Friedrich understands well enough that Daun, with the facts now before him, will gradually form his plan, and also, from the lie of matters, what his plan will be: many are the times Daun has elaborately reconnoitred, elaborately laid his plan; but found, on coming to execute, that his Friedrich was off in the interim, and the plan gone to air. Friedrich has about 2,000 wagons to drag with him in these swift marches: Glogau Magazine, his one resource, should Breslau and Schweidnitz prove unattainable, is forty-five long miles northwestward. “Let us lean upon Glogau withal,” thinks Friedrich; “and let us be out of this straightway! March to-night; towards Parchwitz, which is towards Glogau too. Army rest till daybreak on the Heights of Pfaffendorf yonder, to examine, to wait its luck: let the empty meal-wagons jingle on to Glogau; load themselves there, and jingle back to us in Parchwitz neighborhood, should Parchwitz not have proved impossible to our manoeuvrings,–let us hope it may not!”–Daun and the Austrians having ceased reconnoitring, and gone home, Friedrich rides with his Generals, through Liegnitz, across the Schwartzwasser, to the Pfaffendorf Heights. “Here, Messieurs, is our first halting-place to be: here we shall halt till daybreak, while the meal-wagons jingle on!” And explains to them orally where each is to take post, and how to behave. Which done, he too returns home, no doubt a wearied individual; and at 4 of the afternoon lies down to try for an hour or two of sleep, while all hands are busy packing, according to the Orders given.
It is a fact recorded by Friedrich himself, and by many other people, That, at this interesting juncture, there appeared at the King’s Gate, King hardly yet asleep, a staggering Austrian Officer, Irish by nation, who had suddenly found good to desert the Austrian Service for the Prussian–(“Sorrow on them: a pack of”–what shall I say?)–Irish gentleman, bursting with intelligence of some kind, but evidently deep in liquor withal. “Impossible; the King is asleep,” said the Adjutant on duty; but produced only louder insistence from the drunk Irish gentleman. “As much as all your heads are worth; the King’s own safety, and not a moment to lose!” What is to be done? They awaken the King: “The man is drunk, but dreadfully in earnest, your Majesty.” “Give him quantities of weak tea [Tempelhof calls it tea, but Friedrich merely warm water]; then examine him, and report if it is anything.” Something it was: “Your Majesty to be attacked, for certain, this night!” what his Majesty already guessed:–something, most likely little; but nobody to this day knows. Visible only, that his Majesty, before sunset, rode out reconnoitring with this questionable Irish gentleman, now in a very flaccid state; and altered nothing whatever in prior arrangements;–and that the flaccid Irish gentleman staggers out of sight, into dusk, into rest and darkness, after this one appearance on the stage of history. [
From about 8 in the evening, Friedrich’s people got on march, in their several columns, and fared punctually on; one column through the streets of Liegnitz, others to left and to right of that; to left mainly, as remoter from the Austrians and their listening outposts from beyond the Katzbach River;–where the camp-fires are burning extremely distinct to-night. The Prussian camp-fires, they too are all burning uncommonly vivid; country people employed to feed them; and a few hussar sentries and drummers to make the customary sounds for Daun’s instruction, till a certain hour. Friedrich’s people are clearing the North Suburb of Liegnitz, crossing the Schwartzwasser: artillery and heavy wagons all go by the Stone-Bridge at Topferberg (POTTER-HILL) there; the lighter people by a few pontoons farther down that stream, in the Pfaffendorf vicinity. About one in the morning, all, even the right wing from Schimmelwitz, are safely across.
Schwartzwasser, a River of many tails (boggy most of them, Sohnelle or SWIFT Deichsel hardly an exception), gathering itself from the southward for twenty or more miles, attains its maximum of north at a place called Waldau, not far northwest of Topferberg. Towards this Waldau, Lacy is aiming all night; thence to pounce on our “left wing,”–which he will find to consist of those empty watch- fires merely. Down from Waldau, past Topferberg and Pfaffendorf (PRIEST-town, or as we should call it, “Preston”), which are all on its northern or left bank, Schwartzwasser’s course is in the form of an irregular horse-shoe; high ground to its northern side, Liegnitz and hollows to its southern; till in an angular way it do join Katzbach, and go with that, northward for Oder the rest of its course. On the brow of these horse-shoe Heights,–which run parallel to Schwartzwasser one part of them, and nearly parallel to Katzbach another (though above a mile distant, these latter, from IT),–Friedrich plants himself: in Order of Battle; slightly altering some points of the afternoon’s program, and correcting his Generals, “Front rather so and so; see where their fires are, yonder!” Daun’s fires, Loudon’s fires; vividly visible both:–and, singular to say, there is nothing yonder either but a few sentries and deceptive drums! All empty yonder too, even as our own Camp is; all gone forth, even as we are; we resting here, and our meal-wagons jingling on Glogau way!
Excellency Mitchell, under horse-escort, among the lighter baggage, is on Kuchelberg Heath, in scrubby country, but well north behind Friedrich’s centre: has had a dreadful march; one comfort only, that his ciphers are all burnt. The rest of us lie down on the grass;–among others, young Herr von Archenholtz, ensign or lieutenant in Regiment FORCADE: who testifies that it is one of the beautifulest nights, the lamps of Heaven shining down in an uncommonly tranquil manner; and that almost nobody slept. The soldier-ranks all lay horizontal, musket under arm; chatting pleasantly in an undertone, or each in silence revolving such thoughts as he had. The Generals amble like observant spirits, hoarsely imperative. [Archenholtz, ii. 100-111.] Friedrich’s line, we observed, is in the horse-shoe shape (or PARABOLIC, straighter than horse-shoe), fronting the waters. Ziethen commands in that smaller Schwartzwasser part of the line, Friedrich in the Katzbach part, which is more in risk. And now, things being moderately in order, Friedrich has himself sat down–I think, towards the middle or convex part of his lines–by a watch-fire he has found there; and, wrapt in his cloak, his many thoughts melting into haze, has sunk ito a kind of sleep. Seated on a drum, some say; half asleep by the watch-fire, time half-past 2,–when a Hussar Major, who has been out by the Bienowitz, the Pohlschildern way, northward, reconnoitring, comes dashing up full speed: “The King? where is the King?” “What is it, then?” answers the King for himself. “Your Majesty, the Enemy in force, from Bienowitz, from Pohlschildern, coming on our Left Wing yonder; has flung back all my vedettes: is within 500 yards by this time!”
Friedrich springs to horse; has already an Order speeding forth, “General Schenkendorf and his Battalion, their cannon, to the crown of the Wolfsberg, on our left yonder; swift!” How excellent that every battalion (as by Order that we read) “has its own share of the heavy cannon always at hand!” ejaculate the military critics. Schenkendorf, being nimble, was able to astonish the Enemy with volumes of case-shot from the Wolfsberg, which were very deadly at that close distance. Other arrangements, too minute for recital here, are rapidly done; and our Left Wing is in condition to receive its early visitors,–Loudon or whoever they may be. It is still dubious to the History-Books whether Friedrich was in clear expectation of Loudon here; though of course he would now guess it was Loudon. But there is no doubt Loudon had not the least expectation of Friedrich; and his surprise must have been intense, when, instead of vacant darkness (and some chance of Prussian baggage, which he had heard of), Prussian musketries and case-shot opened on him.
Loudon had, as per order, quitted his Camp at Jeschkendorf, about the time Friedrich did his at Schimmelwitz; and, leaving the lights all burning, had set forward on his errand; which was (also identical with Friedrich’s), to seize the Heights of Pfaffendorf, and be ready there when day broke. scouts having informed him that the Prussian Baggage was certainly gone through to Topferberg,– more his scouts did not know, nor could Loudon guess,–“We will snatch that Baggage!” thought Loudon; and with such view has been speeding all he could; no vanguard ahead, lest he alarm the Baggage escort: Loudon in person, with the Infantry of the Reserve, striding on ahead, to devour any Baggage-escort there may be. Friedrich’s reconnoitring Hussar parties had confirmed this belief: “Yes, yes!” thought Loudon. And now suddenly, instead of Baggage to capture, here, out of the vacant darkness, is Friedrich in person, on the brow of the Heights where we intended to form!–
Loudon’s behavior, on being hurled back with his Reserve in this manner, everybody says, was magnificent. Judging at once what the business was, and that retreat would be impossible without ruin, he hastened instantly to form himself, on such ground as he had,– highly unfavorable ground, uphill in part, and room in it only for Five Battalions (5,000) of front;–and came on again, with a great deal of impetuosity and good skill; again and ever again, three times in all. Had partial successes; edged always to the right to get the flank of Friedrich; but could not, Friedrich edging conformably. From his right-hand, or northeast part, Loudon poured in, once and again, very furious charges of Cavalry; on every repulse, drew out new Battalions from his left and centre, and again stormed forward: but found it always impossible. Had his subordinates all been Loudons, it is said, there was once a fine chance for him. By this edging always to the northeastward on his part and Friedrich’s, there had at last a considerable gap in Friedrich’s Line established itself,–not only Ziethen’s Line and Friedrich’s Line now fairly fallen asunder, but, at the Village of Panten, in Friedrich’s own Line, a gap where anybody might get in. One of the Austrian Columns was just entering Panten when the Fight began: in Panten that Column has stood cogitative ever since; well to left of Loudon and his struggles; but does not, till the eleventh hour, resolve to push through. At the eleventh hour;–and lo, in the nick of time, Mollendorf (our Leuthen-and-Hochkirch friend) got his eye on it; rushed up with infantry and cavalry; set Panten on fire, and blocked out that possibility and the too cogitative Column.
Loudon had no other real chance: his furious horse-charges and attempts were met everywhere by corresponding counter-fury. Bernburg, poor Regiment Bernburg, see what a figure it is making! Left almost alone, at one time, among those horse-charges; spending its blood like water, bayonet-charging, platooning as never before; and on the whole, stemming invincibly that horse- torrent,–not unseen by Majesty, it may be hoped; who is here where the hottest pinch is. On the third repulse, which was worse than any before, Loudon found he had enough; and tried it no farther. Rolled over the Katzbach, better or worse; Prussians catching 6,000 of him, but not following farther: threw up a tine battery at Bienowitz, which sheltered his retreat from horse:–and went his ways, sorely but not dishonorably beaten, after an hour and half of uncommonly stiff fighting, which had been very murderous to Loudon. Loss of 10,000 to him: 4,000 killed and wounded; prisoners 6,000; 82 cannon, 28 flags, and other items; the Prussian loss being 1,800 in whole. [Tempelhof, iv. 159.] By 5 o’clock, the Battle, this Loudon part of it, was quite over; Loudon (35,000) wrecking himself against Friedrich’s Left Wing (say half of his Army, some 15,000) in such conclusive manner. Friedrich’s Left Wing alone has been engaged hitherto. And now it will be Ziethen’s turn, if Daun and Lacy still come on.
By 11 last night, Daun’s Pandours, creeping stealthily on, across the Katzbach, about Schimmelwitz, had discerned with amazement that Friedrich’s Camp appeared to consist only of watch-fires; and had shot off their speediest rider to Daun, accordingly; but it was one in the morning before Daun, busy marching and marshalling, to be ready at the Katzbach by daylight, heard of this strange news; which probably he could not entirely believe till seen with his own eyes. What a spectacle! One’s beautiful Plan exploded into mere imbroglio of distraction; become one knows not what! Daun’s watch- fires too had all been left burning; universal stratagem, on both sides, going on; producing–tragically for some of us–a TRAGEDY of Errors, or the Mistakes of a Night! Daun sallied out again, in his collapsed, upset condition, as soon as possible: pushed on, in the track of Friedrich; warning Lacy to push on. Daun, though within five miles all the while, had heard nothing of the furious Fight and cannonade; “southwest wind having risen,” so Daun said, and is believed by candid persons,–not by the angry Vienna people, who counted it impossible: “Nonsense; you were not deaf; but you loitered and haggled, in your usual way; perhaps not sorry that, the brilliant Loudon should get a rebuff!”
Emerging out of Liegnitz, Daun did see, to northeastward, a vast pillar or mass of smoke, silently mounting, but could do nothing with it. “Cannon-smoke, no doubt; but fallen entirely silent, and not wending hitherward at all. Poor Loudon, alas, must have got beaten!” Upon which Daun really did try, at least upon Ziethen; but could do nothing. Poured cavalry across the Stone-bridge at the Topferberg: who drove in Ziethen’s picket there; but were torn to pieces by Ziethen’s cannon. Ziethen across the Schwartzwasser is alert enough. How form in order of battle here, with Ziethen’s batteries shearing your columns longitudinally, as they march up? Daun recognizes the impossibility; wends back through Liegnitz to his Camp again, the way he had come. Tide-hour missed again; ebb going uncommonly rapid! Lacy had been about Waldau, to try farther up the Schwartzwasser on Ziethen’s right: but the Schwartzwasser proved amazingly boggy; not accessible on any point to heavy people,–“owing to bogs on the bank,” with perhaps poor prospect on the other side too!
