‘How goes it, General?’
Eblé turned and saluted. ‘The first trestle is in position, sire. We’ve been lucky with the frost.’
‘Lucky?’ Napoleon stared at the men standing up to their thighs in the river.
Eblé stamped his boot on the frozen river bank. ‘It’s hardened the mud. Makes it easier to get the materials down the bank.’
‘I see.’ Napoleon gestured towards the handful of wagons behind them. ‘I thought I gave orders to have all the wagons burned at Orsha.’
‘Yes, sire. However, I gave orders for my men to save a handful of wagons for our tools and nail barrels.’
‘You disobeyed my order.’
Eblé stared at him and then shrugged. ‘Evidently.’
‘Good man. I wish half my generals showed such initiative.’ Eblé looked relieved, but Napoleon pointed a finger at him. ‘Just don’t make a habit of it.’
Eblé laughed.
Napoleon looked round at the timber piled on the bank. ‘Will you have enough material to complete the job?’
‘That depends on Studienka, sire. The timber comes from the houses. My men are busy tearing the buildings down to get what we need. As long as the village is big enough, you can have your bridges.’
‘When will they be completed, General?’
‘Before noon tomorrow, if we are lucky. But the river is starting to rise, and there’s ice in it. That may slow us down. I can’t let the men work in these conditions for more than an hour at a time. I’ll work them in shifts. An hour in the water, and half an hour resting by the fires. Still, we’re going to lose many of them to the cold, sire.’
The sound of the engineers’ hammers and piledrivers continued through the night. Meanwhile, the stragglers and non-combatants were arriving at the village and filled the streets of Studienka while they waited for the bridges to open. Napoleon intended to get the bulk of the army over the river before giving the civilians their chance. Last of all would come Victor and the rearguard, then the bridges would be destroyed.
As dawn broke, weak and pallid as clouds obscured the sun and threatened snow, a party of Cossacks was sighted a mile to the south on the far bank. They observed the bridge-building for a few minutes before turning and galloping away.
‘They’ll reach Borisov within the hour,’ Napoleon muttered to Berthier. ‘It will take the commander there an hour or so to form his men up and begin to march towards the ford. Give them three hours at the most to reach us, and another to deploy. We can expect them to start attacking our outposts early this afternoon.’ He turned to examine the bridges. Trestles extended from both banks and the engineers were hard at work nailing support beams and planking in place. The smaller bridge, built for infantry to cross, still had a gap of some twenty paces between each end. The second bridge was larger, constructed to bear the weight of the army’s remaining guns and the wagons that had escaped the fire at Orsha. It was going to take somewhat longer to complete.
‘Shall I give the order for Oudinot to withdraw to the bridgehead, sire?’ Berthier asked.
‘What?’
‘The Russians know what we are up to. There’s no need for Oudinot to continue his diversionary action now.’
‘Yes, of course. Recall him at once.’
The first bridge was completed just after one in the afternoon and the leading elements of Oudinot’s corps which had just reached Studienka were the first to cross, hurrying over the bridge to advance along the causeway that stretched over the marshy land on the far side of the Berezina. It was the only means of escape and Napoleon had ordered Oudinot to keep the causeway open at all costs.
As soon as the first soldiers were marching across the bridge Eblé and his engineers concentrated their efforts on the larger structure. Already, a third of the engineers had been swept away, or were too weakened to work any further. Napoleon joined them by their braziers and did what he could to lift their spirits by praising them for their bravery and the sacrifice they were making for the army. The men listened in numbed silence as they shivered in their ice-crusted uniforms, struggling to keep their places close to the brazier.
Towards the middle of the afternoon, Eblé informed the Emperor that the second bridge was ready. Napoleon gave the order for the artillery and the Imperial Guard to begin crossing and then embraced Eblé.
‘Your men have performed a miracle, General.’
Eblé was trembling with the cold and fatigue and he could barely stay on his feet. He nodded.‘Thank you, sire, but our job is not over yet. The river is still rising, and I don’t know how long the trestles will withstand the pressure of the floes. It would be best to get the army over as swiftly as possible.’
Napoleon smiled. ‘That is my intention. Now, you’d better re-join your men. Berthier, find the general and his men some brandy. I believe there are still a few kegs in the headquarters stores.’
‘Yes, sir.’
As Berthier turned away to order one of his aides to find and distribute the brandy there was the crump of artillery to the east, adding to the faint sound of guns and musket fire from the far bank, where Corbineau and his men were holding their ground, steadily being reinforced by the troops crossing the first bridge. Napoleon strained his ears as he looked to the east. Soon the cannon fire from the rearguard action merged into an almost continuous rumble. The trap was closing on the French. Kutusov and the main Russian army would arrive from the east at any time. The survival of the Grand Army depended on Eblé’s bridges, hurriedly constructed using scavenged timber from the village.
For the rest of the day and into the evening the soldiers, cavalry and guns continued to cross the river. As soon as the civilians had heard that the bridges were open they had made for the river, and a strong cordon of infantry with fixed bayonets was holding them at bay, keeping the bridges open to military traffic. During the night a section of the second bridge collapsed, taking a gun carriage with it. Two hours were lost as the exhausted engineers repaired the bridge. The following morning the bridge was open again and the army continued to cross. At noon Napoleon ordered his headquarters to move to the far bank, together with the remaining elements of the Imperial Guard. The sound of cannon fire behind them had died away during the afternoon and the latest report from Victor was that the enemy were manoeuvring to the south, as if they still expected Napoleon to attempt to force the crossings at Borisov. Napoleon was watching the steady flow of guns and wagons over the second bridge. He could not help smiling as he read Victor’s report.
‘It seems there is no overestimating the caution of our enemy. They have us in a vice and yet Kutusov fears to tighten it.’
