Fighting for Napoleon's Army in Russia: A POW's Memoir

By C J Wagevier

In 1812 the French emperor Napoleon decided to invade Russia. For this purpose, he gathered an army of half a million men and women, consisting of soldiers from all nationalities, including French, German and Italian. Serving in this army was Carel Johannes Wagevier, an officer in the 125th Regiment of the Line, which was staffed by mostly Dutch soldiers. Full of confidence, they went to war and began the long journey to the East. What followed was a horrific expedition deep into the Russian interior, a chaotic retreat, and captivity.

Just like his fellow soldiers, Wagevier endured the cold, the stresses of combat, and the hunger that besieged the army. After fighting at the battle of Berezina in November 1812, he was taken prisoner and transported all the way to the Russian interior. In 1814 he and his remaining fellow officers were released, and together they started the journey back home. During his travels across Russia, he made notes of events that occurred or meetings that seemed memorable, including ones of unexpected generosity as well as sudden cruelty. These notes were later expanded into his memoir and published in 1820. Now, for the first time ever, they have been translated into English, providing a unique and fascinating insight into the life of a solider in Napoleon’s army.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pen and Sword
• Release date: Aug 30, 2023
• ISBN: 9781399089760

C J Wagevier

Samuel de Korte is a graduate student of Utrecht University, where he studied for an MA in the Cultural History of Modern Europe. In his spare time he enjoys researching or writing articles about popular history, specializing in the history of African-American soldiers during the Second World War and the Dutch involvement in the Napoleonic wars.

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Preface

Finally, I dare to show my notes in the light. Possibly my readers will wonder why they emerge only after the passage of six years. The reason is this: on the road I had kept short notes of what pleased me or what seemed remarkable to me, as often as time and occasion allowed. I did this at the time just for my own amusement, but have preserved them carefully. After my return to the fatherland, I formed a plan to put them in order and make a coherent account. At first, I was hindered in this by the worries of my future existence, and later, after my appointment, by the manifold activities which my new post provided me. Then followed the campaign of 1815 which I have also helped bring to an end, during which no time for labour could be spent on my proposed plan. Returning in 1816, I took up my task again diligently, although my remaining hours were few and this proceeded slowly.

After having finally achieved my goal, I gave the product of my labour to a few of my friends to read, which brought them so much pleasure that they alerted others, who likewise requested and acquired the account. At the end of this, the general desire was to make the work more public through the printing press. I was initially very hesitant about this, because I, being an officer’s son, raised for military service from my youth and having spent almost my entire life in arms, had little occasion to occupy myself with literature, at least to the extent to appear as a writer. But a man skilled in the national literature, having read my work, found this important enough for the reading public and thus encouraged me. He kindly offered to check the language and grammar and to bring it in proper order, so I finally decided on publication.

Thus, I simply give my Notes and trust that at least they shall be read with pleasure and interest by many whose friends and relatives have shared in that ill-fated campaign. Geographical comments are few, as I, due to my circumstances, often lacked the opportunity. Also, there are so many travelogues through Russia at hand, flowing from skilled pens, that my work could be seen as superfluous. However, everything that struck me as somewhat remarkable, I wrote down faithfully.

I call on the leniency of the humble reader for my work, and if the reading of this will grant him some pleasurable moments, I shall consider myself rewarded enough.

Chapter 1

Giving Thanks

More curious than any other campaign, in earlier or later centuries, was the one which Napoleon undertook in the year 1812 against Russia. After the French banners had flown from the towers of Vienna, Berlin, Madrid, Rome, and Naples, they had to fly at those from Moscow and St. Petersburg. Russia, like Spain, Italy, Austria, Germany, and the Netherlands, must honour the great dictator. Russia’s Emperor, just like all those other rulers and kings, must be a vassal of the French empire.

To carry out this grand design, the most formidable preparations were made. The whole of Europe had, as it were, to be of service to it. Austrians, Prussians, Dutchmen, Italians, and Germans from all regions, had to rank themselves as mercenaries under the French banners, and deposit their precious blood and their hard-earned treasures for the vain fame of this nation, intoxicated by its own success, and for the greatness of its proud overlord. More than four times 100,000 soldiers, often very well trained in military service, led by the most skilled generals, and guided by the comprehensive genius of the great warrior, provided with a train of artillery and ammunition, advanced in an immeasurable line that stretched itself from the Adriatic Sea to the Baltic Sea, against the borders of Russia. And soon the curtain was lifted for the terrible tragedy, of which the denouement for one of the leading actors was disastrous. Never was a campaign started under more favourable omens, but also never belied a more unfortunate end to such a favourable beginning.

