The Generals r-2 Page 17

  Napoleon ran forward towards Lannes and took hold of the arm on his unwounded side, supporting it across his shoulder as he helped the much larger man make for the safety of the low rise on the fringe of the open ground. There he slumped down alongside Lannes. The Gascon officer was breathing hard and gritting his teeth against the pain. His uniform coat was stained with blood front and back where a musket ball had passed through the flesh under his arm.

  ‘Over here!’ Napoleon called out to two grenadiers passing by. The men paused for a moment, still numbed by the horror they had endured on the bridge, then hurried to their general’s side.

  ‘Get the colonel to the rear and find him a surgeon.’

  The men nodded and led Lannes away. Napoleon turned back towards the bridge. Already the sun had risen above the horizon and with the coming of day there would be no hiding the movements of the French army. If the Austrians reacted swiftly they could deal a lethal blow to each of Napoleon’s columns in turn. Napoleon smacked his fist against his thigh.They must cross the river as quickly as possible, whatever the cost. The plan depended on it. He cursed the enemy for having positioned a force to cover the bridge. Then, more bitterly still, he cursed himself for assuming that the Austrians would leave it undefended. It was his mistake, he admitted, as he looked across the open ground, scattered with dead and dying, and on to the carpet of bodies on the bridge. His miscalculation had cost these men their lives, and Lannes his wound. Their attack had been brave and he owed them a display of courage in return.

  Turning round, he approached General Augereau and the colour party of the next battalion in the column. Napoleon gestured towards the sergeant holding the tricolour standard.

  ‘Give me that!’

  Augereau cleared his throat anxiously. ‘Sir, what are you doing?’

  ‘What every general should do,’ Napoleon replied quietly, trying not to show the excitement and fear that gripped his body. ‘I’m going to lead from the front. Have this battalion ready to advance. Packs down and bayonets fixed. Do it now!’

  ‘But, sir.’ Augereau looked horrified. ‘What if you are killed?’

  ‘Then, if this attack fails, you will need to lead the next charge. And you will stick to the plan.We have to cross the river. Understand?’

  Augereau nodded reluctantly and turned away to issue the commands. The sergeant handed Napoleon the standard.

  ‘Sir?’

  Napoleon turned round and saw that Major Muiron had stepped forward. At his shoulder stood Marmont and Louis.

  ‘What is it, Muiron?’

  ‘We request permission to go with you.’

  ‘No,’ Napoleon replied in a harsh tone, and at once relented. It was hardly fair to men who had offered to risk their lives alongside his. He forced himself to smile and he clasped Muiron’s shoulder with his spare hand. ‘I would not want to be the cause of your deaths, my friends. Stay here, and then join me on the far bank when it’s all over.’

  Muiron shook his head. ‘Sir, with respect, we know the dangers, and we know our duty is to be at your side. If we stay here while our general goes forward we shall be shamed for ever.’

  ‘Nevertheless it is my order.’

  ‘Sir, your order would dishonour us. What have we done to deserve that?’

  ‘Nothing.’ Napoleon smiled. ‘But you have served me well enough not to deserve death on that bridge.’

  Muiron shrugged. ‘Death comes for us all, sir. I would sooner face it today at your side than die an old man, made infamous by remaining behind whilst his commander went into battle.’

  Napoleon felt a flush of irritation.There was no time for this. He had given an order and the man should obey it. But then, there was truth in what Muiron said, and he knew he would make the same request for the same reasons if their positions had been reversed. So he nodded. ‘Very well then. If this is the day, then there are no men I would be more proud to have at my side. Let’s go.’

  Raising the standard aloft where all the men of the battalion - and the Austrians - could see it, Napoleon walked steadily forward. Behind him the sergeants of the following battalion bellowed out the order to advance and the second attack headed towards the bridge. Major Muiron stepped into position to Napoleon’s left and Louis and Marmont fell in on his right as the four officers reached the open ground and unconsciously quickened their pace. Then they passed the first of the bodies, a young lieutenant sprawled on his front with half his head blown off by grapeshot. They were in range of the Austrian cannon, Napoleon realised, and steeled himself for the first blast from the enemy guns. He took a deep breath and called over his shoulder.

