Massйna’s formations pulled back, apart from one division left behind to defend Aderklaa. As soon as they were a safe distance from the enemy, the French soldiers turned about and began to quick-march across the plain towards Essling. The race was on, Napoleon realised, his stomach knotted by anxiety. If the enemy captured Essling and moved swiftly enough, they would take the bridges over the Danube. He could see Massйna riding up and down the columns of blue-coated infantry, urging them on. Despite having had little sleep for nearly three days the men stepped out in a lively fashion, kicking up a thin haze of dust from the dry ground.
A series of sharp bugle notes pierced the morning air and Napoleon turned to see the first of Bessiиres’s charges ripple forward towards the Austrian centre. A line of cuirassiers trotted across the plain, breastplates and helmets shimmering as their crests swished from side to side. Half a mile in front of them the nearest units of Austrian infantry began to form squares while the gun crews trained their cannon on the new threat.
‘A brave sight,’ Napoleon commented. As the horsemen closed on the Austrians and increased their pace to a gentle canter, there seemed to be a pause in the fighting on either side of the battlefield as the two armies watched the wave of men and horses thundering over the flattened grass and crops of the plain. The brief spell was broken as the first of the enemy batteries opened fire, scouring the leading ranks of one of the cuirassier regiments. Scores of men and horses went tumbling over as if they had been tripped, and the succeeding lines had to swerve round them like eddies in a stream. More guns joined in, decimating the ranks of the French heavy cavalry. The bugles sounded again, ordering the charge, and the riders dug their spurs in, extended their sword arms and let out an exuberant cheer that could be clearly heard by Napoleon and his staff officers as they watched.
The Austrian gunners turned away from their weapons and ran for the shelter of the nearest squares, throwing themselves flat at the feet of the kneeling front rank as the latter’s muskets came up, ready to fire into the approaching cavalry. The face of the closest Austrian square abruptly disappeared behind a line of gunpowder smoke and several more of the cuirassiers were cut down. The rest plunged on, riding into the smoke.
The squares of the enemy’s front line held firm, and the French horsemen were forced to flow round them, fired on as they galloped past. Some tried to lean from the saddles and slash at the Austrians with their swords. Others, more cool-headed, sheathed their blades and drew out their pistols, firing back at point-blank range. All the time, the Frenchmen were steadily cut down and the wounded trickled back across the body-strewn fields towards the French lines. The second wave of horsemen opened ranks to let them pass through, and then moved forward to add their weight to the survivors of the first charge.
‘They’re being cut to pieces,’ Berthier said. ‘They can’t break those squares.’
‘No. But that is not necessary,’ Napoleon responded coolly. ‘Just as long as they pin those Austrians in place, long enough for us to reorganise our lines.’ He looked round at his reserve formations. ‘We’ll need all the guns from the Imperial Guard. Line them up with Eugиne’s batteries. That’ll give us over a hundred pieces to blast the enemy with. See to it at once.’
As soon as the guns were in place, Bessiиres withdrew his battered cavalry divisions and there was another brief lull as the enemy squares formed back into lines and then advanced, en masse, towards the waiting Italians of Prince Eugиne, and the hurriedly assembled battery defending the centre of the Grand Army. With a thunderous roar the guns tore into the enemy lines, carving bloody paths through the leading ranks. Napoleon could only wonder at their discipline as the Austrians closed up the gaps and continued at a steady pace, muskets sloped.
‘My God, Berthier, those men are fearless.’
Berthier nodded, eyes fixed on the terrible carnage being wrought by the continuous blasts of the French guns. Over a thousand men must have been cut down before they came within musket range of the French line. Still their discipline held as their officers gave the order to shoulder their weapons and take aim on the French. Their first volley whirred through the dense smoke hanging in front of the cannon, striking down scores of the gunners. A second volley did as much damage, and there was a brief pause before the first company of Imperial Guardsmen were ordered forward to serve the guns. They slung their muskets over their shoulders and did as they were bid by the artillerymen who had survived the initial volleys.
The two lines stood their ground, the French guns and muskets of Eugиne’s men answered by the massed volleys of the Austrians. Napoleon watched the mutual slaughter without expression. Thousands had fallen, and all the time more were struck down, falling upon the heaped bodies of their comrades. It was a small mercy that the smoke became so thick that it hid the true scale of the horror from the men locked into a mechanical ritual of firing and reloading as swiftly as they could. The carnage amongst the gun crews in front of Napoleon’s position numbed his staff officers, who sat in their saddles and watched the bloody spectacle in silence.
For nearly an hour the firing continued. In that time Napoleon had news that Massйna had managed to form his men up in front of Essling and was starting to push the Austrians back. The cannon on Lobau island were firing across the river into the enemy’s flank, and under attack on three sides they could only endure so much before falling back. On the other side of the battlefield Marshal Davout was also steadily pushing the enemy back. Napoleon glanced at his watch and saw that it was almost noon. He turned to Berthier.
‘It seems that the enemy’s attacks have been checked, and the last of their reserves are committed to the battle. Now is the time for us to mount our own assault, break the Austrian line and defeat the army of Archduke Charles.’
The Emperor’s chief of staff looked round the battlefield. ‘Sire, we have few enough reserves of our own. Would an attack be prudent?’
‘Prudent?’ Napoleon shook his head in pity. ‘Have you no faith in me, Berthier?’
Berthier lowered his gaze.
Napoleon continued. ‘Send orders for the army to attack along the entire line. The main blow will be delivered there.’ He raised his hand and pointed to the ground west of Aderklaa.
‘Yes, sire. And who is to have that task?’
Napoleon thought a moment.‘General MacDonald. His men are the freshest troops we have on the field.’
‘They are also some of the most inexperienced,’ Berthier countered.
‘Even so, they will win the battle for me. What greater glory could a new soldier ask for? Tell MacDonald to form his men up to attack.’
Hundreds of cannon rumbled along a battle line that stretched from the Danube to Wagram, and then down the line of the Russbach river, a distance of nearly eight miles. Opposite the Austrian centre, General MacDonald led his men forward. Eight thousand of them, their battalions arranged in a huge square formation. As soon as the drums beat the advance, the formation marched forward. The men were sweating freely in their stifling uniforms. The ground before them was a patchwork of trampled fields, strewn with bodies and abandoned equipment from two days of fighting. The dead had begun to corrupt in the midsummer heat and the air was thick with the stench of decaying flesh, blood and shit. Clouds of flies and other insects created a steady drone as they gorged themselves.
Ahead, the leading ranks could see the enemy artillery crews hurriedly repositioning their guns as they spied the new threat through the thinning clouds of gunpowder smoke.