And, in fact, nothing of Lacy more than of Daun, could manage to get across: nothing except two poor Hussar regiments; who, winding up far to the left, attempted a snatch on the Baggage about Hummeln,–Hummeln, or Kuchel of the Scrubs. And gave a new alarm to Mitchell, the last of several during this horrid night; who has sat painfully blocked in his carriage, with such a Devil’s tumult, going on to eastward, and no sight, share or knowledge to be had of it. Repeated hussar attacks there were on the Baggage here, Loudon’s hussars also trying: but Mitchell’s Captain was miraculously equal to the occasion; and had beaten them all off. Mitchell, by magnanimous choice of his own, has been in many Fights by the side of Friedrich; but this is the last he will ever be in or near;–this miraculous one of Liegnitz, 3 to 4.30 A.M., Friday, August 15th, 1760.
Never did such a luck befall Friedrich before or after. He was clinging on the edge of slippery abysses, his path hardly a foot’s- breadth, mere enemies and avalanches hanging round on every side: ruin likelier at no moment, of his life;–and here is precisely the quasi-miracle which was needed to save him. Partly by accident too; the best of management crowned by the luckiest of accidents. [Tempelhof, iv. 151-171; Archenholtz, ubi supra; HO BERICHT VON DER SCHLACHT SO AM 15 AUGUST, 1760, BEY LIEGNITZ, VORGEFALLEN (Seyfarth,
Friedrich rested four hours on the Battle-field,–if that could be called rest, which was a new kind of diligence highly wonderful. Diligence of gathering up accurately the results of the Battle; packing them into portable shape; and marching off with them in one’s pocket, so to speak. Major-General Saldern had charge of this, a man of many talents; and did it consummately. The wounded, Austrian as well as Prussian, are placed in the empty meal-wagons; the more slightly wounded are set on horseback, double in possible cases: only the dead are left lying: 100 or more meal-wagons are left, their teams needed for drawing our 82 new cannon;–the wagons we split up, no Austrians to have them; usable only as firewood for the poor Country-folk. The 4 or 5,000 good muskets lying on the field, shall not we take them also? Each cavalry soldier slings one of them across his back, each baggage driver one: and the muskets too are taken care of. About 9 A.M., Friedrich, with his 6,000 prisoners, new cannon-teams, sick-wagon teams, trophies, properties, is afoot again. One of the succinctest of Kings.
I should have mentioned the joy of poor Regiment Bernburg; which rather affected me. Loudon gone, the miracle of Battle done, and this miraculous packing going on,–Friedrich riding about among his people, passed along the front of Bernburg, the eye of him perhaps intimating, “I saw you, BURSCHE;” but no word coming from him. The Bernburg Officers, tragically tressless in their hats, stand also silent, grim as blackened stones (all Bernburg black with gunpowder): “In us also is no word; unless our actions perhaps speak?” But a certain Sergeant, Fugleman, or chief Corporal, stept out, saluting reverentially: “Regiment Bernburg, IHRO MAJESTAT–?” “Hm; well, you did handsomely. Yes, you shall have your side-arms back; all shall be forgotten and washed out!” “And you are again our Gracious King, then?” says the Sergeant, with tears in his eyes.–“GEWISS, Yea, surely!” [Tempelhof, iv. 162-164.] Upon which, fancy what a peal of sound from the ecstatic throat and heart of this poor Regiment. Which I have often thought of; hearing mutinous blockheads,”glorious Sons of Freedom” to their own thinking, ask their natural commanding Officer, “Are not we as good as thou? Are not all men equal?” Not a whit of it, you mutinous blockheads; very far from it indeed!
This was the breaking of Friedrich’s imprisonment in the deadly rock-labyrinths; this success at Liegnitz delivered him into free field once more. For twenty-four hours more, indeed, the chance was still full of anxiety to him; for twenty-four hours Daun, could he have been rapid, still had the possibilities in hand;–but only Daun’s Antagonist was usually rapid. About 9 in the morning, all road-ready, this latter Gentleman “gave three Salvos, as Joy-fire, on the field of Liegnitz;” and, in the above succinct shape,– leaving Ziethen to come on, “with the prisoners, the sick-wagons and captured cannon,” in the afternoon,–marched rapidly away. For Parchwitz, with our best speed: Parchwitz is the road to Breslau, also to Glogau,–to Breslau, if it be humanly possible! Friedrich has but two days’ bread left; on the Breslau road, at Auras, there is Czernichef with 24,000; there are, or there may be, the Loudon Remnants rallied again, the Lacy Corps untouched, all Daun’s Force, had Daun made any despatch at all. Which Daun seldom did. A man slow to resolve, and seeking his luck in leisure.
All judges say, Daun ought now to have marched, on this enterprise of still intercepting Friedrich, without loss of a moment. But he calculated Friedrich would probably spend the day in TE-DEUM-ing on the Field (as is the manner of some); and that, by to-morrow, things would be clearer to one’s own mind. Daun was in no haste; gave no orders,–did not so much as send Czernichef a Letter. Czernichef got one, however. Friedrich sent him one; that is to say, sent him one TO INTERCEPT. Friedrich, namely, writes a Note addressed to his Brother Henri: “Austrians totally beaten this day; now for the Russians, dear Brother; and swift, do what we have agreed on!” [
Friedrich hands this to a Peasant, with instructions to let himself be taken by the Russians, and give it up to save his life. Czernichef, it is thought, got this Letter; and perhaps rumor itself, and the delays of Daun, would, at any rate, have sent him across. Across he at once went, with his 24,000, and burnt his Bridge. A vanished Czernichef;–though Friedrich is not yet sure of it: and as for the wandering Austrian Divisions, the Loudons, Lacys, all is dark to him.
So that, at Parchwitz, next morning (August 16th), the question, “To Glogau? To Breslau?” must have been a kind of sphinx-enigma to Friedrich; dark as that, and, in case of error, fatal. After some brief paroxysm of consideration, Friedrich’s reading was, “To Breslau, then!” And, for hours, as the march went on, he was noticed “riding much about,” his anxieties visibly great. Till at Neumarkt (not far from the Field of LEUTHEN), getting on the Heights there,–towards noon, I will guess,–what a sight! Before this, he had come upon Austrian Out-parties, Beck’s or somebody’s, who did not wait his attack: he saw, at one point, “the whole Austrian Army on march (the tops of its columns visible among the knolls, three miles off, impossible to say whitherward);” and fared on all the faster, I suppose, such a bet depending;–and, in fine, galloped to the Heights of Neumarkt for a view: “Dare we believe it? Not an Austrian there!” And might be, for the moment, the gladdest of Kings. Secure now of Breslau, of junction with Henri: fairly winner of the bet;–and can at last pause, and take breath, very needful to his poor Army, if not to himself, after such a mortal spasm of sixteen days! Daun had taken the Liegnitz accident without remark; usually a stoical man, especially in other people’s misfortunes; but could not conceal his painful astonishment on this new occasion,–astonishment at unjust fortune, or at his own sluggardly cunctations, is not said.
Next day (August 17th), Friedrich encamps at Hermannsdorf, head- quarter the Schloss of Hermannsdorf, within seven miles of Breslau; continues a fortnight there, resting his wearied people, himself not resting much, watching the dismal miscellany of entanglements that yet remain, how these will settle into groups,–especially what Daun and his Soltikof will decide on. In about a fortnight, Daun’s decision did become visible; Soltikof’s not in a fortnight, nor ever clearly at all. Unless it were To keep a whole skin, and gradually edge home to his victuals. As essentially it was, and continued to be; creating endless negotiations, and futile overtures and messagings from Daun to his barbarous Friend, endless suasions and troubles from poor Montalembert,–of which it would weary every reader to hear mention, except of the result only.
Friedrich, for his own part, is little elated with these bits of successes at Liegnitz or since; and does not deceive himself as to the difficulties, almost the impossibilities, that still lie ahead. In answer to D’Argens, who has written (“at midnight,” starting out of bed “the instant the news came”), in zealous congratulation on Liegnitz, here is a Letter of Friedrich’s: well worth reading,– though it has been oftener read than almost any other of his. A Letter which D’Argens never saw in the original form; which was captured by the Austrians or Cossacks; [See
Frederic,
FRIEDRICH TO MARQUIS D’ARGENS (at Berlin).
“HERMANNSDORF, near Breslau, 27th August, 1760.
“In other times, my dear Marquis, the Affair of the 15th would have settled the Campaign; at present it is but a scratch. There will be needed a great Battle to decide our fate: such, by all appearance, we shall soon have; and then you may rejoice, if the event is favorable to us. Thank you, meanwhile, for all your sympathy. It has cost a deal of scheming, striving and much address to bring matters to this point. Don’t speak to me of dangers; the last Action costs me only a Coat [torn, useless, only one skirt left, by some rebounding cannon-ball?] and a Horse [shot under me]: that is not paying dear for a victory.
“In my life, I was never in so bad a posture as in this Campaign. Believe me, miracles are still needed if I am to overcome all the difficulties which I still see ahead. And one is growing weak withal. ‘Herculean’ labors to accomplish at an age when my powers are forsaking me, my weaknesses increasing, and, to speak candidly, even hope, the one comfort of the unhappy, begins to be wanting. You are not enough acquainted with the posture of things, to know all the dangers that threaten the State: I know them, and conceal them; I keep all the fears to myself, and communicate to the Public only the hopes, and the trifle of good news I may now and then have. If the stroke I am meditating succeed [stroke on Daun’s Anti- Schweidnitz strategies, of which anon], then, my dear Marquis, it will be time to expand one’s joy; but till then let us not flatter ourselves, lest some unexpected bit of bad news depress us too much.
“I live here [Schloss of Hermannsdorf, a seven miles west of Breslau] like a Military Monk of La Trappe: endless businesses, and these done, a little consolation from my Books. I know not if I shall outlive this War: but should it so happen, I am firmly resolved to pass the remainder of my life in solitude, in the bosom of Philosophy and Friendship. When the roads are surer, perhaps you will write me oftener. I know not where our winter-quarters this time are to be! My House in Breslau is burnt down in the Bombardment [Loudon’s, three weeks ago]. Our enemies grudge us everything, even daylight, and air to breathe: some nook, however, they must leave us; and if it be a safe one, it will be a true pleasure to have you again with me.
“Well, my dear Marquis, what has become of the Peace with France [English Peace]! Your Nation, you see, is blinder than you thought: those fools will lose their Canada and Pondicherry, to please the Queen of Hungary and the Czarina. Heaven grant Prince Ferdinand may pay them for their zeal! And it will be the innocent that suffer, the poor officers and soldiers, not the Choiseuls and–… But here is business come on me. Adieu, dear Marquis; I embrace you.–F.” [
Two Events, of opposite complexion, a Russian and a Saxon, Friedrich had heard of while at Hermannsdorf, before writing as above. The Saxon Event is the pleasant one, and comes first.
HULSEN ON THE DURRENBERG, AUGUST 20th. “August 20th, at Strehla, in that Schlettau-Meissen Country, the Reichsfolk and Austrians made attack on Hulsen’s Posts, principal Post of them the Durrenberg (DRY-HILL) there,–in a most extensive manner; filling the whole region with vague artillery-thunder, and endless charges, here, there, of foot and horse; which all issued in zero and minus quantities; Hulsen standing beautifully to his work, and Hussar Kleist especially, at one point, cutting in with masterly execution, which proved general overthrow to the Reichs Project; and left Hulsen master of the field and of his Durrenberg, PLUS 1,217 prisoners and one Prince among them, and one cannon: a Hulsen who has actually given a kind of beating to the Reichsfolk and Austrians, though they were 30,000 to his 10,000, and had counted on making a new Maxen of it.” [Archenholts, ii. 114; BERICHT VON DER OM 20 AUGUST 1780 BEY STREHLA VORGEFALLONEN ACTION (Seyfarth,
This is a bit of sunshine to the Royal mind, dark enough otherwise. Had Friedrich got done here, right fast would he fly to the relief of Hulsen, and recovery of Saxony. Hope, in good moments, says, “Hulsen will be able to hold out till then!” Fear answers, “No, he cannot, unless you get done here extremely soon!”–The Russian Event, full of painful anxiety to Friedrich, was a new Siege of Colberg. That is the sad fact; which, since the middle of August, has been becoming visibly certain.
