“Here is an interesting correspondence of a physician who accompanied the retreat of our troops. Shall I read it aloud?” I asked.
“The retreat?” cried Otto. “I had rather not hear about that. Now, if it were the history of the retreat of the foe, hotly pursued——”
“As a general principle it surprises me,” remarked Frederick, “that any one should tell the tale of a flight which he has accompanied. That is an episode of war which the people concerned in it generally pass over in silence.”
“An orderly retreat is however not a flight,” interposed my father. “We had one in ’49. It was under Radetzky——”
I knew the story and prevented its continuation by interposing.
“This account was sent to a medical weekly paper, and, therefore, was not intended for military circles. Listen.”
And without further request for permission I read out the passage.
“It was about four o’clock when our troops began the retreat. We doctors were fully occupied dressing the wounded—to the number of some hundreds—who could bear removal. Suddenly cavalry broke in on us, and spread themselves beside and behind us, over hills and fields, accompanied by artillery and baggage-waggons, towards Königgrätz. Many riders fell and were stamped to pieces by the horses that came behind. Waggons overturned and crushed the foot-men, who were pressed in among them. We were scattered away from the dressing station, which disappeared all at once. They shouted to us: “Save yourselves!” While this cry went on we heard the thunder of the cannon, and splinters of shell began to fall amongst our crowd. And so we were carried forward by the press without knowing whither. I despaired of my life. My poor old mother, my dear espoused bride, farewell! On a sudden we had water before us, on the right a railway embankment, on the left a hollow way stopped up with clumsy baggage-and sick-waggons, and behind us an innumerable crowd of horsemen. We began to wade through the water. Now came the order to cut the traces of the horses, to save the horses, and leave the waggons behind. The waggons of the wounded also? Yes, those too. We on foot were almost in despair: we were wading again over our knees in water, every moment in fear of being shot down or drowned. At last we got into a railway station, which again was closely barred. Many broke through the barrier, the rest leaped over it. I with thousands of the infantry soldiers ran on. Now we came to a river, waded through it, then clambered over some palisades, passed again through a second river up to our necks, clambered up some rising ground, leaped over fallen trees, and arrived about one A.M. at a little wood, where we sank down from exhaustion and fever. About three o’clock we marched—that is, some of us, another part had to remain and die there—we marched on still dripping with wet and shuddering with cold. The villages were all empty—no men, no provisions, not even a drop of drinking water; the air was poisoned, corpses covering the corn-fields; bodies black as coal, with the eyes fallen from their sockets——”
“Enough! enough!” cried the girls.
“The censorship should not allow the publication of things of that sort,” said my father. “It might destroy a man’s love for the profession of a soldier.”