Narrow Escape in Russia

The Tragic Crossing of the Berezina

Excerpt from Paul Austin's
1812: The Great Retreat
(Part 1)

Map by DL McElhannon


"More than 60,000 men, properly clad, well-nourished and fully armed, are about to attack 18,000 half-naked, ill-armed ones, dying of hunger and cold, divided by a swampy river and embarrassed by more than 50,000 stragglers, sick or wounded and an enormous mass of baggage." (Rossetti)

At right, from the Anne S.K. Brown Military Collection, Brown University Library.

It always seems to be Captain Dumonceau's singular good luck to be able to view great actions from some optimal vantage point. Before dawn General Colbert had led the Guard Lancer Brigade [in which Dumonceau served] back to the same position it had occupied yesterday. "We dominated, as in an amphitheater, the entire intervening plain, so we could see what was going on," on both banks.

At about 8 a.m. Dumonceau heard the fighting start up again, "this time not merely ahead of us but on both banks of the Berezina. The sky was somber. At first, as yesterday, a compact crowd had accumulated at the bridges and was causing a dreadful tumult without being able to cross them in an orderly manner. All the while it was being swollen by a broad column intermingled with carriages or carts which we saw still turning up over the hills there. Behind it Marshal Victor's IX Corps, our rearguard, its right leaning on a wood which it doubtless still occupied throughout its entire extent, and its left extended by some cavalry squadrons in the direction of other woods as it arrived fighting at the hill's crest, was occupying them along its whole length and maintaining itself there all day long. Now our eyes were being drawn to this line, now to the bridges. Through the smoke we confusedly made out the former's successive movements, marked by the direction of the firing, at times flinging itself down the reverse slope in front of some enemy assault; then, having repulsed it, returning to re-occupy its former position."

The sky is somber; but the situation of all the thousands still on the eastern bank is even more so. A dawn fog has caused, "the crowd to take the wrong direction, force it to retrace its steps and form a kind of reflux that augmented the confusion."

"At about 8 a.m.," writes Baron Lejeune, Davout's acting Chief-of-Staff [better remembered for his famous battle paintings], "when the return of daylight had enabled us to see spread out before our eyes the immensity of everything that still had to cross over, each man had hastened to get closer to the bridges, and the great disorder had begun."

Bidding a little group of Frenchmen a curt adieu, infantry captain von Suckow, who has been on his own since the dissolution of III Corps' Wurttemberg division, is one of thousands who suddenly decide that if he isn't to suffer all the horrors of imprisonment in Siberia the time has come to try to get across.

But the basic trouble, as Sergeant-Major Thirion of the 2nd Cuirassiers sees it, is that "as only the first ranks could actually see the two bridges, the mass behind them, who couldn't, was pushing and shoving for all it was worth and thrusting the first ranks into the river". Thirion himself, with the 2nd Cuirassiers' Eagle still in his pocket, crosses by the right-hand bridge with his back to the mob, "the better to resist any shove from behind which might have flung me into the water".

At the same time he's "half-carrying, half-pushing" a comrade named Liauty, "wounded in the night by a sabre cut near his buttock, and, I fancy, in the joint, which he'd sustained while struggling to demolish a hut where some other men had taken refuge".

Grabbing a horse from a recalcitrant soldier, Thirion loads Liauty on to it and gets across. Many are unable to do so. One of them is IV Corps' elderly inspector of reviews, M. de Labarriere, who's come the hundreds of icy miles from Moscow in a sledge. Seeing a friend, a wounded officer, he runs up to him. "Leaning on each other," Labaume [Captain on Prince Eugene de Beauharnais' staff who lived to publish the first account of the campaign] sees, "they got lost in the mob, and he's never been heard of since."

    Vehicles, horses, pedestrians were following the same route.
    Getting to the bridge, vehicles and horses were refused access.
    An attempt was even made to send them back.
    The thing was impossible,
    and soon the paths were obstructed.

Griois [Colonel of Horse Artillery originally attached to the III Cavalry Corps] too will soon be in the thick of it. At first he supposes the vast jam is due to some temporary hold up; and he waits for it to clear:

"But fresh masses of isolated men are arriving on every hand, and only swell it further. No more movement. No one can budge. At each instant the obstacle's growing. After waiting for three-quarters of an hour we decide to go ahead; and do so, albeit slowly, thanks to our horses which strike and overthrow the wretched footfolk."

To Griois it seems the disorder's beginning "with the retrograde movement of some horsemen of II or IX Corps, who cut their way through, overthrowing everything before them. Doubtless it was some ill-conceived order, too strictly enforced, that caused much of the day's disasters."

The distinction between the two bridges' purposes avails nothing without proper military order: "vehicles, horses, pedestrians were following the same route. Getting to the bridge, vehicles and horses were refused access. An attempt was even made to send them back. The thing was impossible, and soon the paths were obstructed."