The invincible courage of the French army and the unyielding stubbornness of its audacious commander were shipwrecked by the courage of the Russians, inflamed by noble patriotism, and the anger of the elements. A higher power limited their hubris and called to them in a formidable way: Up to here and no further! It brought terrible disappointment and a horrible awakening from the vain dream of victory over the world! When they thought to have reached the height of their wishes, the goal of their untiring attempts and unheard-of self-sacrifices, they were all at once stopped in their upwards flight and crashed into the deepest depth of pity and misery. After thousands had succumbed to tiredness and shortages, several thousands more perished in the bloodiest fighting, while the remainder fell prey to the terrible barbarity of the Northern winters, where hundreds of thousands lay lifeless, stretched out on the Russian snow and ice wastes.

Not a tenth of the once formidable army was allowed to see the borders of their homeland again! Oh, when we think what mourning this unfortunate catastrophe brought. It has spread not just across France, but across the whole of Europe. How many fathers and mothers lost their sons, the hope and comfort of their old age? How many wives lost their husbands? How many children lost their fathers, their only aid and support? Our hearts must shrink away in sorrow once all these tears are counted on the Day of Judgement by the great World Judge.

How would you then stand before his judge’s chair? You,² whose insatiable lust for power was the sole cause of all that misery! What a formidable lesson for kings and rulers! Yet this was lost to the frivolous French and their maddening commander. They were not humiliated enough, they challenged the face of Providence and must undergo more than one chastisement before the peace of the nations, which was for so long so wantonly disturbed by them, was restored.

What feelings are aroused at the remembrance of that remarkable moment for whole nations, as well as in remarkable people? Their first feeling is, certainly, gratitude to the Eternal Supreme Being, who liberated them from suppression and saved them from a thousand dangers. But also, it must surely awaken the urge to eternalize the events of those remarkable days through histories and to convey them to their later progeny. On one side there is gratefulness to God and love for the fatherland, and on the other side indelible hatred against the suppressors of all nations, propagated from father to son until the last grandnephew.

These feelings animate me, dear reader! I, too, acknowledge, now and at all times, my unending thanks to the Divine Providence, who saved me so wonderfully from thousands of dangers and has brought me back safely to my fatherland and in the bosom of my loved ones. In me also came the urge to draft a story from the notes I kept on the road and luckily preserved, of my journey to Russia, my experiences in captivity, and my journey back.

And while there are many and detailed descriptions of this notorious campaign at hand, written by skilful pens, I still believe that this small contribution will not be unpleasant to my countrymen, as it is written by a Dutchman, and people can thus deduce from it how our countrymen fared, who shared their fate with the writer. People expect just a simple, unadorned story, and want to be entirely assured of the truth told in every act.

I shall attempt to enliven as much as possible the dryness and monotonousness of a daily story by intertwined stories of curiosities and comments made by me here and there. And if the reader finds as much entertainment in thumbing through my journal as I enjoyed in the editing of it, from the memory of what transpired, my efforts will be doubly rewarded. Thus, I proceed to my daily story.

Chapter 2

A New Campaign

After the 125th Infantry of the Line Regiment, wherein I then served as captain – or rather the first three battalions of it, commanded by Colonel Wagner³ – gathered itself in Groningen, and all detachments from the East Frisian islands, and the sea sluices on the coast of East Friesland, had been enlisted and guns and arms were brought in a good state, we finally left Groningen on 29 June 1812. We were around 1,600 able-bodied men (the most, sadly, never to return) and began our march to Winschoten, a sizeable place in the Groningen province near the East Frisian borders.

On this march, passing the pleasant and beautiful country estates surrounding the village of Sapmeer, I couldn’t desist from paying a farewell visit to my nephew, who occupied the post of pastor at the Lutheran congregation there. Our goodbye was touching as we both, as it were, had a hunch that we embraced each other for the last time. And this hunch has, sadly, become all too true, but not as I had thought. I went to expose myself to thousands of dangers and almost certain death, and I was fortunately saved from all these dangers – but I didn’t find my nephew again. He wasn’t in the land of the living anymore, because, after the revolution here, he left with his wife and four children to Batavia. He died there shortly after his arrival, as did his wife and two of their children. So uncertain is thus the human fate and no one knows the time or the place of their death. So these two unfortunate father and motherless orphans were in a foreign region, 2,000 miles away from their kin and devoid of all support. But God, who is the father of all creatures, didn’t abandon them. The Lutheran congregation in Batavia took them in and provides generously for their education.

