EXTRACTS FROM LETTERS OF A FRENCH OFFICER IN 1813.[B]
COSSACKS AND FRENCH PRISONERS.
Wismar, Mecklenburg-Schwerin, March 8, 1813.
My Dear Parents: I regret to announce that recent public events have sadly disturbed the relatively comfortable circumstances which favored my convalescence. Since the 26th ult. our lines have been drawn in, and I have accompanied my detachment to this place, where the expected arrival of General Morand from Pomerania will probably be the signal of a hasty retreat. The lamentable fate of our grand army in barbarous Russia is now casting its shadows upon us. It is because so many of our friends remained there that we shall have to move from here. Possibly, a speedy return to the home I left nine years ago may afford some compensation for this inglorious retreat. The cities of Hamburg and Lubeck are in open revolt and ill-treating and driving away the French authorities. If only we had once the Elbe in our rear! The Cossacks are not far off, and the whole country is awaiting them with open arms. Adieu for to-day.
Wismar, 13th March, 1813.
General Morand and his command arrived here at noon to-day. My brothers, Frank and Louis, are with him and in the best of health. Our trio held a council of war an hour ago, and unanimously resolved to remain at the post of honor whatever may betide. I reported in person to the general, who, after viewing my scar from the Hamburg bullet, assured me that my name would appear on the next recommendation for promotions. All the members of our brigade who had been on coast-guard duty in Mecklenburg are being reorganized into a special battalion, in which I retain the rank of first lieutenant. Frank holds a sergeant's commission, while little Louis remains a private fusilier. An order of the day announces that furloughs are out of the question, and that deserters will be dealt with as every one knows how. The latter bit of information is for the special benefit of our Saxon allies, of whom our command embraces twelve hundred. The remainder of it consists of three hundred artillery-men, four hundred marines, two hundred and fifty coast-guards and a squad of civil and military functionaries—all French and well armed and equipped. To-morrow the homeward march begins.
Across the Elbe! Winsen-on-the-Lucke, 18th March.
As the enemy is close upon our heels, we left Wismar in double-quick time. On the 16th, on leaving Moellen, Frank and I visited the grave of the famous German jester Eulenspiegel, but did not take time to drive memorial nails into the surrounding trees, as thousands of pilgrims had done before us.
Not far from there we suddenly came upon a band of Cossacks resting their jaded nags in a marshy meadow. It was something of a mutual surprise. A single glance down our line convinced the hostile commander that we could not consistently give him time to get away. Hence, waving a white streamer at the butt end of a lance, he rode forward and called in passable German for a parlementaire. My anxiety to learn all about this new and singular race of people induced me to request this appointment, which was promptly granted by the commander of our van. No diplomatic chicaneries hampered my mission, which was accomplished in a very few minutes. The result was an unconditional surrender. The poor fellows were the victims of an excess of zeal, having ridden ahead of us while they imagined themselves on our flank. The terms of our future relations being mutually agreed upon, the commander, who had acquired his German in the Prussian service, and was no stranger to Virgil and Horace, offered me a hearty shake of his right hand, while the other, deftly unbuckling a holster, drew forth a sample of genuine Mecklenburger Kuemmel schnapps, which proved not unworthy of cementing a treaty of peace. While the prisoners were being marshalled into custody I had ample opportunity to scan the fifty specimens of exotic humanity before me, but utterly failed to discover in their outward features the proverbial elements of popular terror. Though generally nimble and well-proportioned, they were scarcely above the average French voltigeur in stature, and a bullet or rapier would find the way through their untanned sheepskin jackets just as easily as through any more civilized uniform. Apart from their lances, which they are said to handle with dangerous skill, these scouts carry no weapons worth mentioning. Their rusty horse-pistols are almost harmless toys. A more uncouth-looking soldier than a Cossack on foot can hardly be imagined. Perhaps it is not fair to judge them in this abnormal predicament. When they were informed that they would be treated just like ordinary prisoners, a grin of satisfaction lighted up their countenances with an expression of droll humor not suspected before. In the pockets of their cloaks andportemanteaux were found an amount and variety of pelf somewhat difficult to account for in the possession of warriors who had not yet reached the enemy's country. Among the rest I will only mention gold, silver and copper coins, medals, breastpins, ear- and finger-rings, watches and chains, seals, meerschaum pipes, snuff-boxes, brass buttons, beads, tea-spoons, feminine miniatures, locks of flaxen hair of the same sex, and, last and strangest, bottles of Jean Marie Farina's veritable eau de Cologne! It may be charitably assumed that the latter three suggestive articles were the heart's gifts of patriotic North German maidens to their long-prayed-for liberators. Honni soit qui mal y pense. But it is hardly probable that the original possessors of the more intrinsic valuables had parted with them from equally sentimental motives. Hence our lads wisely discriminated in their disposition of the captured treasures, the coins, jewelry, tea-spoons and meerschaums being temporarily confiscated "until the proper owners could be found." À la guerre comme à la guerre.