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[Illustration: Repulsed at Torgau--Frederick waiting for morning.]




GREAT MEN AND FAMOUS WOMEN


_A Series of Pen and Pencil Sketches of_

THE LIVES OF MORE THAN 200 OF THE MOST PROMINENT PERSONAGES IN HISTORY


VOL. II.




Copyright, 1894, BY SELMAR HESS

edited by Charles F. Horne

[Illustration: Publisher's arm.]

New-York: Selmar Hess Publisher




CONTENTS OF VOLUME II.


  SUBJECT                          AUTHOR                         PAGE

  CHARLES XII. OF SWEDEN,     _General John Mitchell,_             211
  ROBERT, LORD CLIVE,         _W. C. Taylor, LL.D.,_               244
  STEPHEN DECATUR,            _Edward S. Ellis, A.M.,_             318
  GEORGE DEWEY,               _Major-General Joseph Wheeler,_      402
  PRINCE EUGENE OF SAVOY,     _G. P. R. James,_                    223
  DAVID GLASCOE FARRAGUT,     _L. P. Brockett, A.M.,_              379
  FREDERICK THE GREAT,        _Major-General John Mitchell,_       237
  GIUSEPPE GARIBALDI,                                              389
  ULYSSES SIMPSON GRANT,      _Oliver Optic,_                      343
  SAM HOUSTON,                _Amelia E. Barr,_                    331
  THOMAS JONATHAN JACKSON,    _Marion Harland,_                    373
  PAUL JONES,                                                      301
  FRANÇOIS KELLERMANN, MARSHAL OF FRANCE,                          251
  JAMES LAWRENCE,                                                  313
  ROBERT EDMUND LEE,          _General Viscount Wolseley,_         363
  Letter from Lee to his son on the subject of "Duty,"             372
  FRANCIS MARION,                                                  296
  JOHN, DUKE OF MARLBOROUGH,  _L. Drake,_                          217
  FIELD-MARSHAL COUNT VON MOLTKE,                                  395
  NAPOLEON BONAPARTE,         _Colonel Clayton, R.A.,_             262
  LORD HORATIO NELSON,                                             279
  MICHEL NEY, MARSHAL OF FRANCE,
                              _Louise Chandler Moulton,_           255
  OLIVER HAZARD PERRY,                                             325
  DAVID DIXON PORTER,                                              387
  ISRAEL PUTNAM,                                                   284
  WINFIELD SCOTT,             _Hon. Theodore Roosevelt,_           338
  PHILIP HENRY SHERIDAN,                                           358
  WILLIAM TECUMSEH SHERMAN,   _Elbridge S. Brooks,_                352
  TECUMSEH,                   _James A. Green,_                    308
  MARSHAL TURENNE,                                                 205
  ANTHONY WAYNE,              _O. C. Bosbyshell,_                  289
  ARTHUR, DUKE OF WELLINGTON, _L. Drake,_                          272
  GENERAL JAMES WOLFE,        _L. Drake,_                          231




LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

VOLUME II.


PHOTOGRAVURES

  ILLUSTRATION                               ARTIST            TO FACE
                                                                 PAGE

  REPULSED AT TORGAU--FREDERICK
    WAITING FOR MORNING,                _R. Warthmüller_  Frontispiece
  THE MARSEILLAISE,                     _Gustave Doré_             252
  NAPOLEON AND THE SPHINX,              _Jean Léon Gérôme_         264
  SHERIDAN'S RIDE,                      _T. Buchanan Read_         362
  FARRAGUT AT MOBILE BAY,               _W. H. Overend_            386
  ADMIRAL DEWEY AT MANILA
    BAY,                                _H. T. See_                402
  THE DEWEY TRIUMPHAL ARCH,                                        406


WOOD-ENGRAVINGS AND TYPOGRAVURES.


  TURENNE AT THE BATTLE OF THE DUNES,   _Larivière_                208
  CHARLES XII. AND AN UNWILLING
    RECRUIT,                            _Thure von Cederström_     212
  PRINCE EUGENE AND THE MARSHAL DE
    VILLARS,                            _P. Philippoteaux_         226
  GENERAL WOLFE LANDING AT LOUISBURG,   _Wild_                     232
  FREDERICK AND THE AUSTRIANS AFTER
    LEUTHEN,                            _A. Kampf_                 242
  MARSHAL NEY RETURNING THE CAPTURED
    COLORS,                             _Meynier_                  256
  A REVIEW OF THE BRITISH ARMY BY WELLINGTON,                      274
  NELSON AT TRAFALGAR,                  _W. H. Overend_            282
  MARION CROSSING THE PEDEE,            _W. Ranney_                300
  PAUL JONES AND LADY SELKIRK,          _W. H. Overend_            304
  TECUMSEH DEFENDS THE WHITES AT FORT
    MEIGS,                              _Chapin_                   310
  "DON'T GIVE UP THE SHIP,"             _Alonzo Chappel_           316
  DECATUR'S CONFLICT WITH THE ALGERINE
    AT TRIPOLI                          _Alonzo Chappel_           322
  JACKSON AT CHANCELLORSVILLE,          _A. R. Ward_               378
  MEETING OF VICTOR EMMANUEL AND
    GARIBALDI,                          _C. Ademollo_              394
  MOLTKE AT VERSAILLES, 1870,           _Anton von Werner_         400
  ADMIRAL DEWEY LOVING CUP,                                        404




MARSHAL TURENNE

(1611-1675)

[Illustration: Turenne. [TN]]


Henri de la Tour d'Auvergne, Vicomte de Turenne, esteemed, after
Napoleon, the greatest of French generals, was born September 16,
1611. He was the second son of the Duc de Bouillon, Prince of Sedan,
and of Elizabeth of Nassau, daughter of the celebrated William of
Orange, to whose courage and talents the Netherlands mainly owed their
deliverance from Spain. Both parents being zealous Calvinists, Turenne
was of course brought up in the same faith. Soon after his father's
death, the duchess sent him, when he was not yet thirteen years old,
into the Low Countries, to learn the art of war under his uncle,
Maurice of Nassau, who commanded the troops of Holland in the
protracted struggle between that country and Spain. Maurice held that
there was no royal road to military skill, and placed his young
relation in the ranks, as a volunteer, where for some time he served,
enduring all hardships to which the common soldiers were exposed. In
his second campaign he was promoted to the command of a company, which
he retained for four years, distinguished by the admirable discipline
of his men, by unceasing attention to the due performance of his own
duty, and by his eagerness to witness, and become thoroughly
acquainted with, every branch of service. In the year 1630, family
circumstances rendered it expedient that he should return to France,
where the Court received him with distinction, and invested him with
the command of a regiment.

Four years elapsed before Turenne had an opportunity of distinguishing
himself in the service of his native country. His first laurels were
reaped in 1634, at the siege of the strong fortress of La Motte, in
Lorraine, where he headed the assault, and, by his skill and bravery,
mainly contributed to its success. For this exploit he was raised, at
the early stage of twenty-three, to the rank of Maréchal de Camp, the
second grade of military rank in France. In the following year, the
breaking out of war between France and Austria opened a wider field of
action. Turenne held a subordinate command in the army, which, under
the Cardinal de la Valette, marched into Germany to support the
Swedes, commanded by the Duke of Weimar. At first fortune smiled on
the allies; but, ere long, scarcity of provisions compelled them to a
disastrous retreat over a ruined country, in the face of the enemy. On
this occasion the young soldier's ability and disinterestedness were
equally conspicuous. He sold his plate and equipage for the use of the
army; threw away his baggage to load the wagons with those stragglers
who must otherwise have been abandoned; and marched on foot, while he
gave up his own horse to the relief of one who had fallen, exhausted
by hunger and fatigue. These are the acts which win the attachment of
soldiers, and Turenne was idolized by his.

Our limits will not allow of the relation of those campaigns in which
the subject of this memoir filled a subordinate part. In 1637-38 he
again served under La Valette, in Flanders and Germany, after which he
was made Lieutenant-general, a rank not previously existing in France.
The three following years he was employed in Italy and Savoy, and in
1642 made a campaign in Roussillon, under the eye of Louis XIII. In
the spring of 1643 the king died; and in the autumn of the same year
Turenne received from the queen-mother and regent, Anne of Austria, a
marshal's baton, the appropriate reward of his long and brilliant
services. Four years a captain, four a colonel, three Maréchal de
Camp, five lieutenant-general, he had served in all stations from the
ranks upward, and distinguished himself in them not only by military
talent, but by strict honor and trustworthiness; rare virtues in those
turbulent times, when men were familiar with civil war, and the great
nobility were too powerful to be peaceful subjects.

Soon after his promotion he was sent to Germany, to collect and
reorganize the French army, which had been roughly handled at
Duttlingen. It wanted rest, men, and money, and he settled it in good
quarters, raised recruits, and pledged his own credit for the
necessary sums. The effects of his exertions were soon seen. He
arrived in Alsace, December, 1643, and in the following May was at the
head of 10,000 men, well armed and equipped, with whom he felt strong
enough to attack the Imperial army, and raise the siege of Fribourg.
At that moment the glory which he hoped for, and was entitled to
obtain, as the reward of five months' labor, was snatched from him by
the arrival of the celebrated Prince de Condé, at that time Duc
d'Enghien, to assume the command. The vexation which Turenne must have
felt was increased by the difference of age (for the prince was ten
years his junior), and of personal character. Condé was ardent and
impetuous, and flushed by his brilliant victory at Rocroi the year
before; Turenne, cool, calculating, and cautious, unwearied in
preparing a certainty of success beforehand, yet prompt in striking
when the decisive moment was come. The difference of their characters
was exemplified upon this occasion. Merci, the Austrian commander, had
taken up a strong position, which Turenne said could not be forced;
but at the same time pointed out the means of turning it. Condé
differed from him, and the second in command was obliged to submit. On
two successive days two bloody and unsuccessful assaults were made;
on the third Turenne's advice was taken, and on the first
demonstration of this change of plan Merci retreated. In the following
year, ill supplied with everything, and forced to separate his troops
widely to obtain subsistence, Turenne was attacked at Mariendal, and
worsted by his old antagonist, Merci. This, his first defeat, he felt
severely; still he retained his position, and was again ready to meet
the enemy, when he received positive orders from Mazarin to undertake
nothing before the arrival of Condé. Zealous for his country and
careless of personal slights, he marched without complaint under the
command of his rival; and his magnanimity was rewarded at the battle
of Nordlingen, in 1645, where the centre and right wing having failed
in their attack, Turenne, with the left wing, broke the enemy's right,
and falling on his centre in flank, threw it into utter confusion. For
this service he received the most cordial and ample acknowledgments
from Condé, both on the field and in his despatches to the Queen
Regent. Soon after, Condé, who was wounded in the battle, resigned his
command into the hands of Turenne. The following campaigns of
1646-47-48 exhibited a series of successes, by means of which he drove
the Duke of Bavaria from his dominions, and reduced the emperor to
seek for peace. This was concluded at Munster in 1648, and to
Turenne's exertions the termination of the Thirty Years' War is mainly
to be ascribed.

The repose of France was soon broken by civil war. Mazarin's
administration, oppressive in all respects, but especially in fiscal
matters, had produced no small discontent throughout the country, and
especially in Paris, where the Parliament openly espoused the cause of
the people against the minister, and was joined by several of the
highest nobility, urged by various motives of private interest or
personal pique. Among these were the Prince of Conti, the Duc de
Longueville, and the Duc de Bouillon. Mazarin, in alarm, endeavored to
enlist the ambition of Turenne in his favor, by offering the
government of Alsace, and the hand of his own niece, as the price of
his adherence to the Court. The viscount, pressed by both parties,
avoided declaring his adhesion to either; but he unequivocally
expressed his disapprobation of the cardinal's proceedings, and, being
superseded in his command, retired peaceably to Holland. There he
remained till the convention of Ruel effected a hollow and insincere
reconciliation between the Court and one of the jarring parties of
which the Fronde was composed. That reconciliation was soon broken by
the sudden arrest of Condé, Conti, and the Duc de Longueville. Turenne
then threw himself into the arms of the Fronde, and, at the head of
eight thousand men, found himself obliged to encounter the royal army,
twenty thousand strong. In the battle which ensued, he distinguished
his personal bravery in several desperate charges; but the disparity
was too great; and this defeat of Rhetel was of serious consequence to
the Fronde party. Convinced at last that his true interest lay rather
on the side of the Court, then managed by a woman and a priest, where
he might be supreme in military matters, than in supporting the cause
of an impetuous and self-willed leader, such as Condé, Turenne gladly
listened to overtures of accommodation, and passed over to the support
of the regency.

The value of his services was soon made evident. Twice, at the head of
very inferior troops, he checked Condé in the career of victory; and
again compelled him to fight under the walls of Paris; where, in the
celebrated battle of the Faubourg St. Antoine, the prince and his army
narrowly escaped destruction. Finally, he re-established the Court at
Paris, and compelled Condé to quit the realm. These important events
took place in one campaign of six months in 1652.

In 1654 he again took the field against his former friend and
commander, Condé, who had taken refuge in Spain, and now led a foreign
army against his country. The most remarkable operation of the
campaign was the raising the siege of Arras, which the Spaniards had
invested, according to the most approved fashion of the day, with a
strong double line of circumvallation, within which the besieging army
was supposed to be securely sheltered against the sallies of the
garrison cooped up within, and the efforts of their friends from
without. Turenne marched to the relief of the place. This could only
be effected by forcing the enemy's entrenchments; which were
accordingly attacked, contrary to the opinion of his own officers, and
carried at all points, despite the personal exertions of Condé. The
Spaniards were forced to retreat. It is remarkable that Turenne, not
long after, was himself defeated in precisely similar circumstances,
under the walls of Valenciennes, round which he had drawn lines of
circumvallation. Once more he found himself in the same position at
Dunkirk. On this occasion he marched out of his lines to meet the
enemy, rather than wait, and suffer them to choose their point of
attack; and the celebrated battle of the Dunes, or Sandhills, ensued,
in which he gained a brilliant victory over the best Spanish troops,
with Condé at their head. This took place in 1657. Dunkirk and the
greater part of Flanders fell into the hands of the French in
consequence; and these successes led to the treaty of the Pyrenees,
which terminated the war in 1658.

When war broke out afresh between France and Spain, in 1667, Louis
XIV. made his first campaign under Turenne's guidance, and gained
possession of nearly the whole of Flanders. In 1672, when Louis
resolved to undertake in person the conquest of Holland, he again
placed the command, under himself, in Turenne's hands, and disgraced
several marshals who refused to receive orders from the viscount,
considering themselves his equals in military rank. How Le Grand
Monarque forced the passage of the Rhine when there was no army to
oppose him, and conquered city after city, till he was stopped by
inundations, under the walls of Amsterdam, has been said and sung by
his flatterers, and need not be repeated here. But after the king had
left the army, when the princes of Germany came to the assistance of
Holland, and her affairs took a more favorable turn under the able
guidance of the Prince of Orange, a wider field was offered for the
display of Turenne's talents. In the campaign of 1673 he drove the
Elector of Brandenburg, who had come to the assistance of the Dutch,
back to Berlin, and compelled him to negotiate for peace. In the same
year he was opposed, for the first time, to the imperial general,
Montecuculi, celebrated for his military writings as well as for his
exploits in the field. The meeting of these two great generals
produced no decisive results.

[Illustration: Turenne at the battle of the Dunes.]

Turenne returned to Paris in the winter, and was received with the
most flattering marks of favor. On the approach of spring he was sent
back to take command of the French army in Alsace, which, amounting to
no more than ten thousand men, was pressed by a powerful confederation
of the troops of the Empire, and those of Brandenburg, once again in
the field. Turenne set himself to beat the allies in detail, before
they could form a junction. He passed the Rhine, marched forty French
leagues in four days, and came up with the Imperialists, under the
Duke of Lorraine, at Sintzheim. They occupied a strong position, their
wings resting on mountains; their centre protected by a river and a
fortified town. Turenne hesitated: it seemed rash to attack; but a
victory was needful before the combination of the two armies should
render their force irresistible; and he commanded the best troops of
France. The event justified his confidence. Every post was carried
sword in hand. The Marshal had his horse killed under him, and was
slightly wounded. To the officers, who crowded round him with
congratulations, he replied, with one of those short and happy
speeches which tell upon an army more than the most labored harangues,
"With troops like you, gentlemen, a man ought to attack boldly, for he
is sure to conquer." The beaten army fell back behind the Neckar,
where they effected a junction with the troops of Brandenburg; but
they dared attempt nothing further, and left the Palatinate in the
quiet possession of Turenne. Under his eye, and, as it appears from
his own letters, at his express recommendation, as a matter of policy,
that wretched country was laid waste to a deplorable extent. This
transaction went far beyond the ordinary license of war, and excited
general indignation even in that unscrupulous age. It will ever be
remembered as a foul stain upon the character of the general who
executed, and of the king and minister who ordered or consented to it.

Having carried fire and sword through that part of the Palatinate
which lay upon the right or German bank of the Rhine, he crossed that
river. But the Imperial troops, reinforced by the Saxons and Hessians
to the amount of sixty thousand men, pressed him hard; and it seemed
impossible to keep the field against so great a disparity of force;
his own troops not amounting to more than twenty thousand. He
retreated into Lorraine, abandoning the fertile plains of Alsace to
the enemy, led his army behind the Vosges Mountains, and crossing them
by unfrequented routes, surprised the enemy at Colmar, beat him at
Mulhausen and Turkheim, and forced him to recross the Rhine. This is
esteemed the most brilliant of Turenne's campaigns, and it was
conceived and conducted with the greater boldness, being in opposition
to the orders of Louvois. "I know," he wrote to that minister, in
remonstrating, and indeed refusing to follow his directions, "I know
the strength of the Imperialists, their generals, and the country in
which we are. I take all upon myself, and charge myself with whatever
may occur."

Returning to Paris at the end of the campaign, his journey through
France resembled a triumphal progress; such was the popular enthusiasm
in his favor. Not less flattering was his reception by the king, whose
undeviating regard and confidence, undimmed by jealousy or envy, is
creditable alike to the monarch and to his faithful subject. At this
time Turenne, it is said, had serious thoughts of retiring to a
convent, and was induced only by the earnest remonstrances of the
king, and his representations of the critical state of France, to
resume his command. Returning to the Upper Rhine, he was again opposed
to Montecuculi. For two months the resources and well-matched skill of
the rival captains were displayed in a series of marches and
countermarches, in which every movement was so well foreseen and
guarded against, that no opportunity occurred for coming to action
with advantage to either side. At last the art of Turenne appeared to
prevail; when, not many minutes after he had expressed the full belief
that victory was within his grasp, a cannon-ball struck him while
engaged in reconnoitring the enemy's position, previous to giving
battle, and he fell dead from his horse, July 27, 1675. The same shot
carried off the arm of St. Hilaire, commander-in-chief of the
artillery. "Weep not for me," said the brave soldier to his son; "it
is for that great man that we ought to weep."

His subordinates possessed neither the talents requisite to follow up
his plans, nor the confidence of the troops, who perceived their
hesitation, and were eager to avenge the death of their beloved
general. "Loose the piebald," so they named Turenne's horse, was the
cry; "he will lead us on." But those on whom the command devolved
thought of anything rather than of attacking the enemy; and after
holding a hurried council of war, retreated in all haste across the
Rhine.

The Swabian peasants let the spot where he fell lie fallow for many
years, and carefully preserved a tree under which he had been sitting
just before. Strange that the people who had suffered so much at his
hands should regard his memory with such respect!

The character of Turenne was more remarkable for solidity than for
brilliancy. Many generals may have been better qualified to complete a
campaign by one decisive blow; few probably have laid the scheme of a
campaign with more judgment, or shown more skill and patience in
carrying their plans into effect. And it is remarkable that, contrary
to general experience, he became much more enterprising in advanced
years than he had been in youth. Of that impetuous spirit, which
sometimes carries men to success where caution would have hesitated
and failed, he possessed little. In his earlier years he seldom
ventured to give battle, except where victory was nearly certain; but
a course of victory inspired confidence, and trained by long practice
to distinguish the difficult from the impossible, he adopted in his
later campaigns a bolder style of tactics than had seemed congenial to
his original temper. In this respect he offered a remarkable contrast
to his rival in fame, Condé, who, celebrated in early life for the
headlong valor, even to rashness, of his enterprises, became in old
age prudent almost to timidity. Equally calm in success or in defeat,
Turenne was always ready to prosecute the one, or to repair the other.
And he carried the same temper into private life, where he was
distinguished for the dignity with which he avoided quarrels, under
circumstances in which lesser men would have found it hard to do so,
without incurring the reproach of cowardice. Nor must we pass over his
thorough honesty and disinterestedness in pecuniary matters; a quality
more rare in a great man then than it is now.




CHARLES XII. OF SWEDEN

By GENERAL JOHN MITCHELL

(1682-1718)

[Illustration: Charles XII. [TN]]


Charles XII., against whom it has been made a fault that he carried
virtues to extremes, was born at Stockholm, on June 27, 1682, during a
storm that

  "Rived the mighty oak, and made
   The ambitious ocean swell, and rage, and foam,
   To be exalted with the threatening clouds."

Astrologers observed that the star called the "Lion's Heart"
predominated at his nativity, and that the "Fox" was on the
decline--omens and prodigies well suited to announce the birth of a
prince who was himself a living tempest. Charles's infancy has nothing
very remarkable. His education was strictly attended to, and he proved
an attentive scholar. He acquired considerable knowledge of history,
geography, mathematics, and the military sciences, and became
perfectly familiar with several languages, though he never, after his
accession to the throne, spoke any but Latin, Swedish, or German. The
gallant Charles Stewart, the same who afterward led the king across
the Duna, was his instructor in the art of war, and is said to have
communicated to the young prince much of the fiery spirit for which he
was himself distinguished. In his fifteenth year Charles ascended the
throne, and, contrary to usual assertion, already evinced considerable
ability and application to business, though no particular predilection
for military affairs, unless his bear-hunting expeditions may be so
considered, for they were more than "faint images of war," being
attended with great danger. No arms were used in these encounters; the
sportsman was provided only with a single doubly-pointed stick and a
cast-net, like the one perhaps, used by the ancient gladiators. The
object of these fierce combats was to capture and bind the bear, and
to carry him in triumph from the scene of action! Charles was, it
seems, a great proficient in this dangerous sport.

At the age of eighteen Charles was obliged to take the field against
the four greatest powers of the North. Forced to contend with small
means against vastly superior foes, he made genius and courage supply
the place of numbers. Heroism was never more nobly displayed than by
this gallant monarch and his followers. What men could do was done.
For nine years he triumphed over constantly augmenting enemies. And
when the "unconquered lord of pleasure and of pain" fell at last,
crushed by the weight of masses, fortune more than shared with his
innumerable adversaries the honor of his overthrow.

It was during the Polish campaign of 1703 that Max Emanuel of
Wirtemberg, then only fourteen years of age, joined Charles. When
introduced, the king asked him whether he wished to go to Stockholm
for a time, or to remain with the army. The prince, of course,
preferred the latter. "Well, then," said Charles, "I will bring you up
in my own way," and immediately placed the boy, tired as he was from
his journey, on horseback, and led him a long and fatiguing ride. From
this period to the battle of Pultowa, Max continued to be his constant
companion, shared his dangers, and attended him in all his adventures,
many of which border almost on the fabulous. The affectionate kindness
evinced by Charles toward his pupil could not be surpassed. When the
boy, as sometimes happened, was worn down by sickness and fatigue, the
monarch attended him with parental care; and when on one occasion he
fell speechless from his horse, and his recovery was despaired of, the
king never left his couch till he was pronounced out of danger.

The adventures they encountered together were endless. On inspecting
the regiments before the opening of the campaign of 1706, they rode
five hundred miles in six days, were never in bed, and hardly ever out
of the saddle, and frequently reduced to milk and water as their only
nourishment--

  "Alike to Charles was tide or time,
   Moonless midnight or matin prime."

Having on another occasion lost their road and escort during a stormy
night, they arrived in the midst of a tempest before the town of
Tousha. Neither calling nor firing brought any one to the gates. The
king at last dismounted and sought for an entrance, while the prince
held the horses in the pelting rain. An entrance having at last been
discovered, they took possession of a hut in which was a fire. The
king threw himself, booted and spurred, on a bundle of straw, and fell
fast asleep. The prince, less hardy, took off his boots, filled them
with straw, and placed them by the fire. While sleeping, the flame
caught and consumed the valuable gambodoes. The prince was next day
obliged to get a pair of peasant's boots, in which he rode about for
eight days; a proof that the princely wardrobe was but slenderly
furnished.

And yet the camp was not without its gayeties either; for while the
head-quarters were wintering at Rawitcz, the town became the scene of
great festivities; balls and parties succeeding each other as rapidly
as battles had done before. Charles was usually present, was always
very polite, but made only a short stay, and retired as soon as he
could.

[Illustration: Charles XII. and an unwilling recruit.]

During the stay of the army in this place, a fire broke out and
consumed several houses. The king flew to aid in extinguishing the
flames. He ascended to the top of a house that was already on fire,
and continued working till the building was sinking under him. He
escaped with difficulty, was thrown down by one of the beams, and for
a moment believed to be dead. "It was discovered two years afterward,"
says Bardili, "that the place was set on fire by an incendiary bribed
by Augustus II. to slay the king of Sweden in the confusion;" and a
man actually came forward and denounced himself as the intended
assassin, declaring that some unknown power had prevented him from
stabbing the king when he got near his person. Charles said the man
was mad, and sent him about his business. Napoleon would have sent him
before a military commission and had him shot, as he caused the
student at Schönbrunn to be shot.

We regret that we cannot give a sufficient account of the Duke of
Marlborough's visit to Charles's head-quarters at Altranstadt; for
what Voltaire says on the subject is but an idle fable. That the
English general should easily have penetrated the views of the Swedish
conqueror, which the latter took no pains to conceal, is sufficiently
probable; but that the conversation between two such men should have
turned principally on the king's large boots, which, as Voltaire says,
Charles told Marlborough "he had not quitted for seven years," is of
course a mere puerility. Besides, we find from Max's "Memoirs," that
Charles was not so coarse in his dress as is usually represented, for
his clothes were made of fine materials. He always wore a plain blue
coat with gilt buttons, buff waistcoat and breeches, a black crape
cravat, and a cocked hat; a waist-belt, and a long cut-and-thrust
sword. He never disfigured himself by the full-bottomed wig of the
period, but always wore his own brown hair, combed back from his
forehead. His camp-bed consisted of a blue silk mattress, pillow and
coverlid; materials that would have suited even a dandy guardsman.

The invasion of Saxony occasioned great uneasiness at Vienna,
Charles's arrival being considered alike dangerous to the Catholic
states of the Empire and to the success of the Grand Alliance. It
happened, under these unpleasant feelings, that at a party the Swedish
Minister, Count Stralenghielm, proposed his master's health as a
toast. An imperial chamberlain, a Count Zabor, a magnate of Hungary,
refused to drink it, declaring that "no honest man ought to drink the
health of the Turk, the devil, and of a third person." The Swede
struck the offender, and swords were drawn; but the adversaries were
of course separated. The ambassador demanded satisfaction for the
insult; and Zabor was arrested, and sent in irons to Stettin, and
delivered up to the Swedes. Charles instantly set him at liberty,
simply desiring him to "be more guarded in his speeches for the
future."

The Saxon nobility (Ritterschaft, chivalry) having been taxed to aid
in defraying the Swedish contributions, applied to Charles, claiming
their privilege of exemption from all taxation, except that of
furnishing horses for the chivalry engaged in defence of the country.
"Had the Saxon chivalry," said Charles, "acted up to the duties to
which they owe their privilege, I should not have been here."

The King of Sweden left Saxony, and set out on his Russian expedition
at the head of 43,000 men. Of these 8,000 remained in Poland; so that
he undertook the march to Moscow with only 35,000--a force amounting
to about one-fifteenth part of the army with which Napoleon set out on
a similar expedition. The Russians followed the same system they
afterward employed against the French, retiring and laving waste the
country. The difficulties the Swedes had to encounter, in consequence
of bad roads and want of provisions, are almost incredible. The
soldiers were forced to contend, not only against the enemy, but
against the localities also; roads for the advance of the army had to
be opened through forests and morasses before the least progress could
be made; and it often happened that a league a day was the greatest
extent of march gained after immense toil. But nothing checked the
ardor of these gallant soldiers. The Russians attempted to defend the
passage of rivers and swamps that impeded the march of the foe. Their
efforts were vain; no superiority of numbers, no strength of position,
could arrest the indomitable valor of Charles and his troops. And the
actions performed during this march would be deemed absolutely
fabulous, were they not recorded on authority which cannot be doubted.

