The seamen had scarcely dipped their oars a second time, when a sudden glancing of arms amid the sand-hills warned the troops to expect opposition. The French had foreseen the probability of such an attempt as the present, and had prepared to oppose it by throwing up breastworks, placing field-pieces in the hollows, and stationing a considerable force to dispute a landing.



Gallantly the boats pressed onward; while the frigates, which had approached within half-cannon shot of the shore, opening their fire, swept the beach with a shower of round shot. The flotilla was now within musket range, when the French all at once poured in a volley of small-arms. Wolfe ordered his men not to fire in return; but, trusting to the broadsides from the frigates, which, ploughing up the sand, threw it high in the air, and thus kept the beach open, he urged his rowers to their utmost strength, passed through a heavy surf, though not without some loss, and made good his landing. Company by company, as the men arrived, they quickly formed, and pushing on, after a sharp encounter, forced the French to abandon their works, and retreat within the walls of Louisburg.

The terrible surf proved the more formidable enemy. Above one hundred boats, with a large number of their crews, were lost in attempting to pass through to the shore. But officers and men were too enthusiastic to be disheartened. In a short time all the troops were landed; guns, stores, work-tools, ammunition, and provisions, followed quickly; and, ere the enemy had learned that real danger at last threatened them, the business of the siege was begun.

General Amherst invested the place without delay on the land side, and, having opened his trenches before it, despatched Wolfe with the light infantry and a body of Highlanders to attack the battery on Lighthouse Point. Before dawn one morning, he reached the outposts, drove them in, and followed with such rapidity, that, ere the enemy could form, and almost before they had got under arms, they were completely routed. The guns were immediately turned with terrible accuracy upon the harbor and town. The five ships of war now found their position very hazardous; one was soon on fire, and blew up; the flames spread to two others, and the remaining two were attacked and captured by boats. The breaching batteries shook the ramparts of the town to their foundations, while the shells carried ruin and death into the streets. On July 26th, the enemy, finding it impossible to resist any longer, surrendered; the garrison became prisoners of war, and the islands of Cape Breton and Prince Edward fell into the hands of the English.

Wolfe's part in this campaign was now over, for domestic matters summoned him to England. He had not, however, been long at home, when he was informed from head-quarters, that his brilliant services as a subaltern had caused the king to select him to conduct an enterprise of still greater hazard and honor. It had been proposed in Council, as the speediest mode of putting an end to the transatlantic war, that the reduction of Quebec, the enemy's colonial capital, should be effected. Competent authorities declared the attempt to be not impracticable; it was therefore resolved on, and Wolfe was nominated to the command of an armament to invest the town. An attack, to be made on three other points, was determined as a commencement of the campaign.

The armament set sail early in February, 1759. Admiral Saunders commanded the fleet, which comprised twenty-two line-of-battle ships, and an equal number of frigates. The whole came within sight of Louisburg April 21st. The harbor being still choked with ice, the vessels could not get in; and the delays which occurred prevented Wolfe from entering the St. Lawrence till June. The ships reached the Isle of Orleans by the end of the month; and, casting anchor, possession was taken. The land was in a high state of cultivation, affording abundant supplies to soldiers and sailors.

The Marquis of Montcalm, now an old but still energetic man, occupied Quebec and the adjoining district with an army of five thousand regular troops, and the same number of militia and Indians. He made preparations for the defence with great judgment; the mass of his army was in the town, which he had further protected by intrenchments extending nearly eight miles to the west, till they reached the Montmorency River. Montreal was also well garrisoned; and, twenty miles above Quebec, a body of two thousand men lay encamped to attack in flank any force which might attempt to land in that direction.

Many skirmishes took place at first between the Indians and British troops; and one attack of more importance, on the intrenchments near the St. Charles, was headed by Wolfe in person. It completely failed; but it taught him the strength of the enemy's position, and clearly showed that it would require stratagem to accomplish his design of reducing the town itself.

A council was summoned, when it was found that disease and the petty combats in which they had been engaged, had reduced the troops to five thousand effective men. Insufficient as this army seemed, Wolfe determined to remain idle no longer; and a plan of attack on the town was agreed upon. Accordingly, the following morning (September 11th), the ships of the line, with the exception of two or three, and all the frigates, suddenly hoisted sail, and, exposed to a cannonade from all the batteries, sailed up the river past Quebec. The troops had previously been landed on the southern side of the river, and in perfect safety they marched in the same direction. When they had proceeded about nine miles, they found the fleet riding at anchor, already beyond the reach or observation of the enemy. The point of attack Wolfe had chosen lay within a mile and a half of Quebec, and consequently this march had no other purpose in view than to mislead the enemy as to his intentions. No sooner had the tide turned, and evening set in, than the surface of the river suddenly swarmed with boats, which had secretly been brought to this distant mustering-place. Then the signal for the ships to sail was hung out, and they immediately began proudly to descend the channel, leaving the flotilla boats behind them.

Before midnight, the fleet had reached its first anchorage, and the troops up the river could hear the thundering of their guns, as they cannonaded at long shot the fortifications below the St. Charles. The cheering sound told them that the ships had repassed the town safely; while the French naturally concluded, that from the ships a descent was about to be attempted.

During the interval, the troops had silently and in complete order taken their places in the boats; and, as soon as it became quite dark, like a huge flock of waterfowl, they glided down the stream. Not a word was spoken; the soldiers sat upright and motionless; and the sailors scarcely dipped their oars, lest the splash should reach the ears of the French placed along the shore at short distances. Wolfe sat in the leading boat, surveying attentively each headland, to prevent the hazard of shooting beyond the point at which he purposed landing. Unobserved, he gained the little cove which has since borne his name, and shortly before midnight all the men were landed.

The troops now stood upon a narrow beach. Above them rose a precipice, nearly perpendicular, to the height of two hundred and fifty feet. A winding path, broad enough to admit four men abreast, led to the summit; and here lay one of the large plains, or table-lands, which distinguish the heights of Abraham, on a level with the upper town of Quebec. A battery of four guns, and a strong party of infantry, defended this important pass. Vigilance, however, was not one of the qualities of this guard; for the leading files of the British, under Colonel Howe, were close upon the station of the French sentinel ere he challenged. Replying with a hearty cheer, they sprung forward. An irregular volley poured upon them; but the next instant they were high on the ground, and at close bayonets with the French guard, who immediately fled in terror, leaving Colonel Howe quietly in possession of their redoubt and artillery.

Long before dawn, all the troops had gained this ground. Leaving two companies in charge of the redoubt, Wolfe hastened forward with the rest toward Quebec. He halted when within a mile of the town, and there the men lay down with their arms in readiness for the first alarm. A communication by small parties, called videttes, was kept up with the companies at the redoubt.

A trooper, with his horse covered with foam, appeared in the French camp at Beau Point, as the morning sky began to redden. He brought Montcalm the first intelligence of the landing the English had effected, and the unwelcome news was soon confirmed by the appearance of some of the fugitive soldiers from the redoubt. The camp was instantly in commotion; but the marquis gave his orders coolly, and before an hour the entire army had crossed the river, and were in full march for the Heights of Abraham.

About eleven in the forenoon, a large body of Indians and Canadian riflemen were seen issuing from a wood on one side of the plain on which the English were stationed. They were soon hidden again by a thicket; and dexterously spreading themselves among the bushes, they opened a smart skirmishing fire on the pickets. This was the first warning that the long-wished-for event was at hand—a general conflict might now be confidently expected.

Without delay, Wolfe drew up his men in two lines, placing a few light companies in skirmishing order in front, and retaining one regiment (the 47th) in divisions, as a reserve. The French skirmishers were quickly engaged with the light troops, whom they compelled to fall back on the line; while a heavy column advancing on the left, obliged Wolfe to wheel round three battalions to strengthen that side. But ere the column bore down, a fresh body of skirmishers appeared, and under their cover it silently withdrew; then, suddenly appearing on the right, it came down impetuously upon the irregular troops which Wolfe had there stationed. These did their duty nobly; the fierce attack of the enemy failed to break their order, or make them even flinch for a moment. The skirmishers, meantime, continued to gall the light infantry with their desultory fire, which acted also as a vail to conceal the intended movements of the main body of the enemy. As the light troops, however, hastily fell back, they caused a slight dismay among their supporters. Wolfe instantly rode along the line, and assured the men that these were only obeying instructions in order to draw the French onward. "Be firm, my lads!" said he; "do not return a shot till the enemy is within forty yards of the muzzles of your pieces; then you may fire!"

The men replied by a shout; and, shouldering their muskets, they remained as though on parade, while the French continued to press nearer and nearer. At length they were within the appointed distance. Every gun was now levelled—a crashing volley passed from left to right—a dense smoke followed the discharge, and hid its effects for a minute. The breeze soon carried this off, and then the huge gaps in the enemy's line exceeded all expectation. In the rear, the ground appeared crowded with wounded men hurrying or being borne from the conflict; while the army, which had just advanced so confidently, now wavered, and then stood still. Seeing the irresolution of the enemy, Wolfe cheered his men to charge. A moment after, a musket-ball struck his wrist. He paused only to wrap his handkerchief round the wound, and again pressed on. He received a second ball in his body, but still continued to issue his orders without evincing any symptom of pain, when a third bullet pierced his breast.

Wolfe fell to the ground; he was instantly raised and borne to the rear, where the utmost skill of the surgeons was put forth in a vain attempt to save his life. While they were engaged in examining his wounds, Wolfe continued to raise himself, from time to time, to watch the progress of the battle. His eyesight beginning to fail, he leaned backwards upon one of the grenadiers who had supported him from the field, and his heavy breathing and an occasional groan, alone showed that life remained.

"See how they run!" exclaimed an officer, beside the dying general.

"Who run?" cried Wolfe, instantly raising himself on his elbow, and looking up, as if life were returning with full vigor.

"The French," answered the officer; "they are giving way in all directions."