SECOND SIEGE OF COLBERG, AUGUST 26th. “Under siege again, that poor Place; and this time the Russians seem to have made a vow that take it they will. Siege by land and by sea; land-troops direct from Petersburg, 15,000 in all (8,000 of them came by ship), with endless artillery; and near 40 Russian and Swedish ships-of-war, big and little, blackening the waters of poor Colberg. August 26th [the day before Friedrich’s writing as above], they have got all things adjusted,–the land-troops covered by redoubts to rearward, ships moored in their battering-places;–and begin such a bombardment and firing of red-hot balls upon Colberg as was rarely seen. To which, one can only hope old Heyde will set a face of gray-steel character, as usual; and prove a difficult article to deal with, till one get some relief contrived for him. [Archenholtz, ii. 116: in
(vi.73-83), “TAGEBUCH of Siege, 26th August-18th September,” and other details.]
Chapter IV.
DAUN IN WRESTLE WITH FRIEDRICH IN THE SILESIAN HILLS.
In spite of Friedrich’s forebodings, an extraordinary recoil, in all Anti-Friedrich affairs, ensued upon Liegnitz; everything taking the backward course, from which it hardly recovered, or indeed did not recover at all, during the rest of this Campaign. Details on the subsequent Daun-Friedrich movements–which went all aback for Daun, Daun driven into the Hills again, Friedrich hopeful to cut off his bread, and drive him quite through the Hills, and home again–are not permitted us. No human intellect in our day could busy itself with understanding these thousand-fold marchings, manoeuvrings, assaults, surprisals, sudden facings-about (retreat changed to advance); nor could the powerfulest human memory, not exclusively devoted to study the Art Military under Friedrich, remember them when understood. For soldiers, desirous not to be sham-soldiers, they are a recommendable exercise; for them I do advise Tempelhof and the excellent German Narratives and Records. But in regard to others– A sample has been given: multiply that by the ten, by the threescore and ten; let the ingenuous imagination get from it what will suffice. Our first duty here to poor readers, is to elicit from that sea of small things the fractions which are cardinal, or which give human physiognomy and memorability to it; and carefully suppress all the rest.
Understand, then, that there is a general going-back on the Austrian and Russian part. Czernichef we already saw at once retire over the Oder. Soltikof bodily, the second day after, deaf to Montalembert, lifts himself to rearward; takes post behind bogs and bushy grounds more and more inaccessible; [“August 18th, to Trebnitz, on the road to Militsch” (Tempelhof, iv. 167).] followed by Prince Henri with his best impressiveness for a week longer, till he seem sufficiently remote and peaceably minded: “Making home for Poland, he,” thinks the sanguine King; “leave Goltz with 12,000 to watch him. The rest of the Army over hither!” Which is done, August 27th; General Forcade taking charge, instead of Henri,–who is gone, that day or next, to Breslau, for his health’s sake. “Prince Henri really ill,” say some; “Not so ill, but in the sulks,” say others:–partly true, both theories, it is now thought; impossible to settle in what degree true. Evident it is, Henri sat quiescent in Breslau, following regimen, in more or less pathetic humor, for two or three months to come; went afterwards to Glogau, and had private theatricals; and was no more heard of in this Campaign. Greatly to his Brother’s loss and regret; who is often longing for “your recovery” (and return hither), to no purpose.
Soltikof does, in his heart, intend for Poland; but has to see the Siege of Colberg finish first; and, in decency even to the Austrians, would linger a little: “Willing I always, if only YOU prove feasible!” Which occasions such negotiating, and messaging across the Oder, for the next six weeks, as–as shall be omitted in this place. By intense suasion of Montalembert, Soltikof even consents to undertake some sham movement on Glogau, thereby to alleviate his Austrians across the River; and staggers gradually forward a little in that direction:–sham merely; for he has not a siege-gun, nor the least possibility on Glogau; and Goltz with the 12,000 will sufficiently take care of him in that quarter.
Friedrich, on junction with Forcade, has risen to perhaps 50,000; and is now in some condition against the Daun-Loudon-Lacy Armies, which cannot be double his number. These still hang about, in the Breslau-Parchwitz region; gloomy of humor; and seem to be aiming at Schweidnitz,–if that could still prove possible with a Friedrich present. Which it by no means does; though they try it by their best combinations;–by “a powerful Chain of Army-posts, isolating Schweidnitz, and uniting Daun and Loudon;” by “a Camp on the Zobtenberg, as crown of the same;”–and put Friedrich on his mettle. Who, after survey of said Chain, executes (night of August 30th) a series of beautiful manoeuvres on it, which unexpectedly conclude its existence:–“with unaccountable hardihood,” as Archenholtz has it, physiognomically TRUE to Friedrich’s general style just now, if a little incorrect as to the case in hand, “sees good to march direct, once for all, athwart said Chain; right across its explosive cannonadings and it,–counter- cannonading, and marching rapidly on; such a march for insolence, say the Austrians!” [Archenholtz (ii. 115-116); who is in a hurry, dateless, and rather confuses a subsequent DAY (September 18th) with this “night of August 30th.” See RETZOW, ii. 26; and still better, TEMPELHOF, iv. 203.] Till, in this way, the insolent King has Schweidnitz under his protective hand again; and forces the Chain to coil itself wholly together, and roll into the Hills for a safe lodging. Whither he again follows it: with continual changes of position, vying in inaccessibility with your own; threatening your meal-wagons; trampling on your skirts in this or the other dangerous manner; marching insolently up to your very nose, more than once (“Dittmannsdorf, September 18th,” for a chief instance), and confusing your best schemes. [Tempelhof, iv. 193-231; &c. &c.: in
iv. 222-235, “Diary of the AUSTRIAN Army” (3-8th September).]
This “insolent” style of management, says Archenholtz, was practised by Julius Caesar on the Gauls; and since his time by nobody,–till Friedrich, his studious scholar and admirer, revived it “against another enemy.” “It is of excellent efficacy,” adds Tempelhof; “it disheartens your adversary, and especially his common people, and has the reverse effect on your own; confuses him in endless apprehensions, and details of self-defence; so that he can form no plan of his own, and his overpowering resources become useless to him.” Excellent efficacy,–only you must be equal to doing it; not unequal, which might be very fatal to you!
For about five weeks, Friedrich, eminently practising this style, has a most complex multifarious Briarean wrestle with big Daun and his Lacy-Loudon Satellites; who have a troublesome time, running hither, thither, under danger of slaps, and finding nowhere an available mistake made. The scene is that intricate Hill-Country between Schweidnitz and Glatz (kind of GLACIS from Schweidnitz to the Glatz Mountains): Daun, generally speaking, has his back on Glatz, Friedrich on Schweidnitz; and we hear of encampings at Kunzendorf, at BUNZELWITZ, at BURKERSDORF–places which will be more famous in a coming Year. Daun makes no complaint of his Lacy- Loudon or other satellite people; who are diligently circumambient all of them, as bidden; but are unable, like Daun himself, to do the least good; and have perpetually, Daun and they, a bad life of it beside this Neighbor. The outer world, especially the Vienna outer world, is naturally a little surprised: “How is this, Feldmarschall Daun? Can you do absolutely nothing with him, then; but sit pinned in the Hills, eating sour herbs!”
In the Russians appears no help. Soltikof on Glogau, we know what that amounts to! Soltikof is evidently intending home, and nothing else. To all Austrian proposals,–and they have been manifold, as poor Montalembert knows too well,–the answer of Soltikof was and is: “Above 90,000 of you circling about, helping one another to do Nothing. Happy were you, not a doubt of it, could WE be wiled across to you, to get worried in your stead!” Daun begins to be extremely ill-off; provisions scarce, are far away in Bohemia; and the roads daily more insecure, Friedrich aiming evidently to get command of them altogether. Think of such an issue to our once flourishing Campaign 1760! Daun is vigilance itself against such fatality; and will do anything, except risk a Fight. Here, however, is the fatal posture: Since September 18th, Daun sees himself considerably cut off from Glatz, his provision-road more and more insecure;–and for fourteen days onward, the King and he have got into a dead-lock, and sit looking into one another’s faces; Daun in a more and more distressed mood, his provender becoming so uncertain, and the Winter season drawing nigh. The sentries are in mutual view: each Camp could cannonade the other; but what good were it? By a tacit understanding they don’t. The sentries, outposts and vedettes forbear musketry; on the contrary, exchange tobaccoes sometimes, and have a snatch of conversation. Daun is growing more and more unhappy. To which of the gods, if not to Soltikof again, can he apply?
Friedrich himself, successful so far, is abundantly dissatisfied with such a kind of success;–and indeed seems to be less thankful to his stars than in present circumstances he ought. Profoundly wearied we find him, worn down into utter disgust in the Small War of Posts: “Here we still are, nose to nose,” exclaims he (see Letters TO HENRI), “both of us in unattackable camps. This Campaign appears to me more unsupportable than any of the foregoing. Take what trouble and care I like, I can’t advance a step in regard to great interests; I succeed only in trifles. … Oh for good news of your health: I am without all assistance here; the Army must divide again before long, and I have none to intrust it to.” [Schoning, ii. 416.]
And TO D’ARGENS, in the same bad days: “Yes, yes, I escaped a great danger there [at Liegnitz]. In a common War it would have signified something; but in this it is a mere skirmish; my position little improved by it. I will not sing Jeremiads to you; nor speak of my fears and anxieties, but can assure you they are great. The crisis I am in has taken another shape; but as yet nothing decides it, nor can the development of it be foreseen. I am getting consumed by slow fever; I am like a living body losing limb after limb. Heaven stand by us: we need it much. [
Or, again, TO HENRI: Berlin? Yes; I am trying something in bar of that. Have a bad time of it, in the interim.” Our means, my dear Brother, are so eaten away; far too short for opposing the prodigious number of our enemies set against us:–if we must fall, let us date our destruction from the infamous Day of Maxen!”
Is in such health, too, all the while: “Am a little better, thank you; yet have still the”–what shall we say (dreadful biliary affair)?–“HEMORRHOIDES AVEUGLES: nothing that, were it not for the disquietudes I feel: but all ends in this world, and so will these. … I flatter myself your health is recovering. For these three days in continuance I have had so terrible a cramp, I thought it would choke me;–it is now a little gone. No wonder the chagrins and continual disquietudes I live in should undermine and at length overturn the robustest constitution.” [Schoning, ii. 419: “2d October.” Ib. ii. 410: “16th September.” Ib. ii. 408.]
Friedrich, we observe, has heard of certain Russian-Austrian intentions on Berlin; but, after intense consideration, resolves that it will behoove him to continue here, and try to dislodge Daun, or help Hunger to dislodge him; which will be the remedy for Berlin and all things else. There are news from Colberg of welcome tenor: could Daun be sent packing, Soltikof, it is probable, will not be in much alacrity for Berlin!–September 18th, at Dittmannsdorf, was the first day of Daun’s dead-lock: ever since, he has had to sit, more and more hampered, pinned to the Hills, eating sour herbs; nothing but Hunger ahead, and a retreat (battle we will not dream of), likely to be very ruinous, with a Friedrich sticking to the wings of it. Here is the Note on Colberg:–
SEPTEMBER 18th, COLHERG SIEGE RAISED. “The same September 18th, what a day at Colberg too! it is the twenty-fourth day of the continual bombardment there. Colberg is black ashes, most of its houses ruins, not a house in it uninjured. But Heyde and his poor Garrison, busy day and night, walk about in it as if fire-proof; with a great deal of battle still left in them. The King, I know not whether Heyde is aware, has contrived something of relief; General Werner coming:–the fittest of men, if there be possibility. When, see, September 18th, uneasy motion in the Russian intrenchments (for the Russians too are intrenched against attack): Something that has surprised the Russians yonder. Climb, some of you, to the highest surviving steeple, highest chimney-top if no steeple survive:–Yonder IS Werner come to our relief, O God the Merciful!”
“Werner, with 5,000, was detached from Glogau (September 5th), from Goltz’s small Corps there; has come as on wings, 200 miles in thirteen days. And attacks now, as with wings, the astonished Russian 15,000, who were looking for nothing like him,–with wings, with claws, and with beak; and in a highly aquiline manner, fierce, swift, skilful, storms these intrenched Russians straightway, scatters them to pieces,–and next day is in Colberg, the Siege raising itself with great precipitation; leaving all its artilleries and furnitures, rushing on shipboard all of it that can get,–the very ships-of-war, says Archenholtz, hurrying dangerously out to sea, as if the Prussian Hussars might possibly take THEM. A glorious Werner! A beautiful defence, and ditto rescue; which has drawn the world’s attention.” [Seyfarth, ii. 634; Archenholtz, ii. 116: in
TAGEBUCH of Siege.]
