The French army retreated from the battlefield, marching back down the road towards the village of San Giuliano. The men trudged along in silence, the injured being helped by their comrades.As they passed him Napoleon noted the exhausted and anxious expressions on their grime-streaked faces and knew that their travail was not over. Glancing at his watch he saw that it was not yet three o’clock in the afternoon, still early enough for the enemy to mount a pursuit. Beyond Marengo he could see that the centre of the Austrian line was forming into a column whose intention was all too clear. Melas was sending his army after them, determined to complete his victory with one final crushing blow to his defeated enemy. He would do it too, Napoleon realised. A short while earlier he had seen a dense cloud of dust on the far side of the river as one of the Austrian cavalry columns moved out to swing round the retreating French and cut off their escape route. A similar force was massing this side of the river, ready to march towards Novi to act as the other pincer arm.
‘Sir!’ Berthier called out to him and pointed down the retreating column in the direction of the camp. A small party of horsemen was galloping towards them. At their head was a figure with gold braid on his uniform coat. ‘It’s Desaix!’
Napoleon made himself smile as his friend rode up and reined in. Desaix had ridden hard and his horse’s flanks heaved like a blacksmith’s bellows.
‘Sir, it’s good to see you.’ Desaix gestured to the retreating column. ‘I assumed the worst.’
‘I fear the worst is still to come.’ Napoleon pointed out the dust from the enemy cavalry columns. ‘They aim to block our retreat while the main body of the enemy army pursues us down this road. Not a good situation for us, I fear.’
Desaix quickly took stock of the situation and then pulled out his watch before he turned back to Napoleon. ‘This battle is completely lost.’ Then he raised his head defiantly. ‘But there is still time to win another. My leading division is close behind me, sir. If we can form a new line, before San Giuliano, and put every gun we have to the head of the enemy column, then we can stop them dead in their tracks, and take them in the flanks.’
Napoleon considered the idea for a moment and nodded. Desaix was right. If the army continued to retreat they would only be falling into the enemy’s trap. Their only chance was to turn on the pursuit column and attempt to break it.
He cleared his throat. ‘Very well. One last throw of the dice.’
The late afternoon sun slanted across the fields surrounding San Giuliano. The French line was strung out across the plain in a shallow S formation. On the right flank Monnier and the remnants of the Consular Guard were tasked with holding back the enemy column advancing from Castel Ceriolo. The rest of the army was drawn up facing the road to Marengo. In front of San Giuliano Marmont had massed the remaining eighteen guns, and concealed them behind the stone walls and hedges of the villagers’ smallholdings. Beyond them, Desaix and his men stood ready to attack the enemy column. The battered divisions of Victor and Lannes’ stood formed up parallel to the road, but far enough away to remain out of sight. As they waited for the Austrian column to march into view Napoleon rode down the line to offer encouragement to his troops. Every so often, he halted to deliver the same message.
‘Soldiers! You have retreated enough. The enemy thinks we are beaten! He thinks that he is, at last, our master. He thinks that he has beaten us into a corner like a whipped cur.Well, he should know the danger that comes from cornering a wild beast. He is about to get his arse well and truly bitten off!’
The men raised a laugh, and he moved on, until he reached the survivors of the Consular Guard, drawn up in a neat line. They raised their muskets and presented arms as he reined in before them. Napoleon felt his heart sink as he realised that less than half of the men who had so gallantly marched to Watrin’s rescue still remained. He swallowed and took a deep breath as he addressed them.
‘Men of the Guard, you have proved today that you are the bravest of the brave in the French army . . . in any army. If we win this day then all France shall hear of your courage, and the men of the Guard will for ever hold the place of honour wherever I lead our armies into battle.’ He took off his hat and raised it above his head. ‘Your general salutes you!’
Unlike the other units he had addressed the men stood still, staring ahead as if they were on a parade ground, and there was no outburst of cheers. A sergeant at the end of the front rank suddenly shouted out, ‘Chins up!’
