Maurice Tiernay, Soldier of Fortune

Day was now dawning, and showed us the Austrian army in retreat by the two great roads towards Landshut. Every rising spot of ground was occupied by artillery, and in some places defended by stockades, showing plainly enough that all hope of saving the guns was abandoned, and that they only thought of protecting their flying columns from our attack. These dispositions cost us heavily, for as we were obliged to carry each of these places before we could advance, the loss in this hand-to-hand encounter was very considerable. At length, however, the roads became so blocked up by artillery, that the infantry were driven to defile into the swampy fields at the roadside, and here our cavalry cut them down unmercifully, while grape tore through the dense masses at half-musket range.

Had discipline or command been possible, our condition might have been made perilous enough, since, in the impetuosity of attack, large masses of our cavalry got separated from their support, and were frequently seen struggling to cut their way out of the closing columns of the enemy. Twice or thrice it actually happened that officers surrendered the whole squadron as prisoners, and were rescued by their own comrades afterwards. The whole was a scene of pell-mell confusion and disorder-some, abandoning positions when successful defence was possible; others, obstinately holding their ground when destruction was inevitable. Few prisoners were taken; indeed, I believe, quarter was little thought of by either side. The terrible excitement had raised men’s passions to the pitch of madness, and each fought with all the animosity of hate.

Masséna was always in the front, and, as was his custom, comporting himself with a calm steadiness that he rarely displayed in the common occurrences of everyday life. Like the English Picton, the crash and thunder of conflict seemed to soothe and assuage the asperities of an irritable temper, and his mind appeared to find a congenial sphere in the turmoil and din of battle. The awkward attempt of a French squadron to gallop in a deep marsh, where men and horses were rolling indiscriminately together, actually gave him a hearty fit of laughter, and he issued his orders for their recall, as though the occurrence were a good joke. It was while observing this incident, that an orderly delivered into his hands some maps and papers that had just been captured from the fourgon of a staff-officer. Turning them rapidly over, Masséna chanced upon the plan of a bridge, with marks indicative of points of defence at either side of it, and the arrangements for mining it if necessary. It was too long to represent the bridge of Moosburg, and must probably mean that of Landshut; and so thinking, and deeming that its possession might be important to the Emperor, he ordered me to take a fresh horse, and hasten with it to the headquarters. The orders I received were vague enough.

‘You ‘ll come up with the advance guard some eight or nine miles to the northward; you ‘ll chance upon some of the columns near Fleisheim.’

Such were the hurried directions I obtained, in the midst of the smoke and din of a battle; but it was no time to ask for more precise instructions, and away I went.

In less than twenty minutes’ sharp riding I found myself in a little valley, inclosed by low hills, and watered by a small tributary of the Danube, along whose banks cottages were studded in the midst of what seemed one great orchard, since for miles the white and pink blossoms of fruit-trees were to be seen extending. The peasants were at work in the fields, and oxen were toiling along with the heavy waggons, or the scarcely less cumbersome plough, as peacefully as though bloodshed and carnage were not within a thousand miles of them. No highroad penetrated this secluded spot, and hence it lay secure, while ruin and devastation raged at either side of it. As the wind was from the west, nothing could be heard of the cannonade towards Moosburg, and the low hills completely shut out all signs of the conflict. I halted at a little wayside forge to have a loose shoe fastened, and in the crowd of gazers who stood around me, wondering at my gay trappings and gaudy uniform, not one had the slightest suspicion that I was other than Austrian. One old man asked me if it were not true that the ‘French were coming?’ and another laughed, and said, ‘They had better not’; and there was all they knew of that terrible struggle – the shock that was to rend in twain a great empire!

Full of varied thought on this theme I mounted and rode forward. At first, the narrow roads were so deep and heavy, that I made little progress; occasionally, too, I came to little streams, traversed by a bridge of a single plank, and was either compelled to swim my horse across, or wander long distances in search of a ford. These obstructions made me impatient, and my impatience but served to delay me more, and all my efforts to push directly forwards only tended to embarrass me. I could not ask for guidance, since I knew not the name of a single village or town, and to have inquired for the direction in which the troops were stationed might very possibly have brought me into danger.