  ‘Advance . . . at the double!’

  The French broke into a trot, buckles chinking as boots pounded across the open ground. As before, the Austrians held their fire until the attackers had passed well within killing range to maximise the effect of the first blast.Time seemed to slow and Napoleon found that he was seeing every detail in its full intensity of colour and form as he rushed on. He saw the Austrian artillery officer raise his arm, readying his gun crews for the first discharge, and his racing mind tried to calculate the chances of being hit by the cone of fire blasting from the muzzle of a cannon. The odds of coming out of this alive were not impressive and he laughed. Muiron shot him a questioning look. There was no time to explain as the flat detonation of the cannon echoed across the river. He was aware of a low hissing in the air around him and the sound of a soft, wet thud, and an explosive groan from a man behind him.

  ‘Charge!’ he shouted out. ‘Charge! For France!’

  The rough grass of the open ground gave way to the muddy ruts of the track leading up to the bridge and Napoleon ran to one side of the rail and paused, waving his men on.

  ‘Forward!’ he cried, thrusting his sword at the far end of the bridge. ‘Keep moving! Keep moving!’

  The men ran past him, heads hunched into their shoulders. Grim faced, they clutched their muskets vertically to avoid skewering their comrades. As they ran down the length of the bridge the Austrian infantry opened fire and the air filled with the low whip of musket balls, mixed with the splintering crack of shots striking the woodwork, and the soft thuds as they cut down men in the dense mass surging along the narrow bridge. Napoleon felt the concussion as one of the guns on the far side fired at the attackers and he stood up, craning his neck to see how his men were progressing. As before, the fire was murderous in the middle of the bridge and body piled upon body as the French were slaughtered. The charge faltered.

  ‘No!’ Napoleon shouted. ‘Keep going! Keep going and victory is ours! Stop and we all die!’

  He strode forward, pushing his way through the men until the mass thinned out and those ahead were going to ground, trying to find whatever cover they could from enemy fire. Napoleon stepped amongst them and held the standard high.

  ‘Keep going!’

  But the men around him refused to meet his eye and began to creep back.

  ‘Bastards!’ Napoleon screamed. ‘Would you let your general die alone?’

  He was about to step forward when someone grasped his arm and spun him round, shielding his body from the far bank. Muiron glared into his face.

  ‘General! You will get yourself killed!’ the major shouted above the din. ‘If you fall we are lost! This is not your place. Get back!’

  He pushed Napoleon through the men stalled on the bridge, just as some herd spirit made them all turn back towards their own lines.

  ‘Make way for the general!’ Muiron called out, and then his grip on Napoleon’s arm spasmed. Napoleon turned and saw a shocked expression on the major’s face. He was looking down and Napoleon followed his gaze and saw the hole in his jacket, over the heart, the blood pumping from the wound.

  ‘Muiron?’

  The major frowned, then his head slumped and his legs buckled as he fell on to the bridge. Napoleon paused and reached down to help his companion. As he did so one of his men thrust past, desperate to escape the slaughter. H
e was a large man and he sent his general reeling towards the edge of the bridge. The rail had been splintered by grapeshot and gave way with a crack the moment Napoleon fell against it. He flung his arms forward, dropping the standard as he desperately tried to keep his balance, but his momentum was too great and he tumbled backwards off the bridge. He landed on his back in the mud, the impact driving the breath from his body. For a second he was staring up at the clear sky, dazed.Then he rolled over and tried to push himself up, but the mud sucked his hands down. With great difficulty Napoleon scrambled upright and tried to take a step, but his boots just churned up the filthy mire and he sank up to his knees, far enough to hold him in place.

  ‘General!’ a voice cried from above and Napoleon looked up at the bridge.

  ‘Sir? Where are you?’ Marmont cried out.