"Run, one of you," said the general, speaking with great firmness, "run to Colonel Burton; tell him to march Webb's regiment down to Charles River with all speed, so as to secure the bridge, and cut off the enemy's retreat."

His orders were obeyed, and after a short pause, he continued, "Now, God be praised, I shall die happy!" He fell back at these words, turned convulsively on his side and expired.

Montcalm had also fallen in the battle; the enemy was totally routed, and, five days after, Quebec capitulated to General Townshend.

The body of the gallant and high-minded Wolfe was conveyed home in a ship of war. When the hero's remains arrived at Portsmouth, minute-guns were fired, the flags half struck, and a body of troops, with reversed arms, received the coffin on the beach, and followed the hearse. Parliament voted Wolfe a monument in Westminster Abbey, and in that venerable pile would have been his last resting-place; but a mother claimed the ashes of her son, and laid them beside those of his father, in a vault of the parish church of Greenwich.



FREDERICK THE GREAT

By GENERAL JOHN MITCHELL

(1712-1786)

]

How shall we describe the "Incomparable," the extraordinary compound of so many brilliant and repulsive qualities? How is he to be depicted, who was great as a king, and little as a man,—always admired in his public, never beloved in his private, character;—a just, generous, and laborious prince,—a vain, avaricious, and cold-hearted individual; luxurious by temperament, temperate in practice; a selfish epicurean, and affecting the harshness of the cynic;—peacefully disposed, and cultivating the arts of peace, yet exercising the arts of war in their direst form;—a man of letters, ignorant of the beauties, and disdaining the language of his country;—magnificent and mean; the builder of palaces, theatres, libraries and museums, and dying, literally, without a whole shirt in which he could be buried;—and, lastly, the most brilliant and successful soldier of his time,—and almost destitute of the soldier's first quality, personal courage?

Frederick, by general acclamation surnamed "The Great," was born on January 24, 1712. His education was principally military; his very toys were miniature implements of war suited to his age; and no sooner was he able to handle a musket than he was sent to drill, and forced, like all the Prussian officers of the period, to perform the duties and submit to the privations of a private soldier,—obliged even to stand sentinel before the palace in all the severities of a northern winter. Though rather feeble of constitution, he soon became a proficient in martial exercises. The different branches of science bearing on the art of war he was forced to study; but his leisure hours were devoted to reading French verses, and playing on the flute—pursuits that greatly displeased his royal father, who frequently threw the books into the fire, and the flutes out of the window.

Frederick William,—the original founder of the pipe-clay science of tactics, and the stick-and-starvation system of organization,—the first inventor of pauper armies, dressed in martial uniforms,—became gradually estranged from his poetical son; and often declared that the dandy, "Der Stutzer" as he styled him, "would ruin everything." He consequently treated him with so much severity, that the young prince attempted to escape, intending to fly to England. The tragical result of the adventure is well known. Frederick was thrown into prison; and his friend and adviser, Katt, beheaded under his window, while soldiers held the prince's head toward the scaffold on which the deed of death was acting. What impression this dreadful scene made on his mind is not known; but it ought to have been a deep and a lasting one.

It was the king's wish to follow up this execution by the trial of his own son; but the remonstrances of the cabinet of Vienna, of his own council, and, above all, of the upright and honest chaplain, Dr. Reinbeck, reluctantly induced him to forego the intention. It is not probable that he actually intended to put the prince to death, but only to force him to resign his right to the throne in favor of his second brother, William; a proposal to which Frederick constantly refused to assent.

But though not tried, Frederick was severely punished, for he was confined to the fortress of Kuestrin, where he was obliged to perform the duties of a commissary of finance, and write the reports, and make out the returns with his own hand. All this was, no doubt, of advantage to the future sovereign. On condition of marrying the Princess Elizabeth of Brunswick-Bevern, he was, at the end of eighteen months, released from confinement, and allowed to reside in the small town of Rheinsberg, where he resumed his flute and his French poets, to which the study of French philosophers and French translations from the classics was added. It was during his stay at Rheinsberg that his correspondence with foreign men of letters commenced; and it was here also that, with a party of friends, he formed an order of chivalry termed the "Order of Bayard," the motto of the knights being, "Without fear, and without reproach." But these were vain attempts at knighthood, for there was nothing chivalrous in the character of Frederick.

Two short journeys performed with his father, and a visit to the army which Prince Eugene commanded on the Rhine in 1734, formed the only interruption to the tranquil and philosophical life of Rheinsberg.

The first appearance in the field of the army bequeathed by Frederick William to his son, forms an era in modern history; for a belief in its efficiency was the mainspring that urged on the young king to attack the Austrians; and its excellence became the lever with which he ultimately raised his poor and secondary kingdom to the rank of a first-rate European power. The history of the rise and formation of this army, though a very curious one, would necessarily exceed our limits; but no one will be able to write the life of Frederick, and do full justice to the subject, without giving the reader a proper idea of the nature and origin of the engine which helped so mainly to render him great and famous. He had, no doubt, other claims to greatness besides those which his military actions conferred upon him; but it was the splendor of these actions that brought his other merits to light; and little enough would have been heard of the "Philosopher of Sans-Souci," had not the victor of so many fields made him known to the world.

Frederick, while crown-prince, had not shown any great predilection for military affairs; he was rather pacifically disposed; was even a little taken with the philosophy of Wolf; and greatly captivated by French literature, and by French poetry in particular. It is probable, therefore, that the high opinion generally entertained of the newly-formed army, and the favorable opportunity that fortune offered on his accession to the throne, were the spurs "that pricked him on" to the field.

The Emperor Charles VI., the last male descendant of the house of Hapsburg, died in October, 1741, leaving his daughter, Maria Theresa, to retain, if possible, his extensive dominions against the various claimants who had not acknowledged the Pragmatic Sanction: an act by which the emperor had bequeathed to her all the possessions of his house. Frederick William had not acknowledged this deed, so that Frederick was not bound by it; and having some well-grounded claims on the duchies of Silesia, prepared to make them good—by force of arms, if necessary—the moment the emperor died. The desire "to be spoken of" was, as he himself confesses, one of his principal motives for action on this occasion.

The young king resolved to lead the army he had inherited, personally into the field; and as the Austrians were totally unprepared for the visit, the principalities were occupied without resistance. It was not till April 10, 1741, that an Austrian force, under General Neipperg, came to give him the meeting; and there was but little wanting to have rendered the battle of Molwitz, the first of Frederick's fields, the last also. The ground was covered with snow. Both parties were of about equal strength, and took up their ground, as the king himself tells us, in a manner alike unskilful; but, on the part of the tactician, this very want of skill tended to gain the battle; for three battalions of the first line, not finding room to form up, were thrown back en potence on the extremity of the right wing, and, as we shall see, repulsed the Austrian cavalry by their fire at the most critical moment of the battle. The Austrians had been very merry at the expense of the Prussian system of tactics, and had promised to beat the pipe-clay out of their jackets at the first meeting; and now the words of scorn were to be made good.

After the usual salutation of artillery, the Imperial cavalry, practised in the Turkish wars, fell at full gallop upon the Prussian cavalry of the right wing, and overthrew them in an instant; for, like the infantry, they had been taught only to fire. Following up their success, the Austrian horsemen dashed at the flank of the Prussian infantry; but here the three battalions already mentioned as thrown back en potence, presented a steady front, and by their rapid fire repulsed the assailants, who, having their commander killed, seeing the despised and pipe-clayed warriors standing immovably in their ranks, from which a fire of never-heard rapidity was pouring out in all directions, soon dispersed, leaving their comrades of the infantry to try their fortune against these well-drilled foes. The infantry were not more fortunate than the cavalry. The Prussians stood firm as rocks, and fired three shots to their one; and as both were equally unskilful in the use of arms, the quantity of shots fired naturally decided the day. After a combat of several hours, the Austrians retired from the field, leaving the victory and battle-ground in the hands of the Prussians.

But where was he, the chieftain of that gallant host, the claimant of dukedoms and principalities, the victor for whose brows a splendid wreath of laurel had been so nobly gained by the blood of the brave? Will blushing glory hide the tale of shame? Alas, no!—vain were the courtly attempts made to conceal the truth, and history is forced to confess that "Frederick the Great from Molwitz deigned to run." In the scene of death, tumult, and confusion, which followed on the overthrow of the Prussian cavalry, the king completely lost his presence of mind, and fled as far as Oppeln, where the Austrian garrison, unfortunately for their cause, received him with a fire of musketry, that made him take another direction. He passed the night in great anxiety at a small country inn twenty miles from the field. On the following morning an aide-de-camp of the Prince of Dessau brought the fugitive king back to his victorious army. "Oh, Frederick," says Berenhorst, "who could then have foretold the glory thou wert destined to acquire and to merit as well as any conqueror and gainer of battles ever did?"

The war of the Austrian Succession having been now kindled, and Maria Theresa been attacked on all the points of her extensive dominions, Frederick made peace, left his allies to shift for themselves, and, having obtained the principalities of Silesia, retired from the contest. That he made good use of the time and additional sources of strength gained, it is needless to say.

The splendid success of the Austrian arms against France, the rapid preponderance that Maria Theresa was acquiring, alarmed him, however, for his late conquests; and he determined again to take the field before the strength of the house of Austria should outgrow his power to repress it. Voltaire negotiated for France on this occasion, and represented the danger with rather more than diplomatic ability. On both sides the protocols were as often written in verse as in prose; and Frederick, who hated George II., having told the poet, "Let France declare war against England, and I march," the latter instantly set out for Versailles, and thus gave the signal for the second Silesian War. This was in 1744. The Prussian troops were again victorious in battle, but the general result was not so much in their favor. The king, after taking Prague, was forced to evacuate Bohemia and part of Silesia; and though afterward brilliantly successful, particularly in the fields of Hohenfriedberg, he did not hesitate to make a separate peace the moment a fair opportunity offered. On taking the field, he told the French ambassador, "I am going to play your game, and if the trumps fall to my share, we'll go halves." The best part of the promise was soon forgotten, and the French, Spaniards, and Bavarians left, as before, to fight their own battle, the King of Prussia having, in December, 1745, amicably concluded all his differences with Saxony and Austria. The young and fortunate conqueror now proceeded to improve and adorn his dominions; and it is almost impossible to speak in too high terms of the great things he effected with comparatively small means.