Heyde’s defence of Colberg, Werner’s swift rescue of it, are very celebrated this Autumn. Medals were struck in honor of them at Berlin, not at Friedrich’s expense, but under Friedrich’s patronage; who purchased silver or gold copies, and gave them about. Veteran Heyde had a Letter from his Majesty, and one of these gold Medals;–what an honor! I do not hear that Heyde got any other reward, or that he needed any. A beautiful old Hero, voiceless in History; though very visible in that remote sphere, if you care to look.
That is the news from Colberg; comfortable to Friedrich; not likely to inspire Soltikof with new alacrity in behalf of Daun. It remains to us only to add, that Friedrich, with a view to quicken Daun, shot out (September 24th, after nightfall, and with due mystery) a Detachment towards Neisse,–4,000 or so, who call themselves 15,000, and affect to be for Mahren ultimately. “For Mahren, and my bit of daily bread!” Daun may well think; and did for some time think, or partly did. Pushed off one small detachment really thither, to look after Mahren; and (September 29th) pushed off another bigger; Lacy namely, with 15,000, pretending to be thither,–but who, the instant they were out of Friedrich’s sight, have whirled, at a rapid pace, quite into the opposite direction: as will shortly be seen! Daun has now other irons in the fire. Daun, ever since this fatal Dead-lock in the Hills, has been shrieking hoarsely to the Russians, day and night; who at last take pity on him,–or find something feasible in his proposals.
THE RUSSIANS MAKE A RAID ON BERLIN, FOR RELIEF OF DAUN AND THEIR OWN BEHOOF (October 3d-12th, 1760).
Powerful entreaties, influences are exercised at Petersburg, and here in the Russian Camp: “Noble Russian Excellencies, for the love of Heaven, take this man off my windpipe! A sally into Brandenburg: oh, could not you? Lacy shall accompany; seizure of Berlin, were it only for one day!” Soltikof has falleu sick,–and, indeed, practically vanishes from our affairs at this point;–Fermor, who has command in the interim, finally consents: “Our poor siege of Colberg, what an end is come to it! What an end is the whole Campaign like to have! Let us at least try this of Berlin, since our hands are empty.” The joy of Daun, of Montalembert, and of everybody in Austrian Court and Camp may be conceived.
Russians to the amount of 20,000, Czernichef Commander; Tottleben Second in command, a clever soldier, who knows Berlin: these are to start from Sagan Country, on this fine Expedition, and to push on at the very top of their speed. September 20th, Tottleben, with 3,000 of them as Vanguard, does accordingly cross Oder, at Beuthen in Sagan Country; and strides forward direct upon Berlin: Lacy, with 15,000, has started from Silesia, we saw how, above a week later (September 29th), but at a still more furious rate of speed. Soltikof,–theoretically Soltikof, but practically Fermor, should the dim German Books be ambiguous to any studious creature, –with the Main Army (which by itself is still a 20,000 odd), moves to Frankfurt, to support the swift Expedition, and be within two marches of it. Here surely is a feasibility! Berlin, for defence, has nothing but weak palisades; and of effective garrison 1,200 men.
And feasible, in a sort, this thing did prove; indisputably delivering Daun from strangulation in the Silesian Mountains; filling the Gazetteer mind with loud emotion of an empty nature; and very much affecting many poor people in Berlin and neighborhood. Making a big Chapter in Berlin Local History; though compressible to small bulk for strangers, who have no specific sympathies in that locality.
“FRIDAY, 3d OCTOBER, 1760, Tottleben, with his hasty Vanguard of 3,000, preceded by hastier rumor, comes circling round Berlin environs; takes post at the Halle Gate [West side of the City]; summons Rochow [the same old Commandant of Haddick’s time];– requires instant admittance; ransom of Four million Thalers, and other impossible things. Berlin has been putting itself in some posture; repairing its palisades, throwing up bits of redoubts in front of the gates, and, though sounding with alarms and uncertainties, shows a fine spirit of readiness for the emergency. Rochow is still Commandant, the same old Rochow who shrunk so questionably in Haddick’s time: but Rochow has no Court to tremble for at present; Queen and Royal Family, Archives, Principal Ministries, Directorium in a body, went all to Magdeburg again, on the Kunersdorf Disaster last year, and are safe from such insults. The spirit of the population, it appears, even of the rich classes, some of whom are very rich, is extraordinary. Besides Rochow, moreover, there are, by accident, certain Generals in Berlin: Seidlitz and two others, recovering from their Kunersdorf hurts, who step into the breach with heart admirably willing, if with limbs still lame. Then there is old Field-marshal Lehwald [Anti- Russian at Gross Jagersdorf, but dismissed as too old], who is official Governor of Berlin, who succeeded poor Keith in that honorable office: all these were strong for defence;–and do not now grudge, great men as they are, to take each his Gate of Berlin, his small redoubt thrown up there, and pass the night and the day in doing his utmost with it.
“Rochow refuses the surrender, and the Four Millions pure specie; and Tottleben, about 3 P.M. in an intermittent way, and about 5 in a constant, begins bombarding–grenadoes, red-hot balls, what he can;–and continues the s&me till 3 next morning. Without result to speak of; Seidlitz and Consorts making good counter-play; the poor old 1,200 of Garrison growing almost young again with energy, under their Seidlitzes; and the population zealously co-operating, especially quenching all fires that rose. What greatly contributed withal was the arrival of Prince Eugen overnight. Eugen of Wurtemberg [cadet of that bad Duke] had been engaged driving home the Swedes, but instantly quitted that with a 5,000 he had; and has marched this day,–his Vanguard has, mostly Horse, whom the Foot will follow to-morrow,–a distance of forty miles, on this fine errand. Delicate manoeuvring, by these wearied horsemen, to enter Berlin amid uncertain jostlings, under the shine of Russian bombardment; ecstatic welcome to them, when they did get in,– instant subscription for fat oxen to them; a just abundance of beef to them, of generous beer I hope not more than an abundance: phenomena which, with others of the like, could be dwelt on, had we room. [Tempelhof, iv. 266-290; Archenholtz, ii. 122-148;
&c. &c.]’
“Tottleben, under these omens, found it would not do; wended off towards his Czernichef next morning; eastward again as far as Copenik, Prince Eugen attending him in a minatory manner: and, in Berlin for the moment, the bad ten hours were over. For four days more, the fate of things hung dubious; hope soon fading again, but not quite going out till the fifth day. And this, in fact, was mainly all of bombardment that the City had to suffer; though its fate of capture was not to be averted. Is not Tottleben gone? Yes; but Lacy, marching at a rate he never did before (except from Bischofswerda), is arrived in the environs this same evening, cautious but furious. The King is far away; what are Eugen’s 5,000 against these?
“On the other hand, Hulsen, leaving his Saxon affairs to their chance,–which, alas, are about extinct, at any rate; except Wittenberg, all Saxony gone from us!–Hulsen is on winged march hitherward with about 9,000. ‘How would the King come on wings, like an eagle from the Blue, if he were but aware!’ thought everybody, and said. Hulsen did arrive on the 8th; so that there are now 14,000 of us. Hulsen did;–but no King could; the King is just starting (October 4th, the King, on these bad rumors about Saxony, about Berlin, quitted the attempt on Daun; October 7th, got on march hitherward; has finished his first march hitherward,–Daun gradually preparing to attend him in the distance),–when Hulsen arrives. And here are all their Lacys, Czernichefs fairly assembled; five to two of us,–35,000 of them against our 14,000.
“Hulsen and Eugen, drawn out in their skilfulest way, manoeuvred about, all this Wednesday, 8th; attempted, did not attempt; found on candid examination, That 14,000 VERSUS 35,000 ran a great risk of being worsted; that, in such case, the fate of the City might be still more frightful; and that, on the whole, their one course was that of withdrawing to Spandau, and leaving poor Berlin to capitulate as it could. Capitulation starts again with Tottleben that same night; Gotzkowsky, a magnanimous Citizen and Merchant- Prince, stepping forth with beautiful courageous furtherances of every kind; and it ends better than one could have hoped: Ransom– not of Four Millions pure specie (which would have been 600,000 pounds): ‘Gracious Sir, it is beyond our utmost possibility!’–but of One and a Half Million in modern Ephraim coin; with a 30,000 pounds of douceur-money to the common man, Russian and Austrian, for his forbearance;–‘for the rest, we are at your Excellency’s mercy, in a manner!’ And so,
“THURSDAY, OCTOBER 9th, about 7 in the morning, Tottleben marches in; exactly six days since he first came circling to the Halle Gate and began bombarding. Tottleben, knowing Friedrich, knew the value of despatch; and, they say, was privately no enemy to Berlin, remembering old grateful days here. For Tottleben has himself been in difficulties; indeed, was never long out of them, during the long stormy life he had. Not a Russian at all; though I suppose Father of the now Russian Tottlebens whom one hears of: this one was a poor Saxon Gentleman, Page once to poor old drunken Weissenfels, whom, for a certain fair soul’s sake, we sigh to remember! Weissenfels dying, Tottleben became a soldier of Polish Majesty’s;–acceptable soldier, but disagreed with Bruhl, for which nobody will like him worse. Disagreed with Bruhl; went into the Dutch service (may have been in Fontenoy for what I know); was there till Aix-la-Chapelle, till after Aix-la-Chapelle; kindly treated, and promoted in the Dutch Army; but with outlooks, I can fancy, rather dull. Outlooks probably dull in such an element,–when, being a handsome fellow in epaulettes (Major- General, in fact, though poor), he, diligently endeavoring, caught the eye of a Dutch West-Indian Heiress; soft creature with no end of money; whom he privately wedded, and ran away with. To the horror of her appointed Dutch Lover and Friends; who prosecuted the poor Major-General with the utmost rigor, not of Law only. And were like to be the ruin of his fair West-Indian and him; when Friedrich, about 1754 as I guess, gave him shelter in Berlin; finding no insupportable objection in what the man had done. The rather, as his Heiress and he were rich. Tottleben gained general favor in Berlin society; wished, in 1756, to take service with Friedrich on the breaking out of this War. ‘A Colonel with me, yes,’ said Friedrich. But Tottleben had been Major-General among the Dutch, and could not consent to sink; had to go among the Russians for a Major-Generalcy; and there and elsewhere, for many years coming, had many adventures, mostly troublesome, which shall not be memorable to us here. [Sketch of Tottleben’s Life; in RODENBECK, ii. 69-72.]
“Lacy, who, after hovering about in these vicinities for four days, had now actually come up, so soon as Eugen and Hulsen withdrew,– was deeply disgusted at the Terms of Capitulation; angry to find that Tottleben had concluded without him; and, in fact, flew into open rage at the arrangements Tottleben had made for himself and for others. ‘No admittance, except on order from his Excellency!’ said the Russian Sentry to Lacy’s Austrians: upon which, Lacy forced the Gate, and violently marched in. Took lodging, to his own mind, in the Friedrichstadt quarter; and was fearfully truculent upon person and property, during his short stay. A scandal to be seen, how his Croats and loose hordes went openly ravening about, bent on mere housebreaking, street-robbery and insolent violence. So that Tottleben had fairly to fire upon the vagabonds once or twice; and force on the unwilling Lacy some coercion of them within limits. For the three days of his continuance,–it was but three days in all,–Lacy was as the evil genius of Berlin; Tottleben and his Russians the good. Their discipline was so excellent; all Cossacks and loose rabble strictly kept out beyond the Walls. To Bachmann, Russian Commandant, the Berliners, on his departure, had gratefully got ready a money-gift of handsome amount: ‘By no means,’ answered Bachmann: ‘your treatment was according to the mildness of our Sovereign Czarina. For myself, if I have served you in anything, the fact that for three days I have been Commandant of the Great Friedrich’s Capital is more than a reward to me.’
“Tottleben and Lacy, during those three days of Russian and Austrian joint dominion, had a stormy time of it together. ‘Destroy the LAGER-HAUS,’ said Lacy: Lager-Haus, where they manufacture their soldiers’ uniforms; it is the parent of all cloth-manufacturing in Prussia; set up by Friedrich Wilhelm,–not on free-trade principles. ‘The Lager-Haus, say you? I doubt, it is now private property; screened by our Capitulation;’–which it proves to be. ‘You shall blow up the Arsenal!’ said Lacy, with vehemence and truculence. A noble edifice, as travellers yet know: fancy its fragments flying about among the populous streets, plunging through the roofs of Palaces, and great houses all round. Lacy was inexorable; Tottleben had to send a Russian Party (one wishes they had been Croats) on this sad errand. They proceeded to the Powder-Magazine for explosive material, as preliminary; they were rash in handling the gunpowder there, which blew up in their hands; sent itself and all of them into the air; and saved the poor Arsenal: ‘Not powder enough now left for our own artillery uses,’ urged Tottleben.