At last, and after some hours of toilsome wandering, I reached a small wayside inn, and, resolving to obtain some information of my whereabouts, I asked whither the road led that passed through a long, low, swampy plain, and disappeared in a pine wood.

‘To Landshut,’ was the answer.

‘And the distance?’

‘Three German miles,’ said the host; ‘but they are worse than five; for since the new line has been opened this road has fallen into neglect. Two of the bridges are broken, and a landslip has completely blocked up the passage at another place.’

‘Then how am I to gain the new road?’

Alas! there was nothing for it but going back to the forge where I had stopped three hours and a half before, and whence I could take a narrow bridle-path to Fleisheim, that would bring me out on the great road. The very thought of retracing my way was intolerable; many of the places I had leaped my horse over would have been impossible to cross from the opposite side; once I narrowly escaped being carried down by a millrace; and, in fact, no dangers nor inconveniences of the road in front of me could equal those of the course I had just come. Besides all this, to return to Fleisheim would probably bring me far in the rear of the advancing columns, while if I pushed on towards Landshut I might catch sight of them from some rising spot of ground.

‘You will go, I see,’ cried the host, as he saw me set out. ‘Perhaps you’re right; the old adage says, “It’s often the roughest road leads to the smoothest fortune.”’

Even that much encouragement was not without its value. I spurred into a canter with fresh spirits. The host of the little inn had not exaggerated – the road was execrable. Heavy rocks and mounds of earth had slipped down with the rains of winter, and remained in the middle of the way. The fallen masonry of the bridges had driven the streams into new channels with deep pools among them; broken waggons and ruined carts marked the misfortunes of some who had ventured on the track; and except for a well-mounted and resolute horseman the way was impracticable. I was well-nigh overcome by fatigue and exhaustion, as, clambering up a steep hill, with the bridle on my arm, I gained the crest of the ridge, and suddenly saw Landshut – for it could be no other – before me. I have looked at many new pictures and scenes, but I own I never beheld one that gave me half the pleasure. The ancient town, with its gaunt old belfries, and still more ancient castle, stood on a bend of the Inn, which was here crossed by a long wooden bridge, supported on boats, a wide track of shingle and gravel on either side showing the course into which the melting snows often swelled the stream. From the point where I stood I could see into the town. The Platz, the old gardens of the nunnery, the terrace of the castle, all were spread out before me; and to my utter surprise there seemed little or no movement going forward. There were two guns in position at the bridge; some masons were at work on the houses, beside the river, piercing the walls for the use of musketry, and an infantry battalion was under arms in the market-place. These were all the preparations I could discover against the advance of a great army. But so it was; the Austrian spies had totally misled them, and while they believed that the great bulk of the French lay around Ratisbon, the centre of the army, sixty-five thousand strong, and led by Napoleon himself, was in march to the southward.

That the attack on Moosburg was still unknown at Landshut seemed certain; and I now perceived that, notwithstanding all the delays I had met with, I had really come by the most direct line; whereas, on account of the bend of the river, no Austrian courier could have brought tidings of the engagement up to that time. My attention was next turned towards the direction whence our advance might be expected; but although I could see nearly four miles of the road, not a man was to be descried along it.

I slowly descended the ridge, and, passing through a meadow, was approaching the highroad, when suddenly I heard the clattering of a horse at full gallop coming along the causeway. I mounted at once, and pushed forward to an angle of the road, by which I was concealed from all view. The next instant, a Hungarian hussar turned the corner at top speed.

‘What news?’ cried I, in German; ‘are they coming?’

‘Ay, in force,’ shouted he, without stopping.