During the severe winter of 1709, the army suffered dreadfully from
want and cold. When, early in spring, the thaw set in, the whole of
those flat countries were overflowed, and long marches had to be made
through complete inundations, by which quantities of stores were lost,
and the powder greatly damaged. It was, as we now find, in consequence
of the losses thus sustained that Charles accepted Mazeppa's proposal
of marching into the Ukraine. Finding his army too much weakened to
penetrate further into Russia, and not wishing to fall back upon
Livonia, which he thought would look like a retreat and encourage his
enemies, he determined to march to the south, and there await the
supplies and reinforcements which his generals were to bring up.

The loss of the convoy which General Lewenhaupt was conducting to the
army rendered further delay necessary, and obliged the king to
undertake the siege of Pultowa, in order to gain a firm footing in the
country, and to secure the supplies which the place contained. The
Swedish battering-train was weak, the powder not only bad from having
been frequently injured by the wet and dried again, but very scarce
besides. Still, courage and energy were making progress, when, June
27th, on his very birthday, Charles, in repulsing a sally, was struck
by a musket-ball that entered his left foot, above the root of the
toes, and went out at the heel. The king continued in the field for an
hour afterward, giving his orders as usual; but when he retired to his
quarters, the leg was so much swelled that the boot had to be cut off,
and the wound had so unfavorable an appearance as greatly to alarm the
attendants.

Charles behaved heroically, as usual. He held his leg to the surgeon
with his own hands, nor did a single groan escape him during the
terrible operation which the cutting away of some of the fractured
bones rendered necessary. At one time his life was despaired of, and
a general panic seized the army, but though the wound proved decisive
of his fate, the unhappy monarch had what may well be termed the
misfortune to recover.

The foe drew near. The Czar, well aware of the importance of Pultowa,
advanced to its relief with an army of 80,000 men, besides 40,000
irregulars, Kalmucks and Tartars. He brought 150 pieces of artillery
along with him. Even with this vast superiority, and after the
training of a nine years' war, the Russians did not venture to attack
the Swedes, but drew closer and closer around them, till they began at
last to intrench themselves within a league of the king's camp.
Charles's illness gave them but too much leisure.

A hostile fortress on one side, a hostile army on the other, nothing
but a victory could save the Swedes; and on the morning of the 8th of
July, only ten days after Charles had been wounded, they marched out
to battle. Their whole army did not amount to 20,000 men, 4,000 of
whom were left in the trenches and with the baggage. Their artillery
consisted of four field-pieces; and their powder was so bad that it
did not, as Count Poniatowsky and Lewenhaupt both affirm, throw the
musket-balls more than thirty yards from the muzzles of the pieces.
And yet these brave soldiers balanced fortune even against such
overwhelming numbers. Three out of the seven Russian redoubts were
taken; on the left wing the cavalry were victorious, and it is really
difficult to say what the result would have proved, had Charles been
able to exert his usual energy and activity. Certain it is that errors
were committed which could not have happened under his immediate
command; for the cavalry of the left wing did not follow up their
success, and the cavalry of the right wing lost their direction, and
took no share in the action. The king, who was carried on a litter
between two horses, was present in the hottest of the fire, and
exerted himself as much as was possible for a man in such a situation.
A shot broke the litter, and the wounded monarch was for some time
left alone on the ground. A lifeguardsman brought him a horse, and he
endeavored to rally the yielding troops. The steed was shot under him,
and--

                   "Gierta gave
  His own, and died the Russian slave."

Having assembled and re-formed the remnants of his broken host round
the forces which had been left for the protection of the baggage, the
fainting monarch was placed in Count Piper's carriage, and conveyed
toward the Turkish frontier. The exertions of the wounded Charles to
rally his army at Pultowa contrast singularly with the total want of
any such exertion displayed by the unwounded Napoleon at Waterloo. We
take this want of exertion for granted, because had any been
displayed, the world's echoes would have rung with praise bestowed
upon the heroic effort.

The first result of the battle of Pultowa--its ultimate results are
only now becoming apparent--was the entire destruction of the Swedish
army, the famished and exhausted remains of which were some days
afterward obliged to lay down their arms on the banks of the Dnieper,
which they had no means of crossing.

With this battle, which opens a new era in European history, the
history of Charles XII. may be said to end; for his subsequent career
was only a succession of disappointments, his poor and thinly peopled
country not affording him the means of recovery from a single
'defeat'.

On his arrival at Bender, the king learned of the death of his sister,
the Duchess of Holstein; and he who had calmly supported the loss of
his fame and his army yielded to the most impassioned burst of sorrow,
and was during four days unable to converse with his most intimate
attendants--a proof how unjust are the accusations of want of feeling
so often brought against him. His long stay in Turkey is certainly
evidence of obstinacy, or of that pride which could not brook the
thought of returning, a vanquished fugitive, to his native land, which
had done so much for him, and which his best efforts had failed to
protect from unjust violence. In Charles's high and noble countenance
it is seen at once that he was endowed with--

                  "The glance that took
  Their thoughts from others at a single look."

He knew the worthlessness of his enemies; and it is doubly galling to
the generous and the brave when fortune, in her base fancies, obliges
them to succumb to mean and malicious adversaries. And such was the
fate of Charles. His defeat was no sooner known than Denmark, Poland,
and Saxony again flew to arms. Hanover and Prussia joined the unworthy
league against the fallen monarch, who had been so dreaded, and was
therefore so much hated; for Charles had injured no one--he was the
aggrieved from first to last. His return to Sweden, the defence of
Stralsund, the invasion of Norway, call for no particular attention.
He was killed at the siege of Frederickshall, in Norway, on November
30, 1718, under circumstances that long gave currency to the belief
that he had been assassinated. Schott and Bardili positively assert
the fact; but we are on this point disposed to agree with Voltaire,
who, to save the honor of his countrymen, as positively denies it.
After evening service, the king went out as usual to visit the
trenches. He was attended by two French engineers, Megret and Siquier.
A heavy fire was kept up by the enemy. Near the head of the _boyau_,
or zigzag, he kneeled down, and, leaning against the parapet, looked
toward the fortress. As he remained motionless for a long time, some
one approached and found him perfectly dead, a ball having entered his
right temple and passed through his head. Even in death the gallant
hand had grasped the hilt of his sword; and this probably gave rise to
the belief in the murder, which was afterward confirmed by Siquier's
own confession. But this confession was only made while the pretended
criminal labored under an attack of brain fever, and was retracted as
soon as he recovered.

Thus fell, in the thirty-sixth year of his age, one of the most
extraordinary men that ever acted a part on the great stage of the
world. Endowed by nature with a noble person, "a frame of adamant, a
soul of fire," with high intellectual powers, dauntless bravery,
kingly sentiments of honor, and a lofty scorn of all that was mean
and little, he became, from the very splendor of these gifts, perhaps
one of the most unhappy men of his time. Less highly gifted, he would
have been less hated and less envied; of humbler spirit, he would have
been more pliant, and might possibly have been more successful.




JOHN, DUKE OF MARLBOROUGH

By L. DRAKE

(1650-1722)

[Illustration: A standing man behind a sitting woman. [TN]]


About noon, on June 24, 1650, John Churchill, afterward Duke of
Marlborough, was born at Ashe, in Devonshire. His school-days were
soon over; for his father, Sir Winston Churchill, having established
himself at court soon after the restoration of Charles the Second, was
anxious to introduce his children early into life, and obtained for
his son the situation of page of honor to the Duke of York, at the
same time that his only daughter, Arabella, became maid of honor to
the duchess.

While at school, young Churchill had discovered in the library an old
book on military subjects. This he read frequently, and conceived such
a taste for a martial life, that he longed to distinguish himself as a
soldier.

The Duke of York held frequent reviews of the guards. Churchill had
not long been his page, before the duke noticed his eagerness to be
present on these occasions. Pleased with this indication of military
ambition, the duke suddenly inquired one day, "What can I do for you,
Churchill, as a first step to fortune?"

The page threw himself on his knees before the duke. "I beseech your
Royal Highness," he entreated, with clasped hands, "to honor me with a
pair of colors."

"Well, well," said the duke, smiling at the lad's earnestness, "I will
grant your request by and by;" and his young favorite had not long to
wait before he got the post for which he had petitioned.

The youthful ensign, scarce fifteen years of age, first embarked for
Tangiers; and although his stay was short, yet in the sallies and
skirmishes with the Moors he showed that even now he possessed that
courage and ability which in after years placed him at the head of all
the heroes of his time.

Before the year in which he left England had expired, he was again in
his native country. He then accompanied the Duke of Monmouth to the
continent, to assist France against Holland. The Prince of Condé and
Marshal Turenne, the greatest generals of that time, commanded the
French army, so that Churchill had very favorable opportunities of
improving his military talent and genius.

A French officer, during the siege of Nimeguen, had failed to retain a
post of consequence, which he had been appointed to defend. The news
of its loss was brought to Turenne.

"I will bet a supper and a dozen of claret," instantly exclaimed the
marshal, "that my handsome Englishman will recover the post with half
the number of men that the officer commanded who lost it."

Churchill was despatched with a small company, and, after a short but
desperate struggle, retook the post, won the marshal his wager, and
gained for himself the applause and admiration of the whole army.

Next year, at the siege of Maestricht, Captain Churchill again
distinguished himself. At the head of his own company, he scaled the
ramparts, and planted the banner of France on the very summit,
escaping with a slight wound. Louis XIV. was so highly pleased with
his conduct that he thanked him at the head of the army, and soon made
him lieutenant-colonel. The Duke of Monmouth afterward confessed to
the king, that he was indebted for his life, on this occasion, to our
hero's gallantry and discretion.

On his return to England, he was made gentleman of the bedchamber and
master of the robes to his earliest patron, the Duke of York. At this
period he was captivated by the beauty of Miss Sarah Jennings,
daughter of a gentleman of ancient family, and maid of honor to the
duchess. Their marriage took place in 1678.

The services Colonel Churchill continued to yield the royal brothers
did not pass unrewarded. He was created Baron Churchill of Agmouth, in
Berwickshire; and a friendship sprung up between Lady Churchill and
the Princess (afterward queen) Anne, who, when she married Prince
George of Denmark, got her friend appointed lady of her bedchamber.

The day after James II. was proclaimed, he made his favorite,
lieutenant-general. The battle of Sedgemoor, in which the ill-fated
Duke of Monmouth with his rebel army was defeated, was won chiefly by
Churchill's courage and decision. Till the closing scene of James's
reign, there is little stated of Lord Churchill, although it is known
that he used his influence with his royal master to prevent the
arbitrary system of government the king endeavored to introduce.
Finding the monarch determined to persist in his encroachments, Lord
Churchill felt it his duty, however painful, to go over to the Prince
of Orange, by whom he was received with distinguished marks of
attention and respect; and, two days before his coronation, the prince
raised him to the dignity of Earl of Marlborough.

The affection the earl still felt toward his late benefactor, the
ex-king, led him into a correspondence with him. This, being
discovered, brought the displeasure of King William upon him, and for
some time he was deprived of all his appointments. At length a
governor being wanted for the young Duke of Gloucester, son of the
Princess Anne, the king, as an earnest of his returning favor,
conferred this honor on Marlborough. "Teach him, my lord," said his
majesty, "to be what you are yourself, and he will not want
accomplishments."

On the accession of Queen Anne, Marlborough was made captain-general,
master of the ordnance, and a knight of the garter. Soon after, he was
sent to Holland to aid the Dutch against the French. He was appointed
by them generalissimo of the forces, with a salary of £10,000 a year.
With his army he crossed the river Meuse, and advanced to the siege of
Rheinberg. "I hope soon to deliver you from these troublesome
neighbors!" he exclaimed to the Dutch deputies who accompanied him on
a reconnoitring party; and had it not been for the timidity of the
Dutchmen he would have fulfilled his intentions. He however, took
three towns out of the hands of the French, and the campaign ended by
the taking of Liége.

Marlborough soon returned to England, when the queen created him
Marquis of Blandford and Duke of Marlborough, an honor he reluctantly
accepted, and chiefly because it would give him more consideration if
again called upon to serve his country abroad.

In 1703 the duke was once more in Flanders, leading operations against
the French with his usual success.

The celebrated Prince Eugene was appointed his colleague; and the
first time these two generals met, they conceived that mutual esteem
and confidence, which afterward rendered them partners in the same
glory.

At the head of a noble army, the two generals penetrated into the
heart of Germany, driving the Elector of Bavaria before them, ere his
French allies could join him. It would take too much space to describe
all the victories, and relate the details of the burning of three
hundred towns, villages, and castles! These stern necessities of war
were far from pleasing to Marlborough, who grieved to see the poor
people suffering from their master's ambition. The Elector shed tears
when he heard of these devastations, and offered large sums to prevent
military execution on the land. "The forces of England," replied the
duke, "are not come into Bavaria to extort money, but to bring its
prince to reason and moderation. It is in the power of the Elector to
end the matter at once by coming to a speedy accommodation."

But the Elector knew that Marshal Tallard, with a powerful French
army, was approaching; and, buoyed up by expectation, replied, "Since
you have compelled me to draw the sword, I have thrown away the
scabbard!"

Prince Eugene had hastened from the Rhine to join Marlborough, with a
force of eighteen thousand men, and reached the plains of Hochstadt by
the time Tallard joined the Elector. As the prince and Marlborough
proceeded to survey the ground, previous to taking up their position,
they perceived some squadrons of the enemy at a distance. The two
generals mounted the steeple of a church close by, and, with their
glasses, discovered the quarter-masters of the enemy marking out a
camp between Blenheim and Lützingen. Charmed beyond measure, they
resolved to give battle before the enemy could strengthen themselves
in their new position. Some officers, who knew the strength of the
ground selected by the enemy, ventured to remonstrate, and to advise
that no action should be hazarded. "I know the dangers of the case,"
said Marlborough, who had not made up his mind without due
consideration, "but a battle is absolutely necessary; and as for
success, I rely on the hope that the discipline and courage of the
troops will make amends for all disadvantages." Orders being issued
for a general engagement, the whole army commenced preparations with
cheerfulness and alacrity.

Marlborough showed that he was resolved to conquer or to die in the
attempt. Part of the night he passed in prayer, and toward morning
received the sacrament. Then, after taking a short sleep, he concerted
the arrangements for the action with Prince Eugene, particularly
pointing out to the surgeons the proper place for the wounded.

The forces of the duke and the prince formed an army of 33,500
infantry and 18,400 cavalry. They were opposed by a force of 56,000
men.

About six o'clock in the morning, Marlborough and Eugene took their
station on a rising ground, and calling all the generals, gave the
directions for the attack. The army then marched into the plain; and
being formed in order of battle, the chaplains performed service at
the head of each regiment.

The morning being hazy, the French and Bavarians did not even suspect
the approach of their enemies, and were completely taken by surprise.
A large gun boomed forth the signal for the onset; and as great a
battle was fought as the memory of man ever heard of. A panic seized
the whole of the troops which composed the right of the French army,
and they fled like a flock of sheep before the victorious
English,--deaf to the threats and entreaties of their commanders, and
without observing whither their flight led them. A body of cavalry,
the best and most renowned in the whole army, seized with fear,
hurried away Marshal Tallard with them in their flight; and, void of
all thought, threw themselves by squadrons into the Danube, men and
horses, officers and troopers together. Some escaped; but the greater
portion, who had sought to avoid an uncertain death on the field of
battle and honor, found a certain and shameful death in the river. The
poor marshal, after vainly endeavoring to stem this torrent of
despair, was obliged to surrender himself a prisoner of war with
several other general officers in his company. The defeat then became
complete. Of all the infantry the marshal had brought to the
assistance of the Elector, only two battalions escaped; eight and
twenty battalions were taken prisoners; and ten were entirely
destroyed!

The French, for many years, had never sustained any considerable
defeat; and in consequence, had looked upon themselves, and had been
regarded by other countries, almost as invincible. But now the charm
was broken.

After the battle, when Marshal Tallard was brought into the duke's
tent, the marshal exclaimed with emphasis, "Your grace has beaten the
best troops in the world!"

"I hope," quickly rejoined the duke, "that you except the troops which
defeated them."

The news caused great joy in England, except to a discontented party,
who considered that "it would no more weaken the power of the French
king, than taking a bucket of water out of a river." Marlborough's
answer, when he heard this, was, "If they will allow me to draw one or
two such buckets more, we may then let the river run quietly, and not
much apprehend its overflowing, and destroying its neighbors." Queen
Anne, however, as a monument of victory, commanded a splendid palace
to be built for the duke, at her own expense, to be called Blenheim.

It would fill a large volume to relate all the victories of the Duke
of Marlborough, none of which, however, exceeded the Battle of
Blenheim in importance. One, some years afterward, called the Battle
of Malplaquet, was a better contested fight, and perhaps ranks next;
in truth, after this battle, France never again ventured to meet
Marlborough in the field.

At three o'clock in the morning of September 11, 1709, the
confederated troops (for Eugene, with his army, was still with
Marlborough) began to raise their batteries, under cover of a thick
fog, which lasted till half-past seven. When it cleared away, the
armies found themselves close together, each having a perfect view of
the other. Marshal Villars commanded the French army. He was adored by
his troops, who placed unbounded confidence in him; and as he now rode
along their ranks the air rang with "Long live the king!" "Long live
Marshal Villars!" The right wing was commanded by Marshal Boufflers.

A discharge of fifty pieces of cannon from the confederates was the
signal for battle, which commenced a little after eight. Each army had
between ninety and one hundred thousand men, and the battle raged for
some time with unexampled bravery. All the duties of a skilful general
were performed by Marlborough; and late in the day the French army
left the field in the possession of the allies, both armies having
fought with almost incredible valor. The loss of the French was
fourteen thousand men; the allies, though victory was on their side,
lost nearly twenty thousand.

An officer of distinction in the French army, writing an account of
this battle said: "The Eugenes and Marlboroughs ought to be well
satisfied with us during that day; since, till then, they had not met
with resistance worthy of them. They may say, with justice, that
nothing can stand before them; for what shall be able to stem the
rapid course of these two heroes, if an army of one hundred thousand
of our best troops--posted between two roads, trebly entrenched, and
performing their duty as well as brave men could do--were not able to
stop them one day? Will you not, then, own with me, that they surpass
all the heroes of former ages?"

With his usual humanity, Marlborough's first care, at the close of the
action, was the relief of the wounded. Three thousand Frenchmen who lay
on the field shared his attention, with the wounded of his own army; and
he immediately arranged means for conveying them away. Still, next
morning--the day set apart for burying the slain--notwithstanding his
care, when riding over the field he saw among the heaps which covered
the plain, not only the numerous bodies of the slain, but of the dying
also. Nor did he feel only for the sufferings of his companions in arms;
the groans of wounded enemies, and the sight of their mangled limbs,
equally awakened his compassion. Learning also, that many French
officers and soldiers had crept into the neighboring houses and woods,
wounded, and in a miserable condition for want of assistance, he ordered
them every possible relief, and despatched a messenger with a letter to
the French marshal, humanely proposing; a conference to arrange the
means of removing these wretched sufferers. By this humanity the larger
portion of not fewer than thirty thousand men, to whose sufferings death
would soon have put an end, were saved. The officers gave their word
that they would not serve against the allies till they were regularly
exchanged; and the common soldiers were to be considered as prisoners of
war, for whom an equal number of allied troops were to be returned.

Many, many battles, too numerous to mention, were gained by this great
commander. When he came back to England, at the peace, he for some
time distinguished himself as an able statesman; but incurring the
displeasure of the queen, and that of the party then in power, he
found his situation so painful, that he determined to leave the
country till the course of events should again run in his favor. He
left Dover without any honors, as a private passenger, in a
packet-boat; but on its arriving off Ostend, as soon as the
townspeople knew that the Duke of Marlborough was on board, they made
a salute of all the cannon toward the sea; and when the vessel entered
the harbor, they fired three rounds of all the artillery on the
ramparts. The people crowded round him, and shed tears at the
ingratitude of his nation. Some, full of astonishment at the sight of
him, said, "His looks, his air, his address, were full as conquering
as his sword." Even a Frenchman exclaimed, "Though the sight is worth
a million to my king, yet I believe he would not, at such a price,
have lost the service of so brave a man."

Marlborough remained at Aix-la-Chapelle till the death of the queen.
On August 1, 1714, the day George the First was proclaimed, the duke
and duchess landed at Dover. Marlborough's reception was truly a
contrast to his departure. Now the artillery thundered forth a
welcome; while thousands of spectators hailed the return of the
voluntary exile. Passing on to London, he was met at Southwark by a
large body of the burgesses, who escorted him into the city; and
thence, joined by many of the first merchants, the nobility, and
gentry, he proceeded to St. James's, amid the joyful acclamations of
the crowd, "Long live the king!" "Long live the Duke of Marlborough!"

Old age had now laid his withering hand on the duke. For nearly two
years he continued to enjoy the favor and confidence of the new king,
who, on one occasion, said, "Marlborough's retirement would give me as
much pain as if a dagger should be plunged in my bosom." But he soon
was obliged to retreat to Blenheim, where he spent six years of
declining life among his family and friends. At length, after a
violent attack of palsy, the disease from which he suffered, he lay
for several days expecting death. Early in the morning of June 15,
1722, he resigned his spirit, with Christian calmness, into the hands
of his Creator.

The duke was nearly seventy-three when he died. His remains were
interred with every honor in Westminster Abbey, but soon after were
taken up, and conveyed to the chapel at Blenheim, and laid in a
magnificent monument, which the duchess had erected for this honorable
purpose.




PRINCE EUGENE OF SAVOY

By G. P. R. JAMES

(1663-1736)

[Illustration: Prince Eugene. [TN]]


Prince Eugene, the most famed of Austrian generals, was the son of
Eugene Maurice of Savoy (by the mother's side Count of Soissons) and
of Olympia Mancini, niece of Cardinal Mazarin. His father intrigued,
and was banished from the court of France; and his mother also quitted
Paris not many years after, suspected of many vices of which she was
very probably innocent; and guilty of a thousand follies, which were
more strictly scrutinized than her crimes. Eugene was originally
destined for the Church, and, according to a scandalous custom, then
common in France as well as other Catholic countries, he obtained
several benefices while but a child, of which he was eager to divest
himself as soon as his mind was capable of discriminating between one
profession and another. He seems soon to have felt within himself that
ardent desire for military service, which is sometimes a caprice and
some times an inspiration; but Louis XIV., at whose court he still
remained, positively forbade his throwing off the clerical habit,
notwithstanding all the entreaties of the young abbé, and by so doing,
incurred the enmity of one who inherited from his mother no small
faculty of hatred.

At length, various circumstances with which he was in no degree
connected, brought about a change in the affairs of Europe that
afforded him an opportunity of escaping from the restraint placed upon
his inclinations, and of turning the genius they had despised against
those who had contemned him. France and Austria had long been either
secretly or openly at strife; but now the dilapidated state of the
German empire, after tedious and expensive wars, together with the
combination of external foes and internal insurrection, threatened the
nominal successor of the Roman Cæsars with utter destruction. The
Hungarians in revolt, joined with the Turkish forces which they had
called to their assistance, marched into Germany and laid siege to
Vienna. Louis XIV. had hitherto taken care to foment the spirit of
insurrection, and to aggravate the more pressing dangers of Germany;
but at this moment, to cover the encouragement he had held out
privately to the rebels, he permitted the nobility of his court to
volunteer in defence of Christendom, which the fall of Vienna would
have laid open to Infidels. A large body of young men set out
immediately for Austria, among whom Prince Eugene contrived to effect
his departure in secret. The famous, but unamiable minister Louvois,
when he heard of the young abbé's escape remarked with a sneer, "So
much the better, it will be long before he returns."

The speech was afterward repeated to Eugene, who replied, "I will
never return to France but as a conqueror;" and he kept his word, one
of the few instances in which history has been able to record that a
rash boast was afterward justified by talents and resolution.

On arriving at Vienna, Eugene cast away the gown forever, and his rank
instantly procured him a distinguished post near the person of the
Duke of Lorraine, then commanding the imperial forces.

Shortly after he had joined the army, John Sobieski, the valiant King
of Poland, advanced to the assistance of the emperor, and the Turks
were forced to raise the siege of the Austrian capital. In the
campaign that followed against the Infidels, Eugene distinguished
himself greatly, both by a sort of light unthinking courage, and by a
degree of skill and judgment, which seemed to show that the levity he
was somewhat too fond of displaying, though perhaps a confirmed habit
from his education in an idle and frivolous court, was no true type of
the mind within. It was the empty bubble dancing on the bosom of a
deep stream. This was felt by those who surrounded him; and promotion
succeeded with astonishing rapidity. Before the end of three months he
was in command of a regiment of horse.

Continual battles, sieges, and skirmishes, now inured Eugene to all
the hardships and all the dangers of war, and at the same time gave
him every opportunity of acquiring a thorough knowledge of his new
profession, and of obtaining higher and higher grades in the service.
In the course of a very few years he had been wounded more than once
severely; but at the same time he had aided in the taking of
Neuhausel, Vicegradt, Gran, and Buda; was the first who entered sword
in hand into the intrenched camp of the Turks at Hersan; and had
received a commission as Lieutenant-general in the Austrian service.
The storming of Belgrade was the next great event in which Eugene was
called to act; and here, in command of a body of reserve, he attacked
the walls, after the first parties had been repulsed, and succeeded in
forcing his way into the city. The regiments which had failed at first
now rallied; and the path being open, the Imperial forces poured in in
all directions, and Belgrade was taken after a most obstinate defence.

Victor Amadæus, Duke of Savoy, was shortly after this persuaded by his
cousin Eugene to embrace the interests of the house of Austria; and to
enter into the great alliance which had been formed for the purpose of
depressing France.

The vast power which Louis XIV. had acquired, and the evident
disposition he displayed to extend that power to the utmost, had armed
the fears of all the monarchs of Europe against him. At the same time,
the armies which had conquered for him were dispersed, and the
generals who had led them to victory had in most instances fallen into
the grave. Perhaps these considerations might lead the Duke of Savoy
to withdraw from an alliance which promised little support, and
eminent danger; but he had soon reason to repent of having done so.
Marshal Catinat, the best of Louis's living officers, was ordered to
act against him; the whole of Piedmont quickly fell into the hands of
the French; and on August 18th the duke was completely defeated by the
adverse general. Eugene, who was present, though wounded with a spent
ball, covered the retreat of the troops of Savoy; but the battle was
nevertheless completely lost, and influenced for long the fate of
Piedmont.

After various campaigns in Italy, where little was effected but a
diversion of the French forces from his scene of war in Germany and
the Netherlands, Eugene prevailed upon his cousin the Duke of Savoy,
to lead his troops into France and to draw the French army from Italy,
by carrying the war into their own country. The scheme was a bold one,
but it proved most successful, and Embrun, Quilestre, and Gap, having
fallen, the allied army, under Victor Amadæus and Eugene, advanced
rapidly into Dauphiny. Terror and consternation spread before them;
and in revenge for the devastation committed by the French in the
Palatinate, they now ravaged the whole of Dauphiny, burning the
villages and hamlets, and laying the cities under heavy contributions.
The heart of France was open to the invading army; but, fortunately
for that country, a severe illness put a stop to the proceedings of
Victor Amadæus. Returning to Turin in haste, he left his army to the
command of Prince Eugene; but the Italian generals contrived, by
hesitation in their obedience, and opposition to his wishes, to defeat
Eugene's best schemes, so that he was glad, by a rapid retreat, to
bring his army in safety to Savoy.

Eugene was now created Field-marshal; and received the order of the
Golden Fleece; but his gratification at these marks of approbation was
bitterly alloyed by a severe defeat which he suffered near Pignerol,
in company with his cousin the Duke of Savoy, who madly engaged the
French forces in a position where his own discomfiture was a certain
consequence.

Few movements of any import took place in Italy for some years after
this, in which Eugene was concerned. Victor Amadæus, partly from
caprice, partly from fear, withdrew from his alliance with Austria,
and, once more signed a treaty of neutrality with France. The Imperial
troops, unable singly to keep the field against the French, abandoned
Savoy; and Eugene, though his efforts had proved unsuccessful, was
received at Vienna with the highest distinction.

The emperor, probably judging rightly in this instance, that the
prince had failed from his energies being crippled by a divided power,
now gave him the sole command of the army opposed to the Turks in
Hungary.

