Fire and Sword (36 page)
Authors: Simon Scarrow
Napoleon swept his telescope across the landscape, and then steadied it on a fresh mass of Prussian soldiers approaching the battlefield from the west. He estimated their strength to be at least ten thousand, and smiled as he realised what was happening. The enemy general was waiting for reinforcements before he launched what he hoped would be the decisive attack on the battered French line. So, the Prussians were performing true to form, Napoleon mused. Still the same cautious, plodding foe. Well, they would pay for their foolishness. Indeed, they already were. Lannes’s men sheltering in the buildings of the hamlet were pouring a withering fire on the smartly dressed Prussian lines. As soon as Lannes became aware that the enemy had halted he had given the order for his artillery to unlimber in range of the Prussians and open fire. Now, blast after blast of case shot smashed into the enemy lines, leaving ten or more men dead and wounded with each discharge. Napoleon watched with a grudging sense of admiration as the enemy stood their ground in the face of such fire. All the time they were being steadily cut down by French fire, each battalion contracting amid the carnage dealt by the cones of heavy iron balls blasted at them from the muzzles of the French guns.
The Prussians continued to take the punishment for the next two hours. Once Lannes’s skirmishers realised that the enemy were not going to move, they crept forward and added their fire from the houses of the village, and from behind the low walls that surrounded the villagers’ vegetable gardens. In return the Prussians fired volleys by company, reloading and firing again with little hope of causing any harm to the sheltered Frenchmen. The worst casualties suffered by Napoleon’s men came from a handful of lucky shots from Prussian howitzers that landed amongst the artillery caissons of the French batteries and blew up one of the powder wagons, scattering fragments of the vehicle, its horses and their handlers across the surrounding ground.
While the duel on the right flank continued, more French troops were arriving on the battlefield and taking position as they waited for the order to attack. As the last of Murat’s cavalry formed up behind the centre of the French line Napoleon glanced down at his watch and saw that it was half an hour after noon. He glanced round at Berthier.
‘Send an order to all divisions. The army is to execute a general attack at one o’clock.’
‘Yes, sire. All divisions,’ Berthier repeated, and then gestured to the neat ranks of the Imperial Guard standing ready behind the Emperor’s command post. The men in the front rank had eager and excited expressions and there was no mistaking their desire to take part in the attack. ‘Does that include the Guard, sire?’
‘No.’ Napoleon shook his head emphatically. He had nearly suffered a defeat at Marengo for want of adequate reserves. In any case, he reasoned with himself, this battle was as good as won and there was no need to commit the veterans of the Guard to the fight. He glanced over at the heavily moustached faces of the nearest men of his elite corps and could see their disappointment at his decision.‘The campaign is not yet over,’ he added loudly enough for them to hear. ‘The grumblers will have the chance to win their share of glory another day.’
On the hour the entire French line began to advance and once more the plateau was engulfed in acrid powder smoke, and the air resounded with the ear-splitting roar of artillery and the crackle of musket fire. For a while the Prussian line held and the men of the Imperial Guard began to mutter bitterly about their inactivity. Napoleon kept his back to the men and resolutely refused to acknowledge their discontent, until a voice cried out, ‘The Guard must advance! For pity’s sake, sire, do not shame us!’
Napoleon turned abruptly and stabbed a finger towards the nearest men. ‘Who said that?’
There was a sullen silence, and then one of the younger soldiers stepped a pace forward and presented his musket. ‘Sire!’
Napoleon strode over towards the man and stood in front of him, crossing his arms as he glared at the soldier. ‘Your name?’
‘Guardsman Bercourt, sire!’
‘So then, Bercourt, you want to charge at your enemy?’
‘Yes, sire. As does every man in the Guard.’
‘Is that so?’
‘Yes, sire.We are the best men in the army. In any army. It is our right to prove our worth in battle.’
‘Your right?’ Napoleon frowned. ‘You are a soldier, you have no rights. Just orders, and you will obey them. Look here, Bercourt.’ Napoleon gestured to the stripes on the man’s sleeve. ‘You have served the minimum number of campaigns to qualify for the Guard.Yet you presume to know how to command the army better than your Emperor?’
The guardsman’s gaze flickered guiltily towards Napoleon’s face before snapping back to his front and staring over his Emperor’s shoulder. ‘No, sire.’
‘No, sire,’ Napoleon mimicked. ‘Of course not. Let me tell you, Bercourt, only when you have commanded in as many battles as I have should you even dare to offer me advice on how to run the army. Understand?’
Bercourt swallowed nervously. ‘Yes, sire.’
‘Very well, return to the ranks.’
‘Yes, sire,’ Bercourt replied in a humbled tone.
Once the man had resumed his position Napoleon glared at the massed ranks of his finest soldiers and called out,‘Is there any other man amongst you who would presume to command his Emperor?’
The words were met by silence and Napoleon nodded as he addressed them again. ‘Thank you, gentlemen. Now, if you don’t mind, I have a battle to fight.’
He turned away and strode back to join Berthier and the other staff officers. They had been watching the confrontation, but now turned to follow the progress of the French line as it gradually pushed the Prussians back. Napoleon shook his head as he approached Berthier.
‘Damned glory-hunters! There are a sight too many of them in the army for my taste. It’s young men like that who end up like Marshal Ney.’
Berthier shrugged. ‘Is that such a bad thing? It is only a measure of the men’s élan, sire.’
‘Élan?’ Napoleon frowned. ‘I command an army, Berthier, not a duelling society. What use is élan if it leads to recklessness? The Grand Army is an instrument of my will, and the men must understand that first and foremost. Otherwise they threaten us all with disaster.’