I at once drew my pistol, and levelled at him. The man’s back was towards me, and my bullet would have pierced his skull. It was my duty, too, to have shot him, for moments were then worth days, or even weeks. I couldn’t pull the trigger, however, and I replaced my weapon in the holster. Another horseman now swept past without perceiving me, and quickly behind him came a half squadron of hussars, all riding in mad haste and confusion. The horses, though ‘blown,’ were not sweated, so that I conjectured they had ridden fast though not far. Such was the eagerness to press on, and so intent were they on the thought of their own tidings, that none saw me, and the whole body swept by and disappeared. I waited a few minutes to listen, and as the clattering towards Landshut died away, all was silent. Trusting to my knowledge of German to save me, even if I fell in with the enemy, I now rode forward at speed in the direction of our advance. The road was straight as an arrow for miles, and a single object coming towards me was all I could detect. This proved to be a hussar of the squadron, whose horse, being dead lame, could not keep up with the rest, and now the poor fellow was making the best of his way back as well as he was able. Of what use, thought I, to make him my prisoner – one more or less at such a time can be of slight avail; so I merely halted him to ask how near the French were. The man could only speak Hungarian, but made signs that the lancers were close upon us, and counselled me to make my escape into the town with all speed. I intimated by a gesture that I could trust to my horse, and we parted. He was scarcely out of sight when the bright gleam of brass helmets came into view towards the west, and then I could make out the shining cuirasses of the Corps de Guides, as, mounted on their powerful horses, they came galloping along.

‘I thought I was foremost,’ said a young officer to me as he rode up. ‘How came you in advance?’

‘Where’s the état-major?’ cried I, in haste, and not heeding his question. ‘I have a despatch for the Emperor.’

‘Follow the road,’ said he, ‘and you’ll come up with them in half an hour.’

And with these hurried words we passed each other. A sharp pistol report a moment after told me what had befallen the poor Hungarian; but I had little time to think of his fate. Our squadrons were coming on at a sharp pace, while in their rear the jingling clash of horse artillery resounded. From a gentle rise of the road I could see a vast distance of country, and perceive that the French columns extended for miles away – the great chaussée being reserved for the heavy artillery, while every byroad and lane were filled with troops of all arms hurrying onward. It was one of those precipitous movements by which Napoleon so often paralysed an enemy at once, and finished a campaign by one daring exploit.

At such a time it was in vain for me to ask in what direction the staff might be found. All were eager and intent on their own projects; and as squadron after squadron passed, I saw it was a moment for action rather than for thought. Still I did not like to abandon all hope of succeeding after so much of peril and fatigue, and seeing that it was impossible to advance against the flood of horse and artillery that formed along the road, I jumped my horse into a field at the side, and pushed forward. Even here, however, the passage was not quite clear, since many, in their eagerness to get forward, had taken to the same line, and, with cheering cries and wild shouts of joy, were galloping on. My showy uniform drew many an eye towards me, and at last a staff-officer cried out to me to stop, pointing with his sabre as he spoke to a hill a short distance off, where a group of officers were standing.

This was General Moulon and his staff, under whose order the advanced guard was placed.

‘A despatch – whence from?’ cried he hastily, as I rode up.

‘No, sir; a plan of the bridge of Landshut, taken from the enemy this morning at Moosburg.’

‘Are they still there?’ asked he.

‘By this time they must be close upon Landshut; they were in full retreat when I left them at daybreak.’

‘We ‘ll be able to speak of the bridge without this,’ said he, laughing, and turning toward his staff, while he handed the sketch carelessly to some one beside him; ‘and you’ll serve the Emperor quite as well, sir, by coming with us as hastening to the rear.’

I professed myself ready and willing to follow his orders, and away I went with the staff, well pleased to be once more on active service.

Two cannon shots, and a rattling crash of small-arms, told us that the combat had begun; and as we ascended the hill, the bridge of Landshut was seen on fire in three places. Either from some mistake of his orders, or not daring to assume a responsibility for what was beyond the strict line of duty, the French commander of the artillery placed his guns in position along the river’s bank, and prepared to reply to the fire now opening from the town, instead of at once dashing onward within the gates. Moulon hastened to repair the error; but by the delay in pushing through the dense masses of horse, foot, and artillery that crowded the passage, it was full twenty minutes ere he came up. With a storm of oaths on the stupidity of the artillery colonel, he ordered the firing to cease, commanding both the cavalry and the train waggons to move right and left, and give place for a grenadier battalion, who were coming briskly on with their muskets at the sling.