Griois is riding a little two-year-old Polish pony he'd bought on the way to Moscow but which has become so weak it can hardly carry him. And in no time his companions have left him behind. Soon he's regretting ever plunging into this ocean of desperate human beings. How dearly he'd like to get out again! "Not to be thought of." As yet it hasn't fallen prey to panic -- not as a whole -- though the weaker are crying out against the stronger, who're everywhere using brute force. As before, certain hardy individuals are trying to swim the river. And one or another even succeeds. Fain and his colleagues see them among the bushes and "scarcely recognize Colonel V***t in his savage nakedness".

Colonel Fezensac of the 4th Line Infantry has seen "a cantiniere of the 33rd Line, who'd given birth to a girl at the campaign's outset and carried it all the way from Moscow, cross the river with water up to her neck, leading her horse with one hand and with the other holding her baby on her head".

Others, less resourceful or more patient -- or despondent -- or less conscious of the impending danger -- are just sitting there on the snow, head in hands, waiting to see what'll happen. Rossetti, a Neapolitan serving as an ADC to Murat, on mission to Victor, sees "above all the sick and wounded renounce life, go aside and resignedly sitting down stare fixedly at this snow that was to be their tomb".

Everyone who's on his own is having similar experiences. And by no means all are even getting as far as the bridge. At last, getting into the column, Wurtemberger von Suckow finds he's "surrounded on all sides, caught in a veritable human vice. The moments I spent after entering this closed society until the one when I set foot on the right bank were the most terrible I've ever known. Everyone was shouting, swearing, weeping and trying to hit out at his neighbors."

Himself struggling in the mob, he sees a friend, wounded at Mojaisk, on a konya [Polish pony], being attacked by a French infantryman "with formidable blows of his musket butt; but though only a few paces from him I could do nothing to help him. So tightly pressed were we one against another, it would have been impossible even to reach out my hand to him. Again and again I felt myself lifted off the ground by the human mass, squeezing me as in a vice. The ground was littered with men and animals, living or dead. Every moment I found myself stumbling over corpses. I didn't fall, it's true. But that didn't depend on me. I know no more horrible sensation one can feel than treading on living beings who cling to your legs and paralyze your movements as they try to get up again. Still to this day I recall what I felt that day as I stepped on a woman who was still alive. I felt the movements of her body and at the same time heard her calling out, croaking: "Oh! Take pity on me!" She was clutching my legs when, suddenly, as a result of a thrust from behind, I was lifted off the ground and freed from her grasp. Since that time I've often reproached myself for involuntarily having caused the death of one who was so close to me."

"Up to now," Cesare de Laugier, Adjutant-Major of the Italian Guard of Honor, assures us, "the crossings over the bridges had been made with the greatest regularity. But as soon as the guns were heard again and with the Partonneaux battalion's arrival it had become known that his division [which had been acting as rear-guard] had fallen into the enemy's power and that Wittgenstein was advancing, then men, women, baggage, light carriages, guns, ammunition wagons, heavy coaches -- all rushed toward the bridges' narrow approaches."

These first round shot are being fired by a Russian battery which is boldly advancing "under cover of some light infantry amidst the snow-covered bushes" along the Borissow road. At this moment the vehicular bridge breaks and has to be repaired. Which of course causes a panic rush toward the other one.

Major Boulart, of the Imperial Guard Artillery, now on the western bank, has had to abandon quite a few of his vehicles, "and with them a good number of gunners who'd only been able to keep up with our march thanks to the vehicles (each time a vehicle was abandoned we reckoned that six times as many men perished with it)".

After this he has "gained the neighboring high ground, where I was placed in battery on the Borissow road where it emerges from a wood". From there, looking out over the situation on the far bank, he realizes almost at once that things over there are likely to get desperate: "Everything indicated I'd have to open fire. I entrusted Captain Maillard with 2,000 francs in bank notes, which I asked him to keep for my wife in case anything should happen to me. I was ready for anything, though not without turning over sad thoughts in my mind. The Emperor was near my artillery almost throughout the day."

By and by Napoleon, who seems to Boulart to be in low spirits ["abattu"], orders him to open fire across the river at the Russian battery that's unleashing panic at the bridges. Depressed or not, Boulart's relieved to see that the ex-gunner Emperor makes nothing of a little incident which might normally have unleashed his wrath: "This is what happened. Though we didn't realize it, one of my guns was loaded. Assuming it had some stones at the bottom of its barrel, I ordered them to be burnt out by putting some powder into the vent. But a violent detonation and the whistling of the round shot showed we'd been mistaken. The Emperor merely said, with a kindly air: "What a nuisance. That could give the alarm where they're fighting, and above all in front of us.'"

All this Captain Dumonceau also sees from a distance:

"Napoleon had ordered a battery of the Imperial Guard to take up position on our left near the river bank. By aiming its fire across it, it took the enemy battery on the other bank obliquely, thus forcing it to withdraw to a distance. At the same time it turned back a column that was preparing to deploy from the wood on which IX Corps' right was resting. Then we saw infantry skirmishers who'd just been driven out of the wood return with Žlan, throw out the enemy's, who in their turn emerged from it and thus under our eyes restored IX Corps' support. On the far left we could see repeated cavalry charges which didn't cease to maintain their superiority there."