“Saxon and Austrian Parties were in the Palaces about,–at Potsdam, at Charlottenburg, Schonhausen (the Queen’s), at Friedrichsfeld (the Margraf Karl’s), some of whom behaved well, some horribly ill. In Charlottenburg, certain Saxon Bruhl-Dragoons, who by their conduct might have been Dragoons of Attila, smashed the furnitures, the doors, cutting the Pictures, much maltreating the poor people; and, what was reckoned still more tragical, overset the poor Polignac Collection of Antiques and Classicalities; not only knocking off noses and arms, but beating them small, lest reparation by cement should be possible. Their Officers, Pirna people, looking quietly on. A scandalous proceeding, thought everybody, friend or foe,–especially thought Friedrich; whose indignation at this ruin of Charlottenburg came out in way of reprisal by and by. At Potsdam, on the other hand, Prince Esterhazy, with perhaps Hungarians among his people, behaved like a very Prince; received from the Castellan an Attestation that he had scrupulously respected everything; and took, as souvenir, only one Picture of little value; Prince de Ligne, who was under him, carrying off, still more daintily, one goose-quill, immortal by having been a pen of the Great Friedrich’s.
“Tottleben, with no feeling other than Official tempered by Human, was in great contrast with Lacy, and very beneficent to Berlin during the three days it lay under the TRIBULA, or harrow of War. But the Tutelary Angel of Berlin, then and afterwards for weeks and months, till all scores got settled, was the Gotzkowsky mentioned above.” Whom we shall see again helpful at Leipzig; a man worth marking in these tumults. “If Tottleben was the temporal Armed King, this Gotzkowsky was the Spiritual King, PAPA or Universal Father, armed only with charities, pieties, prayers, ever shiningly attended by self-sacrifices on Gotzkowsky’s part; which averted woes innumerable (Lager-Haus only one of a long list); and which ‘surpassed all belief,’ write the Berlin Magistracy, as if in tears over such heroism. Truly a Prince of Merchants, this Gotzkowsky, not for his vast enterprises, and the mere 1,500 workmen he employs, but for the still greater heart that dwells in him. Had begun as a travelling Pedler; used to call at Reinsberg, with female haberdasheries exquisitely chosen (‘GALLANTERIE wares’ the Germans call them), for the then Princess Royal; not unnoticed by Friedrich, who recognized the broad sense, solidity and great thoughts of the man. Of all which Friedrich has known far more since then, in various branches of Prussian commerce improved by Gotzkowsky’s managements. A truly notable Gotzkowsky; became bankrupt at last, one is sorry to hear; and died in affliction and neglect,–short of the humblest wages for so much good work done in the world! [Preuss, ii. 257, &c. &c.; GESCHICHTE EINES PATRIOTISCHEN KAUFMANNS (Berlin, 1769, by Gotzkowsky himself).]
“Gotzkowsky’s House was like a general storeroom for everybody’s preciosities; his time, means, self were the refuge of all the needy. In Zorndorf time, when this Czernichef [if readers can remember], who is now so supreme,–Czernichef, Soltikof and others,–had nothing for it but to lodge in the cellars of burnt Custrin, Gotzkowsky, with ready money, with advice, with assuagement, had been their DEUS EX MACHINA: and now Czernichef remembers it; and Gotzkowsky, as Papa, has to go with continual prayers, negotiations, counsellings, expedients, and be the refuge of all unjustly suffering men Berlin has immensities of trade in war-furnitures: the capitals circulating are astonishing to Archenholtz; million on the back of million; no such city in Germany for trade. The desire of the Three-days Lacy Government is towards any Lager-Haus; any mass of wealth, which can be construed as Royal or connected with Royalty. Ephraim and Itzig, mint- masters of that copper-coinage; rolling in foul wealth by the ruin of their neighbors; ought not these to bleed? Well, yes,–if anybody; and copiously if you like! I should have said so: but the generous Gotzkowsky said in his heart, ‘No;’ and again pleaded and prevailed. Ephraim and Itzig, foul swollen creatures, were not broached at all; and their gratitude was, That, at a future day, Gotzkowsky’s day of bankruptcy, they were hardest of any on Gotzkowsky.
“Archenholtz and the Books are enthusiastically copious upon Gotzkowsky and his procedures; but we must be silent. This Anecdote only, in regard to Freedom of the Press,–to the so-called ‘air we breathe, not having which we die!’ Would modern Friends of Progress believe it? Because, in former stages of this War, the Berlin Newspapers have had offensive expressions (scarcely noticeable to the microscope in our day, and below calculation for smallness) upon the Russian and Austrian Sovereigns or Peoples,–the Able Editors (there are only Two) shall now in person, here in the market-place of Berlin, actually run the gantlet for it,–‘run the rods (GASSEN-LAUFEN’), as the fashion now is; which is worse than GANTLET, not to speak of the ignominy. That is the barbaric Russian notion: ‘who are you, ill-formed insolent persons, that give a loose to your tongue in that manner? Strip to the waistband, swift! Here is the true career opened for you: on each hand, one hundred sharp rods ranked waiting you; run your courses there,–no hurry more than you like!’ The alternative of death, I suppose, was open to these Editors; Roman death at least, and martyrdom for a new Faith (Faith in the Loose Tongue), very sacred to the Democratic Ages now at hand. But nobody seems to have thought of it; Editors and Public took the thing as a ‘sorrow incident to this dangerous Profession of the Tongue Loose (or looser than usual); which nobody yet knew to be divine. The Editors made passionate enough lamentation, in the stript state; one of then, with loud weeping, pulled off his wig, showed ice-gray hair; ‘I am in my 68th year!’ But it seems nothing would have steaded them, had not Gotzkowsky been busy interceding. By virtue of whom there was pardon privately in readiness: to the ice-gray Editor complete pardon; to the junior quasi-complete; only a few switches to assert the principle, and dismissal with admonition.” [
Geschichte, vi. 103-148; Rodenbeck, ii. 41-54; Archenholtz, ii. 130-147; Preuss, UBI SUPRA: &c. &c.]
The pleasant part of the fact is, that Gotzkowsky’s powerful intercessions were thenceforth no farther needed. The same day, Saturday, October 11th, a few hours after this of the GASSEN- LAUFEN, news arrived full gallop: “The King is coming!” After which it was beautiful to see how all things got to the gallop; and in a no-time Berlin was itself again. That same evening, Saturday, Lacy took the road, with extraordinary velocity, towards Torgau Country, where the Reichsfolk, in Hulsen’s absence, are supreme; and, the second evening after, was got 60 miles thitherward. His joint dominion had been of Two days. On the morning of Sunday, 12th, went Tottleben, who had businesses, settlements of ransom and the like, before marching. Tottleben, too, made uncommon despatch; marched, as did all these invasive Russians, at the rate of thirty miles a day; their Main Army likewise moving off from Frankfurt to a safer distance. Friedrich was still five marches off; but there seemed not a moment to lose.
The Russian spoilings during the retreat were more horrible than ever: “The gallows gaping for us; and only this one opportunity, if even this!” thought the agitated Cossack to himself. Our poor friend Nissler had a sad tale to tell of them; [In Busching,
In Guben Country, “at Gross-Muckro, October 15th,” the day after passing Guben, Friedrich first heard for certain, That the Russians had been in Berlin, and also that they were gone, and that all was over. He made two marches farther,–not now direct for Berlin, but direct for Saxony AND it;–to Lubben, 50 or 60 miles straight south of Berlin; and halted there some days, to adjust himself for a new sequel. “These are the things,” exclaims he, sorrowfully, to D’Argens, “which I have been in dread of since Winter last; this is what gave the dismal tone to my Letters to you. It has required not less than all my philosophy to endure the reverses, the provocations, the outrages, and the whole scene of atrocious things that have come to pass.” [
Friedrich’s orderings and adjustings, dated Lubben, where his Army rested after this news from Berlin, were manifold; and a good deal still of wrecks from the Berlin Business fell to his share. For instance, one thing he had at once ordered: “Your Bill of a Million-and-half to the Russians, don’t pay it, or any part of it! When Bamberg was ransomed, Spring gone a year,–Reich and Kaiser, did they respect our Bill we had on Bamberg? Did not they cancel it, and flatly refuse?” Friedrich is positive on the point, “Reprisal our clear remedy!” But Berlin itself was in alarm, for perhaps another Russian visit; Berlin and Gotzkowsky were humbly positive the other way. Upon which a visit of Gotskowsky to the Royal Camp: “Merchants’ Bills are a sacred thing, your Majesty!” urged Gotzkowsky. Who, in his zeal for the matter, undertook dangerous visits to the Russian Quarters, and a great deal of trouble, peril and expense, during the weeks following. Magnanimous Gotzkowsky, “in mere bribes to the Russian Officials, spent about 6,000 pounds of his own,” for one item. But he had at length convinced his Majesty that Merchants’ Bills were a sacred thing, in spite of Bamberg and desecrative individualities; and that this Million-and-half must be paid. Friedrich was struck with Gotzkowsky and his view of the facts. Friedrich, from his own distressed funds, handed to Gotzkowsky the necessary Million-and- half, commanding only profound silence about it; and to Gotzkowsky himself a present of 150,000 thalers (20,000 pounds odd); [Archenholtz, ii. 146.] and so the matter did at last end.
It had been a costly business to Berlin, and to the King, and to the poor harried Country. To Berlin, bombardment of ten hours; alarm of discursive siege-work in the environs for five days; foreign yoke for three days; lost money to the amounts above stated; what loss in wounds to body or to peace of mind, or whether any loss that way, nobody has counted. The Berlin people rose to a more than Roman height of temper, testifies D’Argens; [
OEuvres de Frederic,
Of all this Montalembert declares, “Before God, that he, Montalembert, is and was the mainspring.” And indeed, Tempelhof, without censure of Montalembert and his vocation, but accurately computing time and circumstance, comes to the same conclusion;–as thus: “OCTOBER 8th, seeing no Lacy come, Czernichef, had it not been for Montalembert’s eloquence, had fixed for returning to Copenik: whom cautious Lacy would have been obliged to imitate. Suppose Czernichef had, OCTOBER 9th, got to Copenik,–Eugen and Hulsen remain at Berlin; Czernichef could not have got back thither before the 11th; on the 11th was news of Friedrich’s coming; which set all on gallop to the right about.” [Tempelhof, iv. 277.] So that really, before God, it seems Montalembert must have the merit of this fine achievement:–the one fruit, so far as I can discover, of his really excellent reasonings, eloquences, patiences, sown broadcast, four or five long years, on such a field as fine human talent never had before. I declare to you, M. l’Ambassadeur, this excellent vulture-swoop on Berlin, and burning or reburning of the Peasantry of the Mark, is due solely to one poor zealous gentleman!–
What was next to follow out of THIS,–in Torgau neighborhood, where Daun now stands expectant,–poor M. de Montalembert was far from anticipating; and will be in no haste to claim the merit of before God or man.
Chapter V.
BATTLE OF TORGAU.
After Hulsen’s fine explosion on the Durrenberg, August 20th, on the incompetent Reichs Generals, there had followed nothing eminent; new futilities, attemptings and desistings, advancings and recoilings, on the part of the Reich; Hulsen solidly maintaining himself, in defence of his Torgau Magazine and Saxon interests in those regions, against such overwhelming odds, till relief and reinforcement for them and him should arrive; and gaining time, which was all he could aim at in such circumstances. Had the Torgau Magazine been bigger, perhaps Hulsen might have sat there to the end. But having solidly eaten out said Magazine, what could Hulsen do but again move rearward? [
des General-Lieutenants von Hulsen aus dem Lager bey Torgau
755-784).] Above all, on the alarm from Berlin, which called him off double-quick, things had to go their old road in that quarter. Weak Torgau was taken, weak Wittenberg besieged. Leipzig, Torgau, Wittenberg, all that Country, by the time the Russians left Berlin, was again the Reich’s. Eugen and Hulsen, hastening for relief of Wittenberg, the instant Berlin was free, found Wittenberg a heap of ruins, out of which the Prussian garrison, very hunger urging, had issued the day before, as prisoners of war. Nothing more to be done by Eugen, but take post, within reach of Magdeburg and victual, and wait new Order from the King.