The next day we marched from Winschoten and arrived at Leer, a not insignificant town in East Friesland, after passing the River Ems, and from there the next day to Westerstee and on 2 July to Oldenburg. Just as it occurs with travellers, who sometimes unexpectedly meet old acquaintances, so it happened to me here.

When in the year 1811 I commanded on the island of Wangerooge, at the mouth of the Jade, it often occurred that dismissed or passported Hanoverian soldiers were put ashore by the English and I was tasked with letting them pass unhindered. Now it happened at a certain moment that, among others, a cornet or ensign and his wife were put ashore. This wife had the misfortune to fall in the surf during the disembarking, from which she was saved with a lot of effort. Unconscious, she was brought to me and I took care of her as her circumstances and the love for humans demanded, and I had the satisfaction of bringing her back swiftly and seeing her recovered from her shock. This cornet and his wife I now found here in Oldenburg. People can imagine that this meeting was heartily pleasing. We reminded each other many more times what had happened, and their gratitude strove to make my stay in this city as pleasant as possible.

The next day we held a rest day here. You will imagine, dear reader, that we were now at ease and could go and do what we wanted. Oh no! Such a rest day is, with us soldiers, already a strange thing. From the morning until the evening, the day was nothing less than roll call, inspection, exercising, walking, and running. So that afterwards we unanimously longed to march, rather than to have a rest day. And thus, you must imagine in the future all our rest days with a few exceptions.

Thus, after having rested this way, we marched on 5 July to Delmenhorst and the next day to Bremen. As I had spent some time here in the year 1807, before we advanced to besiege the fortress Stralsund, I found nothing unusual here. However, I still went, for as much as my time allowed it, to visit some old acquaintances, whose generous friendship helped me sweeten the unpleasantries of the rest day (which we held again here, and which was no better than the previous one). Here the companies’ masses⁴ needed to be deposited in the regimental savings and thus they ended up in a sinking fund – because nothing has ever turned up from it. Even if the French administration had left something of it, our friends the Cossacks will have taken care of the rest.

After having marched over Osterberg and Rotenburg, we arrived on the 9th at Tostedt, a small village where I was quartered at a large farm. Here I had the opportunity to buy a good horse which served me in the future.

The next day we marched to Haarburg, from where we sailed over the Elbe to Hamburg on waiting ships. This city was already familiar to me because, in the year 1807, I had been garrisoned there for some time. I had stayed with a sugar refiner, although I heard that he no longer lived in Hamburg anymore, but had retired to the countryside. The man has probably taken his sheep to safe pastures and thus, he has done wisely when viewed in hindsight, because the years 1813 and 1814 were surely not so pleasant in Hamburg, when Marshal Davout⁵ played his odious role there.⁶

Hamburg is a very entertaining city. The most entertaining part of this was the so-called Hamburgerberg outside the Altona gate, where an uninterrupted row of the most beautiful country houses with elegant trees enchanted the eye.⁷ More than once I had entertained myself here during my previous stay and thus couldn’t resist enjoying those pleasures now during my brief visit, which would probably be for the last time in my life.

And truly, I can’t say how much it hurt me to learn afterwards that this beautiful place, which constituted the main pleasure of a whole city, was destroyed at the whim of the former commander, just to defend the position of Hamburg, a city that in the long run was untenable. The disastrous effects of the war, which destroys everything that human labour acquires at great expense over a long time, often in one moment lost just to service the whims of a ruler! How many formerly flourishing cities and places have not been the unfortunate victim of this odious drift?

As we had another rest day here, the next day we had to pay our humble respects to various French generals who had gathered here. Thus, we crossed the city right and left, to make a curved back for their excellencies. And as all these fatigues appeared to outweigh a march, as we, my lieutenant H. and I, knew, should now surely be allowed to hold a rest day.

We decided thus to be carried in a carriage like high lords to Altona. From there we saw the remaining masses move by on foot. Here we moved into a distinguished lodging outside the city, and there a midday meal was prepared. We had no reason to complain about our cook (the food was tasty), but less to rejoice about the bill of the innkeeper. But what could we do against this?

We spent this day very pleasantly and wanted to