The Battle of Ligny, Gérard Goes In

Fighting outside Ferme d'en-Haut, Ligny during the Battle of Ligny
by Richard Knötel
(Source)

As the drums began to beat the aux champs,¹ Jacques Lambert glanced to his right automatically to make sure his alignment with his mess mate Christian Brassard was correct. As he stepped off with the other men in his company, he took a deep breath.

The battle had been raging for some time now to his left where III Corps was having a back and forth battle with the Prussians. The French would surge into the small villages along the Ligny brook only to be thrown back in their turn. Now it was the turn of the IV Corps.

Lambert's company was the second in the battalion column,² he felt good about that, at least there were a few men in front of him to absorb the enemy's fire. Unless there were cannon to the front, then having three other men in front of him would be useless. An iron cannon ball the width of one's hand would tear through the length of a column, killing or maiming every man it touched.

Musket balls only killed or maimed the men in front. Of course, with enough volleys being exchanged, it was only a matter of time before the men in the rear ranks were moved forward to fill gaps in the line.

At any rate, Lambert had to grip his musket all the tighter as his hands began to sweat. His nerves were stretched tight as he asked himself again, "Why did I volunteer to come back to this?"

Klaus Bormann was deployed with the other skirmishers from his battalion. While his comrades stood in tight ranks, he, at least, was able to use cover and move freely. He looked down the slight slope and saw that the French were advancing. He whistled at Hans Kurtz who was looking back to the battalion as if hoping to be recalled to the ranks, the young soldier was obviously nervous at being out here, on his own so to speak, with what appeared to be the entire French army advancing towards him.

The whistle got Kurtz's attention, he turned and looked at Bormann with a look of fear and uncertainty, "What, what is it Klaus?"

"Make sure your weapon is ready, Junge. The Frenchies won't wait for you to check it when they get here. No, they'll just stick you with the bayonet and move on."

Kurtz swallowed and then started when he heard the French bellowing their paean to their emperor. He also soiled his trousers.

Capitaine Thierry Delaplace lifted his sword as he heard the drums beat to form line. Somebody was thinking today, no blind charge into the smoke in column, they were deploying out of range of musketry as well. Well, out of the effective range anyway. Delaplace remembered a battalion commander at Friedland knocked from his horse when a Russian battalion had let fly when they were still more than 300 paces from the Russian line.

No doubt his widow could take no solace in the fact that her husband's death was a one in a million occurrence.  Dead was dead, no matter how it happened.

As the company maneuvered to take its place in line, Delaplace kept a careful eye on his company's bearing and alignment, one stumble, one misstep could throw the entire company into disorder, and that disorder could spread throughout the battalion.

But his men were veterans, only a few were from the callup of 1814 when so many teenagers had been brought into the army.

"Sergent Pierlot, keep an eye on the boys today, the Prussians seem far more ready to contest the issue than when we drove them from Charleroi yesterday morning!"

Sergent Christophe Pierlot chuckled and shouted at his commander, "Even the Prussians get tired of running from us after a while, eh Capitaine? The Austrians would already be retreating."

Delaplace began to speak again when a cannon shot hit the line, two men went down, their blood splattering the men to either side.

"So it begins, mon Capitaine. Bonne chance!³" Pierlot moved quickly to fill the newly opened gap in the line, shouting back at his captain as he did so. It was time to press home the advance.

Bormann and the other skirmishers had been driven back into the village fast by the Ligny Brook. Kurtz was gone, Bormann had seen the young man fall and then be bayoneted by a French grenadier. Bormann had fired at Kurtz's killer and, unsurprisingly, had missed. Then he had fled with the others.

The French seemed to disregard the casualties they were taking as they surged into the village, bayoneting and clubbing any unlucky Prussian who tried to resist.

Now Bormann was in a good position and had reloaded his musket. There, coming up the street, the head of a French column. The officer who had taken command of this small group from at least three different regiments told the men to hold their fire.

Bormann began to sweat, it was running down from the head band of his shako and into his eyes, he blinked rapidly to clear it away, he dare not take his hands away from his weapon, the French were too close. What was this madman of a lieutenant waiting for?

"Feuer!"

Soldat Laurent Poncé stumbled and tried to catch himself as something hit him around the thighs. He dropped his musket as he fell hard, trying to catch himself with his hands, his legs were of no use.

When he hit the ground, two other Frenchmen stumbled over him, one kicked him and shouted, "Cochon!⁴"

Poncé was angered at that, but when he looked down at his legs, he forgot that anger. His trousers were soaked with blood, he had been hit in the upper thighs, both legs were shattered.