The King is very unquestionably coming on; leaves Lubben thitherward October 20th. [Rodenbeck, ii. 35: in
of Hamburg
“You, as a follower of Epicurus, put a value on life; as for me, I regard death from the Stoic point of view. Never shall I see the moment that forces me to make a disadvantageous Peace; no persuasion, no eloquence, shall ever induce me to sign my dishonor. Either I will bury myself under the ruins of my Country, or if that consolation appears too sweet to the Destiny that persecutes me, I shall know how to put an end to my misfortunes when it is impossible to bear them any longer. I have acted, and continue to act, according to that interior voice of conscience and of honor which directs all my steps: my conduct shall be, in every time, conformable to those principles. After having sacrificed my youth to my Father, my ripe years to my Country, I think I have acquired the right to dispose of my old age. I have told you, and I repeat it, Never shall my hand sign a humiliating Peace. Finish this Campaign I certainly will, resolved to dare all, and to try the most desperate things either to succeed or to find a glorious end (FIN GLORIEUSE).” [
Friedrich had marched from Lubben, after three days, settling of affairs, OCTOBER 20th; arrived at Jessen, on the Elbe, within wind of Wittenberg, in two days more. “He formed a small magazine at Duben,” says Archenholtz; “and was of a velocity, a sharpness,”– like lightning, in a manner! Friedrich is uncommonly dangerous when crushed into a corner, in this way; and Daun knows that he is. Friedrich’s manoeuvrings upon Daun–all readers can anticipate the general type of them. The studious military reader, if England boasts any such, will find punctual detail of them in TEMPELHOF and the German Books. For our poor objects, here is a Summary which may suffice:–
From Lubben, having winded up these bad businesses,–and reinforced Goltz, at Glogau, to a 20,000 for Silesia’s sake, to look towards Kosel and Loudon’s attempts there,–Friedrich gathered himself into proper concentration; and with all the strength now left to him pushed forward (20th October) towards Wittenberg, and recovery of those lost Saxon Countries. To Wittenberg from Lubben is some 60 miles;–can be done, nearly, in a couple of days. With the King, after Goltz is furnished, there are about 30,000; Eugen and Hulsen, not idle for their own part, wait in those far Western or Ultra- Wittenberg regions (in and beyond Dessau Country), to join him with their 14,000, when they get signal. Joined with these, he will be 44,000; he will then cross Elbe somewhere, probably not where Daun and the Reich imagine, and be in contact with his Problem; with what a pitch of willingness nobody need be told! Daun, in Torgau Country, has one of the best positions; nor is Daun a man for getting flurried.
The poor Reichs Army, though it once flattered itself with intending to dispute Friedrich’s passage of the Elbe, and did make some detachings and manoeuvrings that way, on his approach to Wittenberg (October 22d-23d),–took a safer view, on his actual arrival there, on his re-seizure of that ruined place, and dangerous attitude on the right bank below and above. Safer view, on salutary second thoughts;–and fell back Leipzig-way, southward to Duben, 30 or 40 miles. Whence rapidly to Leipzig itself, 30 or 40 more, on his actually putting down his bridges over Elbe. Friedrich’s crossing-place was Schanzhaus, in Dessau Country, between Roslau and Klikau, 12 or 15 miles below Wittenberg; about midway between Wittenberg and the inflow of the Mulda into Elbe. He crossed OCTOBER 26th, no enemy within wind at all; Daun at Torgau in his inexpugnable Camp, Reichsfolk at Duben, making towards Leipzig at their best pace. And is now wholly between Elbe and Mulda; nothing but Mulda and the Anhall Countries and the Halle Country now to rear of him.
At Jonitz, next march southward, he finds the Eugen-Hulsen people ready. We said they had not been idle while waiting signal: of which here is one pretty instance. Eugen’s Brother, supreme Reigning Duke of Wurtemberg,–whom we parted with at Fulda, last Winter, on sore terms; but who again, zealous creature, heads his own little Army in French-Austrian service, in still more eclipsed circumstances (“No subsidy at all, this Year, say your august Majesties? Well, I must do without: a volunteer; and shall need only what I can make by forced contributions!” which of course he is diligent to levy wherever possible),–has latterly taken Halle Country in hand, very busy raising contributions there: and Eugen hears, not without interest, that certain regiments or detachments of his, pushed out, are lying here, there, superintending that salutary work,–within clutch, perhaps, of Kleist the Hussar! Eugen despatches Kleist upon him; who pounces with his usual fierce felicity upon these people. To such alarm of his poor Serenity and poor Army, that Serenity flies off homeward at once, and out of these Wars altogether; where he never had other than the reverse of business to be, and where he has played such a farce-tragedy for four years back. Eugen has been heard to speak,–theoretically, and in excited moments,–of “running such a fellow through the body, were one near him:: but it is actually Eugen in person that sends him home from these Wars: which may be counted a not unfraternal or unpatriotic procedure; being of indisputable benefit to the poor Sovereign man himself, and to everybody concerned with him.
Hearing that Friedrich was across, Daun came westward that same day (October 26th), and planted himself at Eilenburg; concluding that the Reichsfolk would now be in jeopardy first of all. Which was partly the fact; and indeed this Daun movement rather accelerated the completion of it. Without this the Reichs Army might have lived another day. It had quitted Duben, and gone in all haste for Leipzig, at 1 in the morning (not by Eilenburg, of which or of Daun’s arrival there it knows nothing),–“at 1 in the morning of the 27th,” or in fact, so soon as news could reach it at the gallop, That Friedrich was across. And now Friedrich, seeing Daun out in this manner, judged that a junction was contemplated; and that one could not be too swift in preventing it. October 29th, with one diligent march, Friedrich posted himself at Duben; there, in a sort now between Daun and the Reichsfolk, detached Hulsen with a considerable force to visit these latter in Leipzig itself; and began with all diligence forming “a small Magazine in Duben,” Magdeburg and the current of the Elbe being hitherto his only resource in that kind. By the time of Hulsen’s return, this little operation will be well forward, and Daun will have declared himself a little.
Hulsen, evening of October 30th, found Leipzig in considerable emotion, the Reichsfolk taking refuge in it: not the least inclined to stand a push, when Hulsen presented himself. Night of 30th-31st, there was summoning and menacing; Reich endeavoring to answer in firm style; but all the while industriously packing up to go. By 5 in the morning, things had come to extremity;—morning, happily for some of us, was dark mist. But about 5 o’clock, Hulsen (or Hulsen’s Second) coming on with menace of fire and sword upon these poor Reichspeople, found the Reichspeople wholly vanished in the mist. Gone bodily; in full march for the spurs of the Metal- Mountain Range again;–concluding, for the fourth time, an extremely contemptible Campaign. Daun, with the King ahead of him, made not the least attempt to help them in their Leipzig difficulty; but retired to his strong Camp at Torgau; feels his work to lie THERE,–as Friedrich perceives of him, with some interest.
Hulsen left a little garrison in Leipzig (friend Quintus a part of it); [Tempelhof, iv. 290.] and returned to the King; whose small Magazine at Duben, and other small affairs there,–Magdeburg with boats, and the King with wagons, having been so diligent in carrying grain thither,–are now about completed. From Daun’s returning to Torgau, Friedrich infers that the cautious man has got Order from Court to maintain Torgau at all costs,–to risk a battle rather than go. “Good: he shall have one!” thinks Friedrich. And, NOVEMBER 2d, in four columns, marches towards Torgau; to Schilda, that night, which is some seven miles on the southward side of Torgau. The King, himself in the vanguard as usual, has watched with eager questioning eye the courses of Daun’s advanced parties, and by what routes they retreat; discerns for certain that Daun has no views upon Duben or our little Magazine; and that the tug of wrestle for Torgau, which is to crown this Campaign into conquest of Saxony, or shatter it into zero like its foregoers on the Austrian part, and will be of death-or-life nature on the Prussian part, ought to ensue to-morrow. Forward, then!
This Camp of Torgau is not a new place to Daun. It was Prince Henri’s Camp last Autumn; where Daun tried all his efforts to no purpose; and though hugely outnumbering the Prince, could make absolutely nothing of it. Nothing, or less; and was flowing back to Dresden and the Bohemian Frontier, uncheered by anything, till that comfortable Maxen Incident turned up. Daun well knows the strength of this position. Torgau and the Block of Hill to West, called Hill of Siptitz:–Hulsen, too, stood here this Summer; not to mention Finck and Wunsch, and their beating the Reichspeople here. A Hill and Post of great strength; not unfamiliar to many Prussians, nor to Friedrich’s studious considerations, though his knowledge of it was not personal on all points;–as To-morrow taught him, somewhat to his cost.
“Tourists, from Weimar and the Thuringian Countries,” says a Note- book, sometimes useful to us, “have most likely omitted Rossbach in their screaming railway flight eastward; and done little in Leipzig but endeavor to eat dinner, and, still more vainly, to snatch a little sleep in the inhuman dormitories of the Country. Next morning, screaming Dresden-ward, they might, especially if military, pause at Oschatz, a stage or two before Meissen, where again are objects of interest. You can look at Hubertsburg, if given that way,–a Royal Schloss, memorable on several grounds;–at Hubertsburg, and at other features, in the neighborhood of Oschatz. This done, or this left not done, you strike off leftward, that is northward, in some open vehicle, for survey of Torgau and its vicinities and environs. Not above fifteen miles for you; a drive singular and pleasant; time enough to return and be in Dresden for dinner.
“Torgau is a fine solid old Town; Prussian military now abundant in it. In ancient Heathen times, I suppose, it meant the GAU, or District, of THOR; Capital of that Gau,–part of which, now under Christian or quasi-Christian circumstances, you have just been traversing, with Elbe on your right hand. Innocent rural aspects of Humanity, Boor’s life, Gentry’s life, all the way, not in any holiday equipment; on the contrary, somewhat unkempt and scraggy, but all the more honest and inoffensive. There is sky, earth, air, and freedom for your own reflections: a really agreeable kind of Gau; pleasant, though in part ugly. Large tracts of it are pine- wood, with pleasant Villages and fine arable expanses interspersed. Schilda and many Villages you leave to right and left. Old-fashioned Villages, with their village industries visible around; laboring each in its kind,–not too fast; probably with extinct tobacco-pipe hanging over its chin (KALT-RAUCHEND, ‘smoking COLD,’ as they phrase it).
“Schilda has an absurd celebrity among the Germans: it is the Gotham of Teutschland; a fountain of old broad-grins and homely and hearty rustic banter; welling up from the serious extinct Ages to our own day; ‘SCHILTburger’ (Inhabitant of SCHILDA) meaning still, among all the Teutsch populations, a man of calmly obstinate whims and delusions, of notions altogether contrary to fact, and agreeable to himself only; resolutely pushing his way through life on those terms: amid horse-laughter, naturally, and general wagging of beards from surrounding mankind. Extinct mirth, not to be growled at or despised, in Ages running to the shallow, which have lost their mirth, and become all one snigger of mock-mirth. For it is observable, the more solemn is your background of DARK, the brighter is the play of all human genialities and coruscations on it,–of genial mirth especially, in the hour for mirth. Who the DOCTOR BORDEL of Schilda was, I do not know: but they have had their Bordel, as Gotham had;–probably various Bordels; industrious to pick up those Spiritual fruits of the earth. For the records are still abundant and current; fully more alive than those of Gotham here are.–And yonder, then, is actually Schilda of the absurd fame. A small, cheerful-looking human Village, in its Island among the Woods; you see it lying to the right:–a clean brick- slate congeries, with faint smoke-canopy hanging over it, indicating frugal dinner-kettles on the simmer;–and you remember kindly those good old grinnings, over good SCHILTBURGER, good WISE MEN OF GOTHAM, and their learned Chroniclers, and unlearned Peasant Producers, who have contributed a wrinkle of human Fun to the earnest face of Life.
“After Schilda, and before, you traverse long tracts of Pine Forest, all under forest management; with long straight stretches of sandy road (one of which is your own), straight like red tape- strings, intersecting the wide solitudes: dangerous to your topographies,–for the finger-posts are not always there, and human advice you can get none. Nothing but the stripe of blue sky overhead, and the brown one of tape (or sand) under your feet: the trees poor and mean for most part, but so innumerable, and all so silent, watching you all like mute witnesses, mutely whispering together; no voice but their combined whisper or big forest SOUGH audible to you in the world:–on the whole, your solitary ride there proves, unexpectedly, a singular deliverance from the mad railway, and its iron bedlamisms and shrieking discords and precipitances; and is soothing, and pensively welcome, though sad enough, and in outward features ugly enough. No wild boars are now in these woods, no chance of a wolf:”–what concerns us more is, that Friedrich’s columns, on the 3d of November, had to march up through these long lanes, or tape-stripes of the Torgau Forest; and that one important column, one or more, took the wrong turn at some point, and was dangerously wanting at the expected moment!–
“Torgau itself stands near Elbe; on the shoulder, eastern or Elbe- ward shoulder, of a big mass of Knoll, or broad Height, called of Siptitz, the main Eminence of the Gau. Shoulder, I called it, of this Height of Siptitz; but more properly it is on a continuation, or lower ulterior height dipping into Elbe itself, that Torgau stands. Siptitz Height, nearly a mile from Elbe, drops down into a straggle of ponds; after which, on a second or final rise, comes Torgau dipping into Elbe. Not a shoulder strictly, but rather a CHEEK, with NECK intervening;–neck GOITRY for that matter, or quaggy with ponds! The old Town stands high enough, but is enlaced on the western and southern side by a set of lakes and quagmires, some of which are still extensive and undrained. The course of the waters hereabouts; and of Elbe itself, has had its intricacies: close to northwest, Torgau is bordered, in a straggling way, by what they call OLD ELBE; which is not now a fluent entity, but a stagnant congeries of dirty waters and morasses. The Hill of Siptitz abuts in that aqueous or quaggy manner; its forefeet being, as it were, at or in Elbe River, and its sides, to the South and to the North for some distance each way, considerably enveloped in ponds and boggy difficulties.