  ‘Here! Down here!’

  A moment later Marmont’s head appeared over the rail.

  ‘Get me out!’ Napoleon shouted.

  Marmont nodded and his head disappeared from view. A moment later he leaped over the rail a short distance further along, closer to the bank, and landed in the reeds. Louis jumped after him and they thrust their way through the rasping stalks until they emerged at the edge of the mud. Napoleon leaned towards them, stretching out his arms.

  ‘Shit! I can’t reach.’

  Marmont turned to Louis. ‘Hold my legs!’

  Then he fell forward on to the mud and grabbed at his general’s hands. As soon as he had a good hold he grunted over his shoulder, ‘Pull us back.’

  Louis wrapped his arms round one of Marmont’s boots, and, digging his heels into the soft ground at the base of the reeds, he pulled with all his might. At first Napoleon did not feel himself budging, and then with a glutinous sucking he lurched towards Marmont.

  ‘Keep pulling!’ Marmont called back to Louis. ‘He’s coming!’

  Napoleon kept as flat as he could to spread his weight, and slowly they drew him out of the mud. Just then there was a shout from the Austrian bank and glancing back Napoleon saw a handful of men pointing at them from behind a wall. One of the men levelled his musket and fired.There was a dull plop close by Napoleon’s side and a plug of dark mud leaped into the air, leaving a furrow in the glistening brown surface. Marmont was back on solid ground now and wrenched Napoleon after him. He emerged from the mud, plastered in filth, as more shots slapped into the mud around them.

  Napoleon clapped Marmont on the shoulder. ‘I’ll thank you properly later on. Let’s go!’

  They thrust their way into the reeds, out of sight of the Austrians who continued to take shots in their direction, cutting through the tall stems. Once they reached the bank Napoleon and Marmont waited until they had caught their breath and scraped as much of the thick, heavy mud from their clothes and boots as possible.

  ‘Ready?’ Napoleon asked. ‘Then let’s go!’

  They burst from the reeds and scrambled up the bank. As they reached the flat ground before the bridge more shots rippled out from the Austrian side of the river, but at that range Napoleon knew there was very little chance of scoring a hit. Nevertheless they ran all the way to the safety of the low rise before they stopped, bent double and gasped for breath. General Augereau came over.

  ‘Good God, sir! Are you all right?’

  Napoleon nodded. Augereau’s nose wrinkled at the stench of the filth that caked his commander. ‘What the hell’s that smell?’

  ‘Mud,’ Napoleon replied sourly. ‘What do you think?’

  He forced himself to stand upright, and stared back towards the bridge. ‘We cannot cross there. That much is clear.’

  He turned to Augereau. ‘Send two brigades downriver to Albaredo at once.They are to cross and come up on the flank of Arcola. See to it.We may still have time to catch General Alvinzi in our trap.’

  ‘Yes, sir. At once.’ Augereau saluted and turned towards his small cluster of staff officers to communicate the new orders. Napoleon turned to his muddy companions and clasped their hands in turn.

  ‘Thank you, gentlemen. I owe you my life.’ He turned towards the bridge, now piled high with French bodies. ‘You, and Major Muiron.’

  As the day wore on, Napoleon received word from Masséna that he had cleared the Austrians out of Porcile and he had a clear view of the road between Verona and Villanova from the church tower in Porcile.There were signs that the enemy had recognised the threat to their baggage train. Several cavalry units had already returned along the road. Napoleon crumpled up the note with an exasperated curse. More messages followed reporting the return of a large infantry column to Villanova and Napoleon realised that the original target of his surprise attack was no longer available. Yet the Austrians were now in full retreat from Verona. Clearly Alvinzi was terrified of being cut off from his supplies.

