Franco-Prussian War, 1870-1871 -- Fiction; War stories
But suddenly Delaherche descried a French officer climbing the steep
path up the flank of la Marfée; he was a general, wearing a blue tunic,
mounted on a black horse, and preceded by a hussar bearing a white
flag. It was General Reille, whom the Emperor had entrusted with this
communication for the King of Prussia: “My brother, as it has been
denied me to die at the head of my army, all that is left me is to
surrender my sword to Your Majesty. I am Your Majesty’s affectionate
brother, Napoleon.” Desiring to arrest the butchery and being no longer
master, the Emperor yielded himself a prisoner, in the hope to placate
the conqueror by the sacrifice. And Delaherche saw General Reille rein
up his charger and dismount at ten paces from the King, then advance
and deliver his letter; he was unarmed and merely carried a riding
whip. The sun was setting in a flood of rosy light; the King seated
himself on a chair in the midst of a grassy open space, and resting his
hand on the back of another chair that was held in place by a
secretary, replied that he accepted the sword and would await the
appearance of an officer empowered to settle the terms of the
capitulation.
VII.
As when the ice breaks up and the great cakes come crashing, grinding
down upon the bosom of the swollen stream, carrying away all before
them, so now, from every position about Sedan that had been wrested
from the French, from Floing and the plateau of Illy, from the wood of
la Garenne, the valley of la Givonne and the Bazeilles road, the
stampede commenced; a mad torrent of horses, guns, and affrighted men
came pouring toward the city. It was a most unfortunate inspiration
that brought the army under the walls of that fortified place. There
was too much in the way of temptation there; the shelter that it
afforded the skulker and the deserter, the assurance of safety that
even the bravest beheld behind its ramparts, entailed widespread panic
and demoralization. Down there behind those protecting walls, so
everyone imagined, was safety from that terrible artillery that had
been blazing without intermission for near twelve hours; duty, manhood,
reason were all lost sight of; the man disappeared and was succeeded by
the brute, and their fierce instinct sent them racing wildly for
shelter, seeking a place where they might hide their head and lie down
and sleep.
When Maurice, bathing Jean’s face with cool water behind the shelter of
their bit of wall, saw his friend open his eyes once more, he uttered
an exclamation of delight.
“Ah, poor old chap, I was beginning to fear you were done for! And
don’t think I say it to find fault, but really you are not so light as
you were when you were a boy.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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