At this period of his life Frederick was singularly beloved and admired by the new court and world with which he had surrounded himself. His wit, fortune, and activity—a figure marked by distinguished bearing, by beauty of a peculiar kind, even by dress and apparel—a total of personal appearance that impressed itself singularly on the eyes of the beholder, excited general enthusiasm. Imitation is a proof and consequence of it; and many an orthodox believer, who trembled in private, ridiculed religion in public, because he had heard that the king was an atheist; and many a gallant soldier, who hated the sight and smell of snuff, disfigured his nose and lip with rappee, because such was the royal fashion. As a general, he was looked upon as the first of his time. The feeble moment at Molwitz had not become generally known; and the few who had witnessed the unpleasant affair, were too loyal and well-disposed to call it back to their recollection.

The king certainly did everything to deserve the favorable opinion entertained of him. Arts, science, commerce, and agriculture were encouraged; more than one hundred and thirty villages sprang up on newly drained lands along the banks of the Oder; men of letters and talents were brought to Berlin; theatres, operas, ballets, were established; a sort of German Versailles arose amid the sands of Brandenburg; and the "Garden House outside the gate," which was Frederick William's summer residence and place of recreation, soon sank down to the humble rank of a gardener's lodge to his son's palace! The machinery of government was never carried on with such perfect regularity. The king superintended the whole himself, and that without any regular intercourse with his ministers, some of whom, it is said, he never saw in his life. They furnished him every morning with abridged statements of the business to be transacted, and he wrote his order on the margin of the paper; the affairs of state were all settled in a couple of hours. Literary compositions, in prose and verse, military reviews, meals, and conversation, filled up the rest of the day. "Frederick," says Voltaire, in his vile and mischievous "Memoires," "governed without court, council, or religious establishment" (culte). It was during this brilliant period of the king's reign that the French poet passed some time at Berlin.

The Austrians, who had ridiculed the drilling and powdering, had paid for their folly in many a bloody field, but had profited by the lesson, and could now move as accurately and fire as quickly as their neighbors. The first combat of the great Seven Years' War, which began in 1756, already proved this to the conviction of all parties. The Prussians purchased a slight advantage by a great loss of blood; and on the very battle-field the general remark was, "These are no longer the old Austrians." On the capture of the Saxon army, which surrendered at Pirna, Frederick, who exacted such unlimited allegiance from his subjects and soldiers, gave a strange proof of inconsistency, and of that contempt with which he seemed to treat the feelings of other men; for, without so much as asking their consent, he ordered all the prisoners to be incorporated into the ranks of his army, and expected to make loyal Prussians of them by merely changing their uniforms. As was to be expected, they deserted immediately.

The progress of the war is out of our province. Spoiled by success, Frederick, after gaining the dearly purchased victory of Prague, attempted to reduce a city which he could not invest, and in which an army was concentrated. The Austrians advanced with 60,000 men to raise the siege; and the presumptuous king did not hesitate to rush upon them with less than half the number of Prussians; a total defeat, the first he had yet sustained, was the consequence. From this day it is allowed that the Prussian infantry had no longer any superiority over their enemies; henceforth the genius of their sovereign, the confidence he inspired, and the dread entertained of him by his adversaries, are the only advantages they have to depend upon. In the second year of the war he writes to La Motte Fouque,—"Owing to the great losses sustained, our infantry is very much degenerated from what it formerly was, and must not be employed on difficult undertakings." In the third year he says to the same,—"Care must be taken not to render our people timid; they are too much so by nature already."

Of this battle of Collin we must here report an anecdote characteristic of what Frederick then was. The left wing of the Prussian army was obliquing in admirable order to the left, and already gaining the right of the Austrians, according to the prescribed disposition, when the king, at once losing patience in the most unaccountable manner, sent directions to Prince Maurice of Dessau, who commanded the infantry, ordering him to wheel up and advance upon the enemy. The prince told the officer that the proposed points had not yet been attained, and recommended that the oblique march should still be continued. The king immediately came up in person, and in haughty and overbearing style repeated the order, and, when the Prince of Dessau attempted to explain, drew his sword, and in a fiery and threatening tone exclaimed, "Will he (er) obey, and immediately wheel up and advance?" The officers present were terrified, fancying from his excited manner that he would be guilty of some act of violence; but the prince, of course, bowed and obeyed, and—the battle was soon lost.

Frederick, as an absolute king and commander, had, no doubt, many advantages over the ill-combined coalition by which he was assailed; but the mass of brute force was so great on the part of his adversaries, that he was more than once on the very eve of being crushed. At one time, indeed, he contemplated the commission of suicide.



The wonderful battles of Rossbach and Leuthen[1] reconciled him to life. The former was not, as is well known, his work, as it was almost gained before he well knew what was going on: it was due principally to the indomitable bravery of Zeidlitz and the cavalry. His conduct at Leuthen could not be surpassed; and his manner of promoting General Prince Maurice of Dessau, who had most nobly aided him in the battle, was highly characteristic. "I congratulate you on the victory, Field-marshal," said Frederick, when they met on the field. The prince was still so much occupied with what was going forward, that he did not mark the exact words the king had used, till the latter again called out, "Don't you hear, Field-marshal, that I congratulate you on the victory gained?" when the newly promoted made due acknowledgments in course. Frederick, in his great contest, was assisted by an English, Hessian, and Hanoverian army, as well as by English subsidies; but, making full allowance for the value of these auxiliaries, it must still be admitted that great genius and courage were required to enable a King of Prussia to resist the combined forces of France, Austria, Russia, and Sweden. Frederick effected this, and his conduct deservedly obtained for him the name of "Great."

[Footnote 1: It was the evening succeeding this battle of Leuthen that Frederick, himself leading the advance after the flying Austrians, entered the little town of Lissa, where a body of the enemy, never dreaming the pursuit could reach so far, were resting for the night. Frederick was as surprised as they when, on entering a room of the principal inn, he found it filled with Austrian officers. He had but a handful of troops with him, and, had his enemies known it, was their prisoner. But with the utmost coolness he saluted them, "Good-evening, gentlemen. Is there still room for me, think you?" Whereon the frightened Austrians, thinking themselves surrounded by the whole Prussian army, decamped in wild haste, and getting their troops together as they could, fled from the dangerous neighborhood.]

During his first two wars, and till the period of the battle of Rossbach in the third war, he always kept at a distance from the scene, which may be allowed in a commander who has to overlook the whole, and is not called upon to defend posts or lead attacks in person. After the above period, however, and when he perceived that the nature of the contest, and public opinion itself, demanded greater exertions from him, he several times, on due deliberation, exposed himself to the danger of an ordinary brigadier. Several occasions of this kind might be specified. At the Battle of Kunersdorf, when attempting to assemble some remnants of the infantry, who were still holding their ground here and there, his horse was shot under him. At Liegnitz, a spent ball struck him on the calf of the leg. At Torgau again, when a newly advanced brigade began to give way, like all its predecessors, he rode into the heaviest fire of musketry, and received a shot on the breast, which penetrated his shirt, and for some moments deprived him so completely of all power of breathing, that he was believed to be dead.[2]

[Footnote 2: This battle of Torgau, Frederick planned to win by a flank attack; but the flanking column was delayed in its march, and at evening the king found himself everywhere beaten back. His last chance of success against his many opponents seemed lost: and he spent the night seated in the church at Elsnig, in such mood as may be imagined. During the night the flanking column at last arrived, fell on the enemy, and crushed them. This was the last of Frederick's great battles.]

Frederick outlived his last great war for twenty-three years, and died in 1786, in the seventy-fourth year of his age. Every hour of this last period of his life was assiduously occupied, almost to the hour of his death, in zealous exertions to improve his country and ameliorate the condition of his people. He certainly effected great things, but left much that he might have achieved totally unattempted. Living in the solitude which his dazzling fame had cast around him, separated from all immediate intercourse with his species by the very barrier his glory had interposed between him and other men, he acted his part to admiration before the crowds who, from far and near, came to behold him; but, blinded by the halo that encompassed him, he saw little, and deemed less, perhaps, of mankind and their doings. In the mass they may possibly not be deserving of high admiration, but Frederick had never done them even justice; and in the latter years of his life, he entirely lost sight of the direction they were taking; he formed an ideal world to himself, and governed his country and subjects accordingly. He was the admired wonder of the age; a brilliant, if not spotless sun, that cast far aloft its vivid beams, indeed, but remained stationary and concentrated within itself, while all surrounding nature was in motion and in progress.



ROBERT, LORD CLIVE

By W. C. TAYLOR, LL.D.

(1725-1774)

]

The history of British India is without a parallel in the annals of mankind. It is little over a hundred years ago since "the company of British merchants trading with the East Indies" possessed nothing more than a few ports favorably situated for commerce, held at the will, or rather the caprice, of the native princes, and defended against commercial rivals by miserable fortifications, which could not have resisted any serious attack. Now British sovereignty in India extends over an empire greater than that possessed by Alexander or the Caesars, and probably superior to both in the amount of its wealth and population. The chief agent in raising the East India Company from a trading association to a sovereign power was Lord Clive, whose own elevation was scarcely less marvellous than that of the empire which he founded.