  As dusk gathered there was a sudden exchange of musket fire on the far bank and through his telescope Napoleon saw Augereau’s detached brigades storm into Arcola, driving the Austrians from the village. The fighting ended as both sides ceased fire and the two armies camped for the night in and around the marshland that stretched between the Adige and Alpone rivers. Even though Napoleon knew that Alvinzi had rejoined his baggage train, there was still some advantage to be wrung from the situation. Only three narrow dykes crossed the marshland and the enemy would not be able to deploy superior numbers against Napoleon’s forces if they attacked. His plan had been bold, and now he decided that he had to take one last risk. He sent for three thousand of the men blockading Mantua. If the force left under cover of darkness then, with luck, the enemy garrison would not detect their absence.

  Once the reinforcements arrived Napoleon attacked Alvinzi down each of the routes through the marshland for the next two days. Then, on the third morning, as the exhausted men of the Army of Italy readied themselves for a third onslaught, reports began to arrive at headquarters from the patrols that had been sent out at first light.

  Marmont hurried into the study of a small villa that served as Napoleon’s field headquarters as the general was drafting his order of the day, exhorting his men to one last effort to send Alvinzi reeling back towards the Austrian border. They were bone tired, and had seen many of their comrades killed and wounded in the bitter skirmishes of the previous days. Napoleon doubted that they had much fight left in them. This day they must fight and win, or he would have to fall back and try to defend Verona with the forces that were left to him.

  ‘Sir, they’ve gone!’

  Napoleon looked up at him, pen poised over the paper. ‘Gone?’

  ‘The Austrians!’ Marmont laughed and slapped his thigh in delight. ‘Our patrols did not come up against any enemy pickets and went forward.Their positions are empty.They’ve gone.We’ve beaten them, sir! Alvinzi’s running for it.’

  Napoleon stared at him for a moment and then sat back in his chair with a deep sigh. It was over then, for now. No doubt the Austrians would fall back and ready themselves for yet another attempt, and the battered veterans of the Army of Italy would be called on to make yet another superhuman effort to defend the land they had won for France. Napoleon marvelled at what his men had achieved. But for now they had gained a desperately needed respite.

  ‘Give the order for the men to stand down.Then find Murat. I want the cavalry to snap at the enemy’s heels all the way to Bassano. They are not to give Alvinzi a moment’s rest. Is that clear?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Marmont saluted, and paused before he turned away to carry out his orders. ‘My congratulations, sir.’

  ‘Congratulations?’ Napoleon shook his head. ‘We’ve lost too many men, too many comrades for that, Marmont.’

  Once Marmont had left the room and closed the door, Napoleon looked down at the order he had written, and then crumpled the piece of paper up and threw it aside. He pulled out a fresh sheet and began writing a new order of the day for his army.

  Never has a field of battle been as disputed as that of Arcola. But nothing is lost as long as courage remains . .
.

  Chapter 22

  February 1797

  ‘It seems that the Directory has finally decided to reward our good work, gentlemen.’ Napoleon could not help smiling as he addressed his staff and senior officers. ‘After nearly a year of victories, won by half-starved men with rags on their backs, our masters have finally decided to honour their pledge to send us the reinforcements we need.’

  Masséna snorted. ‘Now that we’ve all but driven the Austrians from Italy!’

  There was a murmur of bitter assent from the other officers, and Napoleon could well understand it. Only two weeks earlier the Army of Italy had turned back the last attempt by the Austrians to relieve Mantua. In five days of marching and fighting the French had defeated the enemy at Rivoli and La Favorita, destroying three quarters of the Austrian army.The final triumph of the swift campaign was General Wurmser’s surrender of Mantua. Most of the garrison was starving and sick and once he had received news of the spectacular defeat at Rivoli Wurmser had realised that Mantua was doomed. He was accorded the honours of war by Napoleon and allowed to leave the fortress with his sword as a free man.The fall of the Austrian fortress had also marked an end to the incessant plotting between Venice, Naples and the papal states, now that Napoleon was free to turn his attention to his southern flank. In quick succession the Pope and the King of Naples had pledged loyalty to France, and sealed the pledge with thirty million francs. It was no wonder that Masséna and the others treated the news from Paris with such cynicism.