During the next hour the Germans pressed their adversaries close up to Sedan. “When the cavalry had been driven back in disorder,” says Ducrot in his sweeping style, “the last bodies of infantry which had stood firm broke and fled. Then on the right and left, with loud hurrahs, which mingled with the roar of cannon and musketry, the Prussian lines advanced.” The statement is too superlative. The cavalry in squads, wandered, no doubt, from ravine to ravine, seeking an asylum, or tried to enter the fortress. The remains of several brigades were piled up in the wood of Garenne, and exposed to an incessant shell fire. But Liébert’s division stoutly defended Cazal, and gave back, foot by foot, until they also were under the ramparts. Towards four o’clock the converging German columns, despite frantic onsets from bands of French infantry, especially on the Givonne front, had thrust these over the deep hollow way, and the victors were only halted when they came within range of the garrison guns.
General de Wimpffen’s Counterstroke.
Throughout the battle General de Wimpffen cherished the idea that it would be feasible to crush “the Bavarians” and retreat on Carignan. At one o’clock he sent a despatch to General Douay, telling the General to cover his retreat in that direction. Douay received it an hour afterwards, and he then replied that “with only three brigades, without artillery, and almost without munitions,” the utmost he could do would be to retreat in order from the field. That was near the moment when Liébert began to fall back, fighting stiffly, from Cazal. At a quarter past one De Wimpffen wrote a letter to the Emperor saying that “rather than be made prisoner in Sedan,” he would force the line in his front. “Let your Majesty,” he said, “place himself in the midst of his troops; they will hold themselves bound in honour to fray out a passage.” His Majesty took no notice of this appeal, and De Wimpffen waited in vain for a reply; but he spent the time in an endeavour to dash in the barrier in his front, direct an attack on the Givonne, which failed; and to organize an onset on Balan, which partly succeeded. He went into Sedan and brought out troops, and gathered up all he could from the errant fragments of a broken Army. With these he fell fiercely and unexpectedly upon the Bavarians in Balan; refused to suspend the fight when ordered by the Emperor to open negotiations with the enemy; and by degrees became master of all the village except one house. But he could not emerge and continue his onslaught, for the hostile artillery began to play on the village; reinforcements were brought up, arrangements were made to frustrate the ulterior aim of the French and recover the lost ground. Against a resolute advance the infantry led by De Wimpffen could not stand, and possession of the village was regained just as the white flag went up over the nearest gate of Sedan. Suddenly the firing ceased on both sides. Although respectfully described by the Germans, General de Wimpffen’s last charge is scoffed at by Ducrot and Lebrun, whom he had enraged by declaring both guilty of disobedience. Lebrun, who was an eye-witness as well as a gallant actor in the forlorn hope, says that they had not gone a quarter of a mile before the column broke and took refuge in the nearest houses. Looking back, De Wimpffen is reported by his comrade to have said, “I see we are not followed and that there is nothing more to do. Order the troops to retreat on Sedan.” The battle had, at length, come to an end. The German infantry, both near Cazal and Balan were within a short distance of the fortifications; in the centre they stood south of the Warren Wood; to the eastward long lines of guns crowned the heights on both banks of the Givonne; on the south, the gate of Torcy was beset, and behind all the foremost lines were ample reserves, horse as well as foot, which had never fired a shot. The number of batteries had increased during the afternoon, for the Würtemberg artillery was called over the Meuse and set in array at the bend of the river above Donchery. Even the high-tempered, if imperious, De Wimpffen was obliged to admit that through this dread circle, neither for him nor any other, was there an outlet. The agony had been prolonged, but enough had been done to satisfy the “honour” of the most obstinate and punctilious of generals. The wearied, wasted, famished, and unnerved French troops were thankful for the impressive stillness and unwonted rest which came abruptly with the declining sun, even though it set the seal on a horrible disaster.
The Emperor and his Generals.
Had Napoleon III. retained that Imperial authority which he had been supposed to possess, the slaughter might have been stayed some hours before. For early in the afternoon he became convinced that the Army could not be extricated, and that the time had come when it would be well to treat. His experiences, as a superfluous attendant on the battle-field, were dolorous. The first object which met his gaze was the wounded Marshal. The depressing incident may have called up visions of Italian triumphs; and, reflecting on the painful contrast, he may have remembered what he said after returning from the sanguinary victory of Solferino—that no more would he willingly lead great Armies to war; for the sight of its horrors had touched the chord of sympathy with human suffering which had always readily vibrated in his heart. During several hours he watched the tempest lower and break in fury; he saw and felt its effects, for two officers were shot at his side; wherever he looked the clouds of encircling battle smoke rose in the clear sunshine; and when he rode back into Sedan the terrible shells were bursting in the ditches, and even on the bridge which he traversed to gain his quarters. As the day wore on his gloomy meditations took a more definite shape; he wished to stop the conflict, and he seems to have thought first that an armistice might be obtained, and then that the King of Prussia, if personally besought, would grant the Army easy terms; for the idea of a capitulation had grown up and hardened in his mind.
