“Nous sommes prêts, archi-prêts.
Il ne nous manque pas un bouton de
guêtre.”—Marshal Lebœuf.
In the dead of the night the springless waggon containing two doctors of a Sanitäts-Corps and myself rumbled through the streets of hilly Clermont, at that moment[96] the headquarters of King William, first German Emperor. I had made my way from Saarbrücken (escaping in a soldiers’ train) to Pont-à-Mousson, had seen something of the Bavarian bombardment of Toul, and had visited Commercy and Bar-le-Duc. These eastern districts were occupied by the German troops, and side by side on the walls of the Hôtel de Ville at Commercy were the Emperor’s placards, headed “Souscription en faveur de l’armée,” and King William’s announcement, “La conscription est abolie dans toute l’étendue du territoire Français occupé par les troupes Allemandes.”
I found the Prussians in high feather. “We shall be in Paris in a fortnight from now,” said some of their officers to me at table d’hôte; and I thought of the prediction when, three weeks later, I was “before,” but not yet “in,” Paris with them. My greatest anxiety had been to catch up the royal headquarters, so that I might apply for a “legitimation,” which would enable me to move about free of interference; and, thanks to Count von Podbielski, the King’s Adjutant, I obtained this precious document at Clermont. It was here that I met the King—here that, for the first time, I saw Moltke and other giants of the sword, and Bismarck.
The one long, steep street of Clermont was ankle-deep in white mud. Each side of it was lined by baggage-waggons and carriages—such carriages! In every house soldiers were billeted. At No. 21 in the main thoroughfare King William was lodged. This was the royal “haupt-quartier”—a plain, white building, nothing like the grand residence which the King had had at Saarbrücken. There was no flag flying. Two soldiers were doing “sentry go”—that was all. As the church clock chimed eight our hearts were stirred by the clash of music, and a Bavarian battalion marched through the town, their band, forty-three strong, playing the march from “Sardanapalus,” to which, four days later (September 1), I stepped at Bazeilles, while shells were flying and bullets whistling, and the mitrailleuses furnishing a growling, snarling accompaniment.
As the Bavarians—the ill-fated King Ludwig’s lissome Bavarians—passed No. 21 the King (he was seventy-four then!) came to the open window and gravely saluted the Captain of each company with a nod of his silvery head. “Hoch!” shouted the men—“hoch! hoch!” Presently came another battalion, and then the King came downstairs and stood in the street, chatting to his Staff as if it had been a review day in the Tempelhof, and not a pouring wet morning in war-time. King William was in the uniform of a general officer—tunic and trousers of blue, pickelhaube, low boots, cloak, and the blue-and-gold star common to all his Generals. All the officers of the battalion were called to the front, and forty or fifty were presented to His Majesty, who made this little speech: “Gentlemen, I am very much pleased to see the troops of Bavaria with those of Prussia. It has also given me a great deal of pleasure to observe the bravery which you have displayed and the zeal you possess. I hope that this unity of all the German armies will long endure, and that you will gain yet more glory.”
Von Moltke and two or three other officers stood close by, and in attendance on the King was Count von Alten, brother of the Duchess of Manchester. (The Duke of Manchester of those days was with the Prussians for some time in the early days of the campaign.) Spectators of the incident were General Sheridan, of the United States Army, and a couple of other Americans. As I stood in the muddy streets of Clermont that morning, my attention riveted on the King, I little thought that ere the week was over I should witness two of the most sanguinary battles of the war, and see Napoleon III. and his army surrender to the white-haired old gentleman who had greeted his Bavarians so pleasantly opposite No. 21.
The hotel at Raucourt—a small town some two or three miles from the battlefield of Sedan—was full of German officers on August 31, but no hint was dropped to the three civilians (two English and one Austrian[97]) in the house that the next day would be an eventful one. The word “Sedan” was not even mentioned. But the constant passage of troops, all moving in the same direction, warned us to be on the alert. At half-past seven on September 1 two of us joined the procession, stimulated to hasten forward by the continuous roar of the guns from afar.
Pontoon bridges had been built over the Meuse, and on these we crossed with artillery and infantry—thousands of both. Here was the battlefield, extending over miles of ground, hill and valley, with sheltering woods here and there. It was a sweltering day—blue sky and fierce sunshine. The French gunners were very active, and, as we skirted the welcome coppice, their shells flew over our heads and burst at a few yards’ distance. Parched with thirst, I parted company with my friend, whom I thought rashly venturesome, and retraced my steps in the direction of a large château, in the hope of getting a glass of water. On guard at the entrance-gate was a helmeted soldier, who barred my way. I produced my “permit,” signed only two or three days before by the King’s Adjutant, General von Podbielski; but this had no effect upon him, and, but for a happy accident—or, rather, two accidents—I should never have seen any more of the fighting. I ran up to a mounted officer, showed him my “legitimation,” and had the satisfaction of hearing him shout to the man at the gate to “let me in,” as I was a privileged person, entitled to go whither I listed.
Much relieved at this recognition of my status, I was tramping on towards the coppice, in the hope of picking up my companion, when a sergeant in charge of some ammunition waggons passed. To my surprise he stopped, inquiring, in my own tongue, “Are you an Englishman, sir?” I assured him that I was, and, moreover, a newspaper correspondent.
“Well, then,” said this friend in need, “if you will come with me, I will take you to our battery, which is in action on the top of the hill, and introduce you to the Captain, Von Richter, who I dare say will allow you to be attached to us upon seeing your ‘legitimation.’ Otherwise you may find yourself in trouble.”