‘Yes, sire.’ Berthier conceded. ‘I will have that soldier and the rest of them reprimanded.’
‘No. That’s not necessary.’ Napoleon thought for a moment before he continued. ‘Promote him to sergeant. I need men who are keen to fight. But tell him that if I ever hear him, or any man in his company, challenge my orders like that again, I’ll have the lot of them sent to rot in the navy.’
‘Yes, sire.’ Berthier grinned.‘That’ll put the fear of God in them, sure enough.’
‘They can fear God if they like, just as long as they obey their Emperor.’
Napoleon concentrated his mind on the battle spread out before him across the plateau. Except for a few isolated positions where the Prussians were putting up a spirited resistance, the enemy was falling back. Behind the front line the Prussians were forming up into columns and preparing to march away from the battlefield. Napoleon felt the tension in his body. If there was to be a decisive result it was vital that the enemy did not have the chance to retire in good order and fight another day. He clasped his hands together behind his back and began to pace up and down in front of his staff as he continued to watch the battle. It was swiftly apparent that he need not have worried that his subordinates were up to the task.They had fought enough battles at his side to be fully aware of the need to press the enemy to breaking point.
As the Prussians fell back and attempted to disengage from the struggle, Lannes sent his artillery forward to continue blasting grapeshot into the enemy ranks.Already demoralised by having to retreat, and still under withering fire from the advancing French, the Prussian regiments quickly became disorganised as they fell back and disorder spread through their ranks.There was no need for Napoleon to issue any order to Murat, as the cavalry commander instantly grasped that the time had come to begin his charge.The shrill call of trumpets sounded across the plateau, and as Napoleon and his staff looked on the French cavalry, eight thousand strong, edged forward, building up to a trot as they passed beyond their comrades in the infantry and then finally surging forward into a gallop as they approached the Prussians.
Napoleon could well imagine the terror of the enemy, already shaken by defeat, as they faced a glittering wave of horsemen, swords and lances readied to strike as the pounding hooves of their charging mounts shook the earth beneath them.Then they were in amongst the Prussian formations, shattering all but the most brave and professional of the Prussian regiments who had been able to form squares. A tide of fugitives fled from the battlefield, and even the column of reinforcements that Napoleon had sighted earlier fell prey to the panic that now gripped the Prussian army as it broke and streamed back across the landscape in the direction of Weimar.
Berthier consulted his watch and made a note in his logbook before he addressed his Emperor. ‘My congratulations, sire. Your victory is complete, and there are still at least three hours of daylight left for Murat to continue his pursuit.The enemy has lost the campaign.’
‘Let’s hope so,’ Napoleon replied.‘But the day is not over, and I have yet to hear from Davout and Bernadotte. They should have reached Apolda by now, and cut off the retreat of some of the men we have defeated here.’ He glanced to the north, where faint smudges of powder smoke were visible towards the horizon. ‘I trust that they have dealt with the Prussian detachment at Auerstadt. Any reports from them yet?’
‘Only that Davout had encountered a large enemy force.’
‘Nothing more?’
‘Not so far, sire.’
Napoleon pursed his lips for a moment and then started towards his horse. ‘I am sure that Davout will have defeated them as readily as we defeated the main army. I’m surprised we won as easily as we did. Anyway, I’m riding down on to the plateau to speak to the men. If there is any news from Davout or Bernadotte, send word to me at once. I shall be returning to the headquarters at Jena for the evening.’
‘Yes, sire.’
The gently rolling landscape was covered with the dead and wounded from the battle. Napoleon rode from regiment to regiment to offer his congratulations and rewards to those who had distinguished themselves. His men knew that they had won an important victory and cheered him as he approached, clustering round his horse as he acknowledged their greetings with a broad smile, and a wave of his hat. As he passed amongst them Napoleon gave orders for the wounded to be carried down to Jena where they could be sheltered from the cold of the coming night. He also instructed that any captured enemy colours were to be taken to headquarters at once, together with the count of casualties suffered by both sides.
Dusk was gathering over the town as Napoleon entered Jena with his escort and clattered through the cobbled streets. On either side wearied men, many wearing bloodied dressings, rose up and cheered as the Emperor passed by. When he reached headquarters an excited staff officer showed him the stack of enemy colours that had been brought in from the battlefield.
‘Over twenty so far, sire! Quite a haul.’
‘Yes.’ Napoleon smiled, and then yawned. He rubbed his jaw as he looked at the trophies. ‘Make sure that the men who captured these are awarded promotions.’
‘Yes, sire.’
Napoleon had turned away, and was about to go to his quarters and order a meal, when the staff officer addressed him again.
‘Sire! There’s a messenger waiting to see you. He has come straight from Marshal Davout at Auerstadt.’
‘Auerstadt?’ Napoleon turned back quickly. ‘Where is he?’
‘Waiting outside your quarters, sire.’
Napoleon strode away through the main hall of the hotel that had been commandeered for the temporary headquarters of the Grand Army. The place buzzed with the excitement of victory as the officers toasted each other with wine taken from the hotel’s cellar. Napoleon ignored them all as he climbed the stairs to the hotel’s best suite of rooms, which was serving as his personal quarters. An officer rose from a bench outside the door leading into the private dining room as Napoleon approached. He was spattered with mud and a bandage had been crudely tied about his head. Nevertheless, there was no hiding the triumphant gleam in his eye as he greeted his Emperor.
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