‘Lucky for us, sire,’ Berthier responded. ‘Fortune seems to be favouring you again. Oudinot’s cavalry have taken all the bridges along the causeway without encountering any Russians. The road to Vilna is open.’
‘Yes, fortune is with us, Berthier. Fortune, and sheer pluck, eh?’
Berthier was about to agree when there was a splintering crack. Both men turned to watch as one of the trestles in the second bridge started to collapse. Planks split and tumbled into the water. The rear wheels of an ammunition cart fell into the gap. For an instant everyone stopped to stare; the staff of the headquarters, the soldiers and civilians on the far bank. Then there was another crackle of shattering timber and a second trestle shivered and lurched to one side. The planking fell away and the wagon slipped back, even as the driver lashed his horse team to pull forward. The horses were weak and the heavy burden dragged them back towards the widening gap. Then the wagon tipped and fell into the river, dragging the horse team after it, kicking and whinnying in terror. There was a succession of splashes and the wreckage of the wagon, the debris from the bridge and the struggling horses were swept downriver.
‘Did the driver survive?’ asked Berthier, breaking the silence. ‘Did anyone see?’
Napoleon stared at the bridge. Three trestles had gone, leaving a large gap in the centre. Already, Eblé and most of his engineers were running towards the bridge while other men grabbed long poles and rushed on to the smaller bridge to try to fend the wagon away from its slender trestles.
‘Sire, look there.’ Berthier pointed towards the huge crowd of stragglers and camp followers that had gathered beyond the second bridge. A great cry had risen up when they saw the collapse of the bridge. All at once they pressed forward, sweeping aside the cordon of soldiers set to contain them, and began to scramble along the bank towards the remaining bridge.
‘What do those fools think they are doing?’ Napoleon asked furiously. ‘There’ll be chaos. They’ll destroy everything.’
The mob rushed the end of the bridge, sweeping aside the engineers. In amongst the press of people there were a few carts and wagons and their drivers lashed the horses on, trampling scores of people in their attempts to get on to the bridge. Already the first of the mob were on the planking, hurrying over towards the western bank. They were the fortunate ones. In a matter of moments a dense press was pushing forward on to the narrow strip. Everyone was acting for themselves and the merciless shoving was already thrusting individuals over the edge to splash into the river below. Napoleon could see the planking begin to bow under the pressure and knew that there was little time to save the bridge. He turned quickly and shouted an order to the captain of the company guarding the headquarters.
‘Get your men down there now! Clear the bridge. I don’t care how you do it, but clear that crowd away from the bridge!’
The officer ran towards the bank of the river, bellowing at his men to follow him. They ignored the broken stream of individuals that had made the crossing and now bustled past them, and stopped a short distance from the head of the tightly packed mob on the bridge. The captain hurriedly ordered his men into line, and they raised their muskets into the faces of the crowd bearing down on them.
‘Get back!’ the captain shouted. ‘Get back, or we will fire on you!’
Those at the front of the mob tried to halt, but the pressure behind them was relentless and they were thrust forward.
‘Front rank!’ the officer cried out. ‘Fire!’
The muskets spat out flames and smoke into the dusky afternoon and several bodies collapsed on to the planking.
‘Second rank! Advance and fire!’
Another volley crashed out, cutting down more, who tumbled over the bodies of the first to fall. A cry of panic rose up from the front of the mob and they tried to turn and scramble back to the eastern bank, against the continuing pressure from those still desperate to escape over the river. Napoleon felt sickened as he saw a man in the greatcoat and shako of a
voltigeur
thrust aside a woman with a child bundled into her arms. She staggered to the edge of the bridge and screamed as she fell. Many more were being pushed into the Berezina as the Guards continued to fire at the unyielding mob.
Gradually, some awareness of the danger on the bridge began to filter back through the crowd and at last those still on the eastern bank began to draw back, slowly giving ground as they retreated towards the streets where they had been waiting shortly before. The captain ordered his men to cease fire and they advanced, bayonets lowered, keeping a short distance from the retreating crowd. At length they reached the end of the bridge and spread out, forcing the crowd away. It was no easy task, as many had perished in the crush and their bodies lay heaped on the ground around the bridgehead.
‘Sweet Jesus,’ Berthier exclaimed as he stared ashen-faced at the scene. Below the bridge several bodies were caught up in the trestles. A few individuals were still alive, clinging to the posts, calling for help. Nothing could be done for them and within minutes the icy water caused the last of them to relinquish his grip. ‘What a massacre. What did they think they were doing?’
‘Panic,’ said Napoleon. ‘We can expect more of that in the hours ahead. Make sure that the ends of the bridges are well guarded, and the routes leading to them as well. See to it at once.’
As the light faded the engineers repaired the gap and began the grim task of dragging the bodies away from the end of the other bridge to clear the route leading on to it. Once the last of the soldiers had crossed the bridge and only Victor’s corps remained on the eastern bank, General Eblé did his best to get some of the civilians and stragglers across. But night had fallen and there were flurries of snow in the bitterly cold air, and many refused to stir from the warmth of their fires.
In the early hours,Victor informed Napoleon that the Russians were beginning to push forward against his entire line. The sound of cannon fire increased in volume and soon even the distant sound of musket fire could be heard from the Emperor’s headquarters. Dawn brought a fresh fall of snow with thick flakes swirling about the crossing and mercifully muffling the sounds of fighting from where the rearguard was struggling to hold back the enemy.
‘How is the vanguard doing?’ Napoleon asked Berthier.
‘They have reached the end of the causeway and deployed to guard it from flank attacks, sire. Ney’s men are holding the southern approaches to the crossing and the rest of the army is advancing along the causeway.’ He paused. ‘We’ve been lucky the Russians haven’t pressed us more closely.’