Poncé fainted from loss of blood, death followed quickly.

Bormann watched in terror as the French swarmed into the house, climbing over their own dead. He tried frantically to reload his weapon, then gave up as a Frenchman advanced on him, screaming, his bayonet aimed straight at Bormann's belly.

Without a thought, Bormann swung his musket, using it as a club. When the butt hit the Frenchman in the head, the man went down like a dropped sack of flour and lay on the floor, unmoving. But Bormann had no time to admire his handiwork as another Frenchman swung his own musket.

Fortunately for Bormann, the man swung far too high and simply knocked the shako from Bormann's head. As the man stepped back to try again, he was transfixed by the lieutenant's sword, who shouted.

"Good God man, out the back, there are too damned many of them!"

Soldats Pascal Chevrier and René Auger were gasping for air, they had run hard up the hill and then up the street in the small Belgian village. They had seen their friend Damien Bruneau go down, his skull crushed by a Prussian musket. As they moved to avenge his death, a sergeant they didn't recognize swung his musket butt at the Prussian who had killed Bruneau.

That man had gone down, run through by a Prussian officer. Both Frenchmen leveled their bayonets and rushed the Prussian, not noticing the man behind him who was halfway out the door when he paused and fired his musket at point blank range.

Auger went down, hit in the belly. Chevrier shot back at the Prussian, but missed. He was almost out the door when an officer barked at him to get back inside, a fresh Prussian battalion was coming down the hill behind the village!

"You men, here, fall in on me!" Premier-Lieutenant Horst von Buchholz was waving his sword and trying to gather the fugitives from the village into an ad hoc unit. He was having some success and saw other men, separated from their regiments, falling in. Soon he had a company-sized unit.

"Form line! Quickly lads, the Silesians have been driven back from the village. We must give them a point to rally on!"

Bormann stood in line, the front rank he noticed with some chagrin, and saw that indeed the regiment which had driven the French from the village were themselves falling back.

Von Buchholz barked out the commands as if they were on the drill field ...

"Das Gewehr Hoch!"

A number of the men, seeing the French driving up the narrow street which led to their position, were already at the firing position so von Buchholz skipped the command to cock⁵ and bellowed ...

"Schlagt an!"

Quickly followed by the command, "FEUER!"

A rolling cloud of powder smoke billowed down the hill as von Buchholz began the drill for reloading, most of the men were already a number of steps ahead of him.

A brief zephyr cleared the smoke and the French, well, the living ones, were nowhere in sight. The attacking column had left their dead and wounded in the street when they had fled back through the village.

"Quickly boys, get back into the houses, they'll be back!"

"Flahaut!" Napoléon shouted out without turning as he scanned the Prussian right flank through his glass.

"Sire?" Général de Division Auguste-Charles-Joseph de Flahaut de La Billarderie, comte de Flahaut asked as he moved his horse up beside the Emperor.

"My compliments to Count Drouot, have the Guard prepare to advance!"

As Flahaut turned to go, the Emperor grabbed him by the sleeve of his uniform.

"You see there Flahaut, Blücher has committed most of his strength against Vandamme, Gérard is making the Prussians bleed for the center of their line. I will march the Guard up and seal the victory. Do you understand, Flahaut?"

"I do, Sire, I do." Grinning, Flahaut galloped back to where the Imperial Guard awaited their orders.

The "Immortals⁶" were about to go into action.

Unnoticed as of yet, at that same moment, a large number of troops began to appear on the French left flank. These men would momentarily cause a panic in those French not yet engaged. Until those same men had vanished back the way they came.

As if they had never been ...

¹ This was an all-purpose drum call for occasions when the troops were to advance at the pas ordinaire, the normal marching pace.

² French infantry battalions could be all six companies in line, one behind the other, or two companies across. The company, unless acting as skirmishers, was always in line (three men deep, the men shoulder to shoulder with the frontage being equal to one-third of company strength.)

³ Good luck!

⁴ A castrated male pig, raised as food.

⁵ The shortened sequence for this is:

Das Gewehr Hoch (Fire-lock up)

Spannt den Hahn (Cock the fire-lock) - the skipped command above

Schlagt an (Aim)

Feuer (Fire) (Source)

⁶ Much of the Army referred to the Imperial Guard, especially the infantry of the Old Guard, as the Immortals, as they were seldom committed to action. And then only if victory seemed assured. Hence, they would live forever.