“Plenty of water all about, but I suppose mostly of bad quality; at least Torgau has declined drinking it, and been at the trouble to lay a pipe, or ROHRGRABEN, several miles long, to bring its culinary water from the western neighborhoods of Siptitz Height. Along the southern side of Siptitz Height goes leisurely an uncomfortable kind of Brook, called the ‘ROHRGRABEN (Pipe-Ditch);’ the meaning of which unexpected name you find to be, That there is a SERVICE-PIPE laid cunningly at the bottom of this Brook; lifting the Brook at its pure upper springs, and sending it along, in secret tubular quasi-bottled condition; leaving the fouler drippings from the neighborhood to make what ‘brook’ they still can, over its head, and keep it out of harm’s way till Torgau get it. This is called the ROHRGRABEN, this which comes running through Siptitz Village, all along by the southern base of Siptitz Hill; to the idle eye, a dirtyish Brook, ending in certain notable Ponds eastward: but to the eye of the inquiring mind, which has pierced deeper, a Tube of rational Water, running into the throats of Torgau, while the so-called Brook disembogues at discretion into the ENTEFANG (Duck-trap), and what Ponds or reedy Puddles there are,”–of which, in poor Wunsch’s fine bit of fighting, last Year, we heard mention. Let readers keep mind of them.
The Hill Siptitz, with this ROHRGRABEN at the southern basis of it, makes a very main figure in the Battle now imminent. Siptitz Height is, in fact, Daun’s Camp; where he stands intrenched to the utmost, repeatedly changing his position, the better to sustain Friedrich’s expected attacks. It is a blunt broad-backed Elevation, mostly in vineyard, perhaps on the average 200 feet above the general level, and of five or six square miles in area: length, east to west, from Grosswig neighborhood to the environs of Torgau, may be about three miles; breadth, south to north, from the Siptitz to the Zinna neighborhoods, above half that distance. The Height is steepish on the southern side, all along to the southwest angle (which was Daun’s left flank in the great Action coming), but swells up with easier ascent on the west, earth and other sides. Let the reader try for some conception of its environment and it, as the floor or arena of a great transaction this day.
Daun stands fronting southward along these Siptitz Heights, looking towards Schilda and his dangerous neighbor; heights, woods, ponds and inaccessibilities environing his Position and him. One of the strongest positions imaginable; which, under Prince Henri, proved inexpugnable enough to some of us. A position not to be attacked on that southern front, nor on either of its flanks:–where can it be attacked? Impregnable, under Prince Henri in far inferior force: how will you take it from Daun in decidedly superior? A position not to be attacked at all, most military men would say;–though One military man, in his extreme necessity, must and will find a way into it.
One fault, the unique military man, intensely pondering, discovers that it has: it is too small for Daun; not area enough for manoeuvring 65,000 men in it; who will get into confusion if properly dealt with. A most comfortable light-flash, the EUREKA of this terrible problem. “We will attack it on rear and on front simultaneously; that is the way to handle it!” Yes; simultaneously, though that is difficult, say military judges; perhaps to Prussians it may be possible. It is the opinion of military judges who have studied the matter, that Friedrich’s plan, could it have been perfectly executed, might have got not only victory from Daun, but was capable to fling his big Army and him pell-mell upon the Elbe Bridge, that is to say, in such circumstances, into Elbe River, and swallow him bodily at a frightful rate! That fate was spared poor Daun.
MONDAY, 3d NOVEMBER, 1760, at half-past 6 in the morning Friedrich is on march for this great enterprise. The march goes northward, in Three Columns, with a Fourth of Baggage; through the woods, on four different roads; roads, or combinations of those intricate sandy avenues already noticed. Northward all of it at first; but at a certain point ahead (at crossing of the Eilenburg-Torgau Road, namely), the March is to divide itself in two. Half of the force is to strike off rightward there with Ziethen, and to issue on the south side of Siptitz Hill; other half, under Friedrich himself, to continue northward, long miles farther, and then at last bending round, issue–simultaneously with Ziethen, if possible–upon Siptitz Hill from the north side. We are about 44,000 strong, against Daun, who is 65,000.
Simultaneously with Ziethen, so far as humanly possible: that is the essential point! Friedrich has taken every pains that it shall be correct, in this and all points; and to take double assurance of hiding it from Daun, he yesternight, in dictating his Orders on the other heads of method, kept entirely to himself this most important Ziethen portion of the Business. And now, at starting, he has taken Ziethen in his carriage with him a few miles, to explain the thing by word of mouth. At the Eilenburg road, or before it, Ziethen thinks he is clear as to everything; dismounts; takes in hand the mass intrusted to him; and strikes off by that rightward course: “Rightward, Herr Ziethen; rightward till you get to Klitschen, your first considerable island in this sea of wood; at Klitschen strike to the left into the woods again,– your road is called the Butter- Strasse (BUTTER-STREET); goes by the northwest side of Siptitz Height; reach Siptitz by the Butter-Street, and then do your endeavor!”
With the other Half of his Army, specially with the First Column of it, Friedrich proceeds northward on his own part of the adventure. Three Columns he has, besides the Baggage one: in number about equal to Ziethen’s; if perhaps otherwise, rather the chosen Half; about 8,000 grenadier and footguard people, with Kleist’s Hussars, are Friedrich’s own Column. Friedrich’s Column marches nearest the Daun positions; the Baggage-column farthest; and that latter is to halt, under escort, quite away to left or westward of the disturbance coming; the other Two Columns, Hulsen’s of foot, Holstein’s mostly of horse, go through intermediate tracks of wood, by roads more or less parallel; and are all, Friedrich’s own Column, still more the others, to leave Siptitz several miles to right, and to end, not AT Siptitz Height, but several miles past it, and then wheeling round, begin business from the northward or rearward side of Daun, while Ziethen attacks or menaces his front, –simultaneously, if possible. Friedrich’s march, hidden all by woods, is more than twice as far as Ziethen’s,–some 14 or 15 miles in all; going straight northward 10 miles; thence bending eastward, then southward through woods; to emerge about Neiden, there to cross a Brook (Striebach), and strike home on the north side of Daun. The track of march is in the shape somewhat of a shepherd’s crook; the long HANDLE of it, well away from Siptitz, reaches up to Neiden, this is the straight or wooden part of said crook; after which comes the bent, catching, or iron part,–intended for Daun and his fierce flock. Ziethen has hardly above six miles; and ought to be deliberate in his woodlands, till the King’s party have time to get round.
The morning, I find, is wet; fourteen miles of march: fancy such a Promenade through the dripping Woods; heavy, toilsome, and with such errand ahead! The delays were considerable; some of them accidental. Vigilant Daun has Detachments watching in these Woods: –a General Ried, who fires cannon and gets off: then a General St. Ignon and the St. Ignon Regiment of Dragoons; who, being BETWEEN Column First and Column Second, cannot get away; but, after some industry by Kleist and those of Column Two, are caught and pocketed, St. Ignon himself prisoner among the rest. This delay may perhaps be considered profitable: but there were other delays absolutely without profit. For example, that of having difficulties with your artillery-wagons in the wet miry lanes; that of missing your road, at some turn in the solitary woods; which latter was the sad chance of Column Third, fatally delaying it for many hours.
Daun, learning by those returned parties from the Woods what the Royal intentions on him are, hastily whirls himself round, so as to front north, and there receive Friedrich: best line northward for Friedrich’s behoof; rear line or second-best will now receive Ziethen or what may come. Daun’s arrangements are admitted to be prompt and excellent. Lacy, with his 20,000,–who lay, while Friedrich’s attack was expected from south, at Loswig, as advanced guard, east side of the GROSSE TEICH (supreme pond of all, which is a continuation of the Duck-trap, ENTEFANG, and hangs like a chief goitre on the goitry neck of Torgau),–Lacy is now to draw himself north and westward, and looking into the Entefang over his left shoulder (so to speak), be rear-guard against any Ziethen or Prussian party that may come. Daun’s baggage is all across the Elbe, all in wagons since yesterday; three Bridges hanging for Daun and it, in case of adverse accident. Daun likewise brings all or nearly all his cannon to the new front, for Friedrich’s behoof: 200 new pieces hither; Archenholtz says 400 in whole; certainly such a weight of artillery as never appeared in Battle before. Unless Friedrich’s arrangements prove punctual, and his stroke be emphatic, Friedrich may happen to fare badly. On the latter point, of emphasis, there is no dubiety for Friedrich: but on the former,–things are already past doubt, the wrong way! For the last hour or so of Friedrich’s march there has been continual storm of cannonade and musketry audible from Ziethen’s side:–“Ziethen engaged!” thinks everybody; and quickens step here, under this marching music from the distance. Which is but a wrong reading or mistake, nothing more; the real phenomenon being as follows: Ziethen punctually got to Klitschen at the due hour; struck into the BUTTER-STRASSE, calculating his paces; but, on the edge of the Wood found a small Austrian party, like those in Friedrich’s route; and, pushing into it, the Austrian party replied with cannon before running. Whereupon Ziethen, not knowing how inconsiderable it was, drew out in battle-order; gave it a salvo or two; drove it back on Lacy, in the Duck-trap direction,–a long way east of Butter-Street, and Ziethen’s real place;–unlucky that he followed it so far! Ziethen followed it; and got into some languid dispute with Lacy: dispute quite distant, languid, on both sides, and consisting mainly of cannon; but lasting in this way many precious hours. This is the phenomenon which friends, in the distance read to be, “Ziethen engaged!” Engaged, yes, and alas with what? What Ziethen’s degree of blame was, I do not know. Friedrich thought it considerable:–“Stupid, stupid, MEIN LIEBER!” which Ziethen never would admit;–and, beyond question, it was of high detriment to Friedrich this day. Such accidents, say military men, are inherent, not to be avoided, in that double form of attack: which may be true, only that Friedrich had no choice left of forms just now.
About noon Friedrich’s Vanguard (Kleist and Hussars), about 1 o’clock Friedrich himself, 7 or 8,000 Grenadiers, emerged from the Woods about Neiden. This Column, which consists of choice troops, is to be Front-line of the Attack. But there is yet no Second Column under Hulsen, still less any Third under Holstein, come in sight: and Ziethen’s cannonade is but too audible. Friedrich halts; sends Adjutants to hurry on these Columns;–and rides out reconnoitring, questioning peasants; earnestly surveying Daun’s ground and his own. Daun’s now right wing well eastward about Zinna had been Friedrich’s intended point of attack; but the ground, out there, proves broken by boggy brooks and remnant stagnancies of the Old Elbe: Friedrich finds he must return into the Wood again; and attack Daun’s left. Daun’s left is carefully drawn down EN POTENCE, or gallows-shape there; and has, within the Wood, carefully built by Prince Henri last year, an extensive Abatis, or complete western wall,–only the north part of which is perhaps now passable, the Austrians having in the cold time used a good deal of it as firewood lately. There, on the northwest corner of Daun, across that weak part of the Abatis, must Friedrich’s attack lie. But Friedrich’s Columns are still fatally behind,–Holstein, with all the Cavalry we have, so precious at present, is wandering by wrong paths; took the wrong turn at some point, and the Adjutant can hardly find him at all, with his precept of “Haste, Haste!”
We may figure Friedrich’s humor under these ill omens. Ziethen’s cannonade becomes louder and louder; which Friedrich naturally fancies to be death or life to him,–not to mean almost nothing, as it did. “MEIN GOTT, Ziethen is in action, and I have not my Infantry up!” [Tempelhof, iv. 303.] cried he. And at length decided to attack as he was: Grenadiers in front, the chosen of his Infantry; Ramin’s Brigade for second line; and, except about 800 of Kleist, no Cavalry at all. His battalions march out from Neiden hand, through difficult brooks, Striebach and the like, by bridges of Austrian build, which the Austrians are obliged to quit in hurry. The Prussians are as yet perpendicular to Daun, but will wheel rightward, into the Domitsch Wood again; and then form,– parallel to Daun’s northwest shoulder; and to Prince Henri’s Abatis, which will be their first obstacle in charging. Their obstacles in forming were many and intricate; ground so difficult, for artillery especially: seldom was seen such expertness, such willingness of mind. And seldom lay ahead of men such obstacles AFTER forming! Think only of one fact: Daun, on sight of their intention, has opened 400 pieces of Artillery on them, and these go raging and thundering into the hem of the Wood, and to whatever issues from it, now and for hours to come, at a rate of deafening uproar and of sheer deadliness, which no observer can find words for.