Eugene immediately found himself menaced by the whole force of the
Turkish Empire; but after some masterly manoeuvres he saved the city
of Peterwaradin, on which the Ottoman forces were marching; and then,
though with very inferior power, approached the intrenchments of the
Grand Vizier, at Zeuta, with the intention of forcing him from his
camp. At the very moment, however, that the army had advanced too far
to retreat, a courier arrived, bearing the emperor's commands to
Eugene, on no account to risk a battle. Eugene's measures were already
taken; he put the letter in his pocket, attacked the Turks, defeated
them completely, left twenty thousand Mussulmen dead on the field, and
ten thousand drowned in the Danube; pursued his victory by burning
Serai and securing the frontier line of fortresses, and then returned
to Vienna in expectation of reward and honor.

The emperor received him coldly, and before the day was over he was
put under arrest for disobedience of orders. The clamor, however, of
the people, and some feeling of shame in the bosom of the proud, weak
Leopold, soon caused him to restore Eugene to his rank, and to send
him once more against the Turks. Success, however, did not follow the
prince through the succeeding campaign; and before the season brought
it naturally to a close, peace had been determined on between Austria
and the Porte.

Some time previous to the period of which we now speak, Louis XIV. had
endeavored to tempt Eugene back to his Court, by the offer of a
Marshal's rank in the French army, the government of Champagne, and a
considerable yearly pension. Eugene, who felt that, however flattering
to himself, the offer originated alone in the selfishness of an
ambitious monarch, refused it in terms sufficiently galling to the
proud King of France. Nevertheless, after the peace of Westphalia,
Villars, who was sent as ambassador to Vienna, is supposed to have
been again charged with a mission of the same nature to Eugene. The
fact, however, is not only doubtful, but very improbable, from the
character of all parties concerned. Eugene was not a man to leave
himself the possibility of changing; Louis was not a man meanly to
solicit where he had once been refused; and Villars was not a man to
undertake a mean commission, even for a king. It is probable that the
courtesy which the prince evinced toward Marshal de Villars from a
sense of his personal merit, at a time when the haughty Court of
Vienna was mean enough to treat even an ambassador with cold
disrespect, was the sole origin of the report. However that might be,
Eugene remained for a length of time at Vienna, filling up his
inactivity by trifling with many arts and many enjoyments, till at
length the War of the Succession, as it was called, breaking out, he
was appointed to the command of the army in Italy.

[Illustration: Prince Eugene and the Marshal de Villars.]

At length a general engagement took place at Luzara, at which Philip
of Spain was present. The forces of the French have been estimated at
forty thousand, those of the Imperial general did not much exceed
one-half that number. The battle was long and fierce; and night only
terminated the contest. Both parties of course claimed the victory.
The French sung a Te Deum, but retreated; the Imperial army retained
their ground.

Nevertheless, the fruits of victory were gathered by the French. Their
immense superiority of numbers gave them the power of overrunning the
whole country; and the Imperial court, either from indolence,
heedlessness, or intrigue, failed to take any step to support its arms
in Italy; so that all which Eugene had taken, sooner or later fell
into the enemy's hands, and he himself, disgusted with the neglect he
had met with, left his army under the command of another, and set out
to see whether he could not procure some reinforcement, or at least
some supply of money to pay or provide for his forces. At Vienna he
found good reason to suspect that Count Mansfield, the minister of
war, had by some means been gained to the interest of France. But, in
the meanwhile Eugene was appointed minister of war; and sometime
after, in this capacity, proceeded to confer with Marlborough on the
united interests of England and Austria.

This negotiation was most successful; and here seems to have been
concerted the scheme which Marlborough afterward so gloriously pursued
for carrying on the war against France on the side of Germany, and of
thus freeing the Empire. In a military point of view, also, Eugene's
efforts, though supported by no great army, and followed by no great
victory, were wise and successful. He foiled the Hungarian rebels in
their bold attack upon Vienna, checked them in their progress
everywhere, and laid the foundation of their after subjugation. Soon
after this, Eugene took the command of the Imperial army on the Rhine;
and after considerable manoeuvring singly, to prevent the junction of
the French army with that of the Duke of Bavaria, finding it
impossible, he effected his own junction with the Duke of Marlborough,
and shared in the glories of the field of Blenheim.

Eugene was here always in the thickest of the fight, yet never for a
moment forgot that he was called upon to act as a general rather than
a soldier. His operations were planned as clearly and commanded as
distinctly in the midst of the hottest conflict, as if no tumult had
raged around him, and no danger had been near to distract his
attention; yet his horse was killed under him in the early part of the
battle; and at one moment, a Bavarian dragoon was seen holding him by
the coat with one hand, while he levelled a pistol at his head with
the other. One of the Imperialists, however, coming up at the moment,
freed his general from this unpleasant situation; and Eugene
proceeded to issue his orders, without the least sign of discomposure.

The following year Eugene returned to Italy, and once more began the
war against Vendome. Notwithstanding all his skill and activity,
however, the superiority of the French numbers, and the distinguished
military genius of their chief, prevented Eugene from meeting with any
very brilliant success. He surprised various detachments, relieved
several towns, was successful in many skirmishes; but he failed in
drawing the French out of Savoy, and was totally repulsed in
endeavoring to pass the Adda.

In the attempt to do so, many men and several valuable officers were
lost on both sides. The battle was long and furious. Both Vendome and
Eugene displayed all their skill to foil each other; and perhaps so
bravely contested a field was as honorable to each as a great victory.
Neither, however, could fairly claim the battle as won; for though
Eugene failed in passing the river, the French were the greatest
sufferers in the contest, and they did not succeed in compelling the
Germans to fly, though they prevented them from advancing to join the
Duke of Savoy. Eugene, with his wonted reckless courage, exposed
himself more than even was necessary, and in the very commencement of
the engagement was wounded severely in the neck, notwithstanding which
he remained a considerable length of time on horseback, till a second
musket-ball, in the knee, forced him to absent himself for a time from
the field. These wounds probably decided the failure of his attempt;
but they did not prevent him from securing his army in good winter
quarters, and checking all active operations on the part of Vendome.

The next campaign was more successful. Vendome, after defeating a body
of Imperial troops at Calemato, was recalled, and the command of the
French forces given to the Duke of Orleans and the Maréchal de Marsin,
who with an army of eighty thousand men invested Turin, the last hold
of the Duke of Savoy.

Eugene immediately marched to form his junction with the duke; and no
longer opposed by the genius of Vendome, passed the Adige unattacked,
crossed the Tanaro, and the Po, joined his cousin near Carmagnola, and
advanced to the succor of Turin. The French were dispirited; and
uncertainty and divided councils pervaded their camp. On September
7th, the allied army, with less than half their numerical force,
attacked them in their intrenchment, forced their position in every
direction, and after one of the severest conflicts ever known,
completely defeated them, and raised the siege of Turin. The battle,
however, was at one time nearly lost to the allies by an accident
which befell Eugene. In rallying a body of Imperial cavalry, the
prince's horse received a ball in his chest, fell with the rider, and
threw him into a ditch, where, stunned with the fall, he lay for
several minutes among the dead and dying. The report spread through
the army that he was killed; a general alarm was the consequence; and
the infantry were beginning to give way, when, suddenly starting up,
Eugene commanded the nearest German regiment to fire upon the French
cavalry that were coming up to the charge. The effect was tremendous;
the French went to the right about; and, though they rallied again and
returned to the charge, the Imperial troops continued gradually to
force their way on, till their adversaries fled in confusion.

The consequence of this victory was the evacuation of the north of
Italy by the French. Eugene was now everywhere successful for some
time. He forced the passage of the Col de Tende, carried the French
intrenchments on the Var, and laid siege to Toulon. Here, however, he
failed; the defence was long and obstinate, reinforcements arrived at
the French city, and Eugene, together with the Duke of Savoy, agreed
to raise the siege once more, and retire into Piedmont.

Eugene was now again called to join Marlborough, in company with whom
he fought and conquered at Oudenarde, took Lille (where he was again
severely wounded), Ghent, Bruges, Tournay, and Mons; and forced the
French lines at Malplaquet, after a severe and long-protracted
struggle, in which two hundred thousand men were engaged, and nearly
sixty thousand fell.

If the victories of Blenheim and Oudenarde might more fairly be
attributed to Marlborough than to Eugene, the success at Malplaquet
was chiefly obtained by the prince, who had forced the intrenchments,
taken the wood of Sart, and turned the enemy's flank, before
Marlborough had made much progress against the other wing.

Eugene had strongly counselled the battle, though opposed by the
States of Holland, and had in a measure taken the responsibility upon
himself. On all occasions Eugene's impetuosity led him to expose his
person more than mere duty required, and now, having staked his fame
on the success of his attempt, he seems to have resolved not to
survive a defeat. In the very first attack he received a severe wound
behind the ear, which bled so profusely that all his staff pressed him
to retire for the purpose of having it dressed.

"If I am beaten," replied Eugene, "it will not be worth while; and if
we beat the enemy, I shall have plenty of time to spare for that."

After some short repose, we soon find Eugene once more acting against
the Turks in Hungary. No sooner was war determined, than Achmet III.
marched an immense force down to the frontiers of Hungary, to act
against Eugene, who had just taken the command of the German forces at
Peterwaradin. The Vizier Hali, commanding the Ottoman troops, full of
confidence in his own skill, and in his immense superiority of
numbers, advanced rapidly upon Eugene, and crossed the Save, which
formed the boundary of the two countries, determined to crush his
adversary by one great battle. Eugene was as desirous of such an event
as the vizier, and therefore the troops were soon engaged, almost
under the walls of Peterwaradin. The Turks fought bravely for many
hours, and the battle was long undecided; but at length, Eugene's
superior skill prevailed, and the enemy fled in every direction. The
Grand Vizier struggled to the last, with long and desperate bravery,
but after having received two severe wounds, he was borne away by the
fugitives to Carlowitz, where he died the next day, muttering to the
last imprecations against the Christians.

After the death of Hali from the wounds he had received at
Peterwaradin, the command of the Turkish army was given to the Pacha
of Belgrade, one of the most skilled officers in the Ottoman service.
But Eugene was destined to destroy the Turkish power in Hungary. The
campaign of the next year commenced with the siege of the
often-captured Belgrade; and it was soon completely invested and
reduced to sore distress. The Porte, however, was not unmindful of its
preservation; and, in the beginning of August, the pacha appeared on
the mountains surrounding the town, with an army of near two hundred
thousand men. Thus shut up between a strong fortress and an immense
army, with the dysentery in his camp, and his forces enfeebled by long
and severe labors, Eugene's situation was as difficult as it is
possible to conceive. Notwithstanding every disadvantage, his usual
bold course of action was pursued in the present instance, and met
with that success which is almost always sure to attend the
combination of daring and skill. After a short delay, to enable
himself to employ all his energies (having been himself greatly
debilitated by the camp fever), he attacked the Turkish army in their
intrenchments, and at the end of a very short but severe struggle,
succeeded in defeating a force more than three times the number of his
own.

Belgrade surrendered immediately; and the next year, without any great
military event, put an end to the war.

After the conclusion of peace, Eugene, who had been appointed governor
of the Austrian Netherlands, resigned that office, which he had never
personally filled, and was appointed vicar-general for the emperor in
his Italian dominions.

For many years after this Eugene spent his days in peace and
tranquillity, endeavoring to raise up a spirit of commerce among the
Germans, and to improve the finances of his sovereign, by whom he was
appreciated and loved. His greatest efforts were in favor of Trieste,
which he changed from a petty town to a great commercial city, and
which remains to the present day the best and the noblest fruit of all
his talents and all his exertions.

At first, everything promised that the old age of Eugene would have
passed in peace, uninterrupted by any warlike movements; but he was
once more called from his calmer occupations by the short war which
broke out with France in 1733.

Perhaps, in point of military skill, the two campaigns which followed
were the most brilliant of Eugene's life; but with only thirty
thousand men, opposed to a force of double that number, he could alone
act upon the defensive.

He did so, however, with more success than the scantiness of his
resources promised. He prevented the French from penetrating into
Swabia; and, though Philipsburg was taken notwithstanding all his
efforts, he contrived, by turning the course of the neighboring
rivers, to inundate the country on the German side of that city, and
to render its possession unprofitable to France.

Peace soon succeeded, and with these two campaigns ended Eugene's life
as a commander. He lived for some time after this, indeed, amusing
himself with the embellishments of his palace and gardens, and
employing a great many mechanics and laborers, during all seasons of
dearth or scarcity; but the battle-field never saw him more. His
health gradually and slowly declined, and on April 21, 1736, in the
seventy-fourth year of his age, he was found dead in his bed, after
having been slightly indisposed the night before.




GENERAL JAMES WOLFE

By L. DRAKE

(1726-1759)

[Illustration: James Wolfe. [TN]]


General Edward Wolfe, an officer who distinguished himself under the
Duke of Marlborough, was the father of James Wolfe, conqueror of
Quebec. He was the eldest son of the general, and was born at
Westerham, a small town in Kent, on November 6, 1726. As liberal an
education as could be acquired before the early age of fourteen, was
given to the future hero. He then went with his father to Flanders to
study the profession of an officer amid active warfare; and, thus
engaged, seven years soon passed. During this novitiate, he was not
without opportunities of distinguishing himself; his name was on
several occasions mentioned with honor; till at length, at the battle
of Laffeldt, his courage and skilful conduct attracted the notice of
his commander, the Duke of Cumberland, who, at the close of the day,
thanked him in the presence of the army; and from that time he was
marked out "as an officer of extraordinary merit and promise."

His merit, rather than any favor, brought Wolfe the rank of
lieutenant-colonel when he was barely twenty-two. The battalion he
commanded was soon distinguished by many and striking improvements in
discipline, so that its superiority at exercise, and in the order of
its quarters, gave sure proof of ability and temper in its young
commander. "The men," it is said, "adored while they profoundly
respected him; and his officers esteemed his approbation as much as
they dreaded his displeasure."

Canada, with a portion of New Brunswick, and also the islands of St.
John and Cape Breton, at the mouth of the St. Lawrence, were at this
time possessed by the French; while Nova Scotia and New Brunswick
belonged to the English. The latter also claimed the tract of land
called New England, lying (as will be seen on looking at a map of
North America) to the west of New Brunswick, and south of the river
St. Lawrence. The French, however, disputed their claim to this
country; and constant quarrels arose between the rival settlers about
their right to land, of which, in reality, the poor Indians were the
proprietors. In virtue of a grant of parliament in 1750, a large body
of English took possession of this "debatable ground;" but scarcely
had they done so, when a superior force of French and Indians attacked
them, and killing some, made prisoners of others, and drove the rest
back. Many vigorous but unsuccessful efforts were made on the part of
the colonists and their neighbors, during eighteen months, to regain
their territory. A body of troops was then sent from England under
General Braddock, but this attempt also failed; and, the struggle
having now assumed some importance, an army of not less than sixteen
thousand men, under Lord Loudon, renewed the contest of 1755 against
the army under the Marquis de Montcalm, a most able and enterprising
officer. His superiority as a commander had been shown in several
instances, till, the slur which was being cast on the reputation of
our country's arms having excited attention at home, Lord Loudon was
recalled, and the army then in America was intrusted to General
Abercrombie (not the celebrated Abercromby). At the same time a fresh
force was raised at home, which put to sea in February, 1757. Wolfe
accompanied this expedition as brigadier under Major-General Amherst.
Its object was to reduce Cape Breton, the possession of which island,
commanding as it does the grand entrance of the St. Lawrence, was felt
to be of the greatest importance.

The town of Louisburg stands upon a small tongue of land, and at this
period was carefully fortified, having heavy batteries toward the sea,
and a strong defence of regular works on its land sides. Its harbor,
which is considered the most magnificent in the world, was carefully
guarded by five ships of the line extending quite across the mouth.
Goat Island formed one extremity of the entrance, and Lighthouse Point
the other; both these were surmounted by strong redoubts, having the
largest cannon and mortars used in war; while a garrison of 3,000
soldiers, with 2,500 seamen to man the intrenchments, seemed to
present an insuperable obstacle to a successful descent.

Four miles westward of the town, however, there was a little creek,
called Freshwater Cove; and, after much deliberation, it was resolved
to attempt a landing at this point. The frigates and lighter vessels
accordingly moved thither as soon as the weather moderated, and
anchored there one evening, with the wind still boisterous, and the
surf running very high. Next morning, at daybreak, the first division
of the troops entered their boats, Wolfe at their head.

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.

[Illustration: General Wolfe landing at Louisburg.]

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)

[Illustration: Frederick the Great. [TN]]


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 Küstrin, 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
"Mémoires," "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 Fouqué,--"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.

[Illustration: Frederick and the Austrians after Leuthen.]

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)

[Illustration: Lord Clive. [TN]]


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 Cæsars,
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.




FRANÇOIS KELLERMANN, MARSHAL OF FRANCE

(1735-1820)

[Illustration: François Kellermann. [TN]]


François 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 Vioménil; 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.

[Illustration: The Marseillaise.]

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 Chambéry, 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 Léry.




MICHEL NEY, MARSHAL OF FRANCE[3]

By LOUISE CHANDLER MOULTON

(1769-1815)

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

[Illustration: Michel Ney. [TN]]


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 Masséna, 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 Lunéville 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 Innsprück, 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.

[Illustration: Marshal Ney returning the captured Colors.]

When Masséna 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. Masséna 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 Masséna 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 Masséna--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 Masséna 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 Blücher, 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 Auguié, 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 Maréchal 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 Besançon. 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 Cæsar 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
Fouché 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 Masséna, 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)

[Illustration: "The coronation of Joséphine". [TN]]


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
Château; 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 Vendémiaire (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 Joséphine 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.
Würmser 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.

In political matters during this time Napoleon was acting less as a
servant of the French Directory than as an independent ruler. He
entirely ignored the instructions he received from Paris, levying
contributions, entering into negotiations, and deposing princes at his
own will, and writing that he is not fighting "for those rascals of
lawyers."

[Illustration: Napoleon and the Sphinx.]

Napoleon returned to Paris on December 5, 1797. The Directory, fearing
his ambition, thought they could only keep him quiet by employing him,
and gave him command of the so-called Army of England. But he was bent
on the conquest of Egypt. He appears to have had something visionary
in his temperament, and to have dreamed of founding a mighty empire
from the stand-point of the East, the glow and glamour of which seem
always to have had a certain fascination for him. He therefore
employed the resources of the Army of England to prepare for an
expedition to Egypt, and the Directory yielded to his wishes, partly
no doubt, through the desire of getting him away from France. But
their aggressive policy was at the same time fast bringing on another
European war. The expedition sailed from Toulon on May 19, 1798,
captured Malta from the Knights of St. John by treachery, and,
escaping by great luck from the British fleet under Nelson, arrived at
Alexandria on June 30th. The army was disembarked in haste, for fear
lest Nelson should arrive, and on July 8th Napoleon marched on Cairo.
He defeated the Mamelukes at Chebreïss and the Pyramids, and entered
Cairo on July 24th. He then occupied himself with organizing the
government of Egypt, but his position was rendered very hazardous by
the destruction of the French fleet on August 1st by Nelson at the
battle of the Nile, and he saw that his dream of founding an empire in
the East could not be realized. He thought, however, that he might
create a revolution in Syria, by the aid of which he might overthrow
the Turkish power, and march in triumph back to Europe through Asia
Minor and Constantinople. He accordingly entered Syria in February,
1799, with 12,000 men, but was brought to a standstill before St. Jean
d'Acre. Failing to capture that fortress, supported as it was by the
British squadron under Sir Sidney Smith, in spite of the most
desperate efforts, he was obliged to return to Egypt. After his
return, Napoleon defeated a Turkish army which had landed at Aboukir,
but learning the reverses that had been suffered by the French arms in
Europe, he resolved to leave Egypt and return to France. He embarked
secretly on August 22d, leaving a letter placing Kléber in command of
the Army of Egypt, and landed in France six weeks later.

He found matters at home in great confusion. The wars had been
mismanaged, Italy was almost lost, and the government, in consequence,
was in very bad odor. The revolution of the 18th Brumaire followed
(November 9, 1799), when the legislature was forcibly closed, and a
provisional executive of three consuls, Siéyès, Roger-Duclos, and
Bonaparte, formed to draw up a new constitution. This was promulgated
on December 13th; the executive was vested in three consuls,
Bonaparte, Cambacérès, and Lebrun, of whom Bonaparte was nominated
First Consul for ten years. He was practically paramount, the two
remaining consuls being ciphers, and the other institutions being so
organized as to concentrate power in the executive. Siéyès became
president of the Senate. The governmental crisis being settled,
energetic steps were taken with regard to the civil war in the west. A
proclamation was issued promising religious toleration at the same
time that decided military action was taken, and these measures were
so successful that all was quiet at home by the end of February, 1800.
Then Napoleon turned his attention abroad. He made overtures for peace
to England and Austria, now the only belligerents, as he wished to
lull suspicion by posing as the friend of peace, not as a military
ruler; but he inwardly rejoiced when they rejected his overtures.

The situation of the belligerents on the Continent was this: the Army
of the Rhine under Moreau, more than one hundred thousand strong, was
distributed along the Rhine from the Lake of Constance to Alsace,
opposed to Kray, whose head-quarters were at Donaueschingen in Baden;
while Masséna, with the Army of Italy, was on the Riviera and at
Genoa, opposed to an Austrian army under Melas. Napoleon intended to
gain himself the chief glory of the campaign; so, giving Moreau orders
to cross the Rhine, but not to advance beyond a certain limit, and
leaving Masséna to make head as best he could against Melas, with the
result that he was besieged in Genoa and reduced to the last
extremity, he prepared secretly an army of reserve near the Swiss
frontier, to the command of which Berthier was ostensibly appointed.
Outside, and even inside France, this army of reserve was looked upon
as a chimera. Moreau crossed the Rhine on April 24th, and drove Kray
to Ulm, but was there checked by Napoleon's instructions, according to
which he also sent a division to co-operate with the army of reserve.
Napoleon himself went to Geneva on May 9th, and assuming command of
this army crossed the St. Bernard, and reached the plains of Italy
before Melas had convinced himself of the existence even of the army
of reserve, and while his troops were scattered from Genoa to the Var.
Napoleon's obvious course would now have been to move straight on
Genoa, relieve Masséna, and beat in detail as many of Melas's troops
as he could encounter. But this would not have been a sufficiently
brilliant triumph, as the bulk of the Austrian army might have
escaped; and trusting in his star, he resolved to stake the existence
of his army on a gambler's cast. Leaving Masséna to be starved out, he
moved to the left on Milan, and occupied the whole line of the Ticino
and Po as far as Piacenza, so as to cut off entirely the retreat of
the Austrians. He then crossed the Po, and concentrated as many troops
as he could spare at Stradella. The strategy was brilliant, but the
risk run excessive. His army was necessarily scattered, while Melas
had had time to concentrate, and he was besides ignorant of the
Austrian position. He sent Desaix with a column to seek information,
and moved himself on Alessandria, where he found Melas. Next day, June
14th, Melas marched out to attack the French on the plains of Marengo,
and despite all Napoleon's efforts, had actually defeated them, when
fortunately, Desaix returned, and his advance, together with a cavalry
charge by Kellermann, changed defeat into victory. Melas, losing his
head, signed a convention next day, giving up almost all North Italy,
though Marmont says that if he had fought another battle he must have
won it. Napoleon returned to Paris with the glories of this
astonishing campaign; but peace did not follow till Moreau, when his
liberty of action was restored to him, had won the battle of
Hohenlinden on December 3, 1800. Then followed the treaty of Lunéville
with Germany, in February, 1801, the concordat with Rome, in July,
1801, and the treaty of Amiens with England, in March, 1802, so that
Napoleon was able to figure as the restorer of peace to the world. He
then devoted himself to the reconstruction of the civil institutions
of France, employing in this great work the best talent that he could
find, and impressing on their labors the stamp of his own genius. The
institutions then created, which still remain for the most part, were
the restored Church, the judicial system, the codes, the system of
local government, the University, the Bank of France, and the Legion
of Honor.

France at this period, sick of the failure of republican government,
was gradually veering toward monarchy, and Napoleon knew how to take
advantage of events to strengthen his position, and in due time
establish his own dynasty.

Preparations for the invasion of England had been steadily proceeding,
but Napoleon's aggressive demeanor after becoming emperor alarmed the
European cabinets, so that Pitt was able to revive the coalition, and
in 1805 Napoleon found himself at war with Russia and Austria, as well
as with England. Forced by England's naval supremacy to abandon the
notion of invasion, he suddenly changed front in August, 1805, and led
his armies through Hanover and the smaller German states, disregarding
the neutrality even of Prussia herself, and reached the Danube in rear
of the Austrian army under Mack, which was at Ulm. The surprise was
complete; Mack surrendered October 19th, and Napoleon then marched on
Vienna, which he entered November 13th. But his position was critical.
The Archduke Charles was approaching from Hungary, a Russian army was
entering Moravia, and Prussia, incensed at the violation of her
territory, joined the coalition. A short delay would have surrounded
Napoleon with his enemies, but the czar was impatient, and the Russian
army, with a small contingent of Austrians, encountered Napoleon at
Austerlitz, December 2, 1805, and was signally defeated. This caused
the break-up of the coalition; the Holy Roman Empire came to an end,
the Confederation of the Rhine was formed under French protection, and
the Napoleonic empire was firmly established. Napoleon then entered
into negotiations for peace with Russia and England, endeavoring to
conciliate those powers at the expense of Prussia. The negotiations
failed, but Prussia was mortally offended, and mobilized her army in
August, 1806, about which time Russia finally rejected the treaty with
France. Napoleon acted with his usual promptitude, and advanced
against Prussia before she could get help either from England or
Russia. Although the rank and file of the Prussian armies was good,
their generals were antiquated, and Napoleon crushed them at Jena and
Auerstadt, October 14th, and entered Berlin on the 27th. He had then
to carry on a stubbornly contested campaign with Russia. An indecisive
battle at Eylau was followed by a hardly earned French victory at
Friedland, June 14, 1807, and the peace of Tilsit ensued, by which
Prussia lost half her territory, and had to submit to various
humiliating conditions, while Russia escaped easily, and indeed got a
share of the spoils.

Napoleon was now at the zenith of his power; he was the arbiter of
Europe and the paramount head of a confederation of princes, among
whom the members of his own family occupied several thrones. To reward
his partisans he at this time created a new noblesse, and lavished
upon them the public money. He sent an army under Junot to Portugal,
and another to Spain, which, under Murat, took Madrid. Napoleon then
procured the abdication of the King of Spain and placed his brother
Joseph on the vacant throne. But he did not foresee the consequences.
The spirit of the nation was roused, and a formidable insurrection
broke out, while a British army, under Sir Arthur Wellesley, landed in
Portugal, defeated Junot at Vimiera, and forced him to sign the
Convention of Cintra, evacuating Portugal. So began the Peninsular
War, which for the future was to paralyze half Napoleon's strength.

In Germany also a spirit of revolt against his tyranny was rising,
Austria at first taking the lead, and this brought on the war of 1809
against that power. Prussia, already beginning to recover her strength
under the military system of Scharnhorst and Stein, was hostile to
Napoleon in sentiment, but was kept down by the pressure of Russia.
Napoleon declared war on the pretext that Austria was arming, and
marching through Bavaria drove the Austrians out of Ratisbon, and
entered Vienna May 13th. Eugene Beauharnais, at the head of the Army
of Italy, drove the Austrians before him into Hungary, defeated them
at Raab, and joined Napoleon. The emperor then tried to cross the
Danube, but was checked at Aspern and obliged to retire to the island
of Lobau. Five weeks of preparation then followed, the peasant war
under Hofer being carried on in Tyrol, and then Napoleon made a fresh
and successful attempt to cross the Danube, and won the battle of
Wagram July 5th. This was followed by the armistice of Znaim and the
treaty of Schönbrunn, October 20, 1809, by which he obtained a heavy
indemnity in money and considerable accession of territory in
Carniola, Carinthia, Croatia, and Galicia. But he mortally offended
the czar by giving a large portion of the ceded territory of Galicia
to the Duchy of Warsaw--i.e., to Poland.

On December 16, 1809, Napoleon, desirous of an heir, divorced
Joséphine, who was childless, and married, April 1, 1810, the
Archduchess Maria Louisa of Austria. He had no doubt the wish also to
get a footing in the circle of the legitimate reigning families of
Europe. A son, to whom the title of King of Rome was given, was born
March 20, 1811.