The scene was now a madly exciting one. The chevaux défrise at one end of the bridge was blazing; but beyond it, on the bridge, the Austrian engineer and his men were scattering combustible material, and with hempen torches touching the new-pitched timbers. An incessant roll of musketry issued from the houses on the river-side, with now and then the deeper boom of a large gun, while the roar of voices, and the crashing noise of artillery passing through the streets, swelled into a fearful chorus. The French sappers quickly removed the burning chevaux de frise, and hurled the flaming timbers into the stream; and scarcely was this done, when Moulon, dismounting, advanced, cheering, at the head of his grenadiers. Charging over the burning bridge, they rushed forward; but their way was arrested by the strong timbers of a massive portcullis, which closed the passage. This had been concealed from our view by the smoke and flame; and now, as the press of men from behind grew each instant more powerful, a scene of terrible suffering ensued. The enemy, too, poured down a deadly discharge, and grapeshot tore through us at pistol-range. The onward rush of the columns to the rear defied retreat, and in the mad confusion, all orders and command were unheard or unheeded. Not knowing what delayed our advance, I was busily engaged in suppressing a fire at one of the middle buttresses, when, mounting the parapet, I saw the cause of our halt. I happened to have caught up one of the pitched torches at the instant, and the thought at once struck me how to employ it. To reach the portcullis, no other road lay open than the parapet itself – a wooden railing, wide enough for a footing, but exposed to the whole fire of the houses. There was little time for the choice of alternatives, even had our fate offered any, so I dashed on, and, as the balls whizzed and whistled around me, reached the front.

It was a terrible thing to touch the timbers against which our men were actually flattened, and to set fire to the bars around which their hands were clasped; but I saw that the Austrian musketry had already done its work on the leading files, and that not one man was living amongst them. By a blunder of one of the sappers, the portcullis had been smeared with pitch like the bridge; and as I applied the torch, the blaze sprang up, and, encouraged by the rush of air between the beams, spread in a second over the whole structure. Expecting my death-wound at every instant, I never ceased my task, even when it had become no longer necessary, impelled by a kind of insane persistence to destroy the barrier. The wind carrying the flame inward, however, had compelled the Austrians to fall back, and before they could again open a collected fire on us, the way was open, and the grenadiers, like enraged tigers, rushed wildly in.

I remember that my coat was twice on fire as, carried on my comrades’ shoulders, I was borne along into the town. I recollect, too, the fearful scene of suffering that ensued, the mad butchery at each doorway as we passed, the piercing cries for mercy, and the groan of dying agony.

War has no such terrible spectacle as a town taken by infuriated soldiery; and even amongst the best of natures a relentless cruelty usurps the place of every chivalrous feeling. When or how I was wounded I never could ascertain; but a round shot had penetrated my thigh, tearing the muscles into shreds, and giving to the surgeon who saw me the simple task of saying, ‘Enlevez le – point despair.’

I heard thus much, and I have some recollection of a comrade having kissed my forehead, and there ended my reminiscences of Landshut. Nay, I am wrong; I cherish another and a more glorious one.

It was about four days after this occurrence that the surgeon in charge of the military hospital was obliged to secure by ligature a branch of the femoral artery which had been traversed by the ball through my thigh. The operation was a tedious and difficult one, for round shot, it would seem, have little respect for anatomy, and occasionally displace muscles in a sad fashion. I was very weak after it was over, and orders were left to give a spoonful of Bordeaux and water from time to time during the evening – a direction which I listened to attentively, and never permitted my orderly to neglect. In fact, like a genuine sick man’s fancy, it caught possession of my mind that this wine and water was to save me; and in the momentary rally of excitement it gave, I thought I tasted health once more. In this impression I never awoke from a short doze without a request for my cordial, and half mechanically would make signs to wet my lips as I slept.

It was near sunset, and I was lying with unclosed eyes, not asleep, but in that semi-conscious state that great bodily depression and loss of blood induce. The ward was unusually quiet, the little buzz of voices that generally mingled through the accents of suffering were hushed, and I could hear the surgeon’s well-known voice as he spoke to some persons at the farther end of the chamber.