At his instigation, no officer has come forward to claim the honour, some one hoisted a white flag. As soon as he heard of it, General Faure, Marshal MacMahon’s Chief of the Staff, ascended the citadel and cut down a signal so irritating to his feelings; but no one told the Emperor that his solitary, independent, and Imperial action, since he joined the Army of Chalons as a fugitive, had been thus irreverently contemned. “Why does this useless struggle still go on?” he said to General Lebrun, who entered his presence some time before three o’clock. “Too much blood has been shed. An hour ago I directed the white flag to be hoisted in order to demand an armistice.” The General politely explained that other forms were necessary—the Commander-in-Chief must sign a letter and send a proper officer, a trumpeter, and a man bearing a white flag, to the chief of the enemy. Lebrun drew out such a form, and started forth. Faure, who had just pulled down the white flag, would not look at it; De Wimpffen, seeing Lebrun ride up followed by a horseman who carried a rag on a pole, shouted out, “I will not have a capitulation; drop that flag; I shall go on fighting;” and then ensued their adventures about Balan, which have been described. When Lebrun had gone, Ducrot, and subsequently Douay, visited the Emperor. Ducrot found the interior of the fortress in a state which he qualifies as “indescribable.” “The streets, the squares, the gates were choked up with carts, carriages, guns, the impedimenta and debris of a routed Army. Bands of soldiers, without arms or knapsacks, streamed in every moment, and hurried into the houses and churches. At the gates many were trodden to death.” Those who preserved some remains of vigour exhaled their wrath in curses, and shouted “We have been betrayed, sold by traitors and cowards.” The Emperor still wondered why the action went on, and rejected Ducrot’s suggestion of a sortie at night as futile. He wished to stop the slaughter; but he could not prevail on Ducrot to sign any letter. Douay at first appeared disposed to accept the burden, but De Failly or Lebrun induced him to revoke his consent by remarking that it entailed the duty of fixing his name to a capitulation. General de Wimpffen sent in his resignation, which, as the Emperor could not induce one of the other generals to take his place, was absolutely refused. The shells were bursting in the garden of the Sub-Prefecture, in the hospitals, the streets, and among the houses, some of which were set on fire. In these dire straits the Emperor at length resolved that the white flag should be again unfurled, and should, this time, remain aloft in the sunshine. Meantime, as evident signs indicating a desire to negotiate had appeared at various points, and as the white flag surmounted the citadel, the King directed Colonel Bronsart von Schellendorf and Captain von Winterfeld to summon the place to capitulate. When Bronsart intimated to the Commandant of Torcy that he bore a summons to the Commander-in-Chief, he was conducted to the Sub-Prefecture, “where,” says the official narrative, “he found himself face to face with the Emperor Napoleon, whose presence in Sedan until that moment had been unknown at the German head-quarters.” The arrival of the Prussian officer seems to have occurred just as the Emperor finished writing a letter to the King destined to become famous. But he answered Bronsart’s request that an officer fully empowered to treat should be sent to the German head-quarters, by remarking that General de Wimpffen commanded the Army. Thereupon, Colonel Bronsart departed, bearing a weighty piece of intelligence indeed, but no effective reply; and soon afterwards General Reille, intrusted with the Imperial letter, rode out of the gate of Torcy and ascended the hill whence the King had witnessed the battle.
King William and his Warriors.
An eminence, selected by the Staff because it commanded an extensive view, rises a little south of Frenois—the site has been marked on the map with a small pyramid—and upon this, about seven o’clock, just as the fog was lifting, King William took his stand. When the mists vanished, the sun poured his dazzling splendour over the landscape, and the air was so lucid that everything could be seen distinctly through a powerful field-glass. “The sun shone out in full power,” says Prince Bibesco. “The sun was exceedingly powerful,” writes Dr. Russell. “The day had become so clear”—he is writing of the same period as the Prince—“that through a good glass the movements of individual men were plainly discernible.” And, a little earlier, he says, “on the hills, through wood and garden,” he was looking towards the Givonne, “and in the valleys, bayonets glistened, and arms twinkled and flashed like a streamlet in moonlight.” And so it continued to the end. “The hills of the battlefield,” writes Dr. Moritz Busch, “the gorge in its midst, the villages, the houses and the towers of the fortress, the suburb of Torcy, the ruined [railway] bridge to the left in the distance, shone bright in the evening glow, and their details became clearer every minute, as if one were looking through stronger and stronger spectacles.” Through such a rich and transparent atmosphere the King gazed from his height upon the city wherein Turenne was born, in September, 1611, and on the battle which has made the little town on the Meuse, which Vauban fortified, still more memorable. A glimpse of the group on the hill is fortunately afforded by Dr. Russell, whose keen eyes on a battlefield seem to overlook nothing. “Of the King, who was dressed in his ordinary uniform, tightly buttoned and strapped,” it is noted that he “spoke but little, pulled his moustache frequently, and addressed a word to Von Moltke, Roon, or Podbielski,” who looked frequently through a large telescope mounted on a tripod. “Moltke,” he goes on, and the touch is characteristic, “when not looking through the glass or at the map, stood in a curious musing attitude, with his right hand to the side of his face, the elbow resting on the left hand crossed towards his hip.” A picture of Von Moltke, which, taken with what another observer calls his “refined and wrinkled face,” deserves to live in the memory. Count Bismarck, we are told, “in his white cuirassier flat cap with the yellow band and uniform, stood rather apart, smoking a good deal, and chatting occasionally with a short, thick-set, soldierly-looking man in the undress uniform of a United States’ Lieutenant-General.” It was Sheridan. And near these were many less famous personages, but representative of “all Germany,” as one writer puts it. On another hill a little further west, whither Dr. Russell transferred himself, was a second and notable group, which he sketches. “The Crown Prince with his arms folded, and his flat cap, uniform frock, and jack boots; Blumenthal so spruce and trim; half-a-dozen princes and many aides-de-camp” were all sharply and well-defined on the sky-line. Thus these two groups, “from morn to dewy eve,” looked down, on, and into a scene which nature and man had combined to make at once beautiful and sublime.
It was towards the King’s hill that General Reille turned when he rode out of the Torcy gate. Walking his horse up the steep, he dismounted, and taking off his cap, presented a letter to his Majesty. King William, breaking the Imperial seal, read these phrases, which, if somewhat dramatic, are striking in their brevity:—[1]
Monsieur mon Frère,