Still bent on the humiliation of England, Napoleon now tried to effect
his purpose by increasing the stringency of the Continental System,
but this ended in bringing him into conflict with Russia. He first
annexed the kingdoms of Holland and Westphalia, to give him command of
their seaboards, and then prohibited English trade even when carried
in neutral bottoms. The czar, already estranged by Napoleon's alliance
with Austria and his conduct as regards Poland, refused to adopt this
policy, and the relations between them gradually became so strained
that war was inevitable, and Napoleon took the momentous resolve to
invade Russia. With Maria Louisa, he arrived at Dresden May 16, 1812,
and was there greeted by the Emperor of Austria, the King of Prussia,
and other sovereigns. His army for this gigantic enterprise numbered
about six hundred thousand, including French, Germans, and Italians.
He crossed the Niemen on June 24th, reaching Vilna, which was
evacuated by the Russians, on the 28th; and remained at Vilna till
July 16th, hesitating to take the final resolution to invade the heart
of Russia. He made overtures for peace to the czar, who refused to
treat as long as an enemy remained on Russian soil. Foiled here
Napoleon at last decided to go on with his enterprise; so he
advanced, and at first the Russians were in no condition to meet him,
their forces being scattered. If Napoleon could have advanced rapidly
to Smolensk, he might have cut the Russian forces in two, but his vast
host appears to have been unmanageable. Barclay de Tolly and Bagration
succeeded in uniting at Smolensk, but were driven from it on August
18th, after an obstinate defence. At Smolensk Napoleon again hesitated
as to whether he should go into winter-quarters, but eventually
decided to press on to Moscow, trusting to the moral effect of the
fall of the ancient capital. It seems as if, while his superstitious
belief in his star still remained, bodily ailments had caused a
deterioration in his power of rapid decision and in his energy of
action. Meanwhile, great discontent had been caused in Russia by the
continued retreat of the armies. Kutusoff was appointed to the chief
command, and stood to fight at Borodino on September 6th. Napoleon won
the battle, but with unwonted and misplaced caution refused to engage
his Guard, and the victory was almost fruitless.

He entered Moscow on September 14th, and fire broke out the next
night, the first effect of which was still further to alarm the
Russians, who believed it to be the work of the French. The fire raged
fiercely till the 20th, and a great part of the city was burned to the
ground. Had the victory of Borodino been more decisive the czar might
now have yielded; but as it was he listened to the advice of Stein and
Sir R. Wilson and refused to treat, thus putting Napoleon in a
dilemma. His plans were always made on the basis of immediate success,
and the course to be adopted in case of failure was not considered.
Again he hesitated, with the result that when at last he resolved to
retire from Moscow, the winter, coming earlier than usual, upset his
calculations, and the miseries of that terrible retreat followed. He
left Moscow on October 18th, and, reaching the Beresina with but
12,000 men, was joined there by Oudinot and Victor, who had been
holding the line of the Dwina, with 18,000. His passage of the river
was opposed, but he succeeded in crossing, and on December 6th the
miserable remnant of the Grand Army reached Vilna. Macdonald, Reynier,
and Schwarzenberg, with 100,000 men, on the Polish frontier and in the
Baltic provinces, were safe; but this was the whole available remnant
of the 600,000 with which the campaign commenced.

All Europe now united against him. The French armies were discouraged,
and the allies enthusiastic; but the latter had difficulties to
contend with from their heterogeneous composition and diversity of
interests. The campaign opened with varying fortune. A blow at Berlin
was parried by Bülow at Gross Beeren on August 23d. Napoleon himself
forced Blücher back to the Katzbach, but had to retire again to defend
Dresden from the Austrians; and his lieutenant, Macdonald, was
defeated in the battle of the Katzbach on August 26th. Napoleon
inflicted a crushing defeat on the Austrians before Dresden on the
27th, but, while preparing to cut off their retreat, was disturbed by
the news of Gross-Beeren and the Katzbach and by sudden illness, and
at Kulm lost Vandamme with 20,000 men. September was spent in
fruitless marches, and toward the end of the month the allies began
their converging march on their preconcerted rendezvous at Leipsic. At
the same time the Confederation of the Rhine began to dissolve. The
kingdom of Westphalia was upset on October 1st, and on the 8th
Bavaria joined Austria. The toils were closing round Napoleon, and
between October 14th and 19th he was crushed in that battle of the
Titans at Leipsic, and, brushing aside the Bavarians, who tried to
stop him at Haynau, on November 1st, led back the remnant of his army,
some 70,000 strong, across the Rhine at Mainz.

The allies now made overtures for peace on the basis of natural
frontiers, which would have left France the fruits of the first
Revolution, viz., Belgium, the left bank of the Rhine, Savoy, and
Nice; but Napoleon could not be content with such curtailment of his
power. Evading at first the proposal, he would have accepted it, but
with suspicious qualifications, when too late. The invasion of France
followed. The allies issued a manifesto on December 1st, saying they
were waging war against Napoleon alone, and advanced with three
separate armies. Schwarzenberg led the Austrians through Switzerland,
Blücher crossed the Middle Rhine toward Nancy, while the northern army
passed through Holland. Napoleon had yet hopes of success on account
of the forces he still had in the German fortresses, the mutual
jealousies of the allies, his connection with the Emperor of Austria,
and the patriotism which would be aroused in France by invasion. But
the allies gave him no time to utilize these influences, and Paris was
not fortified. Napoleon carried on a campaign full of genius, gaining
what advantage he could from the separation of his enemies. He
attacked Blücher and won four battles in four days at Champaubert
(February 10, 1814), Montmirail (11th), Château-Thierry (12th), and
Vauchamps (13th). These successes would have enabled him to make a
reasonable peace, but his personal position forbade this, and he tried
subterfuge and delay. The allies, however, were not to be trifled
with, and in the beginning of March signed the treaty of Chaumont,
which bound them each to keep 150,000 men on foot for twenty years.
The battles of Craonne and Laon followed, in which Napoleon held his
own, but saw his resources dwindle. On March 18th the conferences at
Chatillon came to an end, and on the 24th the allies determined to
march on Paris. Marmont and Mortier, with less than thirty thousand
men, could make no head against them, while Napoleon himself tried a
fruitless diversion against their communications. Joseph Bonaparte
withdrew Maria Louisa and the King of Rome to Tours. On March 30th the
allies attacked Paris on three sides, and in the afternoon the French
marshals offered to capitulate. Napoleon, when he learned the real
state of affairs, hurried up in rear of the allies, but was too late,
and had to fall back to Fontainebleau. His position was desperate, and
to add to his difficulties Wellington, whose career of success had
gradually cleared the French out of the Peninsula, had now led his
victorious army across the Pyrenees into France itself.

Napoleon therefore at first offered to abdicate in favor of his son,
but, when he found that would not be sufficient, he signed an
unconditional abdication on April 11, 1814. He was given the
sovereignty of the island of Elba, and the Bourbons, in the person of
Louis XVIII., were restored to the throne of France. But the condition
of affairs was very precarious. The return of the Bourbons was most
unpopular. It indeed restored the parliament, but it unsettled the
position of public men and the title to estates. The army was
disgusted at the appointment to commands of emigrés who had fought
against France. The Church began to cause alarm to the holders of
national property; and by the release of prisoners and the return of
the garrisons of German fortresses, very large numbers of Napoleonic
soldiers became dispersed over France. The coalition, too, broke up,
and fresh alliances began to be sought with a view to check the
aggressive spirit which Russia seemed inclined to manifest. Altogether
affairs in Europe and France were in such a state as to make it not
impossible that the magic of Napoleon's name might replace him in
power. He accordingly resolved on making the attempt, left Elba on
February 26, 1815, and landed on the French coast on March 1st. On the
20th he entered Paris, having been joined by the army.

Europe had declared war against him, and a new coalition had been
formed, but only two armies were immediately ready to take the field;
a mixed force under the Duke of Wellington in Belgium, and a Prussian
army under Blücher in the Rhine provinces. The English army had its
base on the sea, and the Prussian on the Rhine, so that they had
diverging lines of operation. Napoleon's idea was to strike suddenly
at their point of junction before they could concentrate, push in
between them, drive them apart, and then defeat each separately. The
plan was unexceptionable, resembling that of his first campaign in
1796, and the opening moves were successfully carried out. Napoleon
left Paris on June 12th, his army being then echeloned between Paris
and the Belgian frontier, so that the point where the blow would fall
was still doubtful. On the 15th he occupied Charleroi, and was between
the two allied armies, and on the 16th he defeated Blücher at Ligny
before Wellington could come to his assistance. So far all had gone
well with him; but now, apparently, his energy was not sufficient to
cope rapidly with the difficulties that no doubt beset him through the
shortcomings of his staff, and the spirit of mutual distrust that
reigned among his officers. He did nothing till the morning of the
17th, and it was not till 2 P.M. that he sent Grouchy with 33,000 men
to follow the Prussians in the supposed direction of their retreat
toward Liége, and keep them at a distance while he turned against
Wellington. But he had lost his opportunity; the wasted hours had
enabled the Prussians to disappear, and he did not know the fact that
Blücher had taken the resolution to move on Wavre, giving up his own
communications in order to reunite with Wellington. The latter had
retired to a previously chosen position at Mont St. Jean, and received
Blücher's promise to lead his army to his assistance. So on the 18th,
when Napoleon attacked the duke, unknown to him the bulk of the
Prussian army was hastening up on his right flank, while Grouchy was
fruitlessly engaged with the Prussian rear-guard only. This led to the
crowning defeat of Waterloo, where Napoleon's fortunes were finally
wrecked. He fled to Paris, and abdicated for the last time on June
22d; and, finding it impossible to escape from France, he surrendered
to Captain Maitland, of the Bellerophon, at Rochefort, on July 15th.
He was banished by the British Government to St. Helena, where he
arrived on October 15, 1815, and died there of cancer of the stomach
on May 5, 1821.




ARTHUR, DUKE OF WELLINGTON

By L. DRAKE

(1769-1852)

[Illustration: Duke of Wellington. [TN]]


Arthur Wellesley, the fourth son of the Earl of Mornington, was born
on May 1, 1769, at Dungan Castle, in Ireland. Although exhibiting no
decided inclination for the profession of arms, a soldier's career was
chosen for him at an early age; and after some preparatory years spent
at Eton, he was sent to Angers, in France, to learn in its ancient
military school those lessons in the art of war which he was destined
in after-life again and again so gloriously to surpass.

Unlike his contemporary Napoleon, the genius of Wellington did not
display itself beyond enabling him to attain a fair and creditable
proficiency at Angers. On his return to England he was gazetted to an
ensigncy early in 1787; and five years later, having passed through
the intermediate degrees, he obtained a troop in the Eighteenth Light
Dragoons.

His first appearance in public life was as a statesman, having been
returned to the Irish Parliament for the borough of Trim. His military
career of active service commenced by his being ordered, with his
regiment, to join the army in the Netherlands. Ere he reached it, the
tide of victory was running against the British arms; and his opening
campaign, while it gave him much experience, brought him but little
glory. He had now obtained the rank of colonel; and, as commander of
the rear-guard of the army, he steadily covered its retreat before the
advancing troops of the French republic, till they crossed the
frontiers of the Low Countries; when, after a kindly welcome and a
short stay with the Bremeners, they returned home.

The worn-out regiments were immediately recruited; and in April, 1796,
Colonel Wellesley sailed with his corps for the East Indies, where he
arrived in February the following year.

The fall of Seringapatam, and the death of Tippou-Saib in its defence,
are well-known events.

The principal command of the army in India was soon intrusted to
Colonel Wellesley, and early next year he was gazetted major-general.
The nature of this sketch will not admit of a detailed account of the
rest of the campaign, although it proved a "short but brilliant
one"--one which ended in the entire submission of the Mahratta
potentates who continued the struggle after Tippou's fall, and
completely established the reputation of the future hero of Waterloo.

A staff command awaited Major-General (and now Sir Arthur) Wellesley's
return to England; and soon afterward he married Catherine, the third
daughter of the Earl of Longford.

The command of a detachment of the army sent against the French in
Spain and Portugal, was confided to Sir Arthur, in June, 1808, when
without delay he proceeded to Corunna. The successes of the earlier
portion of the campaign, owing to the admirable conduct of Sir Arthur,
were so well appreciated at home that the king raised him to the
peerage. Through many difficulties Lord Wellington still continued to
lead the allied army on from victory to victory, to relate which, even
briefly, would alone fill a volume, till he found himself ready for
the last grand struggle at Ciudad Rodrigo, which was now occupied by
the French. It was early in January, 1811, yet notwithstanding the
coldness of the weather, and the dangers to which the army was
exposed, in case of the sudden rising of the river Agueda, which runs
nearly in front of the town, the preliminaries of the siege were
successfully conducted. One afternoon, the breaching batteries,
comprising twenty-seven large guns, opened their fire on the wall of
the town. In five days the breaches were practicable, and a summons to
surrender was sent to the governor. This he declined doing.
Wellington, having personally examined the breaches, felt convinced
that an assault had every prospect of success. Ordering the fire of
the guns to be directed against the cannon on the ramparts, he sat
down on an embankment, and wrote the order of assault which was to
seal the doom of the town, beginning with the emphatic sentence--"The
attack upon Ciudad Rodrigo must be made this evening at seven
o'clock."

Spain and Portugal conferred honors on the conqueror of Rodrigo; and
at home he was raised to the earldom of Wellington, with an increased
annuity of £2,000 a year.

The French army, under Marshal Soult, had at length been compelled to
quit Spain, and with such speed, that in four days they passed over
ground which it took the allied armies seven days to traverse. During
the retreat the two armies approached each other several times; and on
one occasion, when the French army was crossing the plains of Ger, its
pursuers followed so closely, that had it not been for the thick woods
through which they had to pass, Soult's retreat would have been
seriously endangered by the British cavalry.

When Bonaparte had quitted Fontainebleau, and had embarked on board
the Undaunted frigate for Elba, Lord Wellington felt he might safely
leave the army for a time; and, setting out for Paris, he reached it
May 4th. He met with an enthusiastic reception from all classes; while
the unqualified praises of each of the allied sovereigns showed how
much the successful issue of the struggle to restore liberty to Europe
was due to his talents and constancy of purpose. The restored Spanish
king, Ferdinand, sent him a letter of gratitude; and the Crown Prince
of Sweden gave him the Order of the Sword. England at the same time
conferred upon him the dukedom he so long enjoyed, and raised five of
his lieutenants to peerages.

Once more the "loud shrill clarion" of war aroused Europe to arms. Ten
short months after his abdication, Napoleon, escaped from Elba, was
again in Paris, resolved to incur all risks in order to gain the
greatest prize in Europe--the crown he had so lately relinquished. The
magic influence of his name spread through France, which became one
vast camp; and in an incredibly short space of time Napoleon found
himself ready to take the field with an army of one hundred and fifty
thousand men, of whom twenty thousand were highly disciplined cavalry.
The whole army was perfectly equipped, while three hundred pieces of
cannon formed an overpowering artillery. To oppose this well-appointed
force, the Duke of Wellington and Marshal Blücher had collected an
army of one hundred and eighty thousand men. But although the allied
armies thus exceeded Napoleon's in numbers, his consisted of veteran
troops of one nation, while theirs were composed, for the most part,
of raw levies. That under the duke was "the weakest and the worst;" at
no time did it reach eighty thousand men, and on one-half of these
only could reliance be placed in the day of battle.

"I am going to have a brush with Wellington," said Napoleon, on the
evening of June 11, 1815; and next morning before daybreak he set out
to join his army on the frontiers, taking every precaution to conceal
from Wellington that he was coming. Napoleon's object was to separate
Blücher from Wellington, then to deal with each singly, and thus to
crush them forever. Then France, rejoicing to see glory once more
resting on her eagles, would again hail him as her emperor.

While at dinner, Wellington received the first news of the advance of
Napoleon. Thinking that this was merely a feint to draw the allies
toward Ligny, while a serious attempt was made upon Brussels,
Wellington, who had already prepared himself for any emergency,
determined to wait till Napoleon's object was more fully displayed;
while, therefore, he gave orders that the troops should be in
readiness to march at a moment's notice, he, with his officers, joined
in the festivities of a ball given that evening by the Duchess of
Richmond.

Blücher's second courier arrived before twelve o'clock, and the
despatches were delivered to the duke in the ball-room. While he was
reading them, he seemed completely absorbed by their contents; and
after he had finished, for some minutes he remained in the same
attitude of deep reflection, totally abstracted from every surrounding
object, while his countenance was expressive of fixed and intense
thought. He was heard to mutter to himself, "Marshal Blücher
thinks"--"It is Marshal Blücher's opinion;"--and after remaining thus
abstracted a few minutes, and having apparently formed his decision,
he gave his usual clear and concise orders to one of his staff
officers, who instantly left the room, and was again as gay and
animated as ever; he stayed to supper, and then went home.

[Illustration: A review of the British Army by Wellington.]

The trumpet's loud call awoke every sleeper in the city of Brussels a
little after midnight. Then it became known that the French had
advanced to Charleroi, which they had taken, and that the English
troops were ordered to advance and support the Prussians. Instantly
the place resounded with martial preparations; and as soldiers were
quartered in every house, the whole town became one bustling scene.

At daylight the troops were under arms, and at eight o'clock set out
for Quatre Bras, the expected scene of action in advance of Charleroi;
the fifth division taking the direct road through the forest of
Soignies.

Early in the afternoon, Marshal Ney attacked the Prince of Orange, and
by an overwhelming superiority of troops was driving him back through
a thick wood called "Le Bois de Bossen," when the leading columns of
the English reached Quatre Bras. Wellington's eye at once saw the
critical condition of his ally; and, though the troops had marched
twenty miles under a sultry sky, he knew their spirit was indomitable,
and gave the welcome order that the wood must be immediately regained.

On came Ney's infantry, doubling that of his opponents' in number,
supported by a crashing fire of artillery, quickly followed by the
cavalry, which, dashing through the rye crops, more than breast high,
charged the English regiments as soon as they reached the
battle-ground.

Yet, though unable properly to establish themselves, they formed
squares, and roughly repelled the enemy. Fierce and frequent were the
efforts of the French to break the squares. Showers of grape poured
upon them; and the moment an opening appeared, on rushed the lancers.
But the dead were quickly removed; and, though the squares were
lessened, they still presented an unbroken line of glittering
bayonets, which neither the spears of the lancers, nor the long swords
of the cuirassiers could break through. A division of the Guards from
Enghien, coming up at this crisis, gallantly charged the enemy, and in
half an hour cleared the wood of them completely. This exploit was
remarkable, achieved as it was by young soldiers after a toilsome
march of fifteen hours, during which time they had been without
anything to eat or drink. The fire of the French artillery, and the
charges of cavalry, obliged these gallant fellows, although now joined
by the Brunswickers, in some measure to keep the shelter of the wood.
They, however, sallied out at intervals, until Ney, finding himself
shaken, sent for his reserve. This force Napoleon had unexpectedly
removed to support his attack on the Prussians at Ligny; yet the
marshal maintained his position to the close of the day, when he fell
back on the road to Frasnes, while the British and their brave allies
lighted fires, and securing such provisions as they could, after a
scanty meal, piled arms, and lay down to rest on the battle-field.

Napoleon's simultaneous attack on the Prussians at Ligny was for a
long time doubtful. Both Blücher and Napoleon were compelled to bring
their reserves into action; and when night closed, Blücher still,
"like a wounded lion," fought with ferocity. But the darkness enabled
Napoleon to wheel a division of French infantry on the rear of the
Prussians, while a dense body of cuirassiers forced Ligny on the other
side, and not till then did Blücher fall back.

Wellington was prepared to accept battle at daybreak next morning;
but, hearing of Blücher's retreat, he also resolved to fall back, so
as to keep a lateral communication with the right wing of the
Prussians, and by this movement also prevent Bonaparte from placing
himself between the two armies, when at his choice he might turn his
forces against either, in which case the inferiority of numbers would
have entailed certain defeat.

Napoleon expected to find the English army still upon the ground it
had occupied on the 16th. Great was his surprise when, on reaching the
heights above Frasnes, he saw that the troops at the entrance of the
wood were only a strong rear-guard, and that the retreat toward
Brussels was already half effected. He bitterly rebuked Ney for his
supposed negligence, though Wellington's own officers did not imagine
they were to retreat till the moment it began; and the duke, by
dexterously wheeling his troops round the wood, part of which could
only be seen by the French, gave their marshal the idea that he was
bringing up large reinforcements instead of drawing off his troops.
The French squadrons immediately commenced the pursuit, but were so
rudely handled by the Life Guards under Lord Uxbridge, who protected
the rear, that, after several attacks, in the last of which the French
hussars were charged and nearly cut to pieces, the pursuit was so
severely checked as to give the infantry ample time to take up the
ground appointed them on the heights of Mont St. Jean, covering the
approach to Brussels by the great road from Charleroi.

"Here it was that the duke had determined to make his final stand,
staking the glory of many years on the issue of a single battle."

When day broke, and Napoleon beheld his opponents, whom he feared
would have escaped him during the night, fearlessly occupying their
position of the evening before, and evidently prepared to defend it, a
flush of joy overspread his face, while he exclaimed confidently,
"Bravo! I have them then--these English!"

By nine o'clock the weather moderated, the sun shone out, fires were
kindled, the men dried and cleaned their arms, and, ammunition being
served out, provisions were distributed, and the men breakfasted "with
some degree of comfort."

Since daybreak occasional shots had been fired; but not till eleven
o'clock did the battle begin. A body of light troops left the French
line, and, descending the hill at a sling trot, broke into scattered
parties, keeping up an irregular fire as they advanced toward the
Château of Hougoumont. These were closely followed by three divisions
nearly thirty thousand strong; and the dropping fire was soon changed
into one continued roll of musketry. As the English skirmishers fell
back, two brigades of British artillery opened on the advancing
columns of the French, each shot plunging and tearing through their
masses, while the shells from the howitzers fell so truly that the
shaken columns drew back. But now a powerful artillery opened from the
French heights, fresh troops poured forward, and for more than an hour
the line of each army remained spectators of the terrific attack on
the château, surrounded by a dense cloud of smoke, through which
glared forth the flashes of the artillery. The French guns had found
their range; every shot told upon the old walls of the mansion; and
crashing masonry, burning rafters falling, mingled with the yell of
battle, added a frightful interest to the scene. At length the Nassau
sharpshooters were driven back, and the French troops began to
penetrate the orchard; but, ere they could occupy it the squadrons of
English cavalry, under Lord Saltoun, bore down upon them, and drove
them back. Wheeling round, they then attempted the rear of the
château, but being received unflinchingly, were obliged to retire.
Despairing of success, the French artillery now discharged shells upon
Hougoumont; the tower and chapel were soon in a blaze, and in these
many wounded men met a dreadful fate. Still, though surrounded by
flames and bursting shells, with the heavy shot ploughing through wall
and window, the Guards held their post, nor could Hougoumont be taken.

"How beautifully these English fight! But they must give way,"
exclaimed Napoleon to Marshal Soult. But evening came, and yet they
held their ground. The men, maddened by seeing their comrades falling
around them, longed ardently for the moment to advance; but Wellington
felt that the crisis was not yet come. It required all his authority
to restrain the troops; but he knew their powers of endurance.

"Not yet, my brave fellows," said the duke; "be firm a little longer,
and you shall have at them by-and-by." This homely appeal kept each
man in his place in the ranks. But now the superior officers
remonstrated, and advised a retreat.

"Will the troops stand?" demanded Wellington.

"Till they perish!" was the reply.

"Then," added the duke, "I will stand with them to the last man."

Yet Wellington was not insensible of the critical nature of his
position, and longed for night or Blücher. It was now seven, and the
Prussians had been expected at three. In less than an hour, the sound
of artillery was heard in the expected direction, and a staff officer
brought word that the head of the Prussian column was at Planchenoit,
nearly in the rear of the French reserve. Bonaparte, when told of
their advance, maintained that it was Grouchy's long-expected force
coming up; but when he saw them issue from the wood, and perceived the
Prussian colors, he turned pale, but uttered not a word.

Napoleon's Imperial Guards--his veteran troops--were now advancing,
covered by a tempest of shot and shells, toward the ridge behind which
lay the British infantry to gain a shelter from the fire. Wellington
eagerly watched the dense cloud as it approached; and when it arrived
within a hundred yards, advancing on horseback to the brow of the
ridge, he exclaimed, "Up, Guards, and at them!"

In a moment the men were on their feet--the French closed on them,
when a tremendous volley drove the whole mass back; but the old
Imperial Guard recovered, yet only to receive a second volley as
deadly as the first, followed by a bold charge with the bayonet, which
forced them down the slope, and up the opposite bank. In vain the
French attempted to support them by taking the Guards in flank. Lord
Hill brought forward the extreme right of the army, in the form of a
crescent, which overlapping the horsemen, they were crushed as in a
serpent's folds, while the infantry fell back, re-formed, and occupied
their former place on the ridge.

Wellington's quick eye already detected the confusion caused by the
Prussian attack under General Bülow on the French rear. Hastily
closing his telescope, he exclaimed, "The hour is come! Now every man
must advance!"

Forming into one long line, four men deep, the whole infantry
advanced, with a loud cheer, the sun at the instant streaming out as
if to shed his last glories on the conquerors of that dreadful day.
Headed by the duke, with his hat in hand, the line advanced with
spirit and rapidity, while the horse-artillery opened a fire of
canister-shot on the confused masses.

For a few minutes they stood their ground gallantly; and, even when
the allied cavalry charged full upon them, four battalions of the Old
Guard formed squares, and checked its advance. As the grapeshot tore
through the ranks of the veterans, they closed up again, and, to every
summons to surrender, gave the stern reply, "The Guard never
surrender--they die!"

Napoleon had already fled. Finding all hope of victory gone, he at
first threw himself into one of the squares of the Old Guard,
determined to die with them, but when the Prussians gained on their
rear, and he was in danger of being made prisoner, he exclaimed, "For
the present it is finished. Let us save ourselves!" and, turning his
horse's head, he fled with ten or twelve of his immediate attendants.

It was now half-past nine at night, and the moon rose with more than
ordinary splendor. The French, now a mass of fugitives, were closely
pursued by both armies, and a fearful slaughter ensued between
Waterloo and Genappe. At the latter place the British discontinued the
pursuit; but the Prussians, comparatively fresh, pursued without
intermission; their light-horse putting no limit to their revenge.
Many of the poor fugitives sought shelter in the villages on their
route; but at the sound of a Prussian trumpet they fled again, only to
be overtaken and cut down.

Wellington re-crossed the field of Waterloo to sup at Brussels. The
moonlight revealed all the horrors of the scene--his stern nature gave
way--and, bursting into tears, he exclaimed, "I have never fought such
a battle, and I hope never to fight such another."

He never did. Waterloo was his last battle, though he lived for nearly
forty years afterward, a leader in English politics, and died in 1852,
a national hero, a worthy twin figure to the immortal Nelson.




LORD HORATIO NELSON

(1758-1805)

[Illustration: Lord Nelson. [TN]]


Horatio Nelson was born at Burnham Thorpe, in Norfolk, September 29,
1758. His father, the rector of that parish, was burdened with a
numerous family; and it is said to have been more with a view to
lighten that burden than from predilection for the service, that at
the age of twelve he expressed a wish to go to sea, under the care of
his uncle, Captain Suckling. Of his early adventures it is unnecessary
to speak in detail. In 1773 he served in Captain Phipps's voyage of
discovery in the Northern Polar seas. His next station was the East
Indies; from which, at the end of eighteen months, he was compelled to
return by a very severe and dangerous illness. In April, 1777, he
passed his examination, and was immediately commissioned as second
lieutenant of the Lowestoffe frigate, then fitting out for Jamaica.

Fortunate in conciliating the good-will and esteem of those with whom
he served, he passed rapidly through the lower ranks of his
profession, and was made post-captain, with the command of the
Hinchinbrook, of twenty-eight guns, June 11, 1779, when not yet of
age. In 1782 he was appointed to the Albemarle, twenty-eight; and in
1784 to the Boreas, twenty-eight, in which he served for three years
in the West Indies, and though in time of peace, gave signal proof of
his resolution and strict sense of duty, by being the first to insist
on the exclusion of the Americans from direct trade with the British
colonies, agreeably to the terms of the Navigation Act. He had no
small difficulties to contend with; for the planters and the colonial
authorities were united against him, and even the admiral on the
station coincided with their views, and gave orders that the Americans
should be allowed free access to the islands. Still Nelson persevered.
Transmitting a respectful remonstrance to the admiral, he seized four
of the American ships, and after a long and tedious process at law, in
which he incurred much anxiety and expense, he succeeded in procuring
their condemnation by the Admiralty Court. Neither his services in
this matter, nor his efforts to expose and remedy the peculations and
dishonesty of the government agents, in almost all matters connected
with naval affairs in the West Indies, were duly acknowledged by the
Government at home; and in moments of spleen when suffering under
inconveniences which a conscientious discharge of his duty had brought
on him, he talked of quitting the service of an ungrateful country. In
March, 1787, he married Mrs. Nisbet, a West-Indian lady, and in the
same year returned to England. He continued unemployed till January,
1793; when, on the breaking out of the French wars, he was appointed
to the Agamemnon, sixty-four, and ordered to serve in the
Mediterranean under the command of Lord Hood.