The men strained to raise themselves up to their full height and Napoleon could not help smiling at their fearless and fierce sense of elan. He replaced his hat, wheeled his horse about and galloped back to his command post, just behind the centre of Desaix’s line. They did not have long to wait for the enemy column. With drums beating the pace the Austrians marched straight down the road from Marengo. They did not falter for an instant when they saw the French lines waiting for them before San Giuliano, no doubt taking them for little more than a rearguard left behind to delay the Austrians for as long as possible while the main body of the French army fled.
Desaix shook his head. ‘They’re in for a surprise.’
‘That they certainly are,’ Napoleon replied quietly. ‘Signal Marmont to open fire.’
A staff officer relayed the order to a signalman and the flag fluttered up, held aloft for a moment and then swept down. The artillery crews rose up from their places of concealment and hastily cleared away the straw and cut branches hiding their guns. An instant later the cannon roared into life, belching deadly cones of grapeshot into the leading units of the Austrian pursuit column. Gun after gun fired in a rolling cannonade. The leading companies of the white-uniformed enemy were shredded by grapeshot and as the bodies piled into bloody heaps along the road the column stalled. Shocked by the sudden hail of destruction, they stood and endured the slaughter for some minutes before a senior officer attempted to take control. Slowly, too slowly, the head of the column began to deploy to either side of the road, still under heavy fire from Marmont’s guns, which were being worked as swiftly as their crews could manage. The target was so big there was no need to aim carefully and the guns discharged their grapeshot the moment they were reloaded.
After twenty minutes of terrible carnage, the Austrians were still attempting to draw their men up in a battle line. Napoleon realised that this was the moment to strike the decisive blow.
‘Order Marmont to cease fire. Tell Desaix to charge home!’
‘Yes, sir,’ Berthier nodded.
As soon as the last of the guns fell silent, the leading battalions of Desaix’s men marched through the dense bank of smoke and emerged a short distance from the enemy. Napoleon watched as Desaix ordered his men to halt and volley fire, before they advanced to point-blank range and halted to reload and fire again. Volley after volley rang out from both sides, each one wreaking terrible carnage. As he watched Napoleon sensed that the impetus was quickly draining from the French attack. Unless the Austrians broke soon, he doubted that they ever would.
A sudden sheet of flame tore up into the sky a short distance behind the head of the enemy column and Napoleon saw scores of men hurled aside by the blast. The red flame of the explosion faded and a rolling mushroom cloud billowed above the Austrian lines. He saw a crater in the road and scores of blackened bodies and body parts lay scattered around it.
‘Jesus,’ Napoleon muttered in horror. ‘What was that?’
‘Must have been an ammunition wagon,’ Berthier replied. ‘Lucky shot from our side must have set it off.’
The explosion caused a brief lull in the fighting.The Austrians had turned towards the sound of the blast, dazed and frightened. At that moment a trumpet call sounded from Napoleon’s left and he turned and saw that the small body of cavalry covering the left flank was moving, picking up speed as it surged forward down the side of the enemy column, and then wheeled inwards towards the Austrians, still shaken by the blast.
‘The young fool!’ Berthier said through clenched teeth. ‘He’ll get himself killed.’
Napoleon strained his eyes and realised that the cavalry formation belonged to Kellermann, the son of the hero of Valmy, and one of Murat’s most promising officers. Napoleon shook his head. ‘No, he’s done the right thing. It’s perfectly timed. Look!’
Kellermann’s troopers launched themselves into a charge, trumpets blaring and colours rippling in the wind as they spurred their mounts forward, extending their heavy swords until the glinting blades pointed directly at the terrified Austrians in front of them. A few had the presence of mind to turn and fire their muskets at the charging horsemen; then they were engulfed by the French cavalry and the Austrian column shattered. Men threw down their heavy muskets and ran, fleeing back down the road towards Marengo, and away from the advancing lines of the