By their stopping from time to time, I could remark that they were inspecting the different beds, but their voices were low and their steps cautious and noiseless.

‘Tiernay – this is Tiernay,’ said some one, reading my name from the paper over my head. Some low words which I could not catch followed, and then the surgeon replied —

‘There is a chance for him yet, though the debility is greatly to be feared.’

I made a sign at once to my mouth, and after a second’s delay the spoon touched my lips; but so awkwardly was it applied, that the fluid ran down my chin. With a sickly impatience I turned away, but a mild, low voice, soft as a woman’s, said —

‘Allons!– Let me try once more’; and now the spoon met my lips with due dexterity.

‘Thanks,’ said I faintly, and I opened my eyes.

‘You’ll soon be about again, Tiernay,’ said the same voice – as for the person, I could distinguish nothing, for there were six or seven around me – ‘and if I know anything of a soldier’s heart, this will do just as much as the doctor.’

As he spoke he detached from his coat a small enamel cross, and placed it in my hand, with a gentle squeeze of the fingers, and then saying ‘Au revoir,’ moved on.

‘Who’s that?’ cried I suddenly, while a strange thrill ran through me.

‘Hush!’ whispered the surgeon cautiously; ‘hush! it is the Emperor.’

CHAPTER LI. SCHÖNBRUNN IN 1809

About two months afterwards, on a warm evening of summer, I entered Vienna in a litter, along with some twelve hundred other wounded men, escorted by a regiment of cuirassiers. I was weak and unable to walk. The fever of my wound had reduced me to a skeleton; but I was consoled for everything by knowing that I was a captain on the Emperor’s own staff, and decorated by himself with the Cross of ‘the Legion.’ Nor were these my only distinctions, for my name had been included among the lists of the officiers délite– a new institution of the Emperor, enjoying considerable privileges and increase of pay.

To this latter elevation, too, I owed my handsome quarters in the ‘Raab’ Palace at Vienna, and the sentry at my door, like that of a field-officer. Fortune, indeed, began to smile upon me, and never are her flatteries more welcome than in the first hours of returning health, after a long sickness. I was visited by the first men of the army; marshals and generals figured among the names of my intimates, and invitations flowed in upon me from all that were distinguished by rank and station.

Vienna, at that period, presented few features of a city occupied by an enemy. The guards, it is true, on all arsenals and forts, were French, and the gates were held by them; but there was no interruption to the course of trade and commerce. The theatres were open every night, and balls and receptions went on with only redoubled frequency. Unlike his policy towards Russia, Napoleon abstained from all that might humiliate the Austrians. Every possible concession was made to their natural tastes and feelings, and officers of all ranks in the French army were strictly enjoined to observe a conduct of conciliation and civility on every occasion of intercourse with the citizens. Few general orders could be more palatable to Frenchmen, and they set about the task of cultivating the good esteem of the Viennese with a most honest desire for success. Accident, too, aided their efforts not a little; for it chanced that a short time before the battle of Aspern, the city had been garrisoned by Croat and Wallachian regiments, whose officers, scarcely half civilised, and with all the brutal ferocity of barbarian tribes, were most favourably supplanted by Frenchmen in the best of possible tempers with themselves and the world.

It might be argued, that the Austrians would have shown more patriotism in holding themselves aloof, and avoiding all interchange of civilities with their conquerors. Perhaps, too, this line of conduct would have prevailed to a greater extent, had not those in high places set an opposite example. But so it was; and in the hope of obtaining more favourable treatment in their last extremity, the princes of the Imperial House, and the highest nobles of the land, freely accepted the invitations of our marshals, and as freely received them at their own tables.

There was something of pride, too, in the way these great families continued to keep up the splendour of their households – large retinues of servants and gorgeous equipages – when the very empire itself was crumbling to pieces. And to the costly expenditure of that fevered interval may be dated the ruin of some of the richest of the Austrian nobility. To maintain a corresponding style, and to receive the proud guests with suitable magnificence, enormous ‘allowances’ were made to the French generals; while in striking contrast to all the splendour, the Emperor Napoleon lived at Schönbrunn with a most simple household and restricted retinue.