An ample field for action was now open to him. Lord Hood, who had
known him in the West Indies, and appreciated his merits, employed him
to co-operate with Paoli in delivering Corsica from its subjection to
France; and most laboriously and ably did he perform the duty
intrusted to him. The siege and capture of Bastia was entirely owing
to his efforts; and at the siege of Calvi, during which he lost an
eye, and throughout the train of successes which brought about the
temporary annexation of Corsica to the British crown, his services,
and those of the brave crew of the Agamemnon, were conspicuous. In
1795 Nelson was selected to co-operate with the Austrian and Sardinian
troops in opposing the progress of the French in the north of Italy.
The incapacity, if not dishonesty, and the bad success of those with
whom he had to act, rendered this service irksome and inglorious; and
his mortification was heightened when orders were sent out to withdraw
the fleet from the Mediterranean, and evacuate Corsica and Elba. These
reverses, however, were the prelude to a day of glory. On February 13,
1797, the British fleet, commanded by Sir John Jervis, fell in with
the Spanish fleet off Cape St. Vincent. In the battle which ensued,
Nelson, who had been raised to the rank of Commodore, and removed to
the Captain, seventy-four, bore a most distinguished part.
Apprehensive lest the enemy might be enabled to escape without
fighting, he did not hesitate to disobey signals, and executed a
manoeuvre which brought the Captain into close action at once with
three first-rates, an eighty, and two seventy-four gun ships. Captain
Trowbridge, in the Culloden, immediately came to his support, and they
maintained the contest for near an hour against this immense disparity
of force. One first-rate and one seventy-four dropped astern disabled;
but the Culloden was also crippled, and the Captain was fired on by
five ships of the line at once; when Captain Collingwood, in the
Excellent, came up and engaged the huge Santissima Trinidad, of one
hundred and thirty-six guns. By this time the Captain's rigging was
all shot away; and she lay unmanageable abreast of the eighty-gun
ship, the San Nicolas. Nelson seized the opportunity to board, and was
himself among the first to enter the Spanish ship. She struck after a
short struggle; and, sending for fresh men, he led the way from his
prize to board the San Josef, of one hundred and twelve guns,
exclaiming, "Westminster Abbey or victory." The ships immediately
surrendered. Nelson received the most lively and public thanks for his
services from the admiral, who was raised to the peerage by the title
of Earl St. Vincent. Nelson received the Order of the Bath; he had
already been made Rear-Admiral, before tidings of the battle reached
England.

During the spring, Sir Horatio Nelson commanded the inner squadron
employed in the blockade of Cadiz. He was afterward despatched on an
expedition against Teneriffe, which was defeated with considerable
loss to the assailants. The admiral himself lost his right arm, and
was obliged to return to England, where he languished more than four
months before the cure of his wound was completed. His services were
rewarded by a pension of £1,000. On this occasion he was required by
official forms to present a memorial of the services in which he had
been engaged; and as our brief account can convey no notion of the
constant activity of his early life, we quote the abstract of this
paper given by Mr. Southey. "It stated that he had been in four
actions with the fleets of the enemy, and in three actions with boats
employed in cutting out of harbor, in destroying vessels, and in
taking three towns; he had served on shore with the army four months,
and commanded the batteries at the sieges of Bastia and Calvi; he had
assisted at the capture of seven sail of the line, six frigates, four
corvettes, and eleven privateers; taken and destroyed near fifty sail
of merchant vessels, and actually been engaged against the enemy
upward of a hundred and twenty times; in which service he had lost his
right eye and right arm, and been severely wounded and bruised in his
body."

Early in 1798 Nelson went out in the Vanguard to rejoin Lord St.
Vincent off Cadiz. He was immediately despatched with a squadron, into
the Mediterranean, to watch an armament known to be fitting out at
Toulon, the destination of which excited much anxiety. It sailed May
20th, attacked and took Malta, and then proceeded, as Nelson supposed,
to Egypt. Strengthened by a powerful reinforcement, he made all sail
for Alexandria; but there no enemy had been seen or heard of. He
returned in haste along the north coast of the Mediterranean to
Sicily, refreshed the fleet, and again sailed to the eastward. On
nearing Alexandria the second time, August 1st, he had the pleasure of
seeing the object of his toilsome cruise moored in Aboukir Bay, in
line of battle. It appeared afterward that the two fleets must have
crossed each other on the night of June 22d.

The French fleet consisted of thirteen ships of the line and four
frigates; the British of the same number of ships of the line, and one
fifty-gun ship. In number of guns and men the French had a decided
superiority. It was evening before the British fleet came up. The
battle began at half-past six; night closed in at seven, and the
struggle was continued through the darkness--a magnificent and awful
spectacle to thousands who watched the engagement with eager anxiety.
Victory was not long doubtful. The first two ships of the French line
were dismasted in a quarter of an hour; the third, fourth, and fifth
were taken by half-past eight; about ten, the L'Orient, Admiral
Bruey's flag-ship, blew up. By daybreak the two rear ships, which had
not been engaged, cut their cables and stood out to sea, in company
with two frigates, leaving nine ships of the line in the hands of the
British, who were too much crippled to engage in pursuit. Two ships of
the line and two frigates were burnt or sunk. Three out of the four
ships which escaped were subsequently taken; and thus, of the whole
armament, only a single frigate returned to France.

This victory, the most complete and most important then known in naval
warfare, raised Nelson to the summit of glory, and presents and honors
were showered on him from all quarters. The gratitude of his country
was expressed, inadequately in comparison with the rewards bestowed on
others for less important services, by raising him to the peerage, by
the title of Baron Nelson of the Nile, with a pension of £2,000. The
Court of Naples, to which the battle of Aboukir was as a reprieve from
destruction, testified a due sense of its obligation by bestowing on
him the dukedom and domain of Bronte, in Sicily.

The autumn of 1798, the whole of 1799, and part of 1800, Nelson spent
in the Mediterranean, employed in the recovery of Malta, in protecting
Sicily, and in co-operating to expel the French from the Neapolitan
continental dominions. In 1800 various causes of discontent led him to
solicit leave to return to England, where he was received with the
enthusiasm due to his services.

Soon afterward he separated himself formally from Lady Nelson. In
March, 1801, he sailed as second in command of the expedition against
Copenhagen, led by Sir Hyde Parker. The dilatoriness with which it was
conducted increased the difficulties of this enterprise, and might
have caused it to fail, had not Nelson's energy and talent been at
hand to overcome the obstacles occasioned by this delay. The attack
was intrusted to him by Sir Hyde Parker, and executed April 2d, with
his usual promptitude and success. After a fierce engagement, with
great slaughter on both sides, the greater part of the Danish line of
defence was captured or silenced. Nelson then sent a flag of truce on
shore, and an armistice was concluded. He bore honorable testimony to
the gallantry of his opponents. "The French," he said, "fought
bravely, but they could not have supported for one hour the fight
which the Danes had supported for four." May 5th Sir Hyde Parker was
recalled, and Nelson appointed Commander-in-chief; but no further
hostilities occurred, and suffering greatly from the climate, he
almost immediately returned home. For this battle he was raised to the
rank of Viscount.

At this time much alarm prevailed with respect to the meditated
invasion of England; and the command of the coast from Orfordness to
Beachy Head was offered to him, and accepted. But he thought the alarm
idle; he felt the service to be irksome; and gladly retired from it at
the peace of Amiens. When war was renewed in 1803, he took the command
of the Mediterranean fleet. For more than a year he kept his station
off Toulon, eagerly watching for the French fleet. In January, 1805,
it put to sea, and escaped the observation of his lookout ships. He
made for Egypt, and failing to meet with them, returned to Malta,
where he found information that they had been dispersed in a gale, and
forced to put back to Toulon. Villeneuve put to sea again, March 31st,
formed a junction with the Spanish fleet in Cadiz, and sailed for the
West Indies. Thither Nelson followed him, after considerable delay for
want of information and from contrary winds; but the enemy still
eluded his pursuit, and he was obliged to retrace his anxious course
to Europe, without the longed-for meeting, and with no other
satisfaction than that of having frustrated by his diligence their
designs on the English colonies. June 20, 1805, he landed at
Gibraltar, that being the first time that he had set foot ashore
since June 16, 1803. After cruising in search of the enemy till the
middle of August, he was ordered to Portsmouth, where he learned that
an indecisive action had taken place between the combined fleets
returning from the West Indies, and the British under Sir Robert
Calder.

[Illustration: Nelson at Trafalgar.]

He had not been many days established at home before certain news
arrived that the French and Spanish fleets had entered Cadiz. Eager to
gain the reward of his long watchings, and laborious pursuit, he again
offered his services, which were gladly accepted. He embarked at
Portsmouth, September 14, 1805, on board the Victory, to take the
command of the fleet lying off Cadiz, under Admiral Collingwood, his
early friend and companion in the race of fame. The last battle in
which Nelson was engaged was fought off Cape Trafalgar, October 21,
1805. The enemy were superior in number of ships, and still more in
size and weight of metal. Nelson bore down on them in two lines,
heading one himself, while Collingwood, in the Royal Sovereign, led
the other, which first entered into action. "See," cried Nelson, as
the Royal Sovereign cut through the centre of the enemy's line, and
muzzle to muzzle engaged a three-decker, "see how that noble fellow
Collingwood carries his ships into action." Collingwood, on the other
hand, said to his captain, "Rotherham, what would Nelson give to be
here?" As the Victory approached an incessant raking fire was directed
against her, by which fifty of her men were killed and wounded before
a single gun was returned. Nelson steered for his old opponent at Cape
St. Vincent, the Santissima Trinidad, distinguished by her size, and
opened his fire at four minutes after twelve, engaging the Redoubtable
with his starboard, the Santissima Trinidad and Bucentaur with his
larboard guns.

About a quarter past one, a musket-ball, fired from the mizzen-top of
the Redoubtable, struck him on the left shoulder, and he fell. From
the first he felt the wound to be mortal. He suffered intense pain,
yet still preserved the liveliest interest in the fate of the action;
and the joy visible in his countenance as often as the hurrahs of the
crew announced that an enemy had struck, testified how near his heart,
even in the agonies of death, was the accomplishment of the great work
to which his life had been devoted. He lived to know that his victory
was complete and glorious, and expired tranquilly at half-past four.
His last words were, "Thank God, I have done my duty."

He had indeed done his duty, and completed his task; for thenceforth
no hostile fleet presumed to contest the dominion of the sea. It may
seem mournful that he did not survive to enjoy the thanks and honors
with which a grateful country would have rejoiced to recompense this
crowning triumph. But he had reached the pinnacle of fame; and his
death in the hour of victory has tended far more than a few years of
peaceful life, to keep alive his memory in the hearts of a people
which loved, and a navy which adored him.




ISRAEL PUTNAM

(1718-1790)

[Illustration: Men searching in rocks. [TN]]


Israel Putnam, the redoubtable hero of Indian and French adventure in
the old colonial wars, the survivor of many a revolutionary fight, was
born at Salem, Mass., January 7, 1718. His grandfather, from the south
of England, was one of the first settlers of the place. The boy was
brought up with his father on the farm. He had little education in
literature; much in the development of a hardy, vigorous constitution,
in his contest with the soil and the actual world about him. He was
fond of athletic exercises, an adept in running and wrestling, in
which he proved himself more than a match for his village companions.
The story is told of his being insulted for his rusticity, on his
first visit to Boston, by a youth of twice his size, when he taught
the citizen better manners by a sound flogging.

Before he was of age, he was married to the daughter of John Pope, of
Salem, and presently removed with his wife to a farm in the town of
Pomfret, in Eastern Connecticut. His rugged powers were, no doubt,
sufficiently taxed in the ordinary labors of the field. In those days
the farmer had enemies to encounter, which have since vanished from
the land.

The well-known fable of Æsop, of the boy and the wolf, had then a
literal application. Every child in the days of our fathers knew the
story of Putnam, and the she-wolf which he dragged from its den. This
and similar tales go far to make up the popular reputation of the
hero, and it was as a man of the people that Putnam first appears upon
the public scene.

On the breaking out of the old French war, as it was termed, at the
age of thirty-seven, he drew together a band of his neighbors and
reported himself with the Connecticut contingent before Crown Point.
He appears to have been employed in this service under Major Rogers,
the celebrated partisan "ranger," whose life he is said to have saved
in an encounter with a stalwart Frenchman. Putnam conducted himself as
a man of resources and valor in this mixed species of warfare, in
achieving a reputation which brought him, in 1757, the commission of a
major from the Connecticut Legislature. It was the year of the
memorable massacre of Fort William Henry. Putnam was with the forces
whose head-quarters were at the neighboring Fort Edward, under command
of General Webb, and made several vigorous attempts to assist in the
support of the beleaguered fortress, but his efforts were not seconded
by the commander, who ungenerously left the fort a prey to Montcalm
and the Indians. These adventures of Putnam displayed his personal
courage, in approaching the enemy on Lake George, and subsequently in
command of his Rangers in rescuing a party of his fellow-soldiers from
an Indian ambuscade at Fort Edward.

The year 1758 saw Major Putnam again in the field, under the command
of Abercrombie, at the scene of his former labors, in the vicinity of
Lake George. In the early movements of the campaign, Putnam
distinguished himself in an ambuscade, by a destructive night attack
upon a party of the enemy at Wood Creek. When the main line advanced
toward Ticonderoga, he was, with the lamented Lord Howe, in the front
of the centre, when that much-loved officer was slain upon the march.
It was the first meeting, after landing from Lake George, with the
advance of the French troops. There was some skirmishing, which
attracted the attention of the officers. Putnam advanced to the spot,
accompanied, contrary to his dissuasions, by Lord Howe, who fell at
the first fire. The party of Putnam, enraged by this disaster, fought
with gallantry, and inflicted a heavy loss upon their opponents. The
result of this miserably conducted expedition, however, made no amends
for the loss of the gallant Howe. Two thousand men were blunderingly
sacrificed before Ticonderoga, and the threatened siege was abandoned.

The life of Putnam is full of perilous encounters incident to border
service against the Indians. In one of these he narrowly avoided
capture by the savages on the Hudson, near Fort Miller. He escaped
only by shooting the rapids with his boat, a marvellous adventure,
which is said to have wakened a superstitious veneration for him in
the minds of his Indian assailants.

Not long afterward, however, the barbarians had an opportunity of
treating him with less respect. It was in the month of August of this
year that he was engaged with a reconnoitring party in company with
the partisan Rogers, near Ticonderoga. They had been employed in
watching the movements of the enemy, and were on their return to Fort
Edward when the attention of the French partisan officer, Molang, who
was on the lookout, was attracted to them by a careless shooting-match
between Rogers and a fellow British officer. A confused hand-to-hand
action ensued in the woods, in the course of which Putnam, his gun
missing fire, "while the muzzle was pressed against the breast of a
large and well-proportioned savage," was captured and bound to a tree
by that formidable personage. The English party now rallying, drove
their pursuers backward, which brought the unfortunate Putnam to a
central position between two fires. "Human imagination," well says
Colonel Humphreys, "can hardly figure to itself a more deplorable
situation." Putnam remained more than an hour deprived of all power
save that of hearing and vision, as the musket-balls whizzed by his
ears and a ruthless savage aimed his tomahawk repeatedly, with the
infernal dexterity of a Chinese juggler, within a hair's breadth of
his person. This amusement was succeeded by the attempt of a French
petty-officer to put an end to his life by discharging his musket
against his breast. It happily missed fire. The action was now brought
to an end in favor of the Provincials; but Putnam was carried off in
the retreat by his Indian captor. He was now destined to witness one
of those scenes, since so well described by Cooper, of the peculiar
tortures inflicted by the Indians upon their prisoners in war; but
unhappily with less complacent feelings than the reader of the skilful
novelist experiences, whose terrors are tempered by the delightful art
of the narrator. With Putnam the spectator and the sufferer were the
same. He has been bound on the march with intolerable thongs, he has
almost perished under his burdens, he has been tomahawked in the face;
he is now to be roasted alive. A dark forest is selected for the
sacrifice; stripped naked, he is bound to a tree, and the inflammable
brushwood piled around him. Savage voices sound his death-knell. Fire
is applied, when a sudden shower dampens the flame, to burst forth
again with renewed strength. Though securely fastened, the limbs of
the victim are left some liberty to shrink from the accursed heat. He
has thought his last thought of home, of wife and children, when the
desperate French partisan, Molang, the commander of the savage hordes,
hearing of the act, rushes upon the scene and rescues him from his
tormentors. Putnam is now restored to the guardianship of the Indian
chief by whom he had been captured, and from whom he was separated
during these hours of agony, when he had fallen into the hands of the
baser fellows of the tribe. The party now reach Ticonderoga, where
Putnam is delivered to Montcalm, and thence courteously conducted by a
French officer to Montreal.

There he found himself within reach of a benevolent American officer,
then a prisoner in the city, Colonel Peter Schuyler, who generously
ministered to his necessities, and who was instrumental in procuring
his release from the French commander, when he himself was exchanged
after the capture of Frontenac. Putnam, on his return home, gallantly
conducted through the wilderness the sorely tried Mrs. Howe and her
children, whose adventures in Indian captivity and among the French,
equal the inventive pages of romance.

The next year, in Amherst's great campaign, Putnam returned to
Montreal under better auspices. He was with that commander in his
onward movement, with the rank of lieutenant-colonel, and rendered
efficient service in the passage down the St. Lawrence, by his bravery
and ingenuity. When the fort of Oswegatchie was to be attacked, and
two armed vessels were in the way, he proposed to silence the latter
by driving wedges to hinder the movement of their rudders, and to
cross the abatis of the fortification by an attack from boats, armed
with long planks, which were to be let down when the vessels,
protected by fascines, were placed alongside of the work. A timely
surrender anticipated both of these expedients. The dying Wolfe had
conquered Canada at Quebec, making victory easy elsewhere in the
province. Montreal surrendered to the allied forces without a blow.
Putnam, it is recorded, availed himself of the opportunity to look up
the Indian chief who had taken him prisoner, and exchange civilities
and hospitalities, now that the tables were turned.

We next find Putnam in charge of a Connecticut regiment, in a novel
field of warfare, on the coast of Cuba, in Lord Albemarle's attack
upon Havana, in 1762. He was in considerable danger in a storm, when
the transport in which he embarked with his men was wrecked on a reef
of the island; a landing was effected by rafts, and a fortified camp
established on the shore. He was again fortunate in escaping the
dangers of a climate so fatal to his countrymen. On his return home,
he was engaged in service against the Indians, with the title of
colonel. The war being now over, he retired to his farm, which he
continued to cultivate till he was again called into the field by the
stirring summons of Lexington.

In the preliminary scenes of the war, he fairly represented the
feeling of the mass of his countrymen, as it was excited by the
successive acts of parliamentary aggression. As a soldier of the old
French war, he had learned the weakness of British officers in
America, and the strength of a hardy, patriotic peasantry. "If," he
said, "it required six years for the combined forces of England and
her colonies to conquer such a feeble colony as Canada, it would, at
least, take a very long time for England alone to overcome her own
widely extended colonies, which were much stronger." Another anecdote
is characteristic of the blunt farmer. Being once asked whether he did
not seriously believe "that a well-appointed British army of five
thousand veterans could march through the whole continent of America,"
he replied, "no doubt, if they behaved civilly, and paid well for
everything they wanted; but--if they should attempt it in a hostile
manner, though the American men were out of the question, the women,
with their ladles and broomsticks, would knock them all on the head
before they had got half way through."

The news of Lexington--the war message--transmitted from hand to hand
till village repeated it to village, the sea to the backwoods, "found
the farmer of Pomfret, two days after the conflict, like Cincinnatus,
literally at the plough." He unyoked his team and hastened in his rude
dress to the camp. Summoning the forces of Connecticut, he was placed
at their head, with the rank of Major-General, and stood ready at
Cambridge for the bloody day of Bunker's Hill. He was in service in
May, in the spirited affair checking the British supplies from
Noddle's Island, in Boston Harbor, and resolutely counselled the
occupation of the heights of Charlestown. When the company of Prescott
went forth on the night of June 16th, to their gallant work, he was
with them, taking no active command, but assisting where opportunity
served. He was seen in different parts of the field, but his chief
exertions appear to have been expended upon the attempted
fortification of Bunker's Hill, where he met the fugitives in the
retreat, and conducted "such of them as would obey him," says
Bancroft, to the night's encampment at Prospect Hill.

Putnam's was one of the first Congressional appointments, ten days
before the battle, when the rank of Major-General was conferred upon
him. He continued to serve at the siege of Boston, and when the
theatre of operations was changed by the departure of the British to
New York, was placed by Washington, in 1776, in command in that city
until his own arrival. He employed himself during this short period,
with several devices for the safety of the harbor. In August, on the
landing of Howe, he was, upon the sudden illness of Greene, who had
directed the fortifications, and after the arrival of the British,
left in command at the battle of Long Island, and much censure has
been thrown upon him for the neglect of the passes by which the
American left was turned. In the actual combat there appears to have
been a divided authority.

The abandonment of New York next followed, with the retreat to
Westchester and the passage through the Jerseys. Putnam was then, in
January, 1777, ordered to Philadelphia to make provision for its
defence. In May, he was put in command of the post at the Highlands,
to secure its defences, and observe, from that central position, the
movements of the enemy. In the summer of this year, Sir Henry Clinton,
at New York, sent up the river a flag of truce to claim one Edmund
Palmer, who had been taken in the American camp, as a lieutenant in
the British service. This drew forth from Putnam a reply which has
been often quoted:

                                   "HEADQUARTERS, August 7, 1777.

"Edmund Palmer, an officer in the enemy's service, was taken as a spy
lurking within our lines; he has been tried as a spy, condemned as a
spy, and shall be executed as a spy, and the flag is ordered to depart
immediately.

                                   "ISRAEL PUTNAM.

"P.S.--He has been accordingly executed."

In September, a portion of Putnam's command was withdrawn by
Washington for the support of the army in Pennsylvania, by a
peremptory order which, it is said, put an end to a plan formed by
Putnam for a separate attack on the enemy at New York. Forts
Montgomery and Clinton, at the entrance to the Highlands, fell into
the hands of Clinton by a surprise shortly after, but the conquest of
this important position was neutralized by the victory of Gates, at
Saratoga. The British remained at Fort Montgomery but twenty days.
Putnam seems still to have entertained some project in connection with
New York, which led him to withhold troops called for by the imperious
necessities of Washington. The neglect of these orders brought a
pointed letter from Hamilton, and an equally significant rebuke from
Washington himself. In the following spring, Putnam was relieved of
his command in the Highlands by the appointment of General McDougal to
the post, and was ordered to Connecticut to superintend the raising of
the new levies. He was stationed the following winter at Danbury, when
the famous descent of the precipice at Horse Neck occurred, one of the
latest marvels of Putnam's anecdotical career. While he was on a visit
to one of his outposts at Horse Neck, Governor Tryon of New York,
advanced upon the place with a considerable body of troops. Putnam
planted his small force on the hill, but was speedily compelled to
provide for the safety of his men by a retreat, and for his own, by
plunging down a formidable rocky steep by the roadside.

In 1779, he was again in the Highlands, superintending the defences
then erected at West Point, one of which, the fort now in ruins, bore
his name. In the winter, he visited his family in Connecticut, and as
he was returning to the army, at Morristown, was struck with
paralysis. His right side was enfeebled, and his active career ceased,
though he enjoyed the cheerful, tranquil pursuits of age. His memory
remained unimpaired. One of his amusements was to relate to his friend
and military companion, Colonel Humphreys, those events of his varied
life, which that officer wrought into the pleasing narrative
appropriately addressed to the State Society of the Cincinnati in
Connecticut, and published by their order. The dedication of the work
to Colonel Jeremiah Wadsworth, bears date June 4, 1788, about two
years before the decease of the hero of the story. General Putnam died
at Brookline, Conn., May 29, 1790, in his seventy-third year.




ANTHONY WAYNE[4]

By O. C. BOSBYSHELL

(1745-1796)

         [Footnote 4: Copyright, 1894, by Selmar Hess.]

[Illustration: Anthony Wayne. [TN]]


Across the pages of history recording mighty conflicts that rock
nations and governments to their foundations, flash certain grand
characters whose career adds a charm to the dreary and often prosaic
narrative. Some bright particular star, whose lustre flings romance
over dry facts, firing the hearts of all patriots with enthusiasm and
national fervor. Honoring the great commanders of the wars of the ages
for their noble deeds, here and there sparkles out the brilliant
genius of a warrior with less responsibility, but whose name inspires
the ardor of men, the love of women, and the fervor of the poet and
novelist. Such a character, such a man, was "Mad" Anthony Wayne, an
able, fearless soldier of the American Revolution, so thoroughly
patriotic such an earnest, honest believer in the righteous cause for
which he fought, that he was mad indeed with all found arrayed against
the interests of the Colonists, or with those who, having donned the
Continental uniform, were indisposed to fight.

Anthony Wayne was born in Waynesborough, Easttown Township, Chester
County, Penn., on January 1, 1745. He sprang from good English stock.
His grandfather resided in Yorkshire, England, but during the reign of
Charles II. purchased an estate in the County Wicklow, Ireland, and
settled on it. Being a thorough Protestant he espoused the cause of
King William III., and in the service of that monarch fought in the
Battle of the Boyne, as a captain of dragoons. In 1722 he came to
America with his four sons, and procured some one thousand six hundred
acres of land in Chester County, Penn., upon which he settled in 1724.
His youngest son, Isaac, the father of Anthony Wayne, received as his
share of his father's estate five hundred acres of land near Paoli.
Born and brought up amid the charming surroundings of this most
beautiful country, it is easily understood why Anthony Wayne became so
thoroughly imbued with tastes for the beautiful. His neatness in
dress, and earnest advocacy of a brilliant uniform for the officers
and men of the Revolutionary Army, had its foundation in the very
atmosphere he lived in, this magnificent Chester Valley. "Dandy" Wayne
indeed, but only so far as neatness in dress and delicacy of taste
were concerned, for a nobler-minded, more unselfish patriot never
entered the army of a nation. Wayne was educated at the Philadelphia
Academy, and he became a surveyor of some note. He attended closely,
however, to his magnificent farm, and took a lively interest in all
affairs affecting his fellow-citizens. In 1765 and 66, only just of
age, he was sent to Nova Scotia to survey some lands belonging to
Benjamin Franklin and others.

In May, 1766, he married Mary, the daughter of Bartholomew Penrose, a
Philadelphia merchant, and settled down to the life of a farmer. He
was a stirring man in his neighborhood, fond of an active and out-door
life. He was filled with military impulses; his choice of a
profession, that of surveyor, evidently arose from his taste for
exploration, and for the excitement incident to plunging into
trackless wastes of forests and mapping out new boundaries. His love
of military pursuits led him to study all the great works on the art
of war, and when the time came he was prepared, as few soldiers of the
revolution were, for the conflict with the trained soldiers of Great
Britain. He formed companies with the men in his neighborhood, and
drilled them assiduously. This gave him prominence and popularity, so
that he is found a member of the Pennsylvania Legislature in 1774-75.
Wayne seemed to have prescience of what was coming, and when the
conflict came he was ready. In September, 1775, he raised a regiment
of soldiers, of which he became the colonel in the January following,
and joined General Sullivan's command in Canada in the spring of 1776.
At the battle of Three Rivers, May, 1776, Wayne displayed remarkable
military knowledge, and was enabled to extricate his command from
difficulties that seemed almost insurmountable. In a letter to Dr.
Franklin and others he gives a graphic description of this engagement.
Of his men engaged he says, "I have lost more than the one-quarter
part, together with a slight touch in my right leg, which is partly
well already." This was Wayne's first battle. He displayed such
remarkable coolness and excellent judgment throughout this engagement,
as to command the respect and admiration of all in the army; his
entire career during this unfortunate Canadian campaign exhibited
clearly his soldierly qualifications. Recognizing these, General
Schuyler, in November, 1776, appointed Colonel Wayne to the command of
Fort Ticonderoga and Mt. Independence, which military post Wayne
considered the second most important in the country. While stationed
here, Wayne busied his men in rendering the place as nearly
impregnable as possible, and by warm, fervid letters implored the
"powers that be" in Pennsylvania, to send proper clothing, food, and
arms to the men of that State serving in his army. So negligent did
the State seem to the needs of its men, that this warm-hearted,
high-spirited warrior, seriously thought of resigning his commission,
being unable to longer witness the impoverished condition of his
troops.