Robert Clive was born September 29, 1725; his father was a country gentleman, of moderate fortune and still more moderate capacity, who cultivated his own estate in Shropshire. When a boy, the future hero of India distinguished himself chiefly by wild deeds of daring and courage, neglecting the opportunities of storing his mind with information, the want of which he bitterly felt in after-life. His violent temper, and his neglect of study, led his family to despair of his success at home, and, in his eighteenth year, he was sent out as a "writer," in the service of the East India Company, to the Presidency of Madras. In our day such an appointment would be considered a fair provision for a young man, holding out, besides, a reasonable prospect of obtaining competency, if not fortune; but when Clive went to the East the younger "writers," or clerks, were so badly paid, that they could scarcely subsist without getting into debt, while their seniors enriched themselves by trading on their own account. The voyage out, from England to Madras, which is now effected in three or four weeks, occupied, at that time, from six months to a year. Clive's voyage was more than usually tedious; the ship was detained for a considerable period at the Brazils, where he picked up some knowledge of Portuguese, and contracted some heavy debts. This apparent misfortune had the good effect of compelling him to reflect on his situation. He avoided all amusements and dissipation, but availed himself of the resources of the governor's library, which was liberally opened to him in his hours of leisure. He, however, felt himself unhappy, for his occupations were unsuited to his tastes, and he longed for an opportunity of finding a mode of life more congenial to his disposition.

The war of the Austrian Succession, in which George II. took the side of the empress, while the French king supported her competitor, extended to the Eastern World. Labourdonnais, the governor of the French colony in the Mauritius, suddenly appeared before Madras, and, as the town and fort were not prepared for defence, both were surrendered on honorable terms. But Dupleix, the French governor of Pondicherry, denying the right of Labourdonnais to grant any terms, refused to ratify the capitulation, and directed Madras to be razed to the ground. With still greater disregard for public faith, he led the English who had capitulated through the town of Pondicherry, as captives gracing his triumphal procession, in the presence of 50,000 spectators. Clive escaped this outrage by flying from Madras in disguise; he took refuge at Fort St. David, a settlement subordinate to Madras, where he obtained from Major Lawrence, one of the best officers then in India, an ensign's commission in the service of the company.

Peace between England and France having been established, Madras was restored to its former owners. Clive, however, did not return to his civil pursuits; he occasionally acted as a writer, but he was more frequently employed as a soldier in the petty hostilities which arose between the English and the natives. Events, however, were now in progress, which made the French and English East India companies competitors for an empire, though neither understood the value of the prize for which they contended; and Clive, fortunately for his country and himself, was almost forced to take the position of a military commander.

To explain fully the position of India, at this period, would take far more pages than we can afford lines; a very brief sketch, may, however, help our readers to comprehend the course of events. India, in its entire extent, was nominally governed by the Emperor of Delhi, or, as he was generally, though absurdly, called in Europe, "the Great Mogul." Under him were several viceroys, each of whom ruled over as many subjects as any of the great sovereigns of Europe; and the delegates of these viceroys had a wider extent of territory than is included in most of the minor states of Germany. This empire began to lose its unity toward the close of the seventeenth century. The different viceroys, while professing a nominal allegiance to the crown of Delhi, established a substantial independence; several of their immediate vassals treated them as they had done the emperor; and several warlike tribes took advantage of this disorganization to plunder the defenceless provinces. Of these the most formidable were the Mahrattas, whose name was long the terror of the peninsula.

Dupleix, whose name has already been mentioned as the French governor of Pondicherry, was the first who conceived the possibility of establishing a European dominion on the ruins of the Delhi empire; and, for this purpose, he wisely resolved to attempt no direct conquest, but to place at the head of the different principalities, men who owed their elevation to his aid, and whose continuance in power would be dependent on his assistance. With this view he supported a claimant to the viceroyalty of the Deccan, and another to the subordinate government of the Carnatic; or, as the Indians term it, a rival nizam, and a rival nabob, against the princes already in possession of these territories. His efforts were equally splendid and successful; the competitors whom he had selected became masters of the kingdom, and he, as the bestower of such mighty prizes, began to be regarded as the greatest authority in India. The English were struck with astonishment, and, as there was peace with France, they were at a loss to determine on the line of conduct that they ought to pursue. Mohammed Ali, whom the English recognized as Nabob of the Carnatic, was reduced to the possession of the single town of Trichinopoly, and even that was invested by Chunda Sahib, the rival nabob, and his French auxiliaries. Under these circumstances Clive proposed to the Madras authorities the desperate expedient of seizing on Arcot, the capital of the Carnatic, and thus recalling Chunda Sahib from the siege of Trichinopoly. With a force of 200 Europeans and 300 Sepoys, under eight officers, four of whom had been taken from the counting-house, Clive surprised Arcot in the midst of a terrific storm, and the garrison fled without striking a blow. Being reinforced by large bodies of troops, the expelled garrison, swelled to the number of 3,000 men, formed an encampment near the town; but Clive took them by surprise in the night, slew great numbers, put the rest to flight, and returned to his quarters without a single casualty.

Chunda Sahib sent 10,000 men, including 150 French soldiers, under his son, Rajah Sahib, to recover Arcot. Clive's little garrison endured a siege of fifty days against this disproportionate force, and against the pressure of famine, which was early and severely felt. Nothing in history is equal to the proof of devotion which the native portion of this gallant little band gave to their beloved commander; the Sepoys came to Clive with a request that all the grain should be given to the Europeans, who required more nourishment than the natives of Asia, declaring that they would be satisfied with the thin gruel which strained away from the rice. Rajah Sahib at length made an attempt to take the place by storm; he was defeated with great loss, principally by Clive's personal exertions, upon which he abandoned the siege, leaving behind him a large quantity of military stores.

Clive followed up his victory with great vigor, and the government of Madras, encouraged by his success, resolved to send him with a strong detachment to reinforce the garrison of Trichinopoly. Just at this conjuncture, however, Major Lawrence returned from England and assumed the chief command. If Clive was mortified by the change, he soon overcame his feelings; he cheerfully placed himself under the command of his old friend, and exerted himself as strenuously in the second post as when he held the chief command. The French had no leaders fit to cope with the two friends, and the English triumphed everywhere. The besiegers of Trichinopoly were themselves besieged, and compelled to capitulate. Chunda Sahib fell into the hands of the Mahrattas, and was put to death at the instigation of his rival. The forts of Covelong and Chingleput were taken by Clive, though his forces consisted of raw recruits, little better than an undisciplined rabble. Dupleix, however, was not driven to despair, but still sought means of renewing the contest.

After the capture of Chingleput, Clive returned to Madras, where he married Miss Maskelyne, sister to the Astronomer Royal, and immediately after returned to England. He was received with great honors by the Court of Directors, and, through the influence of Lord Sandwich, obtained a seat in Parliament; but his election having been set aside, he again turned his thoughts toward India, where both the company and the government were eager to avail themselves of his services. The directors appointed him governor of Fort St. David; the king gave him the commission of a lieutenant-colonel in the British army; and thus doubly authorized, he returned to Asia in 1755.

The first service on which he was employed after his return to the East was the reduction of the stronghold of Gheriah. This fortress, built on a craggy promontory, and almost surrounded by the ocean, was the den of a pirate named Angria, whose ships had long been the terror of the Arabian seas. Admiral Watson, who commanded the English squadron, burned Angria's fleet, while Clive attacked the fastness by land. The place soon fell, and a booty of a hundred and fifty thousand pounds sterling was divided among the conquerors.

About two months after Clive had entered on his government at Fort St. David, intelligence was received of the destruction of the English settlement at Calcutta by Surajah Dowlah, the Nabob of Bengal. Although scarcely any resistance had been made, the English prisoners, 146 in number, were all thrust into a close and narrow apartment called the Black Hole, which, in such a climate, would have been too close and too narrow for a single prisoner. Their sufferings during the dreadful night, until death put an end to the misery of most, cannot be described; 123 perished before morning, and the survivors had to be dug out of the heap formed by the dead bodies of their companions.

The authorities at Madras, on receiving this intelligence, resolved to avenge the outrage; 900 Europeans and 1,500 Sepoys, under the command of Clive, were embarked on board Admiral Watson's squadron; the passage was rendered tedious by adverse winds, but the armament arrived safely in Bengal. Clive proceeded with his usual promptitude; he routed the garrison which the nabob had placed in Fort William, recovered Calcutta, and took Hoogly by storm. Surajah Dowlah, who was as cowardly as he was cruel, now sought to negotiate peace, but at the same time he secretly urged the French to come to his assistance. This duplicity could not be concealed from Clive and Watson. They determined accordingly to attack Chandernagore, the chief possession of the French in Bengal, before the force there could be strengthened by new arrivals either from the South of India or Europe. Watson directed the expedition by water; Clive by land. The success of the combined movements was rapid and complete. The fort, the garrison, the artillery, the military stores, all fell into the hands of the English, and nearly five hundred European troops were among the prisoners.

Soon after, Clive marched to attack Surajah Dowlah near Plassey. At sunrise on the morning of June 23, 1757, the army of the nabob, consisting of 40,000 infantry and 15,000 cavalry, supported by fifty pieces of heavy ordnance, advanced to attack the English army, which did not exceed three thousand men in all, and had for its artillery but a few field-pieces. But the nabob had no confidence in his army, nor his army in him; the battle was confined to a distant cannonade, in which the nabob's artillery was quite ineffective, while the English field-pieces did great execution. Surajah's terror became greater every moment, and led him to adopt the insidious advice of a traitor, Meer Jaffier, and order a retreat. Clive saw the movement, and the confusion it occasioned in the undisciplined hordes; he ordered his battalions to advance, and, in a moment, the hosts of the nabob became a mass of inextricable confusion. In less than an hour they were dispersed, never again to reassemble; though only five or six hundred fell; their camp, guns, baggage, with innumerable wagons and cattle, remained in the hands of the victors. With the loss of only 22 soldiers killed and 50 wounded, Clive had dispersed an army of 60,000 men, and conquered an empire larger and more populous than Great Britain. Surajah Dowlah fled from the field of battle to his capital, but, not deeming himself safe there, he tried to escape by the river to Patna. He was subsequently captured, and barbarously murdered by the son of Meer Jaffier. In the meantime Clive led Meer Jaffier in triumph to Moorshedabad, and installed him as nabob.

