At Grande Pré the Chief again showed that he never thought of the possibility of an attempt being made to assassinate him. He walked about in the twilight alone and without any constraint, going even through narrow and lonely streets that offered special opportunities for attack. I say this from personal experience, because I followed him with my revolver at a little distance. It seemed to me possible that an occasion might arise when I might be of assistance to him.
On my hearing next morning that the King and the Chancellor were going off together in order to be present at the great battue of the second French army I thought of a favourite proverb of the Chief’s which he repeated to me on his return from Rezonville:—“Wer sich grün macht, den fressen die Ziegen,” and plucking up heart I begged him to take me with him. He answered, “But if we remain there for the night what will you do?” I replied, “That doesn’t matter, Excellency; I shall know how to take care of myself.” “Well, then, come along!” said he, laughing. The Minister took a walk in the market-place while I, in high good humour, fetched my travelling bag, waterproof and faithful diary. On his return he entered his carriage and motioned to me to join him, when I took my place at his side. One must have luck to secure such a piece of good fortune, and one must also follow it up.
We started shortly after 9 o’clock. At first we retraced our steps along yesterday’s road. Then to the left through vineyards and past several villages in a hilly district. We met some parks of artillery and troops on the march or resting by the way. About 11 o’clock we reached the little town of Busancy, where we stopped in the market-place to wait for the King.
The Chief was very communicative. He complained that he was frequently disturbed at his work by persons talking outside his door, “particularly as some of the gentlemen have such loud voices. An ordinary inarticulate noise does not annoy me. I am not put out by music or the rattle of waggons, but what irritates me is a conversation in which I can distinguish the words. I then want to know what it is about, and so I lose the thread of my own ideas.”
He then pointed out to me that when officers saluted our carriage, it was not for me to return the salute. He himself was not saluted as Minister or Chancellor, but solely as a general officer, and soldiers might feel offended if a civilian seemed to think that the salute was also intended for him.
He was afraid that nothing in particular would occur that day, an opinion which was shared by some Prussian artillery officers who were standing by their guns immediately opposite Busancy, and with whom he spoke. “It will be just as it was occasionally when I was out wolf shooting in the Ardennes. After wandering about for days in the snow, we used to hear that a track had been discovered, but when we followed it up the wolf had disappeared. It will be the same with the French to-day.”
After expressing a hope that he might meet his second son, respecting whom he repeatedly inquired of officers along the route, the Minister added:—“You can see from his case how little nepotism there is in our army. He has already served twelve months and has obtained no promotion, while others are recommended for the rank of ensign in little more than a month.” I took the liberty to ask how that was possible. “I do not know,” he answered. “I have made close inquiries as to whether he had been guilty of any slight breaches of discipline; but no, his conduct has been quite satisfactory, and in the engagement at Mars la Tour he charged as gallantly on the French square as any of his comrades. On the return ride he dragged with him out of the fight two dragoons who had been unhorsed, grasping one of them in each hand.[5] It is certainly well to avoid favouritism, but it is bitter to be slighted.”
A few weeks later both his sons were promoted to the rank of officers.
Subsequently, amongst many other things, the Chief once more gave me an account of his experiences on the evening of the 18th of August. They had sent their horses to water, and were standing near a battery which had opened fire. This was not returned by the French, but, he continued, “while we thought their cannon had been dismounted, they were for the last hour concentrating their guns and mitrailleuses for a last great effort. Suddenly they began a fearful fire with shells and smaller projectiles, filling the whole air with an incessant crashing and roaring, howling and whistling. We were cut off from the King, whom Roon had sent to the rear. I remained by the battery, and thought that if we had to retire I could jump on to the next ammunition cart. We expected that this attack would be supported by French infantry, who might take me prisoner, even if I were to treat them to a steady revolver fire. I had six bullets ready for them, and another half-dozen in reserve. At length our horses returned, and I started off to join the King. That, however, was jumping from the frying pan into the fire. The shells that passed over our heads fell exactly in the space across which we had to ride. Next morning we saw the pits which they dug in the ground. It was therefore necessary for the King to retire still further to the rear. I told him this after the officers had mentioned it to me. It was now night. The King said he was hungry, and wished to have something to eat. Drink was to be had from one of the sutlers, wine and bad rum, but there was nothing to eat except dry bread. At last they managed to hunt up a couple of cutlets in the village, just enough for the King, but nothing for his companions, so that I was obliged to look out for something else. His Majesty wished to sleep in the carriage between dead horses and severely wounded soldiers. Later on he found shelter in a miserable hut. The Chancellor of the Confederation was obliged to seek cover elsewhere. Leaving the heir of one of our mighty German potentates (the young Hereditary Grand Duke of Mecklenburg) to keep watch over the carriage and see that nothing was stolen, I went with Sheridan on a reconnoitring tour in search of a sleeping place. We came to a house which was still burning, but that was too hot for us. I inquired at another, it was full of wounded; at a third, and got the same answer, and still a fourth was also full of wounded. Here, however, I refused to budge. I saw a top window in which there was no light, and asked who was there. ‘Only wounded soldiers,’ was the reply. ‘Well, we are just going up to see,’ I said, and marched upstairs. There we found three beds with good and tolerably clean straw mattresses, where we took up our quarters and slept capitally.”
When the Minister first told this story at Pont à Mousson, with less detail, his cousin, Count Bismarck-Bohlen, added: “Yes, you fell asleep immediately, as also did Sheridan, who rolled himself up in a white linen sheet—where he found it I cannot imagine—and seemed to dream of you all night, as I heard him murmur to himself several times, ‘O dear Count!’” “Yes,” said the Minister, “and the Hereditary Grand Duke, who took the affair in very good part, and was altogether a very pleasant and amiable young gentleman.” “Moreover,” continued Bohlen, “the best of it was that there really was no such scarcity of shelter. In the meantime a fine country house had been discovered that had been prepared for the reception of Bazaine, with good beds, excellent wine, and I know not what besides, all first rate. The Minister of War quartered himself there, and had a luxurious supper with his staff.”