Colonel Wayne was appointed Brigadier General in February, 1777, and
ordered to join General Washington's army at Morristown, N. J., in
April of the same year. He was given command of the "Pennsylvania
Line" consisting of two brigades of four regiments each, with a total
strength of about 1,700 men. His activity and alertness during the
summer, in harassing and annoying the enemy, went far toward ridding
the State of that enemy, and gained for him the praise of Washington,
who publicly acknowledged his "bravery and good conduct." The British,
unable to force their way through New Jersey, determined to go around
by sea to Philadelphia, and after embarking at Staten Island were next
heard from within the Chesapeake Bay. Washington moved his army to
Wilmington, Wayne having been sent ahead to organize the militia
rendezvousing in Chester County, Penn. He rejoined the army at
Germantown and marched with it to Wilmington.

In the battle of Brandywine, September 11, 1777, Wayne was
particularly distinguished. He occupied the left of the American line
at Chad's Ford, and had opposed to his forces, the Hessians commanded
by Baron von Knyphausen. He fought all day, holding his ground
tenaciously, repelling every effort made by the enemy to cross the
ford and worrying them by repeated attacks of his light infantry,
which he frequently sent over the creek for the purpose. The right
wing of the enemy having been turned, Wayne, at sunset, retreated in
good order, without the loss of any artillery or stores. On the
evening of September 20th, Wayne, with a detachment of twelve hundred
men, was suddenly and impetuously attacked at Paoli Tavern by a very
large force of the rear guard of the British army, which rear guard he
had been sent to annoy. By the betrayal of Tory spies at the time of
the attack, the forces "were not more than ten yards distant."
Notwithstanding the impetuosity of the attack, by largely overwhelming
numbers, Wayne succeeded in extricating his command without loss of
artillery, ammunition, or stores. Some sixty-one Americans were
killed. A court of inquiry was instituted to inquire into Wayne's
conduct of this affair, which resulted so distastefully to him that he
demanded a court martial. This court acquitted "him with the highest
honors," a conclusion approved by General Washington.

Wayne's residence was searched by the British immediately after the
Paoli fight, with the hope of capturing the general. The officer, in
his zeal, ripped open a feather-bed with his sword. Mrs. Wayne
indignantly exclaimed, "Did you expect to find General Wayne in a
feather-bed? Look where the fight is the thickest!"

Wayne led the right wing at the battle of Germantown, October 4, 1777,
and forced the enemy back a distance of two miles. The British claim
that "this was the first time we had ever retreated from the
Americans." The balance of the army, failing to accomplish the end
desired, Wayne was compelled to retreat, but this he did in good
order, and when General Howe, who "could not persuade himself that we
had run from victory," as Wayne puts it, followed the Americans, Wayne
drew up in line. "When he advanced near we gave him a few cannon shot
with some musketry--which caused him to break and run with the utmost
confusion." Wayne lost a horse in this engagement, and received slight
wounds in the hand and foot. The memorable winter at Valley Forge
followed. General Wayne, ever active, devoted his time to procuring
necessary supplies for the army. His earnest appeals to the State
authorities and men of influence, for the welfare of the brave men at
Valley Forge, tell a tale of suffering and endurance hard to realize.
Early in the spring of 1778 he successfully raided the British lines,
carrying off horses, cattle, forage, and other supplies. After the
evacuation of Philadelphia, Wayne kept up a constant annoyance around
the rear of the British army, fighting whenever the opportunity came.

The American army re-entered New Jersey in June, 1778, and moved
across that State in a line parallel with the route taken by the
British army. These lines encountered each other on June 28th, at
Monmouth; an engagement fought, in the main, on a plan suggested to
General Washington by General Wayne. General Charles Lee's
half-hearted action, to call it no more severe name, resulted in the
battle of Monmouth being less of a disaster to the British army than
it promised. Wayne did his part gloriously. Lee, who with his own
command was in full retreat when he should have earnestly supported
Wayne, ordered Wayne to retire. This the latter did, chagrined and
mortified, until the mortification was turned into delight upon
meeting the Commander-in-Chief, who immediately ordered Wayne to
advance to the attack again. This was just what Wayne wanted, and with
three Pennsylvania regiments, one from Maryland, and one from
Virginia, he stayed the assaults of the flower of the English army,
the _corps d'élite_, and successfully held his line, causing the enemy
to retire with great loss. General Washington commended General Wayne
in the highest terms for his "good conduct and bravery through the
whole action." Writing of this engagement to the Secretary of War,
Wayne says, "Tell the Phila ladies that the heavenly, sweet, pretty
red coats--the accomplished Gent-n of the Guards and Grenadiers have
humbled themselves on the plains of Monmouth."

The enemy retreated to New York and remained in that city the balance
of the year. Wayne occupied the time in urging active operations and
trying to infuse a more aggressive spirit into the management of
affairs. At this time public affairs were very much hampered by a
feeling of indifference as well as an illusive notion that peace would
soon follow. This affected the nation and the army. Wayne baffled
these false ideas with all his powers. He urged the Government to
forward needed supplies of clothing and food. He could not be
inactive; fervid, earnest, and aggressive, he must be ever doing. The
American Army kept a close watch upon the movements of the British in
New York during the summer and fall of 1779. General Washington
organized a Light Infantry Corps and put General Wayne in command. It
was considered one of the finest bodies of troops attached to the
Continental Army, and was composed, besides "the choicest sons of
Pennsylvania," of two Connecticut and one Virginia regiment. The
Commander-in-Chief was extremely desirous of driving the British from
the forts commanding King's Ferry on the Hudson, at Stony Point, on
the western bank of the river, and at Verplanck's Point, directly
opposite. This dangerous business was confided to Wayne and his Light
Infantry Corps, the plan of operations being carefully prepared by
General Washington. This plan was followed by Wayne, except in one
particular, which change Washington declared to be an "improvement on
his own plan." Wayne, after the most careful preparations, moved to
the assault on Stony Point, a fortification strongly built on a rocky
eminence, one hundred and fifty feet above the Hudson River, at 12
o'clock at night, on July 16, 1779. Wayne's report to Washington tells
the story of the fight most graphically--he says he "gave the troops
the most pointed orders not to attempt to fire, but put their whole
dependence on the Bayonet--which was most faithfully and Literally
Observed--neither the deep Morass, the formidable and double rows of
abatis or the high and strong works in front and flank could damp the
ardor of the troops--who in the face of a most tremendous and
Incessant fire of Musketry and from Artillery loaded with shells and
Grape-shot forced their way at the point of the Bayonet thro' every
Obstacle, both Columns meeting in the Center of the Enemy's works
nearly at the same Instant." Before entering the fort Wayne was struck
in the head by a musket-ball; he fell stunned, but soon rallied, and
by the assistance of two of his aides, was helped into the
fortification and shared the capture with his troops. The Stony Point
achievement roused the patriotic spirit of the Americans. It was
deemed the most brilliant affair of the war. Congratulations from the
Commander-in-Chief, and all the prominent generals, as well as
foremost citizens and Assemblies, were heaped upon Wayne, and Congress
voted him a gold medal to commemorate his gallant conduct, besides
thanking him "for his brave, prudent, and soldier-like conduct in the
well-conducted attack on Stony Point."

After the treachery of Arnold, in 1780, the charge of the fort at West
Point was committed to General Wayne. He marched his division over the
mountain in a dark night, a distance of sixteen miles, in four hours,
"without a single halt or a man left behind." In January, 1781, owing
to the broken promises of Congress, a large number of the men in the
Pennsylvania line mutinied, an event that threatened serious
consequences to the American Army. This defection was suppressed
peaceably, mainly through the excellent tact of General Wayne. He was
idolized by his soldiers, who knew him as the soul of honor, and who
placed implicit trust in his statements. Washington in a letter
certifies to his "great share in preventing worse extremities" and
thanks him for his exertions. In February, 1781, Wayne was ordered to
join General Greene's Army, then operating in South Carolina, but upon
Lord Cornwallis' rapidly transferring his forces to Virginia, this
order was changed, and Wayne was directed to reinforce Lafayette.
This he did at Fredericksburg in June. The enemy seemed intent upon
destroying all military stores they could reach, and for this purpose
continually sent raiding parties through the State. The efforts of
Wayne were ever put forth to suppress these raids. Believing, on July
6, 1781, that Cornwallis's forces were divided by the James River,
Wayne was sent forward to attack them at Green Springs. He found a
great force of the British Army in his front. Too late to retreat,
Wayne with true soldierly instinct, having faith in the courage and
discipline of his men, boldly charged a force five times as large as
his own, threw them into disorder and safely brought his men away
under cover of the enemy's confusion.

Cornwallis hastened to Yorktown, the investiture and siege of which
Wayne aided in furthering, first, by occupying the ground south of the
James River to prevent the enemy's reaching North Carolina; and then
in opening the first parallel with six regiments on October 6, 1781. A
few days afterward he, with two battalions, covered the Pennsylvania
and Maryland troops while they began the second parallel. Wayne, with
the Pennsylvania regiments, supported the French troops in the attack
of the 14th, and was present at the surrender on the 19th.
Notwithstanding a wound in the fleshy part of the leg, early in the
siege, caused by a sentry mistaking him, Wayne remained active, and
participated in the glory of the capture of Cornwallis and his army.
This operation over, Wayne joined the army of General Nathaniel
Greene, in South Carolina, in January, 1782, and was instrumental in
quelling the disturbances in that section. A very large force of
Indians threatened the destruction of his command on the night of June
23, 1782. These Indians were skilfully handled by a noted Creek Chief,
as well as by a British officer. They surrounded Wayne's forces and
held his artillery. Wayne fiercely attacked, using only the bayonet,
and so impetuous was his onslaught, that he broke the lines of the
Indians, and routed them completely. The dead body of the Creek
leader, who, it is said, was felled by Wayne's own sword, was found on
the ground the next day.

Wayne commanded the forces that took possession of Savannah and
Charleston, after their evacuation by the British. Having freed the
South from all marauders, Wayne returned, much shattered in health
from the effect of a low fever, to his old home in Pennsylvania, and
settled down to civil life, desiring, as he puts it, "to pass many
happy hours in domestic felicity with a few of our friends, unfettered
by any public employ and consequently unenvied." He was, however, made
a member of the Council of Censors, and in 1784 represented his county
in the General Assembly of Pennsylvania. He was likewise, in 1787, a
member of the Convention of the State called to ratify the
Constitution of the United States.

To better look after an estate given him by the State of Georgia, in
recognition of the services he rendered that State, Wayne settled
there, and was elected a member of Congress on January 3, 1791. He
served from October, 1791, to March, 1792, when, a contest being made,
Congress decided his election illegal and declared his seat vacant.
Almost immediately after this action, on April 3, 1792, President
Washington appointed Wayne Commander-in-Chief of the United States
Army, with the rank of Major-General; an appointment confirmed by the
Senate on the same day. No more signal act could have marked the
approval of Wayne's great services to the nation in the War of the
Revolution, than this great mark of approbation conferred by his
illustrious Chief. To him was intrusted the settlement of the
difficulties then existing with the Indians in the Northwestern
Territory. These savages, stirred up by the British, armed with
British guns, and often led by British officers, continued the warfare
on the Americans after peace had been declared between the contending
countries. Efforts to subjugate them under Generals Harmar and St.
Clair had failed.

General Wayne, whose entire life clearly shows a man prepared for what
may come, wisely drilled the force he collected to undertake this
work, for a year. He knew the value of a well-drilled and disciplined
army. Having perfected his troops, he, by easy stages, advanced into
the disturbed territory, establishing posts at various points, which
he cleverly fortified, and upon every occasion and opportunity offered
the savages peace. These offers were as often rejected. From Fort
Defiance, a fort he built and named, at the junction of the Miami and
Le Glaize rivers, he, in August, 1794, went down the Miami River, with
about one thousand men, until he came close to a British post, at the
foot of the rapids of the river. Here he sent a last overture to the
Indians, promising peace if they would lay down their arms. Upon their
rejecting this, he, on August 20th, moved to the head of the rapids,
and attacked them with such vigor, using again his favorite weapon,
the bayonet, that their defeat was overwhelming. The entire
surrounding country was laid waste. The army advanced to the junction
of the St. Joseph's and St. Mary's rivers, where a strong fort was
built and named Fort Wayne. The present flourishing city of that name
in Indiana now stands upon this spot. The winter was spent in
Greeneville, at which place the Indians, on August 3, 1795, against
the wishes of their leaders and English allies, signed a treaty of
peace, in which twelve tribes took part--a peace which was never
broken, and by which an immense territory was ceded to the United
States and opened up for settlement. Wayne returned early in 1796, on
a short visit to Pennsylvania, and everywhere _en route_ received the
plaudits of his fellow-citizens. His reception in Philadelphia was
exceedingly brilliant. The unsettled condition of affairs in the
Northwest, however, made his stay brief. Having been appointed sole
commissioner to treat with the disaffected parties there, and directed
to take possession of all forts held by the British in that country,
he returned in June of the same year. With great tact he performed
wisely and well the difficult mission intrusted to him. In November he
left Detroit to visit the last of the posts included in his orders.
This was then called Presque Isle, but is now the site of the city of
Erie. When within a short sail of this post a severe and sudden attack
of the gout came on. He was carried into the block-house at Presque
Isle, in a dying condition, and lingered in great agony until December
15, 1796, when he died. By his own desire he was buried "at the foot
of the flag-staff on a high hill called 'Garrison Hill,' north of the
present Soldiers' Home." (Stille, 343.) In 1809, his son, Colonel
Isaac Wayne, removed the body to the family burying-ground at St.
David's Church, Radnor, Penn., where, on July 4th of the same year,
the Society of the Cincinnati erected a monument in his honor.

So lived, so died, Anthony Wayne; gentleman, soldier, statesman,
patriot. "Mad," "Dandy," "Black Snake," "Tornado." Angry with
traitors--Neat-Courageous--Irresistible. None can study his life
without feeling the nobleness of his character. Courtly in manners,
honorable to a degree, high in aspirations, unselfishly for country,
magnanimous in victory, loyal to authority, affectionate to family,
pure in morality, and earnest for the right, Anthony Wayne's life is a
bright example and legacy to the American youth of all times.

[Signature of the author.]




FRANCIS MARION

(1732-1795)

[Illustration: Francis Marion. [TN]]


Francis Marion, the partisan general of South Carolina, was of
Huguenot descent, the first American settlers of the name being
Benjamin Marion and Judith Balnet, his wife, who came from France in
1690, and established themselves in a plantation on one of the
tributaries of the Cooper River, near Charleston. Gabriel, the son of
Benjamin, married Esther Cordes. These were the parents of Francis
Marion. He was born, it would appear, in St. John's Parish, Berkeley
County, probably in 1732. His early life was passed, till his
twenty-seventh year, in agricultural pursuits, when we first hear of
him in connection with military matters in the period of the old
French war. He took the field with Moultrie, and fought gallantly by
the side of that officer in the Cherokee country against the savages
at the battle of Etchoee. He then returned to his farm, near Eutaw
Springs, ripening for the work of the Revolution, which found him at
the height of manhood, at the age of forty-three. The people of his
district relied upon his understanding, for we find them sending him
as their delegate to the Provincial Congress of 1775, when he was
appointed captain in the regiment of his former superior officer,
Colonel Moultrie. His first duty was to gather a company, which he
speedily effected in the Eastern region, where he was well known. He
was then employed in the neighborhood of Charleston; being engaged in
the occupation of Fort Johnson and the command of Dorchester.

He was with Moultrie, at Sullivan's Island in May, 1776, during that
fierce day of battle when the British were driven from the southern
colonies, and particularly distinguished himself in the gallant
defence.

At the ill-managed attack upon Savannah, by the combined forces of
D'Estaing and Lincoln, which ended so disastrously for the Americans,
Marion was present with his regiment, which did much by its gallantry
to redeem the honor, if not the fortunes, of the day. Next came, in
the winter of 1780, the siege of Charleston, by Sir Henry Clinton. It
was evident from the beginning that the city must fall, and it has
been a point much discussed whether Lincoln should have attempted to
defend it, whether it would not have been better for the cause that he
should withdraw his troops, and besiege the British from the open
country. This was what afterward took place when the conquerors were
reduced almost to starvation. An accident which happened to Marion has
been esteemed a piece of singular good fortune to the cause, in saving
him from surrender. He was in command of the small body of light
troops, outside of the city, when he was called to aid in the defence.
During the first days of the very deliberate investment, he was dining
with some friends in the town, when, according to a custom not unusual
in those hard-drinking times, the door was locked that no one should
avoid his share of the conviviality. Determined to escape the
infliction, he threw himself from the window into the street. The fall
fractured his ankle and incapacitated him from service. In obedience
to an order of Lincoln, commanding all officers unfit for duty to
retire from the city, he left while the country was still open, and
took refuge in his native region of St. John. His freedom was thus
preserved for the service of his country.

Now came the incursions of Tarleton and the devastating warfare of
Cornwallis--a policy of savage extermination which would have driven a
people with less capability of exertion to despair. But it happened,
as it has before, that the very means employed to crush, excited the
spirit of resistance, and deliverers were raised up for the oppressed.
It was a peculiar species of warfare which was now entered upon,
requiring novel resources both for attack and defence. A thinly
inhabited country was the scene of operations, cut up in all
directions by rivers and their branches, and innumerable swamps. Large
bodies of troops could move only with difficulty; it was a service for
small parties of cavalry always in movement, making up by rapidity for
want of numbers. On the side of the British, Lieutenant-Colonel
Tarleton, an officer of spirit, whose fiery youth has been vividly
handed down to us in the portrait by Sir Joshua Reynolds, was the
leading representative of this method of warfare, harrying the land
with his mounted troops, and overcoming by his activity and
unscrupulousness. Success added terror to his name, as he gained
victory after victory, and seemed destined to sweep the land of its
patriot defenders. He was the right arm of Cornwallis, in his
movements in the interior, and began to be deemed invincible, when his
course was arrested by Morgan, the Virginian, and his resolute
companies of native defenders of the State, at the battle of Cowpens.
But it was in Marion that the chief spirit of resistance was
incorporated. On the arrival of Gates from the North, in command of
the Southern army, having partially recovered from his lameness, he
presented himself before the hero of Saratoga, on his march toward the
fatal field of Camden. American commanders were accustomed to odd
sights of dress and equipment in the patriot soldiery who enlisted
under their banners, and Gates must have been used to appearances with
which the eye of Washington himself was but too familiar. The little
band of Marion, however, seems to have astonished even their American
brethren-in-arms. As for the well-equipped British, they always held
the ragged American regiments in contempt, till they were soundly
flogged by them. An intelligent looker-on at the camp, Colonel Otho
Williams, in his narrative of the campaign, speaks of Colonel Marion's
arrival, "attended by a very few followers, distinguished by small
leather caps and the wretchedness of their attire; their number did
not exceed twenty men and boys, some white, some black, and all
mounted, but most of them miserably equipped. Their appearance was, in
fact, so burlesque, that it was with much difficulty the diversion of
the regular soldiery was restrained by the officers; and the general
himself was glad of an opportunity of detaching Colonel Marion, at his
own instance, toward the interior of South Carolina, with orders to
watch the motions of the enemy, and furnish intelligence."

It was while Marion was engaged on this service, that the battle of
Camden was fought; but luckily, he had no share in the misadventure.
He was employed, in fact, in quite an independent career of his own,
organizing his own forces and acting at his own discretion. He was at
the head of that system of partisan warfare, which, in its
developments, was to rid the State of the foreign foe. His present
command, "Marion's Brigade," was formed from the hardy spirited
population of Irish descent, settled between the Santee and the Pedee,
in the territory of Williamsburg. They were convinced of the
intentions of the British rulers at Charleston to reduce them to
political servitude; they knew their rights, and knowing, dared to
maintain them. Their movement was voluntary, as they gathered their
small but resolute force of picked men, and called Marion to its
command. He had already assumed it, and caused the Tories to feel his
new authority when the defeat of Gates took place. It roused him at
once to a new effort to redeem the fortunes of war. He was already in
the neighborhood of the field, and hearing that a British guard was on
its way with a considerable body of prisoners, he determined to arrest
the party on its march. Two days after the battle, he concerted an
attack, and with the loss of but one man, killed and took 22 regulars
and 2 Tories prisoners, and retook 150 continentals of the Maryland
line. He was now a recognized leader in the field, and the British
commander-in-chief directed his efforts to his overthrow. "I most
sincerely hope," wrote Cornwallis to Tarleton, "that you will get at
Mr. Marion." But Mr. Marion was not so easily to be caught. On the
appearance of a superior force, under the command of Tarleton, which
it would have been vain to resist, the skilful partisan turned his
forces in another direction, to the borders of North Carolina, where
he overawed the Scotch Tories in that disaffected region. The ruthless
conduct of the British whom he had left behind, now raised the South
Carolinians to fresh resistance, when Marion, ever mindful of his
opportunity, returned to the State with speed, accomplishing sixty
miles in one day, and in a bold night attack, defeated a large body of
Tories on the Black Mingo. Following this up with some smaller
successes of the kind, he again attracted the attention of Tarleton,
who issued out of Charleston in force for his capture, and when he was
fairly on his heels, wearied out and perplexed by the windings of his
foe, gave up the chase, it is said, with the exclamation, "Come, my
boys! let us go back. We will soon find the Game Cock [Marion's
brother partisan, Sumter], but as for this damned Swamp-fox, the devil
himself could not catch him."

The tide was now turning, as the people felt their strength. King's
Mountain, in the autumn of this memorable 1780, brought a vast
accession of strength to the popular cause, in the proof that the best
British troops were not invincible before an aroused yeomanry; but
there was much yet to be done before the day of final deliverance was
secured. It was a slow, weary, harassing policy which was to be
pursued, of surprises and escapes, of self-denial and endurance, of
the watchful, unyielding virtue of Marion and his men. They took post
in an island fortress of wooded swamp land, at the junction of the
Pedee and Lynch's Creek, known as the "camp of Marion," where he
recruited his forces, husbanded his strength, and sallied forth on his
raids against the foe. This is the spot where the popular admiration
of Marion finds its home and centre. "His career as a partisan," says
his faithful biographer, the novelist Simms, "in the thickets and
swamps of Carolina, is abundantly distinguished by the picturesque;
but it was while he held his camp at Snow's Island that it received
its highest colors of romance. In this snug and impenetrable fortress,
he reminds us very much of the ancient feudal baron of France and
Germany, who, perched on a castled eminence, looked down with the
complacency of an eagle from his eyrie, and marked all below him for
his own. The resemblance is good in all respects but one. The plea and
justification of Marion are complete. His warfare was legitimate." It
is in this place the scene is laid of an interview with the British
officer, so familiar to the public in popular narratives and pictorial
illustration. A flag from the enemy, at the neighboring post of
Georgetown, is received with the design of an exchange of prisoners.
The officer is admitted blindfold into the encampment, and on the
bandage being taken from his eyes, is surprised equally at the
diminutive size of the General and the simplicity of his quarters. He
had expected, it is said, to see some formidable personage of the sons
of Anak of the standard military figure, which, as Mr. Simms remarks,
averaged, in the opposing generals during the war, more than two
hundred pounds. On the contrary, he saw "a swarthy, smoke-dried
little man, with scarcely enough of threadbare homespun to cover his
nakedness, and instead of tall ranks of gay-dressed soldiers, a
handful of sunburnt, yellow-legged militiamen, some roasting potatoes,
and some asleep, with their black firelocks and powder-horns lying by
them on the logs." This is Weems's narrative, a little colored with
his full brush, but true enough as to detail. The improvement which he
works up from the plain potato presented as a dinner to the officer,
is equally sound as a moral, though we will not vouch for the exact
expression of the sentiment. As a specimen of Weems, it is
characteristic; but certainly Marion never talked in the fashion of
this zealous biographer.

The Briton, however, entrenched at Charleston, and with his double line
of forts encompassing the interior, was not all at once driven out. When
he was compelled to leave, it was by the slow process of an exhaustion,
to which even victory contributed; for every British conquest in that
region was as costly as a defeat. Greene came with his Fabian policy,
acquired in the school of Washington, to repair the errors of Gates. It
was a course with which the policy of Marion was quite in agreement,
attacking the enemy when they were vulnerable; at other moments
retreating before them. Both officers knew well how to drain the
vitality of the British army. Greene appreciated Marion. "I like your
plan," he wrote to him, "of frequently shifting your ground. We must
endeavor to keep up a partisan war." He sent Lieutenant-Colonel Lee to
his aid, and together they attempted the capture of Georgetown in a
night attack, which was but partially successful, in consequence of a
loss of time and the want of artillery. Though not fully carried out, it
served as a diversion and alarm in the rear of Cornwallis, who now,
after the defeat of an important portion of his force under Tarleton,
was advancing rapidly through North Carolina at the heels of Greene. Lee
was recalled to join his commander, and Marion continued his partisan
warfare in South Carolina. He was after a while reinforced by Greene on
his return to the State, and assisted that general greatly in the
movements which resulted in imprisoning the enemy in Charleston. After a
brilliant affair with the British, in conjunction with Lee and Sumter,
and other bold spirits, he hastened to Greene in time for the battle of
Eutaw, in which engagement he commanded the right of the South Carolina
militia, and gallantly sustained the fierce attack of the enemy. Toward
the close of the war, he took his seat in the Legislative Assembly which
met at Jacksonborough, as the representative of St. John, Berkeley. He
was engaged in one or two further conflicts with the enemy, and the
struggle which he had so manfully sustained was at an end.

He now retired to his plantation, to find it broken up by the
incursions of the British. While engaged in its restoration, he was
sent as representative of the district to the Senate of the State. It
is recorded to his credit that he displayed in this situation a ready
magnanimity toward Tory offenders in preserving their lands from
confiscation.

[Illustration: Marion crossing the Pedee.]

"It was war, then," said he; "it is peace now. God has given us the
victory. Let us show our gratitude to heaven, which we shall not do by
cruelty to man." In the same lofty spirit, he refused to receive
any advantages from a bill exempting the soldiers of the militia from
prosecution for acts committed in the service. He felt that his
conduct needed no shelter. The Legislature rewarded him with thanks,
and the more substantial appointment of Commandant of the Port of
Charleston, a nominal office, with the salary of £500, which were cut
down to dollars. A timely marriage, however, with a wealthy lady of
Huguenot descent, Miss Mary Videau, a spinster of fifty, who was
attracted by the hero, relieved him of pecuniary anxieties, leaving
him an old age of ease in agricultural pursuits. He still represented
his parish in the State Senate, and sat in 1790 in the Convention for
forming the Constitution. In 1794 he resigned his military commission
given to him by Rutledge, and the following year, yielding to a
gradual decline, expired on February 27th, at the age of sixty-three.

Marion was a true, unflinching patriot--a man of deeds, and not of
words; a prudent, sagacious soldier, not sudden or quick in quarrel,
but resolute to the end; a good disciplinarian, and beloved by his
men, who came at his call.

There was no power of coercion, such as restrains the hired soldier,
in his little band; it was held together only by the cohesive force of
patriotism and attachment to the leader. We hear of no acts of cruelty
to stain the glory of his victories, but much of his magnanimity.




PAUL JONES

(1747-1792)

[Illustration: Paul Jones. [TN]]


Paul Jones, the popular naval hero of the Revolution, the son of John
Paul, a gardener in Scotland, was born July 6, 1747, at a cottage on
the estate of his father's employer, Mr. Craik, at Arbigland, in the
parish of Kirkbean. His parents belonged to a respectable class of the
population of the country. The boy, as is wont with Scottish boys,
however humble, received the elements of education, but could not have
advanced very far with his books, since we find him at the age of
twelve apprenticed to the sea. The situation of Kirkbean, on the shore
of the Solway, naturally gave a youth of spirit an inclination to life
on the ocean; and he had not far to seek for employment in the
trading-port of Whitehaven, in the opposite county of Cumberland.
Paul's first adventure--the appendix of Jones was an after-thought of
his career--was in the service of Mr. Younger, a merchant in the
American trade, who sent his apprentice on a voyage to Virginia, where
an elder brother of Paul had profitably established himself at
Fredericksburg. This gave him an early introduction to the country
with which the fame of the future soldier of fortune was to be
especially identified.