Immense sums of money were given to the servants of the company; Clive received for his share between two and three hundred thousand pounds. Nor was this all: Shah Alum, the son of the Emperor of Delhi, having invaded Bengal, Clive delivered Meer Jaffier from this formidable enemy, and was rewarded with the jaghire or estate of the lands south of Calcutta, for which the company were bound to pay the nabob a quit-rent of about thirty thousand pounds annually. But the gratitude of Meer Jaffier did not last long; weary of his dependence on the English, he sought an alliance with the Dutch, who had a factory at Chinsurah. The authorities of this place sent earnest letters to their countrymen in Batavia, urging them to take this opportunity of raising a rival power to the English in India, and their advice was taken. Seven large ships from Java, having on board 1,500 troops, appeared unexpectedly in the Hoogly. Though England was at peace with Holland, Clive resolved to attack them without delay. The ships were taken and the army routed. Chinsurah was invested by the conquerors, and was only spared on the condition that no fortifications should be built, and no soldiers raised, beyond those that were necessary for the police of the factories.

Three months afterward he returned to England, where he was received with a profusion of honors; he was raised to the Irish peerage, and promised an English title. George III., who had just ascended the throne, received him with marked distinction, and the leading statesmen of the day vied with each other in showing him attention. By judicious purchases of land he was enabled to acquire great parliamentary influence, and by large purchases of India stock he was enabled to form a strong party in the Court of Proprietors. The value of such support was soon shown; the Court of Directors, instigated by Mr. Sullivan, the personal enemy of Lord Clive, withheld the rent of the jaghire that he had received from Meer Jaffier, and it was necessary to institute a suit in chancery to enforce payment.

But Clive's greatest strength was derived from the misconduct of his successors in the government of Bengal. "Rapacity, luxury, and the spirit of insubordination," says a late writer, "spread from the civil service to the officers of the army, and from the officers to the soldiers. The evil continued to grow till every messroom became the seat of conspiracy and cabal, and till the Sepoys could only be kept in order by wholesale executions." Individuals were enriched, but the public treasury was empty, and the government had to face the dangers of disordered finances, when there was war on the frontiers and disaffection in the army. Under these circumstances it was generally felt that Clive alone could save the empire which he had founded.

Lord Clive felt the strength of his position. He refused to go to India so long as his enemies had preponderating power in the Court of Directors; an overwhelming majority of the proprietors seconded his wishes, and the Sullivan party, lately triumphant, was deprived of power. Having been nominated governor-general and commander-in-chief of the British possessions in Bengal he sailed for India, and reached Calcutta in May, 1765. He at once assembled the council, and announced his determination to enforce his two great reforms—the prohibition of receiving presents from the natives, and the prohibition of private trade by the servants of the Company. The whole settlement seemed to be set, as one man, against these measures; but Clive declared that if the functionaries in Calcutta refused obedience, he would send for some civil servants from Madras to aid him in conducting the administration. As he evinced the strength of his resolution by dismissing the most factious of his opponents, the rest became alarmed and submitted to what was inevitable.

Scarcely had the governor-general quelled the opposition of the civil service when he had to encounter a formidable mutiny of the officers of the army, occasioned by a diminution of their field allowances. Two hundred English officers engaged in a conspiracy to resign their commissions on the same day, believing that the governor-general would submit to any terms rather than see the army, on which the safety of the empire rested, left without commanders. They were mistaken in their calculations; Clive supplied their places from the officers round his person; he sent for others from Madras; he even gave commissions to some mercantile agents who offered their support at this time. Fortunately the soldiers, and particularly the Sepoys, over whom Clive had unbounded influence, remained steadfast in their allegiance. The leaders were arrested, tried, and dismissed from the service; the others, completely humbled, besought permission to withdraw their resignations, and Clive exhibited lenity to all, save those whom he regarded as the contrivers of the plot.

In his foreign policy he was equally successful. The Nabob of Oude, who had threatened invasion, sought for peace as soon as he heard of Clive's arrival in India; and the Emperor of Delhi executed a formal warrant, empowering the Company to collect and administer the revenues of Bengal, Bahar, and Oussa; that is, in fact, to exercise direct sovereignty over these provinces. Never had such a beneficial change been wrought in the short space of eighteen months. The governor-general set a noble example of obedience to his own regulations; he refused the brilliant presents offered him by the native princes, and when Meer Jaffier left him a legacy of sixty thousand pounds, he made the whole over to the Company, in trust, for the officers and soldiers invalided in their service.

At the close of January, 1767, the state of his health compelled Lord Clive to return to England. His reception at home was far from being gratifying; his old enemies in the India House, reinforced by those whose rapacity he had checked in Bengal, assailed him publicly and privately; the prejudices excited against those who had suddenly made large fortunes in India, were concentrated against him who was the highest, both in rank and fortune; while his ostentatious display of wealth and grandeur increased the unfavorable impression on the public mind. The dreadful famine which desolated Bengal in 1770, was, with strange perversity, attributed to Lord Clive's measures, and his parliamentary influence was greatly weakened by the death of George Grenville. Such was his position in the session of 1772, when the state of India was brought before Parliament, and all the evils of its condition made subjects of charge against the best of its rulers. Clive met the storm with firmness. Lord Chatham declared that the speech in which he vindicated himself at an early stage of the proceedings was one of the finest ever delivered in the House of Commons; his answers, when subjected to a rigid examination before a committee of inquiry, were equally remarkable for their boldness and candor. But there were some of his deeds which could not be justified, and a vote of moderate censure on his conduct was sanctioned by the House of Commons. This was a disgrace, for which the favor of his sovereign, though it never varied, afforded him no consolation; his constitution, already weakened by a tropical climate, began to give way; to soothe the pains of mind and body he had recourse to the treacherous aid of opium, which only aggravated both; at length, on November 22, 1774, he died by his own hand.

That Clive committed many faults cannot be denied; and it is not sufficient excuse to say that they were necessary to the founding of the British empire in India. But his second administration, the reforms he introduced into the government, and the system of wise policy which he established, may well atone for his errors; indeed, it has done so in India, where the natives not only respect his memory as a conqueror, but venerate it as a benefactor.



FRANCOIS KELLERMANN, MARSHAL OF FRANCE

(1735-1820)

]

Francois Christopher Kellermann, who with a little army of raw recruits defeated the forces of united Europe at Valmy, and saved France from destruction, was born of a respectable family at Strasbourg, then part of France, on May 28, 1735. At the age of seventeen, he became a cadet in the regiment of Lowendalh; and passing through the grades of ensign and lieutenant in 1753 and 1756, became captain of dragoons, in which rank he served in the Seven Years' War until 1762, and was favorably mentioned in the reports of the battle of Bergen. A brilliant charge of cavalry, against a corps commanded by General Scheider, procured him, in the last year, the distinction of the cross of St. Louis, then an honor of the highest esteem. After the peace of 1763, he passed with the same rank into the legion of Conflans, and in 1765 and 1766 was charged by the king with the execution of some important commissions in Poland. In 1771, the increasing troubles in Poland furnished a pretext for the invasion of that country by the united troops of France and the Germanic confederation; and Kellermann was appointed to accompany the French commander-in-chief of the expedition, Baron de Viomenil; and in 1772, he was placed at the head of a native corps of cavalry which he had been concerned in organizing. His conduct in the retreat from the castle of Cracow, in 1772, elevated his character for dexterity and courage. In 1780, he became lieutenant-colonel of hussars; on January 1, 1784, he was promoted to the rank of brigadier, and in 1788, received the rank of major-general. In 1790, under the National Assembly, he was placed in command of both departments of Alsace, and so approved were his services in placing that frontier in a state of defence against the threatened invasion of combined Europe, that, in 1792, he received the cordon rouge of the order of St. Louis, and was appointed lieutenant-general and commander-in-chief of the forces assembled at Neukirch, and afterward, on August 28th, in the same year, of the army of the Moselle.

It was at this time that the formidable invasion under the Duke of Brunswick, consisting of 138,000 men, of whom 66,000 were under the King of Prussia in person, and 50,000 were Austrians under Prince Hohenlohe and Marshal Clairfait, marched to France, and menaced Dumouriez, who occupied the defiles of Varennes, with very inferior forces. Against this mighty invasion the French nation rose as one man. Recruits poured to the borderland singing the Marseillaise, their newly adopted national hymn. Rapidly reducing this motley force to order, Kellermann, with 22,000 men, marched from Metz, on September 4th, for Chalons with the utmost celerity, reached Bar before the Prussians, saved the magazines on the upper Saone and Marne, and put himself in a situation to communicate with Dumouriez. The latter general was attacked on September 16th, and immediately ordered Kellermann to take a designated position on his left, which was, accordingly, accomplished on the 19th. No sooner had Kellermann arrived here, than he perceived that the position was altogether defective. A pond on his right separated him from Dumouriez; the marshy river of the Auve, traversed by a single narrow bridge, cut off his retreat in the rear; and the heights of Valmy commanded his left. While he was shut up in this isolated position, the enemy might march upon the magazines at Dampierre and Voilmont, cut both the French armies off from Chalons, and then fall upon each of them in succession. Kellermann instantly resolved to rectify this error in the disposition of the troops; and by four o'clock on the following morning, his army was in motion by its rear upon Dampierre and Voilmont. But the Prussians, equally alive to the disadvantage in which Kellermann had been placed, were already in movement to attack him, and it became impracticable to pass the Auve. Leaving his advanced-guard and his reserve to check the Prussians on the plain, Kellermann drew off the rest of his army to the heights of Valmy, and placing a battery of eighteen pieces near the mill of Valmy, at seven in the morning was drawn up in a strong position to receive the attack of the enemy. The King of Prussia, who commanded in person, drew up his army in three columns on the heights of La Lune, and advancing in an oblique direction a vehement fire was kept up on both sides for two hours. About nine, a new battery on the enemy's right suddenly opened in the direction of the mill, near which Kellermann and his escort, with the reserve cuirassiers, were stationed, and produced the utmost confusion. Most of the escort were killed or wounded, and Kellermann had a horse shot under him, while about the same time the explosion of two caissons of ammunition near the mill added to the alarm. Kellermann, however, quickly disposed a battery so as to return the fire, and the battle was restored on that side. After some time, two of the Prussian columns, flanked by powerful cavalry, advanced in formidable array toward the mill, while the third remained in reserve. Kellermann drew up his men in column by battalions, and advancing his reserved artillery to the front of his position, waited the advance of the enemy, who approached in silence. When they were within range of a destructive fire, Kellermann, waving his hat upon the end of his sabre, shouted, "Vive la Nation!" to which the whole army responded with enthusiastic cries, and at the same moment, the artillery opened a tremendous fire. The Prussians halted; the heads of their columns melted away under the galling discharges; and they retreated, in good order, to their original position after sustaining a serious loss. The fire, however, continued on both sides with spirit; and about four o'clock in the afternoon the Prussians renewed their attack in column, but were again repulsed, even more decidedly, and by six in the evening were in full retreat. The victory was thus decided in favor of the French; but the safety of the magazines at Dampierre and Voilmont was still not secured.