    At the bridgehead, meanwhile,
    the crush is becoming
    more and more nightmarish.

At 11.30 a.m. Tascher, a lieutenant in the 12th Chasseurs a Cheval and nephew of Josephine, sees the first cannonball come rolling along the ground. And it instantly unleashes panic. "To escape this artillery fire," Dumonceau sees how "the multitude rushes in all directions -- running from bridge to bridge in hope of getting across -- being thrown back by those who're flowing in the opposite direction, and thus forming two opposed torrents, clashing against and violently repulsing each other. Then we see the shells bursting among them -- the round shot tracing broad holes in this compact mass -- new torrents being caused by their terror. One of the bridges, foundering under the mob that's flung itself on to it and carried away by the waters, was gradually vanishing into the depths. Other unfortunate individuals were risking their lives in the river to find a ford, or save themselves by swimming. Together with all this we heard, like the roaring of a distant storm at sea, cries, yells, the crashing of vehicles, an undefinable uproar. It filled us with horror. And with all this we heard, like the distant roarings of a tempest at sea, cries, yells, wagons exploding, an undefinable uproar which filled us with terror."

IHQ's [Imperial Headquarters] watches are showing 1 p.m. when Napoleon at last learns that Partonneaux has surrendered. It comes as a great shock. An "infuriated" Emperor inveighs against Partonneaux's "cowardice":

"If generals haven't the courage to put up a fight, they can at least let the grenadiers do it!" he declares. "A drummer could have saved his comrades from dishonor by sounding the charge. A cantiniere could have saved the division by shouting "Every man for himself!' instead of surrendering."

At the same time he orders the news to be kept secret -- or rather, only communicated officially to the hard-pressed Victor.

At the bridgehead, meanwhile, the crush is becoming more and more nightmarish. Everyone who'd been making for the broken bridge now turns and makes a rush for the other. But though everyone's having similar dreadful experiences by no means everyone's getting as far as the bridge. Nor is it the Russian round shot that's causing the worst slaughter.

"The enemy", Kergorre and his companions at Imperial Headquarters realize, "was aiming at this mass, but, true to his habit, was firing too high. The danger from the projectiles was the lesser. No one bothered about them. The most dreadful thing was what we were doing to ourselves. For a distance of more than 200 paces the bridge was ringed around by a semi-circle of dead or dying horses and by several layers of men who'd been thrown down. One couldn't afford to make a false step. Once you'd fallen, the man behind would put his foot on your stomach and you'd add yourself to the number of the dying. Forming a platoon to help one another, and holding our horses by the bridle, we'd hardly launched out into the mob than we were scattered like sand before the wind. I was carried off my feet and lost my horse."

Having weighed up his chances of swimming the river, but reflecting that he hasn't any change of linen or a fire to dry himself "so I'd indubitably perish when I got to the other bank" -- as against being stifled in this crush, von Suckow too, recommends "my soul to God, gave a last thought to my own family, and braved all the perils. Behind me as far as the eye could see was a column of fugitives, every moment being joined by more.

    Several hours of this Dantesque nightmare
    must be endured if one's to get across.

In front of me was a carriage which in the present circumstances could be described as elegant. Drawn by two horses, it had reached the end of the queue and was trying to pass through it. Inside was a lady and two children. Suddenly a Russian round shot, falling in the team, smashes one of the animals to pieces. The mother jumps out of the post-chaise, and holding her two little ones in her arms begs those who are passing to come to her aid. She prays, she weeps, but none of these fugitive passers-by, prey of panic terror, bothers about her, wants to listen. I've just left her a few paces behind me when I no longer hear her groaning voice. I turn round. She and her children have disappeared; or rather, she's been knocked down by the human flood, crushed and pulverized by it."

Quite close at hand and "not far from the bridge we were to cross by" Surgeon Roos, also of the Wurttembergers, sees on a horse another "beautiful lady of 25, wife of a French colonel who'd been killed a few days ago. Indifferent to everything that was going on around her, she seemed to devote all her attention to her daughter, a very beautiful child of four, whom she was holding in front of herself. Several times she tried to reach the bridge, and each time she was repulsed. A grim despair seemed to overcome her. She wasn't weeping. Her eyes fixed now on the sky, now on her daughter, at one instant I heard her say "O God, how unhappy I am not even to be able to pray!" Almost instantly her horse was hit by a bullet and another shattered her left thigh above the knee. With the calm of silent despair she took her crying child, kissed her several times and then with her bloodstained skirt, which she'd taken off her broken leg, she strangled the poor little girl; and then, hugging her in her arms and pressing her to herself, sat down beside the fallen horse. Thus she reached her end without uttering a single word and was soon crushed by the horses of those pressing forward on to the bridge."

More 1812 Berezina Crossing

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