Frederick ordered the charge. Like the plunging billows of the sea the cavalry, with Schwerin at their head, hurled themselves upon the enemy; but the result was just what the veteran Field-Marshal had feared. Cannon and cavalry were hampered in their movements by the swampy ground, and while trying to extricate themselves were also exposed to a murderous fire from the enemy’s batteries on the surrounding heights. Whole ranks of gallant Prussians were mowed down. It seemed impossible to fill the gaps, but at this juncture, Schwerin, then seventy-three years of age, seized a standard from a captain, and with the shout, “On, children, on, let those who are not cowards follow me!” rushed forward.[5] The brave old hero, however, had hardly gone ten paces when he fell, mangled by four grapeshots.
General Manteuffel took the standard from the hand of his dead friend and shouted, “Avenge the death of a great man! On, my children! Bravely on!” Nothing now could restrain the Prussians, who were furious with rage at the death of Schwerin. Notwithstanding the storm of fire which cruelly devastated their ranks, they heeded neither wounds nor death. They scaled the heights and deluged them with the enemy’s blood. Frederick himself quickly ended the battle. He observed a gap in the enemy’s centre, rushed in with three battalions, and held his position in the very thick of the fight. His soldiers fought like lions, and soon the victory was won. But at what a cost! Eighteen thousand brave Prussians were lying dead or wounded on the field, without counting the noble Schwerin, “who alone,” as Frederick said, “was worth an army of ten thousand men.” Such was the battle of Prague (May 6, 1757), one of the bloodiest struggles in the Seven Years’ War.
Chapter III
Fredrick’s Defeat and Seydlitz’s Surprise
The Austrians fled into the city of Prague, which was closely invested by the Prussians and bombarded with red-hot shot. The people suffered greatly, and the prospect of approaching famine compelled them to make many sacrifices. The Austrian army had about given up everything for lost and was on the point of capitulating, when news reached them that Field-Marshal Daun, with a strong force of sixty-six thousand men, was on the way to their relief. Frederick marched out to meet him with thirty-two thousand men, the very flower of his army, hoping with this comparatively small force to check his advance. The two armies speedily met, and a battle began at Kollin. At the outset fortune favored the Prussians. The hussars cut their way through the enemy’s lines so furiously that Daun was on the point of retreating. At this juncture, however, the King decided, in the very midst of the battle, to change his excellent original plan. Prince Moritz of Dessau and several other generals differed from him, and when at last he announced his decision, they refused to obey, for they foresaw it must lead to disaster. Drawing his sword for the first time, he rushed up to them, sternly reminded them of their duty, and ordered them back to their commands. The result was mismanagement and confusion in handling the troops. The Austrians and Saxons took advantage of this, and rushed into the gaps—for the Prussians were no longer in solid columns—and soon were the victors. The latter left fourteen thousand dead and wounded on the field. The remainder made an orderly retreat, and Daun did not venture to pursue them.
Bitterly disappointed, Frederick raised the siege of Prague and fell back with his shattered army to Nürnberg. They were obliged to dismount many times on the way to water the horses, and on one of these occasions an old trooper brought Frederick a refreshing draught of water in his steel cap, and handing it to him, said in the heartiest way, “Drink, Your Majesty, and let battles be battles. You are living—that is good. The Almighty also lives, and He will give us victory again.”
The King looked at him and replied with a quiet smile: “Do you really think so, old fellow?”
The trooper nodded assent, and soon they were on the march again. The King was in an unusually gloomy mood, and at such times no one ventured to disturb him. When they reached Nürnberg he went off by himself without saying a word to anyone, and sat down upon an old waste-pipe, where he remained some time in deep thought, scratching curious figures in the sand with a stick. Observing this, his officers stepped more quietly and watched him with much curiosity. Suddenly he rose and said to those about him, “Gentlemen, it is time for action. We must not loiter.”
Without showing any sign of his great disappointment over his defeat, he issued the necessary commands, and his aides were at once busy in distributing them. Even the appearance of his splendid guard, which had been so sorely treated at Kollin that out of a thousand men only two hundred were unharmed in the fight, did not disturb his composure in the least.
“Children,” he said with much feeling, “you have had a hard day. But have patience, dear friends; I will make it all right yet.”
The King’s enemies were joyful over the news of his defeat at Kollin, and decided it would be wise to attack him on all sides. In the east the Russians invaded Prussia with one hundred thousand men. The Swedes, to prove their bravery, attacked Pomerania, but were driven back by General Belling. General Lehwald, however, was less fortunate in his operations against the Russians, as he had an army of only thirty-two thousand men. He was overpowered in an engagement at Grossjägerndorf and compelled to retreat. The Russians might easily have advanced to Brandenburg had they followed up their advantage, but their General Apraxin fell back still nearer the eastern Prussian frontier. This extraordinary movement can only be explained in one way. Apraxin had received express orders from the warlike Empress Elizabeth to press operations with vigor, but he had also been instructed by Grand Duke Peter to go slow and take matters easily, for he much preferred to have Frederick a good neighbor in the future than an enemy.