Kellermann allowed his army about two hours' repose, and then, leaving large fires lighted along his whole line, and some regiments of light cavalry to defend the position, if the enemy should attempt an attack, he quietly drew off about nine o'clock at night, and reached Dampierre without the enemy being aware of his movement. About six o'clock the next morning, the Prussians marched for the same point, and were not a little astonished to find Kellermann's army drawn up in line of battle on the heights of Dampierre, in a position which rendered it impracticable to attack. They immediately retreated, and their retiring columns suffered severely from a fire opened by the French artillery. This operation raised the reputation of Kellermann to an exalted height. The allies soon afterward retreated from France, and Kellermann desired to attack their rear; but Dumouriez would not allow the movement to be made.

In recompense of these services Kellermann was made commander-in-chief of the army of the Alps; but incurring the jealousy of the ruling faction, he was thrown into prison in June, 1793, and lingered there for thirteen months, until the 9th Thermidor (July 27, 1794) restored him to liberty. In 1795 the army of Italy was reincorporated with the army of the Alps, from which it had been separated in the beginning of 1793; and the command of the united force was given to Kellermann at the close of that month. On his way to Nice to take the command, he met Napoleon at Marseilles, who, having been displaced by the reconstruction of the army, was now visiting his mother at that place on his way to Paris. Napoleon gave much valuable information respecting the seat of war; and Kellermann, continuing his journey, reached head-quarters at Nice on May 9, 1795. His operations during the campaign that followed diminished the reputation which he had previously acquired. "Throughout the conduct of this war," says Napoleon, "he was constantly committing errors." On June 23d General Devins, at the head of the Austrian and Piedmontese armies, advanced against his positions; and after a series of engagements on the 25th, 26th, and 27th, Kellermann was driven out of all the posts in which Napoleon's arrangements had placed him in the preceding October, and falling back to the line of the Borghetto, wrote to the Directory that, unless he was speedily reinforced, he would be obliged even to quit Nice. The government were now satisfied that the command of the army of Italy was beyond Kellermann's abilities; and again separating the army of the Alps from it, they placed Kellermann at the head of the latter as a reserve, and intrusted the army of Italy to General Scherer, and sometime afterward to Napoleon.

After the conquest of Milan, the Directory, either jealous of Napoleon or elated by success, decided to divide his army, and to place 20,000 men under Kellermann to cover the siege of Mantua, and to direct the rest under Napoleon upon Rome. Napoleon immediately resigned his command, and wrote to the Directory: "I will not serve with a man who considers himself the best general in Europe; it is better to have one bad general than two good ones." The Directory, in alarm, abandoned their design; Kellermann was left at Chambery, and Napoleon was allowed to follow his own plans.

In 1797, Kellermann was made inspector-general of the cavalry of the army of England and of that of Holland; and in 1799, he took his place in the Senate, and was elected president on August 1, 1801. In 1804, he was created a Marshal of the Empire, and in the following year, received the grand eagle of the Legion of Honor. In 1803, he commanded the third corps of the army of reserve on the Rhine; and, in 1806, was placed at the head of the whole of that army; to which authority the command of the army of reserve in Spain was added in 1808; and in the same year, in honor of the great victory of his more vigorous days, he was created Duke of Valmy.

In 1809, he commanded the army of reserve on the Rhine, the army of observation of the Elbe, the fifth, twenty-fifth, and twenty-sixth military divisions, and the army of reserve of the North. In 1812, he was charged with the duty of organizing the cohorts of the national guard in the first military division; he afterward commanded the twenty-fifth and twenty-sixth divisions. In 1813, he was at first provisional commander of the corps of observation on the Rhine, and then received the command of the second, third, and fourth military divisions. After the battle of Leipsic, he performed a valuable service in reconducting to France a body of about six thousand soldiers, who had been wounded in the affairs about Dresden.

Upon the restoration of Louis XVIII., Marshal Kellermann received the command of the third and fourth divisions, and took no part in the events of the "hundred days." Upon the second restoration, he was placed at the head of the fifth division, received the grand cross of the order of St. Louis, and was made a peer of France.

He died at Paris, on September 13, 1820, aged eighty-five years. He left a son, the celebrated general who made the decisive charge at Marengo, and distinguished himself in Spain and at Waterloo, and who died on June 2, 1835; and a daughter, married to General de Lery.



MICHEL NEY, MARSHAL OF FRANCE[3]

By LOUISE CHANDLER MOULTON

(1769-1815)

[Footnote 3: Copyright, 1894, by Selmar Hess.]

]

Among the marshals of the great Napoleon, Ney has always held in my mind the place of honor. "The Bravest of the Brave" was the sobriquet bestowed on him by the men of his own nation and his own time; and the briefest record of his life cannot fail to prove how well the title was deserved. I could wish for a larger canvas on which to paint his portrait; but the space allotted to me here will at least suffice to reveal his character, and chronicle the main events of his career.

Michel Ney was born on January 10, 1769, in the small town of Sarre-Louis, in Lorraine, which province had at that time only recently been annexed to France. He was in reality, therefore, more German than French. His father was a working cooper by trade, but he wished his son to be something better, and arranged for him to study law. Life at a desk, however, had no interest for the future marshal, who, even then, had no doubt as to what should be his future career. In 1787 he enlisted, at Metz, as a private hussar. His rise was rapid from the first. He greatly distinguished himself in the Netherlands, where revolutionary France, under Dumouriez and others was holding her own against allied Europe. He became lieutenant in 1793, and captain in 1794. In 1796, after a brilliant conflict under the walls of Forchheim, which resulted in the taking of that town, and on the field of battle, he was made General of Brigade.

Next year, in trying to save a gun from capture, he was taken prisoner by the Austrians; but General Hoche, who was then commanding the army of the Sambre and Meuse, soon effected his exchange. In 1798 he served with great distinction under Massena, in Switzerland, and was made general of division.

In 1799 he was transferred to the army of the Rhine, which he commanded for some time, fighting with varying success, but with unvarying energy and courage. He fought under Moreau at the famous battle of Hohenlinden, and at the peace of Luneville was appointed inspector-general of the cavalry.

In 1802 Napoleon having discovered that Switzerland "could not settle her intestine divisions except by the interposition of France," sent Ney, with 20,000 men, to dissolve the Diet and disband its forces. This mode of settling intestine divisions did not commend itself to the Swiss. It is generally admitted, however, that Ney acted with as much moderation as his odious task permitted; and he doubtless welcomed his recall to take a command in the army which was being collected at Boulogne, ostensibly for the invasion of England.

When Napoleon was proclaimed emperor Ney was made a marshal, "for a long succession of heroic actions," and when the army, instead of crossing the Channel, turned back to crush Austria and the coalition, Ney commanded the sixth corps. By October 14, 1805, Napoleon had surrounded Mack and his army in Ulm, and on that day Ney carried the heights of Elchingen after a terrific combat. It was from this achievement that his title of Duke of Elchingen was derived. After the capitulation of Ulm Ney had, at Innsprueck, the proud satisfaction of restoring to the seventy-sixth regiment the flags of which they had been despoiled. He was sent into the Tyrol in pursuit of the Archduke John, whose rear-guard he caught and cut to pieces at the foot of Mount Brenner, at the same time that Napoleon, at Austerlitz, brought the war to a close.

After the peace of Presburg Ney remained in Suabia until the rupture with Prussia. The day of Jena found him so anxious for the fray that he attacked the enemy without waiting for orders, and brought the whole Prussian cavalry upon his small division of some three thousand men, and held them at bay until Napoleon sent him assistance. Though Prussia was practically annihilated by the battles of Jena and Auerstadt, Russia was still to be reckoned with. Napoleon invaded Poland, and found himself forced into a winter campaign at a formidable distance from France. Marching and countermarching through mud and snow the whole army was subjected to horrible suffering; but even then Ney's impetuous energy was unabated. Napoleon even rebuked him for "fool-hardiness;" and more than once his only salvation from destruction was in the slowness and density of the Russians. He took little part in the dreadful and indecisive battle of Eylau, after which Napoleon remained for eight days without making any movement; but it was to him that, at Friedland, Napoleon allotted the post of honor and of danger, saying, as the marshal went off proud of his task, "That man is a lion."