The apprenticeship of Paul was of short duration. The failure of his
employer threw the youth upon his own resources; but he lost no time
in taking care of himself. His studies on shipboard had already
qualified him for the higher duties of the mercantile service; the
slave-trade, the active pursuit of those days, offered him an
engagement; he sailed for the African coast in the King George, a
vessel engaged in this infamous traffic, out of Whitehaven, and in his
nineteenth year was trusted as chief mate of the Two Friends, another
vessel of the trade, belonging to Jamaica. Having carried his human
cargo to the island, sickening of the pursuit, he sailed as a
passenger to Kirkcudbright, in his native district. Opportunities are
always presenting themselves to the watchful and the initiated. The
chief officers of the vessel died of the fever; Paul took command and
carried the ship in safety to the owners. They put him in command of
the brig, the John, on another West India voyage.

Finally, in 1771, he left Scotland never to return to it, save to
carry terror among its population. He proceeded to London; found
employment in the West India trade, and in 1773 settled himself for a
while in Virginia on the estate of his brother, to whom he had now
become heir. This was a grand turning-point of his career, and to
signalize it properly, Paul, who was somewhat of a fanciful turn,
added the name Jones to his proper appellation, John Paul.

On the organization of the infant navy of the United States, in 1775,
John Paul Jones, as he is henceforth to be called, received the
appointment of first of the first lieutenants in the service, in
which, in his station on the flag-ship Alfred, he claimed the honor of
being the foremost, on the approach of the commander-in-chief,
Commodore Hopkins, to raise the new American flag. This was the old
device of a rattle-snake coiled on a yellow ground, with the motto,
_Don't tread on me_, which is yet partially retained in the seal of
the war-office.

The first service of the new squadron was the attack upon the island
of New Providence, in which Jones rendered signal assistance. On the
return voyage, the unsatisfactory encounter with the Glasgow occurred,
which afterward resulted in the dismissal of one of the American
officers, and Jones's appointment in his place to the command of the
Providence, of twelve guns and seventy men. His exploits in this
vessel gained him his first laurels. He now received the rank of
captain, and sailed on various expeditions, transporting troops,
conveying merchantmen, out-sailing British frigates, and greatly
harassing the enemy's commercial interests. His success in these
enterprises induced Commodore Hopkins to put him in command of the
Alfred and other vessels on an expedition to the eastward, which
resulted in the capture of various important prizes of transport and
other ships, and extensive injury to the fisheries at Canso. On his
return, he was superseded in the command of the Alfred, his seniority
in the service being set aside, a grievance which led to remonstrance
on his part, and a correspondence with the Committee of Congress, in
the course of which Jones made many valuable suggestions as to the
service, and gained the friendship of that eminent business man of the
old Confederacy, Robert Morris. There appear to have been several
appointments for him in progress, when his somewhat unsettled position
became determined by the resolve of Congress to send him to France for
the purpose of taking command of a frigate to be provided for him by
the Commissioners at Paris. By the resolution of June 14, 1777, he was
appointed to the Ranger, newly built at Portsmouth, and--a second
instance of the kind--had the honor of hoisting for the first time the
new flag of the stars and stripes; at least he claimed the
distinction, for the bristling vanity of Jones made him punctilious in
these accidental matters of personal renown.

It took some time to prepare the Ranger for sea, but Jones got off on
his adventure in November, made a couple of prizes by the way, and at
the end of a month reached Nantes. Disappointed in obtaining the large
vessel which he expected, and obliged to be contented with the Ranger,
he employed his time in making acquaintance with the French navy at
Quiberon Bay, and offering valuable suggestions for the employment of
D'Estaing's fleet on the American coast. He soon determined to put to
sea on an adventure of spirit. On April 10, 1778, he sailed from Brest
on a cruise in British waters. Directing his course to the haunts of
his youth, he captured a brigantine off Cape Clear, and a London ship
in the Irish Channel; planned various bold adventures on the Irish
coast, which he was not able to carry out from adverse influences of
wind and tide, but well-nigh succeeded in burning a large fleet of
merchantmen in the docks of Whitehaven. In this last adventure, he
made a landing at night, and advanced to the capture of the
town-batteries, leaving his officers to fire the ships, of which there
were about two hundred in the port. His orders were not obeyed, either
from insufficient preparations or the relenting of his agents, when he
himself set fire to one of the largest of the vessels. It was now day,
and the people were warned by a deserter from his force, but Jones
managed to hold the whole town at bay till he made good his retreat.
This daring affair was an impromptu of Jones's genius, justified in
his view by similar depredations of the British on the American coast;
but it had an ugly look of ingratitude to the place which had
sheltered his youth, and first given him promotion in the world.

Nor was this all. He immediately crossed to his native shore of
Scotland, with the intention of seizing the Earl of Selkirk, at his
seat on the promontory of St. Mary's Isle, on the Solway, near
Kirkcudbright. Landing at the spot he ascertained that the earl was
from home. Disappointed in his object, he would have returned, when
the officers in his boat insisted upon a demand for the family plate.
Jones demurred, but yielded with the proviso that the thing was to be
done in the most delicate manner possible. His lieutenant, Simpson,
undertook the business, and introduced himself to Lady Selkirk, who
was, conveniently enough for his purposes, engaged at breakfast. She
had at first taken the party for a press-gang, and had offered them
refreshments; on being informed of the nature of their visit, their
request, backed by the armed crew at the door, was complied with.

It is said that Jones apologized personally to Lady Selkirk, and we
shall presently find him, at the first interval of leisure, taking
measures to repair the act. For the moment, however, he had more
serious work on hand. In his upward voyage along the Irish coast, he
had looked into Belfast Lough, after his Majesty's sloop-of-war Drake,
of twenty guns, which he attempted to board in a night attack by a
bold manoeuvre, which came within an ace of success. Immediately after
the affair of St. Mary's, he ran across the channel and had the
fortune to meet the Drake coming out of Carrickfergus. She was getting
to sea to check the exploits of the Ranger, which had now alarmed the
whole region. Jones desired nothing more than an encounter. As the
ship drew up she hailed the Ranger. Jones gave the reply through his
sailing-master: "The American continental ship Ranger. We are waiting
for you. Come on. The sun is little more than an hour high, and it is
time to begin!" A broadside engagement commenced, and continued at
close quarters for an hour, when the Drake surrendered. Her captain
and first lieutenant were mortally wounded, her sails and rigging
terribly cut up, and hull much shattered. The loss of the Ranger was 2
killed and 6 wounded; that of the Drake, 42. The Drake had two guns
the advantage of her adversary. The action took place on April 24th;
on May 8th, Jones having traversed the channel, carried his prize
safely into Brest.

His first thought now was to make some amends to Lady Selkirk and his
own reputation for the plundering visit of his lieutenant. He
therefore addressed to her, the very day of his landing, an
extraordinary letter--Jones was fond of letter-writing--full of
high-sounding phrases, and professions of gallantry and esteem, in the
midst of which he failed not to recite the splendid victory of the
Ranger. He drew a picture of the terrors inflicted by the British in
America; and in respect to that unfortunate plate, expressed his
intention to purchase it, in the sale of the prize, and restore it at
his own expense to the family. This, after delays and obstacles, he
finally accomplished some years later, when we are told it was all
returned as it was taken, the very tea-leaves of the parting breakfast
clinging to the tea-pot.

[Illustration: Paul Jones and Lady Selkirk.]

The affair of the Ranger, so brilliantly conducted, the short,
energetic cruise in narrow seas, so near the British naval stations,
gave Jones a great reputation for gallantry in Paris. The delays and
difficulties, however, incidental to the wretched state of the
American finances abroad, and the imperfect relation of his country
with the French court, were well calculated to cool any enthusiasm
excited by his conquest; and a man of less vivacity and perseverance
than Jones might have dropped the service. He persevered. His
lieutenant, Simpson, after various refractory proceedings, had sailed
home in the Ranger, when an arrangement was finally made with Le Ray
de Chaumont, the negotiator of the French court, to furnish a jointly
equipped and officered fleet, of which Jones was to take command. Five
vessels were thus provided, including the American frigate Alliance.
An old Indiaman, the Duke de Duras, fell to the lot of Jones. In
compliment to Dr. Franklin, one of the commissioners, and especially
in gratitude for a hint which he had accidentally lighted upon in an
odd number of that philosopher's almanac, to the effect that whoever
would have his business well done must do it himself--a suggestion by
which Jones had greatly profited in giving a final spur to his
protracted negotiations--he changed the name of his vessel, by
permission of the French Government, to the Bon Homme Richard.

Jones at length set sail, on August 14th, with his squadron. Landais,
an incompetent Frenchman in the American service, was in command of
the Alliance. It was altogether a weak, mongrel affair. The Bon Homme
Richard was unseaworthy, her armament was defective, and in her motley
crew Englishmen and foreigners outnumbered the Americans. The plan of
the cruise was to sail round the British Islands from the westward. At
Cape Clear the commander parted with two of the smaller vessels of the
squadron, which now consisted of his own ship, the Alliance, the
Pallas, and the Vengeance. The service was, however, far more impaired
by the insubordination of Landais, who evinced great jealousy of his
superior. Several prizes were taken, one of them by Jones off Cape
Wrath, at the extremity of Scotland. Traversing the eastern coast, he
arrived, with the Pallas and the Vengeance, at the Firth of Forth, and
entertained the bold idea of attacking the armed vessels at the
station, and putting not only Leith, but possibly the capital,
Edinburgh itself, under contribution. He would certainly have made the
attempt--indeed, it was in full progress--when it was defeated by a
violent gale of wind.

Jones now continued his course southwardly, casting longing eyes upon
Hull and Newcastle, when, having been joined by the Alliance, the
squadron suddenly, off Flamborough Head, fell in with the Baltic
cruisers, the Serapis, forty-four. Captain Pearson, and the Countess
of Scarborough, twenty, Captain Piercy, convoying a fleet of
merchantmen. Jones at once prepared for action. The combat which
ensued, between the Serapis and the Bon Homme Richard, is one of the
most remarkable in the annals of naval warfare, for the circumstances
under which it was fought, the persistence of the contest, and the
well-matched valor of the commanders. The engagement was by moonlight,
on a tranquil sea, within sight of the shore, which was crowded with
spectators, who thronged the promontory of Flamborough Head and the
piers of Scarborough. After various preliminary manoeuvres on the part
of the English commander to shelter the merchantmen, the engagement
began at half-past seven in the evening, with a series of attempts of
the Bon Homme Richard to come to close quarters with her antagonist.
At the first broadside of Jones's vessel, two of the old
eighteen-pounders mounted in her gun-room burst, with fearful
destruction to the men. This accident compelled the closing of the
lower ports, and produced a still greater inequality between the
combatants than at the start, for the Serapis was not only a
well-constructed, well-furnished man-of-war, thoroughly equipped,
while the Bon Homme Richard had even-disadvantage in these respects:
but the absolute weight of metal was, at the outset, greatly in favor
of the Englishman. The Richard then passed to windward of the Serapis,
receiving her fire, which did much damage to the rotten hull of the
old Indiaman. Jones next attempted a movement to get into position to
rake his antagonist from stem to stern, which resulted in a momentary
collision. There was an effort to board the Serapis, which was
repulsed, when Captain Pearson called out, "Has your ship struck?" and
Jones instantly replied, "I have not yet begun to fight." The ships
then separating, were brought again to a broadside encounter, when
Jones, feeling the superior force of the Serapis, and her better
sailing, was fully prepared to take advantage of the next position as
the ships fell foul of one another, to grapple with his opponent. He
himself assisted in lashing the jib-stay of the Serapis to the
mizzenmast of the Richard.

The ships became now closely entangled for their full length on their
starboard sides; so near were they together, that the guns of one
touched the sides of the other, and in some places where the
port-holes met, the guns were loaded by passing the rammers into the
opposite vessel. Every discharge in this position was of course most
deadly, and told fearfully upon the rotten hull of the Richard. To add
to Jones's embarrassment, he was repeatedly fired upon by Landais,
from the Alliance, which always kept her position with the Richard
between her and the enemy. This extraordinary circumstance is only to
be accounted for by an entire lack of presence of mind in the
confusion, or by absolute treachery. The Serapis poured in her fire
below from a full battery, while the Richard was confined to three
guns on deck. She had efficient aid, however, in clearing the deck of
the Serapis, from the musketry and hand-grenades of her men in the
tops. One of these missiles reached the lower gun-deck of the Serapis,
and there setting fire to a quantity of exposed cartridges, produced a
destruction of life, an offset to the fearful loss of the Richard by
the bursting of her guns in the opening of the engagement. The injury
to the Richard, from the wounds inflicted upon her hull, was at this
time so great that she was pronounced to be sinking, and there was a
cry among the men of surrender; not, however, from Jones, who was as
much himself at this extremity as ever. Seeing the English prisoners,
who had been released below, more than a hundred in number, rushing
upon deck, where in a moment they might have leaped into the Serapis,
and put themselves under then country's flag, he coolly set them to
working the pumps, to save the sinking ship. Human courage and
resolution have seldom been more severely tried than in the exigencies
of this terrible night on board the Richard. Jones continued to ply
his feeble cannonade from the deck, levelled at the mainmast of the
adversary. Both vessels were on fire, when, at half-past ten, the
Serapis struck.

The loss in this extraordinary engagement, which outstrips and
exaggerates the usual vicissitudes of naval service, was of course
fearful. The entire loss of the Richard is estimated by Cooper at one
hundred and fifty, nearly one-half of all the men she had engaged.
Captain Pearson reported at least one hundred and seventeen
casualties. The Bon Homme Richard was so riddled by the enemy's fire,
and disembowelled by the gun-room explosion, that she could not be
saved from sinking. When the wind freshened, the day after the
victory, she became no longer tenable; her living freight was taken
from her, and Jones, in the forenoon of the 25th, "with inexpressible
grief," saw her final plunge into the depths of the ocean.

While the engagement of the Richard and Serapis was going on, the
Pallas, better officered than the Alliance, captured the other English
vessel, the Countess of Scarborough. The two prizes were carried to
the Texel, where the squadron enjoyed the uneasy protection of
Holland. Jones himself had a more satisfactory reception in an
enthusiastic greeting on the Exchange at Amsterdam, and a brilliant
triumph, illuminated by the smiles of the fair sex, shortly after in
Paris. In October, 1780, he left for America in the Ariel, bearing
with him a gift from the king, a gold-mounted sword, with the
inscription on the blade: _Vindicati Maris Ludovicus XVI. Remunerator
Strenuo Vindici_--"Louis XVI., rewarder, to the valiant defender of a
liberated sea." The voyage was interrupted, at its outset, by a severe
storm off the harbor, in which Jones displayed his usual heroism. The
vessel was refitted, and after a partial action on the high seas with
a mysterious stranger, reached Philadelphia in February, 1781.

In 1787 he left America with the intention of serving under Louis.
When he reached Paris, he was met by a proposition to enter the
service of Catherine of Russia, in which he was induced to engage by
prospects of rank and glory. On his journey to St. Petersburg, he had
a characteristic adventure in his passage from Stockholm to Revel,
which he made while the navigation was interrupted by ice, traversing
the sea, with great hardihood, in an open boat, extorting the labors
of the boatmen by his threats of violence. He was well received by the
Empress, who forwarded him to Potemkin, then in command on the Black
Sea, in a war with the Turks. It is not necessary to recount the
movements of a small squadron, with a divided command and jealous
counsels, presided over by a whimsical, despotic court favorite. Many
as were the vexations encountered by Jones in the inefficient
resources, the shifts and expedients of foreign allies, and the
straits of the American commissioners, they were light compared with
the stifling restraints of Russian tyranny. Jones did much fighting,
in his command of the Wolodomer, on the Black Sea, against the Pasha,
but retired with little glory. Persecution followed at St.
Petersburg--there was an assault upon his moral character, which was
triumphantly disproved--various projects flitted through his teeming
mind, and his connection with the country closed after a residence of
fifteen months. It is sad to watch the last years of Paul Jones, not,
indeed, of age, but of growing weariness and disease, as he renews his
broken Russian hopes, and revives the old, faded, pecuniary claims on
the French court. A gleam of sunshine appears in his aspirations to
serve his country--for he still looked across the Atlantic--in the
removal of the chains from the American sailors imprisoned at Algiers.
His country listened to his cry; he was charged to treat with the
Regency for their ransom, but before the commission reached him, he
had passed to that land where the weary cease from sighing, and
prisoners are at rest. Here, with Mercy bending over the scene, let
the curtain fall. Paul Jones died at Paris, at the age of forty-five,
of a dropsical affection, July 18, 1792.

The person of Paul Jones is well known by the numerous prints devoted
to his brilliant exploits. You will see him, a little active man of
medium height, not robust but vigorous, a keen black eye, lighting a
dark, weather-beaten visage, compact and determined, with a certain
melancholy grace.

He was one of nature's self-made men; that is, nature gave the genius,
and he supplied the industry, for he knew how to labor, and must have
often exerted himself to secure the attainments which he possessed. He
was a good seaman, as well as a most gallant officer; sagacious in the
application of means; vain, indeed, and expensive, but natural and
generous; something of a poet in verse, much more in the quickness and
vivacity of his imagination, which led him to plan nobly; an
accomplished writer; and as he was found worthy of the warm and
unchanging friendship of Franklin, that sage who sought for excellence
while he looked with a kindly eye upon human infirmity, we, too, may
peruse the virtues of the man and smile upon his frailties.




TECUMSEH[5]

By JAMES A. GREEN

(1776-1813)

         [Footnote 5: Copyright, 1894, by Selmar Hess.]

[Illustration: Indians. [TN]]


It would be a difficult matter for a well-read American to recall the
names of more than four or five notable Indians, leaving, of course,
contemporaneous red men out of the question. The list might comprise
Pocahontas, best known, probably, for something she did not do;
Powhatan, that vague and shadowy Virginian chief; King Philip, who had
a war named after him and so succeeded in having his name embalmed in
history; Pontiac, whose great conspiracy Parkman has made immortal,
and Tecumseh. But, of them all, Tecumseh is easily foremost. He was a
man who, had he been born to great position among civilized nations,
would have stamped his name and fame upon the world. He was not a mere
savage of the ordinary type, bloodthirsty, brutal beyond description,
going upon one aimless raid after another to glut his passion for
rapine and murder. These savage traits were not his, though all the
good qualities of the Indian he possessed in double measure. He was
fearless, he was untiring, and when once started toward an end he knew
no rest until he had accomplished his design. He had a primitive
dignity of thought and expression that marked him as a great orator.
At the famous council at Vincennes, when Tecumseh had finished his
speech and was about to sit down with his braves, the interpreter,
pointing to General W. H. Harrison, said, "Your father wishes you to
take a chair." But the ordinary courtesy of calling the white Governor
the father of the red men was repugnant to Tecumseh, and with lofty
mien and unpremeditated eloquence he declined the proffered seat.
"No," he exclaimed, "the sun is my father, the earth is my mother, and
I will rest on her bosom." And he sat down on Mother Earth with his
assembled warriors, this act and fiery speech more than ever binding
them to his fortunes.

Tecumseh was in reality the first of the great Ohio men. He was a
Shawnee Indian, and his tribe, in the middle of the eighteenth
century, had emigrated from Florida to what is now the State of Ohio,
Tecumseh being born in what is now Clarke County, near the present
city of Springfield, in an Indian town that bore the name of Piqua.
This must not be confounded with the present Ohio town of Piqua, which
is in another county altogether, the birthplace of Tecumseh now being
the site of a straggling village bearing the name, West Boston. In his
boyhood there was nothing unusual. He grew up in the stirring times
when Daniel Boone, Simon Kenton, and the other hardy Kentucky
pioneers. Long Knives the Indians called them--were leading their
forces into the West. It was a time when the Indians were constantly
fighting. They did not live in Kentucky, but they regarded the fertile
woods and prairies south of the Ohio River as their hunting-grounds,
and they attacked with savage cruelty all the whites that dared to
encroach upon this territory. The whites in turn crossed the Ohio in
reprisal, burnt the Indian towns, tomahawked women and children,
destroyed corn-fields, and were as unrelenting and barbarous in their
revenge as their savage foes.

Tecumseh was born about 1776, and in 1780 the village of Piqua was
attacked by a party of 1,000 Kentuckians, who, after a fierce battle,
drove out the Indians and destroyed the place. It was amid such scenes
that the Indian boy grew to manhood. In that wild time, war was the
only science, and butchery the only trade that an Indian could follow.
One of the favorite Indian pursuits of the day was the capture of
parties of emigrants and traders who came floating down the Ohio in
canoes or "broadhorns." For miles the Indians would secretly follow
such a party, and then when their opportunity came would strike their
deadly blow. When a boy of seventeen Tecumseh was in a party making an
attack on some boats near the present site of Maysville, Ky. The boats
were captured and all the people in them slaughtered on the spot
except one person, who was spared and later burnt alive. The horror of
the spectacle so impressed Tecumseh that he then and there said he
would never again be guilty of such cruelty, and the vigorous manner
in which he protested against it so moved his companions that they
agreed with him to not repeat the act. This resolution Tecumseh never
altered; time and time again he protected women and children from his
infuriated followers. At the battle of Fort Meigs a party of Americans
was captured by the British and Indians. Though they had surrendered
as prisoners of war, yet the savages were firing into them
promiscuously, or selecting such as they chose to tomahawk in cold
blood. This dreadful scene was interrupted by Tecumseh, who came
spurring up and, springing from his horse to the ground, dashed aside
two Indians who were about to murder an American, threatening to slay
anyone who would dare to injure another prisoner. Turning to the
British General, Proctor, he asked why such a massacre had been
permitted. "Sir," said Proctor, "your Indians cannot be commanded."
"Begone," was the angry reply of the outraged Tecumseh, "you are unfit
to command. Go, put on petticoats." This was only one incident of many
showing how far he was above the ordinary Indian in magnanimity of
character. At the already mentioned Vincennes conference Tecumseh
agreed with General William Henry Harrison--his unrelenting foe and
who judged him as harshly as any of the frontiersmen who feared and
hated him--that in case of an outbreak of hostilities the women and
children on both sides were to be protected and respected. Certain it
is that General Harrison would have made no such agreement had he not
believed that his adversary would keep it.

[Illustration: Tecumseh defends the Whites at Fort Meigs.]

To understand the life and work of Tecumseh it is necessary to look
into the history of his times. His career was embraced between the
period of the Revolution and our second war with Great Britain. The
destiny of the Great West was not then assured. Ohio and Kentucky were
frontier States, vastly farther from the seat of government than is
the most remote of our Western outposts to-day. They could be reached
only by a toilsome journey over the Alleghanies and a trip down the
Ohio. A journey to-day to the Yellowstone, or to the regions beyond
the Black Hills, does not mean, in the way of time, danger, or
adventure, one-tenth what a journey to Fort Washington (Cincinnati)
meant in 1800. Indiana was a Territory, and the Territorial Governor,
first of the Northwest, and then of Indiana, was William Henry
Harrison, a born fighter, a palaverer, and who, in the difficult
position which he occupied in dealing with unruly settlers on the one
hand and turbulent Indians on the other hand, displayed singular tact
and ability. He was eminently the right man in the right place. But in
spite of the claims the United States made of the West, the country
was but little known, nor was its real importance even suspected. That
the Mississippi Valley would one day be peopled by millions, and be
the greatest, wealthiest, and most productive part of the country, was
not thought of even by the most sanguine of Americans. The Eastern
States in those days had affairs enough of their own on hand, and the
Western frontier was not regarded as essentially important. The
national idea--the Nation with a big N, as recent humorous newspaper
writers have put it--had not been evolved. It was difficult for even a
man of the persuasive powers of General Harrison, to induce the
General Government to furnish half enough troops to adequately guard
the outposts. If there was serious work to do the settlers had to
do it themselves. There was little grumbling over this state of
affairs, however, as the Kentuckians and Westerners generally had been
brought up to do their own fighting and not to wait for the Government
at Washington to do it for them. In those days British agents were
actively at work among the Northern Indians to keep them in a state of
disaffection toward the United States. Meanwhile, the Indians were in
the midst of the great tragedy that has been enacted since the days of
Columbus. They were the victims of traders who sold them fire-water,
and for poor and cheap weapons, demanded furs whose value was out of
all proportion to that given in return. Many of their women married
white renegades who corrupted the morals of the tribes. They were
being dispossessed of the finest homes and best hunting grounds in
America, for the buffalo was then found in Kentucky in great herds,
and their position was thoroughly unhappy. They had then--and happily
this is not wholly the case at present--no rights that a white man was
bound to respect. But the Indians were still many and the settlers
were few. To a great leader, who of course could not take into account
the mighty force behind the Anglo-Saxon ranks that first marched over
the Alleghenies, it would still seem practical to band the red men
together in a vast confederation and drive the invaders back again
beyond the Ohio and the mountains. This was Tecumsch's splendid plan.
This was the design to which he devoted his life, and which he pursued
with such ardor and genius as to do what an Indian had never before
accomplished. Pontiac, it is true, at the siege of Detroit gathered a
number of tribes under his leadership, but he never dreamed of a
continental confederacy, as did Tecumseh. In this vast design he was
materially aided by his brother, best known by the name of the
Prophet, who, while lacking in judgment, was none the less a man of
extraordinary force of character. He proclaimed that he had received
power from the Great Spirit to confound the enemies of the Indians,
stay the march of disease and death, and that he was the Messiah to
lead his people to new and greater things. But as conditions to
success the Indians must stop drinking fire-water, they must cease
intermarrying with the whites or trading with them, and they must hold
all things as the property of all. They must return to their original
dress and manners, and forget that they had ever seen or known the
"pale faces." The fame and influence of the Prophet spread with almost
miraculous rapidity, and young men and warriors came from afar in
crowds to receive inspiration from him. Tecumseh with rare ability
turned this influence to advance his own plans. And of course this
constant stream of visitors to his brother, enabled the chief to
spread his racial idea far and wide. One of the things that Tecumseh
maintained was that the Indians held the land in common, that no one
tribe owned this or that territory, but that the Great Spirit had
given it equally to all. This he said at the conference at Vincennes,
but General Harrison ridiculed the idea and stated that if the Great
Spirit had intended to make one nation of the Indians, he would not
have put different languages into their heads, but would have taught
them all to speak alike. Tecumseh bitterly replied that no one tribe
had the right to give away what was the joint property of all, and
not until the United States agreed to cease purchasing lands from the
Indians and restored the lands recently bought, would peace be
possible. Pointing to the moon that had risen on the council, Governor
Harrison said that the moon would sooner fall to earth than the United
States would give up anything fairly acquired. "Then," said Tecumseh,
"I suppose that you and I will have to fight it out."

But these councils ended in nothing except a manly and impressive
statement by Tecumseh of his position, and a strong and terribly just
indictment of the whites for their treatment of the Indians. Tecumseh
was constantly on the move. Now on the Lakes, now on the Wabash, then
on the Mississippi or the plains to the westward, then on the Ohio or
the hills that roll to the south from it. Everywhere the Indians
received him graciously. But an accident destroyed his plans, and one
defeat dashed his confederation to pieces. During his absence Governor
Harrison, alarmed at the gathering of warriors at the Prophet's town
of Tippecanoe, on the Wabash River, in Indiana, marched against it.
There was no necessity for a battle. It might easily have been
avoided. Toward the close of day the Americans reached Tippecanoe. The
Indians disclaimed any hostile ideas, and it was settled that the
terms of peace were to be arranged the next day. That night, however,
the Indians treacherously attacked the Americans. The conflict was
fierce and bloody. The Indian braves were animated by the promises of
the Prophet, who declared that they would be victorious and that he
had rendered the bullets of the white men of no avail. During the
battle he stood on a neighboring hill and chanted a war song, to
further fill his warriors with courage and enthusiasm. But though the
red men fought gallantly, they were doomed to defeat. They were
scattered up and down the Wabash, their town was burnt, and the power
of the Western Indians was by this one blow shattered. So complete was
the victory and so far-reaching in its effects, that General Harrison
at once became the popular idol, and the glorification of the battle
of Tippecanoe, a generation later carried him into the Presidential
chair. It was this battle that gave the West to the whites.

