The Prussian Cavalry

Heinrich XVII, Prinz Reuß, an der Seite der fünften Eskadron I Garde-Dragoner-Regiments bei Mars-la-Tour, den 16 August 1870¹
Emil Hünten (PD)

The wind was picking up, Kossakowski pulled the lapels of his coat together and looked for a place to get out of the wind. The moving air seemed to slice right through his clothing. As he rounded a corner, he saw the young conscript, what was his name? Ah, yes, Junot, Soldat Junot.

The young man was sitting on a crate up against the wall of a shed. He was drinking something out of a bottle, Kossakowski couldn't tell what it was. He stood in front of the young soldier.

"Mind if I join you?"

Junot looked up, his eyes were bloodshot and he hadn't shaved in a few days, he looked rather scruffy for a soldier.

"Suit yourself, newspaperman." Junot said that with a certain amount of scorn.

Kossakowski didn't say anything, he just sat down next to the man, glad to be out of the wind. He didn't say a word, reaching into his coat, he pulled out a cheroot.

"Got any more of those?" Junot asked.

Kossakowski remained quiet, he simply handed the cheroot over, then reached for another. He lit Junot's for him, then lit his own up. After that the two men sat in companionable silence for quite a while.

Junot pulled his bottle out, the Pole thought it was beer, and Junot took a long pull on it, then set it beside the crate. He sighed as he did so. Kossakowski knew that sound, the sound of a man, who had perhaps drank too much, realizing that he was all out of whatever it was he'd been imbibing.

Junot took a long pull on his cheroot, coughed loudly, then tossed the cheroot aside.

"I'm more of a pipe man myself, but haven't found any tobacco worth smoking here." Junot offered. Kossakowski grunted as if in agreement.

After a few more long moments of silence, Junot slumped back against the barn, then wrapped his arms around himself. The young soldier shook his head, then spat into the snow.

"Horses."

Kossakowski looked at Junot and asked, "What about them?"

"They're big animals."

Kossakowski nodded, "Yes, they can be."

"Those Prussians ride some pretty big horses. Scary animals when there's a lot of them together. Scarier still when the men on their backs want to kill you."

Junot watched as the French cavalry charged. He had been surprised to see the horsemen advance at first a walk, then gradually increase their speed until they were almost upon the enemy. As the trumpet sounded the charge, a volley had crashed out. Powder smoke quickly obscured the field.

"Form up, form ranks you bastards!" It seemed as if all of the sergeants and not a few officers were yelling the same thing. Junot felt someone push him forward into a rough line.

A horse, without a rider, came out of the powder smoke, its eyes were open and rolling wildly, the animal was clearly in distress. Junot saw that the horse's chest and saddle were drenched in blood. He wondered whether it was from the rider, or from he animal itself. Perhaps both.

That single horse was followed by more, most with riders, all fleeing as if their lives depended on it, which they surely did as a mass of Prussian cavalry burst from the slowly dissipating smoke, pursuing the disordered French heavy cavalry.

Junot felt the ranks waiver, he had an enormous urge to urinate. He didn't know what to do and no one was giving any orders at the moment. That's when a Prussian lancer, they called them uhlans, dashed at Junot and the men to either side of him. That's when he realized that the other men in his company had fled. It was just him and two others.

The lancer thrust his weapon at Junot, who remembered his training and used his rifle to parry the blow. The lance impaled the arm of the man to his right, who screamed in pain and fury. Junot watched as the wounded man drove his bayonet into the horse's belly.

The animal reared, screaming in pain, unseating its rider. The lancer fell heavily, grunting in pain as he hit the ground. Then he too was screaming as Junot and the man to his left drove their bayonets into the young Prussian. The cavalryman arched his back, then tried to wriggle out from under the blades piercing him.

"Cochon!²" Junot bellowed as he pulled his bayonet back and then thrust it again, this time into the Prussian's throat, pinning him to the earth.

"Jesus, Pierre, I think you killed him good, we need to get out of here."

The wounded man, a fellow named Henri, shouted, "That gully, to our left rear, make for that."

Junot followed the two men, looking back to see if there were any more cavalrymen about, yes, there was another. An officer from the look of him, the Prussian spurred his mount and headed directly for the fleeing Frenchmen.

"Pierre! Watch out!"

Henri's warning was unnecessary, Junot took aim and fired. The Prussian officer jerked back in his saddle as Junot's round hit him in the chest. The man's sword dropped from his lifeless grip and the officer's face went blank. But the horse continued on, nearly bowling Junot over as it passed.

"Here, get down!"

Junot scrambled into the depression in the earth as Adolphe Lambert pulled Junot down beside him.

"Henri, are you alright?" Junot saw that Henri Coulomb's injured arm was bleeding profusely.

"It hurts, Pierre."

Lambert was digging through his pack and pulled out his spare shirt. He handed it to Junot and said, "Bind that up, I'll watch for Prussians."

He did so.

"We were there for only a short time before the counterattack swept over us, driving those Prussians away. We fell back and found our unit, Henri went back to the surgeons." Junot sat on slumped upon crate, he shuddered at the memory of that day. "The surgeons took his arm, he died three days later."

"At least the weather was warm," he added as he looked at the snowy street.

Kossakowski simply nodded, then asked, "What was that you were drinking?"

"Drinking? Oh, beer, it was beer. I'm not much of a beer man, I prefer wine, or a good applejack." Junot shook his head again, as if to drive the memory of Mars-la-Tour from his brain.

Kossakowski stood and reached his hand out to Junot, "Are you hungry?"

"Hungry? Sure, I guess."

"Come along, let's get you a meal, perhaps a nice bottle of wine." Kossakowski helped Junot to his feet.

"Will you write about that?"

"About ..."

"What I just told you."

"Maybe. Do you want me to?"

"No. Well, yes ... I don't know. Would your readers like it?"

Kossakowski didn't answer the question. "Do you know that those Prussians were cut to pieces after they overran your unit?"

"No, I did not."

"They were, destroyed a number of regiments, your guns and infantry did."

"Really?"

"Yes, and your little stand allowed Bazaine the time to send up those reinforcements you saw."

Junot heard the name of the French general, then spat in the snow.

"Bazaine, that bastard threw away our victory. We were gaining on our right, the Prussians were falling back in disorder, then we were ordered to halt and defend."

"You don't say?"

Junot nodded, "I do, ask Lieutenant de Caumont. Hell, ask anyone."

Kossakowski nodded, "I will. Now let's get you that meal. I know a place."

¹ Heinrich XVII, Prince Reuss, alongside the 5th Squadron of the 1st Guard Dragoon Regiment at Mars-la-Tour, August 16, 1870.

² Pig!