Napoleon about this time discovered that "the interposition of France was necessary in the affairs of Spain;" and after the peace of Tilsit Ney was only allowed to remain in France long enough to recruit his forces, before being sent to the Peninsula. A few months later in the year, when Napoleon visited Spain, Ney was given the command of the sixth corps there, but he was destined to reap few Spanish laurels, and it is said that he endeavored to persuade the emperor to relinquish the hopeless struggle against an entire people. While Soult was engaged in the difficult task of forcing the English from the Peninsula by way of Corunna, Ney held Galicia and the Asturias, destroyed guerilla bands, defeated Sir Robert Wilson, and intercepted the enemy's convoys; but the whole country was in arms against the French, who after six months' unceasing struggle, were compelled to retreat.



When Massena was sent to Portugal with orders from Napoleon to drive the "English leopards and their Sepoy general into the sea," Ney, acting under his directions, took Ciudad Rodrigo and Almeida. At Busaco, on September 27, 1810, he differed from his commander-in-chief as to the advisability of attacking the English position in front, which was strong. Massena suffered a severe repulse; and Ney was undoubtedly right, since the fact remains that after the battle Wellington's position was easily turned, and he was compelled to fall back. He retreated upon the famous lines of Torres Vedras, before which Massena sat helplessly for months, until famine forced him to break up his camp. Ney was intrusted with the command of the rear-guard, and the universal opinion of military critics is that his management of this retreat was one of his most splendid feats of arms. On one occasion he confronted, with 5,000 men, Wellington and his army of 30,000, and delayed them for many hours, while the sick and wounded, the baggage wagons, and the main body of the French army made good their retreat. While Ney was in front of him Wellington knew no repose, nor, for all his efforts, did he succeed, during the whole pursuit, in capturing an ammunition wagon or even a single gun. But when Massena—with a view to saving his military reputation, which had been gravely compromised by his want of success—proposed again to advance upon Lisbon, Ney flatly refused to obey him, and after a violent quarrel, was ordered by Massena to relinquish his command and retire into the interior of Spain to await the decision of the emperor. Napoleon recalled him to France, and gave him the command of the third corps of that avalanche of men—men of so many nations and kindreds and peoples—which he was preparing to hurl upon Russia.

The Grand Army crossed the Niemen in June, 1812, and followed an ever-retreating foe to Smolensk, where the Russian general, Barclay de Tolly, had received positive orders from Alexander to give battle, and where he had placed a garrison of 30,000 men. On August 14th Ney cleared the neighboring town of Krasnoi at the point of the bayonet, and during the next two days the Russians were slowly forced back under the walls of Smolensk. On the 17th a general attack was ordered, and Ney was directed to take the citadel. But so obstinate was the Russian defence that when night came no entrance had been effected. However, an hour after midnight the Russian general set fire to the town, and abandoned it, having lost 12,000 men in the defence. At a council of war which followed the capture of the place, Ney strongly recommended that the Grand Army should establish itself upon the banks of the Dwina and the Dnieper, and occupying Smolensk and its environs with a vanguard, there await the Russian attack. His advice was overruled, however, and he was forced to follow the retreating foe upon the road to Moscow. But Russia was thoroughly dissatisfied with the way in which the war had so far been carried on, and Barclay de Tolly was at this juncture superseded by Kutusof, who, having intrenched himself strongly near the little village of Borodino, prepared to dispute the farther progress of the invaders. The battle which followed, on September 7th, was one of the most obstinate and sanguinary of modern times. It lasted from early morning till late at night, and more than eighty thousand men were killed or wounded. Ney fought like a common soldier in the very thickest of the conflict. The Russian positions were at last carried, and Ney sent to the emperor for reinforcements with which to complete the victory. The emperor had only his guard in reserve, and refused this request. "If there should be another battle to-morrow," he said, "with what am I to fight it?" "Let him go back to Paris, and play at emperor, and leave fighting to us," cried Ney, scornfully, when he heard this message. Had his request been granted, and the Imperial Guard been hurled into the conflict at the right moment, it seems probable that the Russian army would have been entirely destroyed. As it was, they drew off in good order, under cover of night, and Kutusof even had the effrontery to claim a victory. For his services during this memorable day Ney received the title of Prince of the Moskowa.

The result of the battle of Borodino was to leave Moscow at the mercy of the invaders, and a barren prize indeed it proved to them. In the horror of the fearful retreat from the ruined city the fame of Ney reached its highest point. Nothing in all history surpasses the record of his indomitable courage and cheerfulness in the most hopeless situations, and amid the most frightful hardships. As in Spain, he had the command of the rear-guard, and the soldiers, preyed upon alike by the Cossacks and the cold, died in the path like flies. Without artillery and without cavalry, they yet succeeded, day after day, in obstructing their pursuers. Ney was on foot in the midst of them, carrying a musket and fighting like the humblest private. But at Smolensk—where the army expected to find everything, and really found nothing—they stayed too long, and on resuming their march found the Russians barring their path. Napoleon and the Imperial Guard cut their way through. The first and fourth corps succeeded, after a desperate conflict, in evading their enemies, but Ney, who had received orders to blow up the fortifications of Smolensk before leaving the town, found himself with some eight thousand men cut off from the main body of fugitives by an army of 50,000 Russians. He attacked them as though the numbers were equal, lost in a short time nearly half his little force, and was obliged to fall back. Being called upon to surrender, he answered, proudly, "A Marshal of France never surrenders," and gave the order, as night approached, to retreat toward Smolensk, which was indeed the only way open to him. The soldiers were in despair. Ney alone did not lose heart. In the gathering dusk they came upon a small rivulet. The marshal broke the ice and watched the flow of the current beneath. "This must be a feeder of the Dnieper," he said. "We will follow it, and put the river between us and our enemies." This they succeeded in doing; but were obliged to leave their wounded, their artillery, and their baggage upon the other side. Ney had left Smolensk on November 17th, with about eight thousand men. On the 20th he joined Napoleon, who had given him up for lost—with somewhere about one thousand. Napoleon, hearing that he was come, fairly leaped and shouted for joy, exclaiming, "I have three hundred millions of francs in the Tuileries—I would have given them all rather than have lost such a man."

A few days afterward Ney was fighting madly on the shores of the fatal Beresina to clear the way for the surging and almost frenzied crowd of soldiers, stragglers, women and children, who, under the merciless fire of the Russian batteries were streaming across the river on the rickety bridges improvised by the French engineers. The Grand Army was by this time only a crowd of wretched and undisciplined fugitives. Ney managed to preserve the semblance of a rear-guard, and if it had not been for his unceasing efforts it seems probable that hardly a single soldier would ever have seen again the shores of France. As it was, when he crossed the Niemen on December 13th, himself the last man to leave Russian territory—his rear-guard had vanished, and he had with him only his aides-de-camp, while of about five hundred thousand men who had crossed the river five months before scarcely fifty thousand returned.

No sooner did this catastrophe become known than Europe—so long ground under his heel—rose against Napoleon, who at once called upon France for fresh levies. Ney was given the command of the first Corps. On April 29, 1813, he drove the allies from Weissenfels toward Leipsic. On May 1st he again compelled a retrograde movement; and on May 2d he commanded the French centre at the battle of Lutzen, where, indeed, he bore the brunt of the fighting. The allies were compelled to retire, but they did not consider themselves beaten, and they fought again at Bautzen a few days afterward. Lutzen and Bautzen were both dubious victories, but at Dresden the allies were defeated with great loss.

This victory, however, was annulled by the defeat of Vandamme, who was taken prisoner in Bohemia, after losing 10,000 men. When Napoleon heard of this disaster he at once sent Ney to replace Oudinot in the command of the Northern army, with the object of pushing on to Berlin; but for once Ney's evil stars were in the ascendant, for on September 5th he was totally defeated by Bernadotte, at Dennewitz, losing 10,000 prisoners and eighty guns. "The Bravest of the Brave" was inconsolable. For some days he took no food, and scarcely spoke. He wished to give up his command and fight as a grenadier. "If I have not blown out my brains," he said, "it is only because I want to rally my army before dying."

And now came the catastrophe at Leipsic—the three days' battle of the Nations—where, on the first day, Ney was defeated by Bluecher, after a desperate struggle in which he lost 4,000 killed and wounded, and upward of two thousand prisoners. On the third day, after the defection of the Saxons, he held out for five hours with 5,000 men against 20,000, and retired fighting to the end. Through the whole of the succeeding campaign of France, he was at the emperor's side; and when, in spite of all the genius of Napoleon, and all the bravery of his soldiers, Paris capitulated, Ney was one of three marshals sent by the defeated Emperor of the French to negotiate with the Emperor of Russia for his abdication in favor of his son, the King of Rome.

This mission failed of any result—Napoleon went to Elba, and Louis XVIII. reigned over France in his stead. Ney accepted the new order of things, and was created a peer of France, knight of St. Louis, and governor of the sixth Military Division. But the world was for the time at peace; and Ney's occupation was gone. He had been a fighter all his life—he could not turn courtier at the end. He had married, in 1810, Mlle Auguie, who had been brought up in the court of Louis XVI., was a friend of Hortense Beauharnais, and naturally fond of gayety and society. The great marshal was a simple and rather illiterate man, who had had no time to cultivate fashionable graces, so it happened that when Madame la Marechal gave a banquet or a ball, Ney used not to appear, but dined by himself, in his own apartments, as far removed as possible from the noise of the festival. It is said that outside the field of battle he was one of the timidest of men, and even submitted quite tamely to the insolence of his own servants.

In January, 1815, he departed for his country-seat of Coudreaux, near Chateaudun, where he lived in the simplest possible fashion, till on March 6th, an aide-de-camp of the Minister of War brought him an order to return at once to the head-quarters of the Military Division of which he was commander. Instead of going directly to his post, he went by way of Paris, where he heard for the first time of the landing of Napoleon.

"It is a great misfortune," said he. "Whom can we send against him?"

