A fragment of a shell knocks over the faithful Willhofen. The fire from the Russian batteries becomes more terrible than ever, the crowd more agitated and frantic.
“‘Let us keep together!’ cried Regnard—‘once separated, we shall never meet again.’ And he stretched out his hand to grasp that of Ludwig, when a ball passed between them, overthrowing the colonel.
“‘Regnard!’ cried Ludwig, springing to his assistance, ‘are you badly hit?’
“Bernard raised the wounded man by the shoulders, and bent over him.
“‘I have got my allowance,’ said Regnard, faintly. ‘Where is my little daughter?’
“Shuddering, but with resolute step, Bianca came forward, the child in her arms. She kneeled beside the dying soldier and held it out to him. Regnard looked mournfully at the little creature so soon to be an orphan.
“‘Farewell!’ he said, kissing it for the last time. ‘You have no longer a father—but a mother—has she not?’ added he, imploringly to Bianca. ‘Greetings to Rasinski, if he still lives to receive them. Long live the Emperor!’
“Upon this last exclamation, uttered in a hoarse soldier-like tone, the final breath of the dying man was expended. The next instant his soul had fled.”
From the heights of Studianka the beaten French now pour down, and Bianca loses her female attendant, who perishes miserably, crushed by a gun-carriage. It will be seen that there is a considerable accumulation of horrors at this part of the romance; but tender-hearted persons, whom narratives of human suffering too painfully affect, will naturally avoid a book founded on such a campaign as that of 1812. The passage of the Beresina has been too often described to be worth dwelling upon here; and the more so as Mr Rellstab very judiciously has not attempted to alter or improve upon the reality, of itself sufficiently extraordinary and harrowing. He makes Rasinski execute the famous feat of Jacqueminot, Oudinot’s aide-de-camp, who, after swimming the Beresina in spite of the piercing cold and of the floating blocks of ice that bruised and cut his horse’s chest and flanks, galloped after the stragglers from Tchaplitz’s retreating column, caught one, disarmed him, put him before him on his horse and swam back with him to Napoleon, who had expressed a wish for a prisoner from whom to get information.
Hopeless of crossing the crowded bridge, where a fearful struggle for precedence now goes on amongst the mob of desperate fugitives, Bianca and her two companions take their course up stream, still bearing with them Regnard’s orphan daughter, and hoping to find rest and shelter by passing themselves off as Russians. At last, seeing no signs of house or village, they sit down in despair upon the snow and await their fate; when, in accordance with Mr Rellstab’s practice of bringing about opportune meetings, Rasinski and his handful of lancers ride up to them, and after the due amount of kisses and tears, a Lithuanian peasant guides them to a ford, and they get through the river in safety. At Zembin they procure a small sledge, and Bernard and Ludwig urge Bianca to hurry forward to Wilna. Neither of them offer to accompany her, which they might with great propriety have done, seeing that they are dismounted and useless, but propose confiding her to a wounded dragoon, a proposal which she naturally enough declines, and declares she will stick to the ship—in other words to the regiment—and rough it with the rest. After which plucky decision there is no more talk of parting company till they reach Wilna. Before getting there, however, there is much to be gone through. For winter sets in, and the tortures of cutting cold are added to those previously endured, slaying the sick and wounded by hundreds of a night. Overpowered by the fatigues of the day, they lie down to sleep beside their watchfires, and in the morning are stiff and cold. The north-west wind suddenly surrounds the harassed Frenchmen with the terrible atmosphere of the north pole, the air is filled with an icy dust, lips and cheeks crack and blister, the eyes are inflamed by the glittering whiteness of the snow. The horses die from extreme cold, and it is just as well for their riders, who would otherwise be frozen in their saddles. Thus Rasinski and his comrades find themselves dismounted, and Bianca’s sledge becomes useless. They pursue their way on foot, amidst scenes of inconceivable suffering and woe. Few of those around them show fortitude in this extremity of misery. In some instances despair and madness lead to violence and shameful excesses. Bianca, whose courage rises with the necessity for exertion, is walking supported by Ludwig’s arm, and Bernard follows at a short distance, carrying the infant, who, unconscious of the danger, smiles cheerily in his face, when the following incident occurs.