Archenholtz, a very young officer of fifteen, who came into it perhaps an hour hence, describes it as a thing surpassable only by Doomsday: clangorous rage of noise risen to the infinite; the boughs of the trees raining down on you, with horrid crash; the Forest, with its echoes, bellowing far and near, and reverberating in universal death-peal; comparable to the Trump of Doom. Friedrich himself, who is an old hand, said to those about him: “What an infernal fire (HOLLISCHES FEUER)! Did you ever hear such a cannonade before? I never.” [Tempelhof, iv. 304; Archenholtz, ii. 164.] Friedrich is between the Two Lines of his Grenadiers, which is his place during the attack: the first Line of Grenadiers, behind Prince Henri’s Abatis, is within 800 yards of Daun; Ramin’s Brigade is to rear of the Second Line, as a Reserve. Horse they have none, except the 800 Kleist Hussars; who stand to the left, outside the Wood, fronted by Austrian Horse in hopeless multitude. Artillery they have, in effect, none: their Batteries, hardly to be got across these last woody difficulties of trees growing and trees felled, did rank outside the Wood, on their left; but could do absolutely nothing (gun-carriages and gunners, officers and men, being alike blown away); and when Tempelhof saw them afterwards, they never had been fired at all. The Grenadiers have their muskets, and their hearts and their right-hands.
With amazing intrepidity, they, being at length all ready in rank within 800 yards, rush into the throat of this Fire-volcano; in the way commanded,–which is the alone way: such a problem as human bravery seldom had. The Grenadiers plunge forward upon the throat of Daun; but it is into the throat of his iron engines and his tearing billows of cannon-shot that most of them go. Shorn down by the company, by the regiment, in those terrible 800 yards,–then and afterwards. Regiment STUTTERHEIM was nearly all killed and wounded, say the Books. You would fancy it was the fewest of them that ever got to the length of selling their lives to Daun, instead of giving them away to his 400 cannon. But it is not so. The Grenadiers, both Lines of them, still in quantity, did get into contact with Daun. And sold him their lives, hand to hand, at a rate beyond example in such circumstances;–Daun having to hurry up new force in streams upon them; resolute to purchase, though the price, for a long while, rose higher and higher.
At last the 6,000 Grenadiers, being now reduced to the tenth man, had to fall back. Upon which certain Austrian Battalions rushed dawn in chase, counting it Victory come: but were severely admonished of that mistake; and driven back by Ramin’s people, who accompanied them into their ranks and again gave Daun a great deal of trouble before he could overpower them. This is Attack First, issuing in failure first: one of the stiffest bits of fighting ever known. Began about 2 in the afternoon; ended, I should guess, rather after 3. Daun, by this time, is in considerable disorder of line; though his 400 fire-throats continue belching ruin, and deafening the world, without abatement. Daun himself had got wounded in the foot or leg during this Attack, but had no time to mind it: a most busy, strong and resolute Daun; doing his very best. Friedrich, too, was wounded,–nobody will tell me in which of these attacks;–but I think not now, at least will not speak of it now. What his feelings were, as this Grenadier Attack went on,–a struggle so unequal, but not to be helped, from the delays that had risen,–nobody, himself least of all, records for us: only by this little symptom: Two Grandsons of the Old Dessauer’s are Adjutants of his Majesty, and well loved by him; one of them now at his hand, the other heading his regiment in this charge of Grenadiers. Word comes to Friedrich that this latter one is shot dead. On which Friedrich, turning to the Brother, and not hiding his emotion, as was usual in such moments, said: “All goes ill to-day; my friends are quitting me. I have just heard that your Brother is killed (TOUT VA MAL AUJOURD’HUI; MES AMIS ME QUITTENT. ON VIENT DE M’ANNONCER LA MORT DE VOTRE FRERE)!” [Preuss, ii. 226.] Words which the Anhalt kindred, and the Prussian military public, treasured up with a reverence strange to us. Of Anhalt perhaps some word by and by, at a fitter season.
Shortly after 3, as I reckon the time, Hulsen’s Column did arrive: choice troops these too, the Pomeranian MANTEUFFEL, one regiment of them;–young Archenholtz of FORCADE (first Battalion here, second and third are with Ziethen, making vain noise) was in this Column; came, with the others, winding to the Wood’s edge, in such circuits, poor young soul; rain pouring, if that had been worth notice; cannon-balls plunging, boughs crashing, such a TODES- POSAUNE, or Doomsday-Thunder, broken loose:–they did emerge steadily, nevertheless, he says, “like sea-billows or flow of tide, under the smoky hurricane.” Pretty men are here too, Manteuffel Pommerners; no hearts stouter. With these, and the indignant Remnants which waited for them, a new assault upon Daun is set about. And bursts out, on that same northwest corner of him; say about half-past 3. The rain is now done, “blown away by the tremendous artillery,” thinks Archenholtz, if that were any matter.
The Attack, supported by a few more Horse (though Column Three still fatally lingers), and, I should hope, by some practicable weight of Field-batteries, is spurred by a grimmer kind of indignation, and is of fiercer spirit than ever. Think how Manteuffel of Foot will blaze out; and what is the humor of those once overwhelmed Remnants, now getting air again! Daun’s line is actually broken in this point, his artillery surmounted and become useless; Daun’s potence and north front are reeling backwards, Prussians in possession of their ground. “The field to be ours!” thinks Friedrich, for some time. If indeed Ziethen had been seriously busy on the southern side of things, instead of vaguely cannonading in that manner! But resolute Daun, with promptitude, calls in his Reserve from Grosswig, calls in whatsoever of disposable force he can gather; Daun rallies, rushes again on the Prussians in overpowering number; and, in spite of their most desperate resistance, drives them back, ever back; and recovers his ground.
A very desperate bout, this Second one; probably the toughest of the Battle: but the result again is Daun’s; the Prussians palpably obliged to draw back. Friedrich himself got wounded here;–poor young Archenholtz too, ONLY wounded, not killed, as so many were:– Friedrich’s wound was a contusion on the breast; came of some spent bit of case-shot, deadened farther by a famed pelisse he wore,– “which saved my life,” he said afterwards to Henri. The King himself little regarded it (mentioning it only to Brother Henri, on inquiry and solicitation), during the few weeks it still hung about him. The Books intimate that it struck him to the earth, void of consciousness for some time, to the terror of those about him; and that he started up, disregarding it altogether in this press of business, and almost as if ashamed of himself, which imposed silence on people’s tongues. In military circles there is still, on this latter point, an Anecdote; which I cannot confirm or deny, but will give for the sake of Berenhorst and his famed Book on the ART OF WAR. Berenhorst–a natural son of the Old Dessauer’s, and evidently enough a chip of the old block, only gone into the articulate-speaking or intellectual form–was, for the present, an Adjutant or Aide-de-camp of Friedrich’s; and at this juncture was seen bending over the swooned Friedrich, perhaps with an over- pathos or elaborate something in his expression of countenance: when Friedrich reopened his indignant eyes: “WAS MACHT ER HIER?” cried Friedrich: “ER SAMMLE FUYARDS! What have you to do here? Go and gather runaways” (be of some real use, can’t you)!–which unkind cut struck deep into Berenhorst, they say; and could never after be eradicated from his gloomy heart. It is certain he became Prince Henri’s Adjutant soon after, and that in his KRIEGSKUNST, amidst the clearest orthodox admiration, he manifests, by little touches up and down, a feeling of very fell and pallid quality against the King; and belongs, in a peculiarly virulent though taciturn way, to the Opposition Party. H1s Book, next to English Lloyd’s (or perhaps superior, for Berenhorst is of much the more cultivated intellect, highly condensed too, though so discursive and far-read, were it not for the vice of perverse diabolic temper), seemed, to a humble outsider like myself, greatly the strongest-headed, most penetrating and humanly illuminative I had had to study on that subject. Who the weakest-headed was (perhaps JOMINI, among the widely circulating kind?), I will not attempt to decide, so great is the crush in that bad direction. To return.
This Second Attack is again a repulse to the indignant Friedrich; though he still persists in fierce effort to recover himself: and indeed Daun’s interior, too, it appears, is all in a whirl of confusion; his losses too having been enormous:–when, see, here at length, about half-past 4, Sun now down, is the tardy Holstein, with his Cavalry, emerging from the Woods. Comes wending on yonder, half a mile to north of us; straight eastward or Elbe-ward (according to the order of last night), leaving us and our death- struggles unregarded, as a thing that is not on his tablets, and is no concern of Holstein’s. Friedrich halts him, not quite too late; organizes a new and third Attack. Simultaneous universal effort of foot and horse upon Daun’s Front; Holstein himself, who is almost at Zinna by this time, to go upon Daun’s right wing. This is Attack Third; and is of sporadic intermittent nature, in the thickening dusk and darkness: part of it successful, none of it beaten, but nowhere the success complete. Thus, in the extreme west or leftmost of Friedrich’s attack, SPAEN Dragoons,–one of the last Horse Regiments of Holstein’s Column,–SPAEN Dragoons, under their Lieutenant-Colonel Dalwig (a beautiful manoeuvrer, who has stormed through many fields, from Mollwitz onwards), cut in, with an admired impetuosity, with an audacious skill, upon, the Austrian Infantry Regiments there; broke them to pieces, took two of them in the lump prisoners; bearded whole torrents of Austrian cavalry rushing up to the rescue,–and brought off their mass of prisoner regiments and six cannon;–the Austrian rescuers being charged by some new Prussian party, and hunted home again. [Tempelhof, iv. 305.] “Had these Prussian Horse been on their ground at 2 o’clock, and done as now, it is very evident,” says Tempelhof, “what the Battle of Torgau had by this time been!”
Near by, too, farther rightwards, if in the bewildering indistinctness I might guess where (but the where is not so important to us), Baireuth Dragoons, they of the 67 standards at Striegau long since, plunged into the Austrian Battalions at an unsurpassable rate; tumbled four regiments of them (Regiment KAISER, Regiment NEIPPERG,–nobody now cares which four) heels over head, and in few minutes took the most of them prisoners; bringing them home too, like Dalwig, through crowds of rescuers. Eastward, again, or Elbe-ward, Holstein has found such intricacies of ground, such boggy depths and rough steeps, his Cavalry could come to no decisive sabring with the Austrian; but stood exchanging shot;–nothing to be done on that right wing of Daun.
Daun’s left flank, however, does appear, after Three such Attacks, to be at last pretty well ruined: Tempelhof says, “Daun’s whole Front Line was tumbled to pieces; disorder had, sympathetically, gone rearward, even in those eastern parts; and on the western and northwestern the Prussian Horse Regiments were now standing in its place.” But, indeed, such charging and recharging, pulsing and repulsing, has there been hereabouts for hours past, the rival Hosts have got completely interpenetrated; Austrian parties, or whole regiments, are to rear of those Prussians who stand ranked here, and in victorious posture, as the Night sinks. Night is now sinking on this murderous day: “Nothing more to be made of it; try it again to-morrow!” thinks the King; gives Hulsen charge of bivouacking and re-arranging these scattered people; and rides with escort northwestward to Elsnig, north of Neiden, well to rear of this bloody arena,–in a mood of mind which may be figured as gloomy enough.
Daun, too, is home to Torgau,–1 think, a little earlier,–to have his wound dressed, now that the day seems to him secure. Buccow, Daun’s second, is killed; Daun’s third is an Irish Graf O’Donnell, memorable only on this one occasion; to this O’Donnell, and to Lacy, who is firm on his ground yonder, untouched all day, the charge of matters is left. Which cannot be a difficult one, hopes Daun. Daun, while his wound is dressing, speeds off a courier to Vienna. Courier did enter duly there, with glorious trumpeting postilions, and universal Hep-hep-hurrah; kindling that ardently loyal City into infinite triumph and illumination,–for the space of certain hours following.
Hulsen meanwhile has been doing his best to get into proper bivouac for the morrow; has drawn back those eastward horse regiments, drawn forward the infantry battalions; forward, I think, and well rightward, where, in the daytime, Daun’s left flank was. On the whole, it is northwestward that the general Prussian Bivouac for this night is; the extremest SOUTHwestern-most portion of it is Infantry, under General Lestwitz; a gallant useful man, who little dreams of becoming famous this dreary uncertain night.
It is 6 o’clock. Damp dusk has thickened down into utter darkness, on these terms:–when, lo, cannonade and musketade from the south,