Then, having visited the king, and assured him of his devotion to the monarchy, he went to his command at Besancon. Next morning he heard that Grenoble had declared for the emperor, and that the occupation of Lyons was inevitable. He could observe for himself the dissatisfaction of the troops by whom he was surrounded. On the 12th he was at Lons-le-Saulnier, organizing his troops, and writing to the minister of war for ammunition and horses. But he soon saw that resistance was hopeless. The Bourbons had managed, as usual, to make themselves hated. The king's brother and Marshal Macdonald had been obliged to flee from Lyons when Napoleon appeared. All the soldiers were delighted at the thought of having their "Little Corporal" back again. On the night of the 13th Ney received an emissary from Napoleon. What memories must have stirred in his heart, of old perils and old glories! How could he resist the mighty spell of the past? On the 14th he announced to his troops that the house of Bourbon had ceased to reign, and proclaimed Napoleon.

"It was a grievous fault, and grievously did Caesar answer it." From this moment Ney knew no more peace of mind. So bitter was his remorse that he could not face his fellow-soldiers, and obtained Napoleon's permission to retire for a time into the country. When he returned, Napoleon said, banteringly, "I heard you had emigrated." "Ah, sire," answered Ney, "I ought to have done so long ago, but it is too late now."

The approach of war revived his spirits to some extent, and when, a few days before the battle of Waterloo, he joined the army in Flanders, he looked like the Ney of old. At Quatre Bras, on June 16th, despite an obstinate combat, he failed to drive Wellington from his position, and the next day he does not appear to have discovered that the English had fallen back upon Waterloo until some hours after their departure. At the great battle of Waterloo, on June 18th, he fought with the same reckless bravery as ever. He had five horses killed under him, and his clothing was riddled with bullets. Napoleon said, not without truth, that he behaved like a madman. After his fifth horse was shot he fought on foot until forced from the field by the rush of fugitives. He had done his best to die on the field of battle, but almost miraculously he escaped without a wound.

After the second restoration of the Bourbons Ney retired into the country, meaning to escape to the United States, and was provided by Fouche with a passport for this purpose. He delayed, for some reason, to use it; and on August 3d he was arrested at the house of a relative. A council of war was appointed to try him, composed of Marshals Massena, Augereau, Mortier, and three lieutenants. It would have been better for Ney had he submitted himself to their verdict; but he unwisely denied their competence, and demanded, as a peer of the realm, to be tried by his peers, and it was a tribunal which showed him no mercy. It does not appear that the king desired his death; but Talleyrand declared that it would be a grand example, and the royalists generally thirsted for his blood. He was condemned, by a majority of 139 to 17, to be shot for high treason.

On December 7th his wife and four children were admitted to his prison in the early morning, to take leave of him. But neither in this painful ordeal nor at any time afterward, did the condemned marshal show any sign of weakness. At eight o'clock he was taken in a carriage to the place of execution, outside the garden gates of the Luxembourg. The officer who commanded the firing party wished to bandage his eyes, but Ney said, quietly—"Are you ignorant that for twenty-five years I have been accustomed to face both balls and bullets?" Then, raising his voice, he cried, "I protest against my condemnation. I wish that I had died for my country in battle. But here is still the field of honor. Vive la France!"

The officer in command, to his credit be it said, was dumb. He seemed incapable of giving the word to fire; and Ney himself, taking off his hat, and striking his breast, cried, in a loud voice—"Soldiers, do your duty—fire!"

Thus died, in his forty-seventh year, "The Bravest of the Brave."

[Signature of the author.]



NAPOLEON BONAPARTE

By COLONEL CLAYTON, R.A.

(1769-1821)

]

Napoleon Bonaparte, the second son of Charles Bonaparte and his wife, Letizia de Ramolino, was born at Ajaccio, in Corsica, on August 15, 1769. In 1779 he entered the Royal Military School of Brienne le Chateau; there he remained till the autumn of 1784, when he was transferred to the Military School of Paris, according to the usual routine. An official report on him by the Inspector of Military Schools in this year speaks highly of his conduct, and notifies his great proficiency in mathematics and fair knowledge of history and geography, but says he is not well up in ornamental studies or in Latin, and, curiously enough, adds that he will make an excellent sailor. Napoleon lost his father in 1785, and the same year he was commissioned as second-lieutenant of artillery, in which capacity he served at Valence and other garrisons. He spent his periods of leave in Corsica, and appears to have wished to play the leading part in the history of his native island, showing the first signs of his ambitious and energetic character. During the critical times following the first French Revolution, he at first joined the moderate party of Paoli; but, trying for military power, though by untiring activity and reckless audacity he succeeded in being elected lieutenant-colonel of the National Volunteers of Ajaccio, he failed in an attempt to seize that town and was obliged to return to France. The French Government soon made an endeavor to crush Paoli and do away with Corsican privileges, and the islanders rallied round the patriot. Napoleon now turned against him and attempted to seize the citadel of Ajaccio for the French; but failing again, with all his relatives he fled a second time to France.

From this time onward Napoleon looked to France for his career. The narrow horizon of his native island was no longer wide enough for him, but from its bracing mountain air and from the quick blood of his race he drew a magnetic force, which imparted to his decisions and actions a rapidity and energy that carried all before them, while at the same time a power of calm calculation, of industry, and of self-control enabled him to employ his genius to the best advantage. The force of his personality was so overwhelming that in considering his career the regret must ever be present that the only principle that remained steadfast with him, and is the key to his conduct throughout, should have been the care for his own advancement, glory, and power. Napoleon now joined the army under Carteaux, which acted against the Marseillais who had declared against the National Convention and occupied Avignon. At this time he became attached to the younger Robespierre, who was a commissioner with the army, and embraced his Jacobin principles. He was shortly promoted chef de bataillon, and commanded the artillery at the siege of Toulon, where he highly distinguished himself, and is generally believed to have been the author of the plan of attack which led to the fall of the place. He was then promoted general of brigade.

On the fall of the Robespierres, Napoleon incurred serious danger, but was saved by powerful influence enlisted in his favor. He was, however, ordered to take command of an infantry brigade in the Army of the West. This he considered would stifle his military career, and neglecting to obey the order, he was in consequence removed from the list of employed general officers. Disgusted with his apparent lack of prospects, he was now anxious to be sent to Turkey to reorganize the Turkish artillery. But on the eve of the 13th Vendemiaire (October 5, 1795) he was appointed second in command of the Army of the Interior under Barras, and did the National Convention good service next day in repelling the attack of the Sections of Paris. Influenced partly by fear and partly by appreciation of his talents, the Directory appointed General Bonaparte to the command of the Army of Italy, on February 23, 1796. On March 9th he married Josephine Tascher de la Pagerie, widow of General Vicomte Alexandre de Beauharnais, and left Paris for Italy two days later.

On joining the army Bonaparte inaugurated a new era in the wars of the Republic. Previously the leading motives had been pure patriotism and love of liberty; Bonaparte for the first time, in his proclamation on taking command, invoked the spirit of self-interest and plunder, which was to dominate the whole policy of France for the next twenty years. Evil as were the passions which he aroused, Napoleon's great military genius flashed forth in its full brilliancy in this his first campaign. His power lay in the rapidity and boldness of his decisions, and in the untiring energy with which he carried them out, confounding his enemies by the suddenness and lightning rapidity of his blows, which never gave them time to recover. He found the French army about thirty-six thousand strong, distributed along the crests of the mountains from Nice to Savona, and opposing 20,000 Piedmontese under Colli and 38,000 Austrians under Beaulieu. These two generals had, however, differing interests: Colli's main object was to protect Piedmont, Beaulieu's to cover Lombardy. Hence, if Bonaparte could penetrate the point of junction of the two armies, it was probable they would separate in their retreat, and could be beaten singly. He therefore attacked the centre of the allied line, and, driving back the Austrians from Montenotte on April 12th, turned against the Piedmontese and defeated them at Millesimo the next day. Losing no time he left a division under Augereau to keep the Piedmontese in check, and led the bulk of his army against the Austrians, defeating them heavily at Dego on the 14th. The allied armies then retreated in diverging directions as expected, and Bonaparte, following the Piedmontese, beat them at Ceva and Mondovi, and forced the King of Sardinia to sign the armistice of Cherasco, leaving him free to deal with the Austrians. He crossed the Po at Piacenza on May 7th, and obliged the Austrians to retreat to the Adda. Following them he forced the bridge of Lodi on May 11th, and entered Milan amid the rejoicings of the people on the 15th. But his ill-omened proclamation had done its work; violence and pillage were rampant in the French army, and he could do little to restrain them. Indeed, he himself showed an example of plundering, though under more organized forms. Heavy contributions were exacted, curiosities and works of art were demanded wholesale and despatched to France; and the Directory, demoralized by the unaccustomed wealth that flowed in upon them, became fully as eager as Napoleon for fresh conquests and their accruing spoils.

The Austrians still held Mantua, which Napoleon now besieged, occupying himself at the same time in consolidating his conquests. The Austrians made strenuous efforts to save the fortress. They were much superior in number to the French, but were defeated again and again by the rapidity and genius of their opponent. Finally, at the end of October, an Austrian army of 50,000, but mostly recruits, advanced under Alvinzi. Then followed the three days' battle of Arcola, during which Napoleon had a very narrow escape, but which ended in Alvinzi's defeat and retreat on Tyrol. From Arcola Napoleon dated his firm belief in his own fortune. Once again, in January, 1797, Alvinzi tried to relieve Mantua. But Napoleon moved in full force on Rivoli, and won a decisive battle there on January 14th, the Austrian detachment on the Lower Adige having to lay down their arms next day at Roverbella. Wuermser capitulated at Mantua on February 2d, Napoleon treating him with generosity. This first Italian campaign was perhaps the most skilful of all those of Napoleon. Everything was done accurately and rapidly, and without throwing away chances. Some of his later campaigns, though equally brilliant, show him acting more with the gambler's spirit, running unnecessary risks with almost a blind reliance upon his star, in the hope of obtaining results which should dazzle the world.