The Fields of Death - Scarrow Simon - Страница 91

Roguet’s men took control of the rise, turning to the south to confront the clusters of Cossacks who had re-formed, and the two sides watched each other warily, just beyond musket range. Napoleon nodded with satisfaction. The road was open again and the army could make for the last crossing over the Dnieper at Orsha. After that, there was only one more river to cross before the final leg of the retreat to the Niemen.

For the rest of the day Napoleon remained with Roguet as the Guard continued to confront the Cossacks. Behind the guardsmen, the rest of the army tramped along the road. The snow was quickly compacted and the surface ice gleamed as the ragged French soldiers trod warily, trying to avoid slipping over. Behind the Guard artillery came the other battalions who had not taken part in the brief battle and a few hundred horsemen, all that remained of the thousands of finely mounted heavy cavalry that had advanced into Russia mere months before. Then came the gaunt figures of Prince Eugиne’s corps, some battalions reduced to less than fifty men still following the colours topped by the gilded eagles. No more than five thousand men remained of the forty-five thousand who had crossed the Niemen in June. Behind Eugиne’s corps came the ten thousand of Marshal Davout, who had led the largest formation on the campaign. Fewer than one in seven still marched behind their eagles. Following Davout was the long, ragged mass of stragglers, the wounded and the camp followers; women wrapped in cloaks, some clutching the hands of children who stared down apathetically as they staggered on. Some distance behind them, perhaps as much as a day’s march, was the rearguard commanded by Marshal Ney.

Napoleon stared down his telescope for any sign of Ney’s corps beyond the last dots of the final stragglers still trying to keep up with the army, but saw nothing but an almost empty winter landscape. With a feeling of anxiety he shut his telescope and turned to General Roguet.

‘Have your men re-join the column. Close up the stragglers as best you can.’

‘Yes, sire.’ Roguet nodded. ‘What about Ney? Do you intend to halt the army and let him catch up?’

‘No. We must not stop. We have to reach Orsha before the enemy, or they will deny us the crossing.’

‘Sire, I can leave a few battalions behind to hold the road open and wait for Ney.’

‘The Guard are the very last of our reserves. I cannot afford to risk losing a single man of them unnecessarily.’

Roguet shook his head in protest. ‘But, sire, if we abandon this position then the Cossacks will close the road behind us. Ney’s corps will be cut off.’

‘That’s too bad,’ Napoleon replied, and then forced a smile. ‘My dear Roguet, if any man can survive this retreat, it is Michel Ney. You can count on it.’

Roguet looked back down the road to Smolensk. ‘I hope you are right, sire.’

‘Trust me. Now then, General, order your men to join the column.’

Roguet bowed his head wearily and walked his horse away from the Emperor towards the dark lines of his men still facing the distant clusters of Cossacks. Napoleon stared at the enemy with loathing for a moment. The Cossacks were like animals. There had been many reports of the atrocities they had perpetrated on stragglers or small groups of prisoners they had captured. Only the day before a group of foragers had been rounded up and forced into a barn which was then set on fire. As a consequence the imperial headquarters had issued an order that no prisoners were to be taken. In any case, Napoleon reflected, there were too few men to guard them and no food to feed them with. Literally no food. Already there were rumours that some had turned to cannibalism. Napoleon’s expression turned to disgust at the thought. He did not believe the rumours, he told himself. Men did not do such things.

He shook off the thought and turned towards Smolensk one last time as the dusk closed in across the land, dimming the snowfields to ever darker shades of grey.

‘Good luck, Ney,’ he muttered, and turned his mount, spurring it into a trot in the snow alongside the column as he rode to catch up with his headquarters.

The vanguard marched hard, driven on by the knowledge that it was in a race to reach Orsha before the enemy could take the town and block the crossing. Two days after the battle the Imperial Guard reached the town and hurriedly set about fortifying the bridgehead across the Dnieper. Over the next days the rest of the main column trickled in and took shelter in the small town, crowding into the buildings and barns to get out of the bitter wind and snow. The small stocks of food in Orsha were soon exhausted and the rear elements of the Grand Army were forced to beg whatever scraps they could from their comrades. There was still no sign nor any word from Ney, and once the last of the stragglers had passed into the town the sentries kept an anxious watch for the first of the Cossacks that were sure to be close behind.

The staff of the imperial headquarters had taken over the town’s corn exchange and were gathered in the main hall where a fire burned in a vast stone fireplace constructed from blocks of granite. The road to Warsaw had been cut once again and the latest reports from the cavalry patrols brought more bad news.

‘The Russians have sent columns round our flanks to cut us off from the far bank of the Berezina,’ Napoleon told his staff and senior commanders as they stood before him. He paused before delivering the next blow. ‘They have taken Minsk.’

A groan went up around the hall. The supplies stockpiled at Minsk would be denied to the French army. Napoleon raised his hands and called for silence so that he could continue. ‘It is clear that they will make for the bridges and fords around Borisov. If they can hold them in strength before we arrive then there is no question about the outcome. The Grand Army must surrender or face annihilation. Therefore, I must ask for another great effort from the men. We must cross the Berezina as swiftly as possible.’

He paused and his tone softened. ‘I know how you must feel. We have been running from our pursuers for over a month now. It seems that there is always one more river we must cross to escape. I don’t doubt that your men will despair when they hear the news. The ordeal is not over yet. A hard march lies ahead of us, but when we cross at Borisov it is only another week’s march to Vilna where there is food enough for the whole army, as well as coats, boots and drink. Tell that to your men. Tell them it is there for the taking, if they can make the effort.’ Napoleon paused and looked round the room. He was sad to see the resignation in so many of their faces. They were beyond calls to patriotism and appeals to the heart now. But they must still be open to reason, he decided. He drew a deep breath.‘Tell them whatever you like, as long as it inspires them to keep marching. When that fails, use force.’

He gave them a moment to let his words settle in their weary minds. ‘We will have to do all that we can to increase the pace, gentlemen. To that end it is necessary that we leave behind all our heavy vehicles and any unnecessary baggage. We will keep the guns, limbers and ammunition carts only. Every wagon, carriage and cart is to be left behind. They will be burned, together with any supplies that we can no longer take with us.’

‘What about the wounded?’ asked Berthier.

‘The walking wounded can stay with the army. The rest will be left here, together with any who volunteer to remain behind to look after them.’

There was a silence as the officers digested the order, then Roguet cleared his throat. ‘Sire, that is a death sentence. We know what the Cossacks do to their prisoners.’

‘Then we must hope that the Russian regulars enter the town first,’ Napoleon replied. ‘But, just in case, we must ensure that every man is left with the means to escape captivity. The choice is theirs. There is nothing else we can do for the seriously wounded.’