Napoleon managed a feat that saved a large part of what remained of his army. He sent a battalion followed by thousands of stragglers towards the little town of Borisov. Admiral Chichagov thought that this was where the French would try to cross and moved his troops opposite this position. However, the Emperor ordered General Éblé’s pontoneers to build two bridges opposite the village of Studianka. When Chichagov was informed of this work he thought it was a manoeuvre intended to divert him from Borisov. When he eventually realised his mistake, the two bridges across the Berezina had been built in appalling conditions and the French had begun to consolidate themselves on the west bank. The first construction, which was fragile and with a deck that was sometimes at water level, was used by the infantry, and the second, more sturdy, by the artillery and vehicles. Napoleon had had thirty guns set up to protect them.
On 27 November, several corps, including that of Prince Eugène, now consisting of only one thousand eight hundred men, crossed the Berezina.
On 28 November, at seven in the morning, the Russians attacked both banks at the same time.
CHAPTER 33
ON all sides the sound of artillery fire, shooting and shouting could be heard. On both banks the French were attempting to contain the Russians, who were far superior in numbers. The remainder of Davout, Eugène and La Tour Maubourg’s corps were continuing their retreat along the road to Vilna. On the east bank a considerable throng of civilians, deserters and stragglers had congregated. This dense mass was crowding together to try to get across the bridges. In the scramble people were trampled or crushed to death by carts; others were pushed into the water, black muddy water that was carrying huge blocks of ice and armies of corpses along with it. The Russian cannonballs smashed into the hordes from all directions. Part of the deck of the bridge collapsed at regular intervals, plunging clusters of people into the river. Then the pontoneers rapidly set about repairing it. Those who attempted to swim across the Berezina rarely reached the other side. On the east bank, General Fournier’s eight hundred Baden and Hessian troopers launched charge after charge. They were supporting IX Corps, which was holding in check Wittgenstein’s forty thousand Russians. On the other bank, Marshal Oudinot, wounded early on and replaced by Marshal Ney, was facing up to Chichagov’s thirty thousand combatants with nine thousand men. Time was on the side of the Russians, who were gradually receiving reinforcements sent by Kutuzov.
The remnants of Colonel Pirgnon’s regiment had slowed down and had not moved off from the west bank. As a result, Margont and Lefine had also slackened their pace. Saber had stayed with them. An aide-de-camp galloped up and halted his sweating horse in front of Colonel Pirgnon. The rider was exhausted. He was being sent with orders everywhere at once and had to force his way through the pushing and shoving crowds with the aid of his sabre.
‘Colonel, you’re marching too slowly. The retreat must speed up, the Emperor’s orders!’
He immediately wheeled his horse round and set off again, yelling, ‘Out of the way! Out of the way!’
Pirgnon went up to what remained of the 35th of the Line, who had been joined by some stragglers. Only he had heard the messenger’s words.
‘Soldiers, the Emperor is going to launch a counterattack of which we will form the spearhead. We’re going to break through the enemy line. We shall be supported by several regiments and six battalions of the Guard as well as by all the troopers available. The Emperor is going to calm these muzhiks down and ensure the safety of our retreat!’
The majority of the soldiers obeyed and made up an attacking column. No one imagined for a single instant that Pirgnon could have been lying. All of them thought that the aide-de-camp in a hurry was galloping around passing on the order for this massive counterattack. They had faith in the genius of their Emperor, who once more was going to carry all before him. The Guard was going to be in at the kill, the Guard! The Emperor’s favourite child, the élite corps that had never lost a single battle. Pirgnon managed to convince the remnants of other battalions and to rally some stragglers. Placing himself at the head of three hundred motley but fired-up soldiers, he launched his column straight at the thirty thousand Russians.
‘What the hell is he playing at?’ Saber exclaimed.
Pirgnon’s small band of men went past the French line of defence. Those who were confronting the Russians, entrenched behind cut-down trees, snowdrifts or dead bodies, looked on in amazement. Groups of dark figures gesticulated as they went past, either encouraging them or trying desperately to make them change their minds. Margont saw Pirgnon turn round on his mount and wave his sabre above his head as he looked towards him.
‘What reinforcements is he motioning to? Who’s going to support him?’ wondered Saber out loud.
‘He’s motioning to me,’ replied Margont. ‘He’s a very intelligent man. He knows that I know. So he’s bidding me farewell.’
‘But what the hell is he playing at, damn it?’
‘He’s committing suicide. He’s committing suicide with his regiment.’
The Russians reacted immediately. Two squadrons of hussars moved off and charged at the column from the side. In their headlong rush they took out rows of soldiers and broke up the formation into three sections. The troopers began whirling around the infantrymen, slashing away at will. Amidst the confusion the French tried to form square to defend themselves. Why had their cavalry not charged to halt the hussars? Why were the other regiments not coming to their aid?
‘Let’s go!’ exclaimed Margont.
Saber was rendered speechless.
‘Let’s go, Irénée! We’re not going to stand and watch. I’ll see to Pirgnon and you get the survivors to pull back. Fernand, you go and find reinforcements.’
Lefine was no more talkative than Saber.
‘Well, Irénée, do you want to end this campaign as a colonel or not?’
Margont set off towards the slaughter, with Saber following him. As he went past the French line he shouted: ‘Cover us!’
Along the whole front the French were taking aim at the hussars and whoops of joy greeted each hit. To attempt a sally was unthinkable but at least they could support these reckless comrades with sustained fire. The hussars made easy targets but their commander did not want to let go of his prey until he was sure they were done for. He ordered the withdrawal only when the Russian infantry that was rushing forward made contact. A wave of Russians engulfed the attackers. They outnumbered them ten to one, and the hussars had left them enough time to encircle the French. Pirgnon had dismounted. He was delighting in this pointless butchery. For him these visions of combatants riddled with bayonet thrusts or shot at from all sides was a sublime spectacle, a gory feast. Here one of his lieutenants was being held down by two Russians while a third ran his bayonet through him. Over there a sergeant was being shot simultaneously by four infantrymen. Anxious faces turned towards him but he was smiling. The trapped French soldiers were fighting like lions to get back to their lines. Margont, Saber and fifteen or so volunteers fought their way through to them. But as the seconds ticked by, the Russians were tightening the noose. The French had formed a circle with their backs to a wood, halfway between the Russian line and Marshal Ney’s. A third of them had already been wiped out and bodies were dropping constantly. A shower of bullets rained on to them, mowing them down or hitting the tree trunks with the sound of hailstones.