But the Russians rallied quickly. Reinforced by the superb regiment of the Chevalier Guards, a corps in which all the troopers were men of birth, they came on to meet the French again. Just at that moment Bessières, with at his back the magnificent cavalry of Napoleon’s Guard, came up at full speed. Rapp’s squadrons rejoined, and both Imperial Guards met in full career. “Again we charged,” says Rapp, “and this charge was terrible. It was one of the most desperate cavalry combats ever fought, and lasted several minutes. The brave Morland, Colonel of the mounted Chasseurs of the Guard, fell by my side. We fought man to man, and so mingled together that the infantry on neither side dared fire, lest they should kill their own men.” They fought it out until the Russians gave back and broke and fled—in full sight of the Czar and the Austrian Emperor, who from some rising ground near by had been spectators of the desperate affray.
The survivors of the hapless First Battalion of the 4th of the Line had meanwhile recovered themselves. Rallied by their officers, they had been brought back into the battle. They returned with their nerve restored, now only anxious to make amends for the disgrace they had brought on the Grand Army. They were in time to join in the final advance beyond the Pratzen heights and cross bayonets with an Austrian regiment, from which they took its two standards. That feat, as will be seen, was to serve them in good stead later on.
The charge of the Cavalry of the Guard practically decided the fate of the day at Austerlitz. Napoleon at once brought up Oudinot’s Grenadiers, Bernadotte’s battalions, and the regiments of the Old Guard to further reinforce Soult’s divisions. The Allied centre was shattered and driven in at all points, and forced back for a mile-and-a-half beyond the field of battle. It resisted desperately to the last, and several fierce counter-attacks were made; but in vain.
THE DOG THAT SAVED AN EAGLE
In one of these the Eagle of the Chasseurs à Pied of the Imperial Guard had a narrow escape. According to the story it was saved by a dog—“Moustache,” a mongrel poodle that had attached himself to the corps and become a regimental pet. The Eagle-bearer of the First Battalion, to whom the dog was much attached, and whom he was following, was shot, and the Eagle dropped to the ground beneath the man’s body. An Austrian regiment was making a counter-attack at that point, and before the Eagle could be picked up, three Austrian soldiers ran forward to seize it. Two of them attacked the two men of the Eagle escort. The third was faced by “Moustache,” who kept him off, growling savagely and snapping at the Austrian from behind the dead body of the Eagle-bearer. The man dropped his musket, drew his hanger, and cut at “Moustache,” slicing off a paw. But in spite of that the dog managed to keep him off until assistance came. Then the three Austrians were bayoneted and the Eagle was saved. Marshal Lannes, on hearing the story, had a silver collar made for “Moustache,” with a medal to hang from it, inscribed on one side, “Il perdit une jambe à la bataille d’Austerlitz, et sauva le Drapeau de son régiment”; and on the other, “Moustache, chien Français; qu’il soit partout respecté et cheri comme un Brave.” “Moustache,” in the end, it may be said, died a soldier’s death. He was killed by an English cannon-ball at Badajoz, and was buried on the ramparts there, with a stone over him, inscribed: “Cy git le brave Moustache.”
The Allied centre broken through, the end came on swiftly all over the field of battle.
On Napoleon’s left wing, Lannes and Murat had engaged the Russian rear column (or right wing as they fronted to fight) immediately after Soult opened the main attack. They had done their part by holding in play the enemy in front, thus preventing the Allied troops on that side from moving up to reinforce the centre. There, too, as elsewhere, the Eagles of Napoleon’s battalions fulfilled their rôle; one Eagle in particular, that of the 13me Légère, achieving special distinction. When the Allied centre gave way, Lannes and Murat pressed forward impetuously, forcing their antagonists back, and driving them off the field to the north-east, past the village of Austerlitz.
Davout, on Napoleon’s right, finished his task at the same time; in no less workmanship fashion. As Soult swung round his victorious divisions to the right to take the Russian left wing in rear, Davout’s moment came and he gave the order to advance. Surging forward with exultant shouts the stout-hearted defenders of that fiercely contested side of the field swept down on the assailants they had kept at bay for five long hours. The Russians did their best to make a brave resistance, but the day was lost. Formed in close-packed columns they fell back, losing guns and colours, and hundreds of prisoners.[9]
VICTORS AND VANQUISHED
As darkness closed in, the last shots were fired at Austerlitz. Crushing and complete had been the overthrow. The Allied army fled in wild panic. It left on the field 30,000 men, dead, wounded, or prisoners, 100 guns, and 400 ammunition caissons. Forty-five standards were in the hands of the victors. Twelve thousand men in killed and wounded was the price Napoleon paid. It was a big price; but the victory to him was worth the sacrifice. At five next morning an aide de camp from the Austrian Emperor presented himself before Napoleon to beg for an immediate suspension of hostilities. The Emperor Francis himself had an interview with Napoleon during that afternoon, and, as the result, terms of peace—to include the Austrian Emperor’s Russian allies—were mutually agreed on; to be formally settled between the diplomatists as soon as possible, Pressburg in Hungary being named for the meeting-place.