The entire Imperial Guard will move up to the centre of the line and attempt to break through the Russian position. That’s the best we can hope for, gentlemen. Return to your commands to await orders.You are dismissed.’
Before the sun rose over the battlefield, a pale orange disc against a grey sky, Napoleon’s fears for the losses incurred by the Grand Army were borne out as the last of the strength returns reached headquarters.There had been over twenty thousand casualties, nearly a third of the army. By the gathering light of the dawn the battlefield looked like an open-air slaughterhouse. A vast expanse of corpses, individual and heaped, men and horses, marked the passage of Augereau’s ill-fated advance, the Russian counter-attack, and Murat’s charge. The bodies had frozen in the night and the cold had claimed the lives of many of those who had lain wounded on the field.
Fire and Sword Page 31
