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The Battle of Krasny on 17 November 1812 Peter von Hess (PD) |
"Sire."
"I see them, Rapp."
The Russian Army under Kutuzov had parallelled the march of the portion of the French Army directly under Napoléon's command. Composed of mainly units of the Imperial Guard, the Emperor was determined to reach the Dnipro River, still nearly twelve leagues further on from his position near the town of Krasnoi, which itself lay some eight leagues to the west of Smolensk.
Eventually, the Emperor knew that the army wouldn't really see any relief from Russian pursuit until they reached the Berezina, another twenty-four leagues past the Dnipro, Napoléon himself was starting to think that it would be a miracle if he could make it that far with an army sill capable of fighting. As it was, they were down to roughly 40,000 effectives after leaving Moscow with almost a hundred thousand men.
He moved through his Guard without acknowledging them, they had shamed themselves in Smolensk. Shamed themselves and the Emperor personally when they had looted the supplies meant for the entire army.
When he had ridden into their midst, some thought to raise a cheer, one glance from the Emperor and that cheer died in their throats.
One man turned to his comrade of ten years as the Emperor rode past, "Le Tondu¹ is ashamed of us."
The other man nodded and said, "We have dishonored ourselves and those who have gone before, looting like undisciplined banditti.² It is no wonder he won't look at us."
Lieutenant Marais marched with the remnants of his regiment. From what he understood, the main army was strung out over nearly the entire road back to Smolensk, the army having left that place over the space of four days, in four separate groups, his group was somewhat lucky. Being with Davout's corps, they had left Smolensk last, they were still in the relative shelter of the ruined city when a blizzard had struck the army on the 14th, further reducing the army's numbers.
Ney's corps was still unaccounted for, they had not yet reached Smolensk when Davout departed. Some feared that le Rougeaud³ was lost, Marais didn't think so, he didn't believe that Michel Ney could be killed or defeated. And he expressed that view aloud.
"Perhaps you are in the wrong Corps, Pierre?" Lecerf had chided him.
"Do you think that we've heard the last of le Rougeaud?" Marais had snapped back at his commander.
Lecerf raised an eyebrow, "Easy lad, I'm just saying that this weather respects no one, not even one as fanatically brave as Ney."
"Sorry, Sir. It's just that morale is bad enough ..."
A man on a mule, rode up to the head of the 57th's column, "The Viceroy has been defeated and the Emperor has ordered the corps to force their way forward to Krasnoi, the Russians block the road there!"
Before Lecerf could give the order, several unseen batteries of Russian artillery opened fire on the column. Lecerf could do nothing as the 57th, along with everyone else on the road, broke and ran.
Further ahead, the Guard halted as they could see the Russians ahead, blocking a defile that funneled movement through the area to a single track. A number of men turned as they heard the cannonade to their rear.
One grizzled old sergeant's face flushed with shame as he beheld his comrades stop and look over their shoulders. He shouldered his musket and roared out ...
"France is that way, over the bodies of those Russians! Come on you bastards, you cowards, shall we fail the Emperor again?"
At first one of the senior officers thought to stop the man, then realized that he was right, "En avant! Vive l'Empereur!"
The cry rippled down the column and the Guard advanced.
"Excellency, we must attack. The men holding the road are fleeing before that rascal's Guard!"
General Kutuzov, old and sick, shifted in his saddle. "No, the Czar wants them out of Russia and he also wants an army he can lead to the west and seize Paris. If we attack Napoléon here, it will be like attacking a cornered wolf. The wolf will certainly die, but what of the attackers?"
"No gentlemen, let the winter kill them. Look to your units. We will continue to parallel the French march as we escort these uninvited guests from Mother Russia.
"Has anyone seen Chef de Bataillon Lecerf?"
Maréchal Davout had asked the question, no one seemed to have an answer. I Corps was down to approximately 4,000 men at this point. After being driven off by Russian artillery the survivors had rallied on Davout and his staff, none of whom were still mounted.
"Lecerf!" Marais bellowed into the wind, there was no answer.
"It's your battalion now, André." Marais said to his friend Leavitt.
"But Hervé left you in charge ..."
"Yes, which is why I'm giving you your command back, you have earned it since we left Moscow."
"You there!" Marais heard the voice and recognized it to be that of Maréchal Davout.
Leavitt realized that Davout was speaking to him.
"Sir?" Leavitt answered.
"It seems the 57th has no more than 300 men remaining, yet you still bear your Eagle. I can find no officers other than you two. The brigade⁴ is now yours, and you," Davout addressed Marais, "you have the battalion, what is left of it."
Davout then strode off into the blowing snow.
"Well, you can keep the battalion, Pierre. Seems I'm a Général de Brigade now."
Marais grimaced, "Two understrength companies, no more. That's your brigade, André. Let's get moving before the Cossacks show up."
And the Grande Armée continued to limp westwards, leaving a trail of dead and dying men and horses stretching all the way back to Moscow.
¹ The senior units in the Imperial Guard still wore their hair long and in queues. "Le Tondu" is French for roughly "the shorn one," as the Emperor kept his hair short.
² Bandit (Italian). Some of the Guard had served in Italy and like soldiers everywhere, would mix in words they had learned elsewhere.
