‘Look!’ The guardsman thrust out his arm. ‘Look there, sire. It’s Marshal Poniatowski!’

Napoleon scanned the far bank and quickly caught sight of the marshal, his left arm in a sling, urging his horse through the throng, accompanied by a handful of his staff officers. All around him the French soldiers were throwing down their muskets and waiting to be taken prisoner. Poniatowski reached the edge of the river and reined in, gazing down at the men attempting to swim across the current. He looked up, in Napoleon’s direction. For an instant Napoleon stared back, his first impulse bitterness to see the capture of such a fine officer. Just when France needed every worthy man, to save her from her enemies.

Napoleon cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted,‘Swim for it!’

He saw Poniatowski nod and turn to his officers. The nearest shook his head and there was a heated exchange before Poniatowski waved his uninjured hand dismissively, grasped his reins and spurred his mount down the bank into the river. The horse slithered the last few feet and splashed into the water, kicking out for the far bank. Poniatowski leaned forward, urging it on as he clung to the reins with his good hand. Napoleon watched, willing them on. Enemy soldiers further along the river bank were busy firing at the hundreds of Frenchmen in the current, struggling to escape captivity. Spouts of water leaped into the air amid the splashing from flailing arms and legs. Just as the marshal reached the middle of the river his horse was hit in the neck. There was a welter of blood, and the animal thrashed wildly, rearing up in the water. Poniatowski was thrown from his saddle and Napoleon watched helplessly as the man’s head surfaced a short distance downstream from the stricken horse. The Pole managed a few desperate strokes with his good arm, and then slid beneath the whirling eddies and splashes of the surface and was gone.

Napoleon desperately looked for any further sign of him, to no avail, and then took a deep breath. Poniatowski was lost to him, together with scores more of his most experienced generals and over twenty thousand men and all their cannon, equipment and stores.

The campaign was lost. The thought struck him like a physical blow, dazing him momentarily. This was the kind of crushing defeat he had inflicted on his enemies in the past. He had been humbled. Napoleon felt sickened by the realisation. There was nothing he could do to save his empire east of the Rhine. The Grand Army would have to retreat, leaving behind tens of thousands of men still holding out in the towns and fortresses of Prussia and the other German states.