³ The Red-Headed One, the army's nickname for Maréchal Ney.
⁴ The 57th Ligne had five battalions at the start of the campaign, they constituted Testes' entire brigade. That was typical of the Grande Armée in the Russian campaign. Typically a brigade consisted of a pair of regiments, each having two to three battalions. Rather than create new regiments, Napoléon simply strengthened the existing regiments with more battalions.
Ever present Russians, worsening weather, the Grande Armee is no longer that Sarge.
ReplyDeleteAlthough the weather gets colder, the French army continues to melt away.
DeleteI can't imagine the long walk back... the weather, the cold, the walking, the Russians..
ReplyDeleteNot to mention sleeping outdoors!
DeleteGeneral Kutuzov, old and sick, shifted in his saddle. "No, the Czar wants them out of Russia and he also wants an army he can lead to the west and seize Paris. If we attack Napoléon here, it will be like attacking a cornered wolf. The wolf will certainly die, but what of the attackers?"
ReplyDeleteI don't remember Russia trying to reach Paris. Was there an attempt or did wiser heads prevail?
1814, part of a coalition of Austrian, Russian, and Prussian troops. Entered Paris in March. Which, legend says, is why French cafes are known as "bistros." From the Russian "'Быстро" (bistro - more like buistro) for "quickly," supposedly shouted by Russian soldiers at staff at cafes.
DeleteMichael - See Joe's comment.
DeleteJoe - That's where the term bistro comes from, for sure.
DeleteJL - That is the story as I heard it as well.
Delete👍
DeleteSome linguists say that it doesn't have anything to do with Russian, but comes from the French "bistraud," meaning something like an assistant to a wine merchant or "little servant." They write the Russian connection off because the first written use seems to be the late 19th century.
DeleteThey write off the Russian connection? Linguists are some of most boring people I know. Just saying ...
Delete""It seems the 57th has no more than 300 men remaining, yet you still bear your Eagle. I can find no officers other than you two. The brigade⁴ is now yours, and you," Davout addressed Marais, you have the battalion, what is left of it.""
ReplyDelete"Here! You have bits and pieces of a machine, make sure you keep it running!"
A question, when you write "league" are we to assume you mean the "lieue tarifaire?"
As to my use of the term "league," in military terms it's the distance one could walk in an hour. Moving an entire unit would take longer, of course, as the head of a column will arrive well before the tail. So roughly 3 miles.
DeleteHaving seen league multiple times in the first two paragraphs, I realized my ignorance needed to be fixed and looked it up. The three mile definition I found satisfied my curiosity, but "distance walked in an hour" is even more informative.
DeleteSo, I have learned something already today, and can shut down my brain while I work on taxes.
JB
I like using the terminology which was likely used at the time. I've seen the word "league" used by Napoléon and others in their writing. (Translated into English, of course, as my French is weak, to say the least.)
DeleteThanks. I thought it was that one, but the French, and everyone else, had used several. Almost all are between 2 and 3 miles.
Delete👍
DeleteYou are missing a quotation mark before " you have the battalion...."
DeleteAs to non-metric old-school units of measurement, what metricphiles tend to forget, or were never taught, was that all the old-school measurements were based on common usage. Like 'stone' as a weight. 20lbs is about the largest stone a man can repeatedly pick up by himself, so...
At least the metricphiles don't want us to use the metric days, months, hours, minutes et al. Those were redefinitions-too-far.
I've read in a couple of different places that the Emperor wasn't a big fan of the metric system. Could be apocryphal ...
DeleteThis is a fascinating view into the psychology of retreat, Sarge, something I only realized today. It is very different from advancing from victory to victory.
ReplyDeleteHaving had to make more than one personal retreat (although not in Winter and shelled by the Russians, of course), it is all too easy to compare the initial flush of excitement and victory with the long, cruel steps that take one back across the trail one originally crossed.
Painful both physically and mentally.
DeleteRetreat, especially a near rout, begets more retreat and will suck a soldier's morale quicker than mosquitoes sucking blood from a butt-naked man during mosquito season in Alaska.
DeleteIt breaks a man's spirits. And once one is broken, like a house of cards, the rest will be affected. Like a rotten apple in a barrel of apples.
And constant victory can be as bad. Soldiers get to where they think they're invincible, or can't lose. Which, when the inevitable turnaround occurs, often hits hard.
Once the soldiers and officers start doubting, not questioning as questioning is good, but doubting, the rot starts.
Spot on!
DeleteThe only thing worse than fighting a war, is losing it.
ReplyDeletejuvat
Sometimes it is best to heed the advice "The only way to win is to not play."
DeleteJB
juvat - Yes, the worst of both.
DeleteJB - True.
DeleteWar is one of those games where your choices are limited when the other side decides that they are going to play war with you...
DeleteThe enemy gets a vote.
DeleteAnd so does everything else, gets a vote that is. Especially nature.
DeleteWhat's the saying? "It takes everyone to make a peace, but only one to make a war." Something like that.
DeleteBeans - Nature gets to vote as many times as it wants!
DeleteJoe - Well, there is that.
DeleteI know very little of the geography of the part of the world your talle takes place in. Is Dniepro a variant spelling of Dnieper?
ReplyDeleteOne and the same.
Delete