As for Tecumseh, he returned suddenly from the West to find that
despite his commands, the Prophet had permitted a battle. In his rage
and disappointment he took his brother, now fallen and disgraced, by
the hair and shook him. But no longer was it possible to hold his
tribes together. The victory of the United States at Tippecanoe took
the ardor for battle and resistance quite out of them. There were
hundreds of them, however, who in the war of 1812, which broke out
immediately, followed Tecumseh into the British service, in which he
was commissioned as a major-general. In that service he was doomed to
continued disaster. The English commander. General Proctor, was
incompetent and, in all the qualities of real manhood, the inferior of
his savage ally. After the battle of Put-in-Bay, on Lake Erie, he
started to retreat. Tecumseh protested, and was induced to go on only
by the promise that winter supplies would be delivered a few miles up
the Thames. It was on this stream that Proctor finally determined to
make a stand, but at the outset of the action he, coward-like,
retreated with his red coats, leaving the Indians to bear the brunt
of the battle. Tecumseh had gone into the fight saying that he would
be killed, and his prediction was verified. But how he died no one can
say with certainty. No less than four Americans claimed the honor of
having killed him. Among the slain, in that time of fierce pursuit and
confusion, his body was not even identified. But there it was, on the
banks of that quiet Canadian stream, some thirty-five miles from
Detroit, that the greatest Indian in statecraft, diplomacy, devotion
to his people, and in dignity of thought and intellectual gifts, found
his unmarked grave. No one yet has written a biography of him that
does full justice to his great abilities and lofty character. But his
name is the most familiar of all Indian names, and he is the only
Indian after whom Western fathers and mothers have ever named their
sons. The late General of the United States Army, William Tecumseh
Sherman, bore his name, as have hundreds of other boys born in Ohio,
Kentucky, and the great States that roll westward from them.

[Signature of the author.]




JAMES LAWRENCE

(1781-1813)

[Illustration: James Lawrence. [TN]]


Captain James Lawrence was one of that band of chivalrous spirits who,
concentrating all their life in the work, with insufficient means, in
the face of powerful enemies, raised our infant navy in an instant, as
it were, to an honored rank in the world. The force and energy of the
free national development were felt in the spontaneous movement that
placed so many ardent, courageous spirits at the service of the
country. These men, Barry, Barney, Decatur, Bainbridge, Perry, Somers,
and the rest--the list is a long one--were volunteers in the cause,
fighting more for glory than for pay. Such spirits were not to be
hired--theirs was no mercenary service. It was limited by no
prudential considerations. They went forth singly or united, the
commissioned champions of the nation, with their lives in their hands,
ready to sacrifice themselves in that cause. Punctilious on all
points of honor, they sought but one reward--victory. There was but
one thing for them to do--to conquer; and, failing that, to die. Of
these fiery-souled heroes, who carried their country in their hearts,
the men of courtesy and courage, of equal humanity and bravery, true
sons of chivalry, Lawrence will ever be ranked among the noblest.

He was born October 1, 1781, at Burlington, on the banks of the
Delaware, in New Jersey. His father, John Lawrence, was an eminent
counsellor at law at that place. The death of his mother, shortly
after his birth, threw the charge of the child upon his elder sisters,
by whom he was tenderly cared for. His disposition answered to this
gentle culture. The boy was dutiful and affectionate, amiable in
disposition and agreeable in manners. Such a soil is peculiarly
favorable to the growth of the manly virtues where nature has assisted
by her generous physical gifts. The bravest men have often been the
gentlest. It is the union of the two conditions which, as in Sir
Philip Sidney, makes the perfect warrior.

Young Lawrence early showed a liking for the sea, and would have led a
life on the waters from the age of twelve, had not his father firmly
turned his attention to books and education. It was his intention to
prepare him for his own profession, the law, and his desire that he
should enjoy the usual preparatory finished education. This was,
however, prevented by his pecuniary misfortunes, and the youth passed
from his primary school at once to the law office of his brother, John
Lawrence, then residing at Woodbury. He spent two years in this
situation, between thirteen and fifteen, or thereabout, vainly
endeavoring to reconcile his humors to the onerous duties of the
unwelcome position. The death of his father left him, in a measure,
free to follow his own inclinations, and his brother, perceiving his
strong bent for the sea, placed him under the care of a Mr. Griscomb,
at Burlington, to study navigation, evidently with a view to enter the
naval service of the country, for we find him, after a brief three
months' instruction, in possession of a midshipman's warrant. This was
dated September 4, 1798, the year when Congress seriously directed its
attention to the protection of our commerce, then so wantonly pillaged
by the two great belligerents of Europe, by the creation of a distinct
navy department, and the enlargement of our naval force. The movement
was specially directed to the French aggressions on the Atlantic and
in the Mediterranean. Indeed, in all but the name, war existed with
France. It was called a quasi war.

Lawrence's first service was a cruise to the West Indies, in the
Ganges, a twenty-four gun ship, then commanded by Captain Tingey. He
showed in this and other voyages such aptitude for his duties that he
was made an acting lieutenant by his commander previous to his
receiving his commission from Government. In 1802 he was appointed
first lieutenant in the Enterprise, of twelve guns, one of the fleet
of Commodore Morris, sent to the Mediterranean to prosecute the war
with Tripoli. He particularly distinguished himself in that service,
by his adventures with Lieutenant David Porter, of the New York, in an
attack in open day on certain coasters or feluccas laden with wheat,
which took refuge in Old Tripoli, where they were defended by a land
force. The attack was made in boats, at close quarters, under a heavy
fire of the enemy.

Lawrence had a second opportunity of distinguishing himself in this
war in an action likely to be better remembered by the public, the
glorious adventure of Decatur, in the destruction of the wrecked and
captured Philadelphia, in the harbor of Tripoli, in February, 1804.
Lawrence was the first lieutenant of that officer in this brilliant
adventure, and shared its full dangers and glories.

Lawrence was also engaged in the Enterprise, in Preble's bombardment
of Tripoli, the same year. He returned in the winter to the United
States, with that commodore, in the John Adams. In the following
spring of 1805, Lawrence successfully carried across the Atlantic one
of the fleet of gunboats, No. 6, of which he was commander, destined
for service in the Mediterranean. It was a small vessel, mounting two
guns, not at all adapted for ocean navigation. The voyage was looked
upon as a marvel. When near the Western Islands, Mr. Cooper, in his
"Naval History" tells, he "fell in with the British frigate Lapwing,
28, Captain Upton which ran for him, under the impression that the
gunboat was some wrecked mariners on a raft, there being a great show
of canvas and apparently no hull."

After the war with Tripoli was ended, Lawrence returned to the United
States, and in the interval, when the war with England, after the
affair with the Leopard and Chesapeake, was daily becoming more
imminent, we find him, in 1808, appointed first lieutenant of the
Constitution. About the same time he married Miss Montaudevert, the
daughter of a respectable merchant of New York. He was on duty in the
Vixen, Wasp, and Argus; and, at the commencement of the war of 1812,
was promoted to the command of the Hornet. While in this last vessel
he sailed with Bainbridge, who had the flag-ship Constitution, on a
cruise along the coast of South America, and, having occasion to look
in at the port of San Salvador, found there the British sloop-of-war,
Bonne Citoyenne, of eighteen guns, ready to sail for England with a
large amount of specie. Lawrence, whose ship mounted an equal number
of guns, was exceedingly anxious to engage with this vessel. He sent a
challenge to its commander, Captain Green, through the American
consul, inviting him to "come out," and pledging his honor that
neither the Constitution, nor any other American vessel, should
interfere, which Commodore Bainbridge seconded by promising to be out
of the way, or at least non-combatant. The English captain, however,
declined.

It was an unhappy precedent which Lawrence thus established, injurious
to the service and destined to act fatally against himself in the end,
when from the challenger he became the challenged.

The Constitution meanwhile sailed away, to close the year with her
brilliant engagement with the Java, leaving the Hornet engaged in the
blockade of the Bonne Citoyenne. Eighteen days since the departure of
the flag-ship had passed while her consort was thus engaged, waiting
till her expected prize should issue from the harbor, when the Hornet
was robbed of her chances of victory by the arrival of his majesty's
seventy-four, the Montague. Escape now became the policy of Lawrence,
who luckily managed to get from the harbor in safety, and turned his
course to the northward, along the coast. While cruising in this
direction, after capturing a small English brig, he fell in with, on
February 24, 1813, off the mouth of the Demerara, two brigs of war,
with one of which, the Peacock, Captain Peake, he speedily became
engaged. The American vessel on this occasion had somewhat the
advantage in armament. In the words of Lawrence's dispatch, which
gives a modest and forcible account of the affair, after mentioning
his attempt to get at the first vessel he discovered at anchor off the
bar, he says: "At half-past three P.M., I discovered another sail on
my weather quarter, edging down for us. At twenty minutes past four
she hoisted English colors, at which time we discovered her to be a
large man-of-war brig; beat to quarters and cleared ship for action;
kept close by the wind, in order if possible, to get the weather gage.
At ten minutes past five, finding I could weather the enemy, I hoisted
American colors and tacked. At twenty minutes past five, in passing
each other, exchanged broadsides within half pistol shot. Observing
the enemy in the act of wearing, I bore up, received his starboard
broadside, ran him close on board on the starboard quarter, and kept
up such a heavy and well-directed fire, that in less than fifteen
minutes he surrendered, being literally cut to pieces, and hoisted an
ensign, union down, from his fore-rigging, as a signal of distress."

The hull of the Peacock was so riddled that she sank, while every
exertion was made by her captors to save her by throwing over her guns
and stopping the shot-holes. Nine of her crew went down with her, and
three of the Hornet's men. Captain Peake was found dead on board. The
loss of the Hornet was trifling compared with that of her adversary;
but one man killed and four wounded or injured, one of whom afterward
died. This superiority is attributed by Cooper, who sums up the
testimony, "to the superior gunnery and rapid handling of the Hornet."

This victory brought Lawrence a harvest of honors, public and private.
Before he sailed, he had felt called upon to protest to the Secretary
of the Navy against what he thought an injustice done him in the
promotion of a younger officer to a captaincy, while he remained
simply lieutenant-commander. He now found that the promotion had been
conferred upon him in his absence, and was offered the command of the
Constitution. He would have been pleased to sail in this vessel, but,
much to his annoyance, immediately after receiving the appointment was
ordered to the Chesapeake, then lying at Boston.

Captain Lawrence took the command of the Chesapeake at Boston toward
the end of May, 1813. The Shannon frigate, Captain Broke, a superior
vessel of the British navy, had been for some time off the port, and
her commander, assured of his strength, was desirous of a conflict.
"You will feel it as a compliment," he wrote, "if I say that the
result of our meeting may be the most grateful service I can render to
my country; and I doubt not that you, equally confident of success,
will feel convinced that it is only by triumphs in equal combats that
your little navy can now hope to console your country for the loss of
that trade it can no longer protect."

[Illustration: "Don't give up the ship."]

It would be complimenting the valor of Lawrence at the expense of his
judgment, if we were to pronounce him ardent for the fight, with the
circumstances under which it took place. In fact, as Mr. Cooper
states, "he went into the engagement with strong reluctance, on
account of the undisciplined state of his crew, to whom he was
personally unknown." The challenging vessel, on the contrary, carried
a picked crew, with every advantage of discipline and equipment. The
presumption, of course, is that he was fully prepared. The armament of
the two vessels was about equal, mounting forty-nine guns each.

At noon, then, on June 1st, Lawrence weighed anchor and left his
station in the bay to proceed to sea with a southwesterly breeze. The
Shannon was in sight, and the two ships stood off the shore till about
half-past four in the afternoon, when the Chesapeake fired a gun,
which was the signal for a series of manoeuvres, bringing the vessels
within range of each other about a quarter before six. The Shannon
hove to, and the Chesapeake bore down toward her. It was Lawrence's
intention to bring his ship fairly alongside of the enemy for a full
discharge of his battery. He consequently first received the enemy's
fire from the cabin guns, as, the wind having freshened, his ship came
up to measure her length with her antagonist, which lay with her head
to the southeast. Then the Chesapeake poured in her full fire,
inflicting considerable damage, which was repeated in the successive
discharges for several minutes. In this commencement of the action it
was considered that the Shannon received most injury, particularly in
her hull. Unhappily, the Chesapeake in turn lost the command of her
sails. The ship was consequently brought up into the wind, and fell
aboard of the enemy, with her mizzen rigging foul of the Shannon's
fore-chains. This accident exposed the Chesapeake to a raking fire,
which swept her deck, and, as she was already deprived of the services
of the officers who had fallen in the first discharges, her guns in
turn were deserted by the men. Captain Lawrence had already received a
wound in the leg; his first lieutenant, Ludlow, was wounded; the
sailing-master was killed, and other important officers were mortally
wounded. As the ships became entangled, Lawrence gave orders to summon
the boarders, who were ready below; but unhappily, the negro whose
duty it was to call them up by his bugle, was too much frightened to
sound a note. A verbal message was sent, and before it could be
executed Lawrence was a second time struck, receiving a grapeshot in
his body. The deck was thus left with no officer above the rank of a
midshipman. The men of the Shannon now poured in and gained possession
of the vessel. As Lawrence was borne below, mortally wounded, his
dying thoughts were of his command, uttering his order not to strike
the flag of his ship, or some equivalent expression, which is handed
down in the popular phrase, "Don't give up the ship!" He lingered and
died of his wounds on board on June 6th. The Chesapeake was carried
into Halifax, and there the remains of her gallant captain were borne
from the frigate with military honors, with every mark of respect
which a generous enemy could pay to a fallen hero.




STEPHEN DECATUR[6]

By EDWARD S. ELLIS, A.M.

(1779-1820)

         [Footnote 6: Copyright 1894, by Selmar Hess.]

[Illustration: Stephen Decatur. [TN]]


Stephen Decatur was born on the eastern shore of Maryland, Worcester
County, January 5, 1779. The family was of French extraction in the
paternal line, and of Irish on the maternal side. The grandfather was
a native of La Rochelle, in France, and married a lady of Newport, R.
I., where Stephen, the son of the commodore, was born. When a very
young man he removed to Philadelphia and married the daughter of an
Irish gentleman named Pine. Decatur was bred to the sea and commanded
a merchantman out of the port of Philadelphia, until appointed to the
sloop-of-war, Delaware. Upon the completion of the frigate
Philadelphia, the command of it was given to him.

The elder Decatur had one daughter and three sons. The daughter was
twice married, her first husband having been killed in a duel. The
sons were Stephen, James, and John P., all of whom grew to manhood.
The boys were educated at the old Philadelphia Academy in Fourth
Street. Admiral Charles Stewart attended the same school and was an
intimate friend of Decatur through life. Many of the incidents of this
sketch were received by the writer from Stewart, who fully appreciated
the manliness, courage, and nobility of the sailor, now accepted as
the foremost type of the heroes and founders of the American navy.

"Decatur was a born fighter," said Stewart; "I never knew a boy so
fond of a bout as he. I sat near him at school and have known weeks to
pass, without a single day in which he did not arrange a contest with
one of the boys. We generally adjourned to the Quaker burying-ground
opposite, and had it out among the tombs. Decatur despised meanness of
every description, and rarely was beaten in a fight. When only
fifteen, he half killed a partially intoxicated man who insulted his
mother and refused to apologize. He never knew when he was whipped,
but would hang on like a bull-dog. I was a few months older than he,
but we were appointed midshipmen in the same year, 1798. Our intimacy
was never broken by the slightest incident."

Upon entering the navy, in March of the year named, Decatur joined the
frigate United States, under command of Commodore Barry, who had
obtained the warrant for him. He served with Barry until promoted to a
lieutenancy. The United States needed repairs, and not wishing to stay
in port, Decatur applied for orders to join the brig Norfolk, then
bound to the Spanish Main. After one cruise he returned again to port
and resumed his station on the United States, where he stayed until
our naval troubles with France terminated. He was next ordered to the
Essex and sailed with Commodore Dale's squadron to the Mediterranean.
Returning home once more, he was appointed to the New York, one of the
second squadron under command of Commodore Morris. When he again came
back, he was ordered to command the Argus, to proceed with her to join
Commodore Preble's squadron in the Mediterranean, and on his arrival
there to resign the Argus to Lieutenant Hull and take charge of the
schooner Enterprise, then commanded by that officer.

The exchange being made, Decatur sailed to Syracuse where the squadron
was to rendezvous. There he learned of the disaster to the
Philadelphia. That frigate, as the reader will recall, ran aground
while blockading Tripoli (with which country we were at war), and was
captured by the Turks. Commodore Bainbridge and his crew of more than
three hundred, among whom were Porter, Jones, and Biddle, were made
prisoners and immured in a gloomy dungeon. Decatur quickly formed a
plan for capturing or destroying the frigate. Preble, to whom the
proposal was submitted, refused at first to give his consent, but his
impetuous lieutenant won him over and was allowed to lead the
expedition.

Decatur selected the ketch Intrepid, which he had captured a few weeks
before, and manned her with seventy volunteers, chiefly his own crew.
He sailed from Syracuse, February 3, 1804, accompanied by the United
States brig Siren, Lieutenant Stewart, who was to aid with his boats
and to receive the crew of the ketch, should it be found expedient to
use her as a fireship.

The weather was so tempestuous that it required fifteen days to reach
the harbor of Tripoli. It was arranged by Decatur and Stewart that the
ketch should enter the harbor about ten o'clock that night, attended
by the boats of the Siren. A change of wind threw the Siren six or
eight miles away from the Intrepid, and, fearing to wait for the
boats, Decatur decided to adventure alone in the harbor, which he did
about eight o'clock.

The Philadelphia lay within one-half gunshot of the Bashaw's castle
and of the principal battery; two of the enemy's cruisers were only a
couple of cables' length away on the starboard quarter, and their
gunboats were within one-half gunshot on the starboard bow. All the
guns of the frigate were mounted and loaded.

Although it was only three miles from the entrance of the harbor to
the frigate, the wind was so light that the Intrepid did not get
within hail until eleven o'clock. At the distance of two hundred
yards, the frigate hailed the ketch and ordered her to anchor under
threat of being fired into. Decatur's Maltese pilot, by his direction,
replied they had lost their anchor in a gale of wind off the coast and
were unable to do as commanded. When within fifty yards Decatur sent a
small boat with a rope to make fast to the frigate's fore-chains. This
was done and the Americans began warping the ketch alongside. Not
until that moment did the Tripolitans suspect the character of the
Intrepid. They were thrown into confusion, during which the two
vessels came together. Decatur was the first to leap aboard, followed
immediately by Midshipman Charles Morris. A minute passed before their
companions could join them, but the Turks were too terrified to sweep
the daring officers from the deck, as they might have done in the
twinkling of an eye.

As soon as Decatur could form a line equal to that of the enemy, the
charge was made. Twenty of the Turks were killed, many jumped
overboard, and the rest scurried to the main deck whither they were
pursued and driven into the hold.

The Americans had hardly gained possession of the frigate, when a
number of launches were seen hurrying about the harbor. Decatur
decided that the best defence could be made by staying on the frigate,
and he prepared to receive their attack. Meanwhile, the enemy had
opened fire from the batteries and the castle and from two corsairs
lying near. As the launches did not approach, the lieutenant ordered
the ship to be set on fire in several places. The flames spread so
fast that it was with the utmost difficulty the Americans were able to
reach the ketch. At that critical moment, a propitious breeze sprang
up and carried the Intrepid out of the harbor. She had not lost a man,
only four being wounded.

For this exploit, Decatur was promoted to the rank of post captain,
there being no intermediate grade. The honor was specially gratifying,
since the promotion was made with the consent of every officer over
whose head he was raised. It should be stated that at that time the
rank of captain was the highest in the navy. A commodore was simply
the senior officer of a squadron and might be a master, commandant, a
lieutenant, or midshipman.

It was decided some weeks later to make an attack on Tripoli. The King
of Naples loaned six gunboats and two lombards to Commodore Preble.
These were formed in two divisions, Decatur commanding one and
Lieutenant Somers the other. The squadron which sailed from Syracuse
included the frigate Constitution, the brig Siren, the schooners
Nautilus and Vixen, and the gunboats. Adverse winds deferred the
attack for several days. Finally, on the morning of August 3d, the
weather being favorable, the signal was given from the commodore's
vessel to prepare for action. This signal to open the bombardment was
made at nine o'clock. The gunboats were cast off and advanced in a
line ahead, led by Captain Decatur and covered by the frigate
Constitution and the brigs and schooners. The enemy's gunboats were
moored along the harbor under the batteries and within musket-shot.
Their sails had been taken from them and they were ordered to sink
rather than abandon their position. They were aided and covered also
by a brig of sixteen and a schooner of ten guns.

Before entering into close action, Decatur went alongside each of the
boats and directed them to unship their bowsprits and follow him, as
it was his intention to board the enemy's boats. Lieutenant James
Decatur commanded one of the boats belonging to Commodore Preble's
division, but being farther to the windward than the rest of his
division, he joined and took orders from his brother.

When Captain Decatur in the leading boat came within range of the
batteries, they and the gunboats opened fire. He returned it and
pushed his way among the boats. At this juncture, Commodore Preble,
fearing the results of Decatur's rashness, ordered the signal to be
made for retreat. This command brought to light the singular fact,
that in making out the signals before going into battle, no one had
thought of that which ordered a retreat. It was impossible, therefore,
to recall the daring Decatur.

The enemy's gunboats contained forty men each and ours the same.
Decatur had twenty-seven Americans and thirteen Neapolitans. On
boarding the enemy, the latter held back, but our countrymen charged
eagerly forward. Ten minutes sufficed to clear the deck. Eight of the
Turks plunged into the hold, some fell while fighting, and others
leaped into the sea. Only three of the Americans were wounded.

As Decatur was about to withdraw with his prize, his brother's boat
came under the stern. The men called to him that they had engaged and
captured one of the enemy, but her commander, after surrendering, had
treacherously shot Lieutenant James Decatur, pushed off while the crew
were recovering the body, and was at that moment making all haste for
the harbor.

Decatur was infuriated on hearing this and resolved that the miscreant
should not escape. With his single boat he pressed with all possible
speed within the enemy's line, and running aside the offending boat,
bounded over the gunwale, followed by eleven Americans, all that were
left to him. Then followed the most desperate hand to hand fight
conceivable, the issue being in doubt for twenty minutes.

There have been many accounts of Decatur's exploit on this Tripolitan
gunboat, with considerable variation as to particulars. That which
follows is the story as it was told to me by Admiral Stewart, who
received it from Decatur himself, immediately after the fight. Decatur
presented the weapon, called an espontoon, to Stewart, and I naturally
examined it with great interest. The handle was of ivory and the blade
perhaps eight or ten inches long, being very narrow and curved like a
scimetar. It had no edge, was sharply pointed, and evidently made for
thrusting.

Nothing could stay the fury of Decatur. He easily identified the
commander by his immense size and gorgeous uniform. He eagerly sought
out the American and they instantly came together in the fight to the
death. Decatur had a cutlass, and the Turk a pike. The latter
inflicted a slight wound on Decatur's breast, and in parrying the
stroke his sword broke off at the hilt. Flinging the weapon aside, the
American sprang like a tiger at his antagonist. The two fell to the
deck, Decatur under, and flat on his back. The Turk had the weapon I
have described in the front of his sash and attempted to withdraw it
to give the finishing thrust. Decatur flung his legs over his back and
with one arm held his enemy so tight against his body that he could
not force his hand between. In this position, Decatur with his free
arm drew a pistol from near his hip, reached over the back of the Turk
and fired downward, directly toward himself.

"It was just like Decatur," said Stewart; "the chances were ten to one
that the bullet would pass through both their bodies, but luckily it
met a bone and the huge barbarian rolled off dead. The two were
half-smothered by others fighting and tumbling over them, and it was
with the utmost difficulty that Decatur freed himself from them and
rose to his feet."

While this fierce struggle was going on, a Turk fought his way forward
and aimed a fearful blow at Decatur, who was not aware of his danger.
Reuben Jones, an American sailor, so desperately wounded that he could
not use his arms, flung himself between them and received the blow on
his skull, which was fractured. It is a pleasure to record, however,
that the brave fellow finally recovered and lived many years on a
pension from his government.

Decatur succeeded in withdrawing with both prizes, and the next day
was honored with the highest commendation in general orders from
Commodore Preble. When the latter was superseded in command of the
squadron, he gave the command of the Constitution to Decatur, who had
some time before received his commission. From that ship he was
removed to the Congress, returning home on her on the conclusion of
peace with Tripoli.

Decatur was next employed as superintendent of gunboats, and March 6,
1806, was married to Miss Susan Wheeler of Norfolk, the only child of
wealthy and cultured parents. The union was a most happy one, though
no children were born to the couple.

In the month of June, 1807, the British frigate Leopard, while
cruising off the coast of Virginia, poured several broadsides into the
American frigate Chesapeake, commanded by Captain James Barron.
England, as will be remembered, insisted on the "right of search," and
the British Captain Humphreys claimed that the American had several
English deserters on board. The Chesapeake had three men killed and
eighteen wounded, and being unprepared for action, struck her colors.

Captain Barron was court-martialed and sentenced to five years'
suspension without pay from the service, for what was deemed a
cowardly act on his part. Commodore Decatur succeeded him in command
of the ship, being transferred to the United States, when she was
again put in commission.

October 25, 1812, in latitude 29° N., longitude 29° 30' W., Decatur
fell in with the British ship Macedonian, of 49 carriage guns (the odd
one shifting). This frigate was the largest of her class, two years
old, four months out of dock, and reputed one of the best sailers in
the English service. Taking advantage of the wind, the enemy fought at
her own distance. The battle lasted one hour and fifty minutes. The
United States poured such an incessant fire into the Macedonian that
the shouts of her crew were plainly heard. She lost her mizzenmast,
fore and main topsails and main yard, and was much damaged in the
hull. Her official list was, 36 killed and 48 wounded, that of the
Americans being 5 killed and 7 wounded. Decatur could have continued
his cruise, but was obliged to accompany his crippled prize into port,
where she was equipped as an American frigate. The young officer, as
may be supposed, was hailed by the country as its foremost naval hero.
Congress and several of the States voted him valuable testimonials for
his gallantry.

[Illustration: Decatur's conflict with the Algerine at Tripoli.]

The following year, Decatur attempted to gain the open sea from New
York, through Long Island Sound, with the Macedonian and Hornet. A
British squadron of superior force, however, compelled him to run into
the Thames River in Connecticut, and he lay off New London for months
unable to get to sea. He was naturally impatient at being thus cooped
up, and bitterly complained that traitors on shore, by means of "blue
lights," warned the enemy whenever at night he prepared to break out
of his imprisonment. He sent a challenge to Commander Sir Thomas Hardy
of the blockading squadron, offering to fight two of the British
frigates with two of his own, but the offer was declined and Decatur's
frigates were afterward dismantled.

Returning to New York, he assumed command of a squadron bound for the
East Indies, and put to sea in the President. January 14, 1815,
through the blunder of his pilot, his ship heavily grounded while
going out. The next morning, Decatur discovered the British squadron
in pursuit, consisting of the Majestic razee, the Endymion, Tenedos,
and Pomona frigates and a brig. Of these the Endymion was the
fleetest. After drawing her away from the rest, Decatur turned and
attacked her. She was crippled and her battery silenced, when the
American resumed her flight. By this time, however, the other ships
had come up and opened fire. Escape was impossible and Decatur
surrendered to the British squadron.

Returning to the United States under parole, he was despatched to the
Mediterranean, on the conclusion of peace, to punish the Algerine
pirates that were preying upon our commerce. He did his work
thoroughly and well, compelling the Dey to sign the most humiliating
treaty ever made with a Christian nation. He obtained similar redress
at Tunis and Tripoli.

Decatur was subsequently created Navy Commissioner and made his
residence in Washington at Kalorama, formerly occupied by Joel Benton.

Commodore Barron's suspension began February 8, 1808. He resorted to
the merchant service, and was abroad when war was declared. His
suspension terminated about eight months afterward, some time after
which he reported himself to the navy department, by letter, for duty,
the war continuing two years after his becoming available for command.
He did not return to the United States until the close of 1818. He
declared that he had used every effort to reach home before during
hostilities, but was prevented. A court, presided over by Captain
Charles Stewart, afterward declared its judgment that such effort had
not been made by Barron.

The latter felt resentful toward Decatur, and called him to account
for certain expressions he had been told were used by him reflecting
upon his conduct as an officer. When appealed to, Decatur, as Navy
Commissioner, declared that he held no personal enmity toward Barron;
he deemed it unjust to other officers of the navy that his request to
be restored to command should be granted.

Barron opened a sharp correspondence with Decatur, which continued
nearly a year. Mutual friends, or rather enemies, fanned the trouble
between them, which ended in a challenge from Barron which was
promptly accepted by Decatur. The duel took place at Bladensburg, on
the morning of March 22, 1820, Commodore Bainbridge was Decatur's
second, and Captain Jesse D. Elliott served Barron in a similar
capacity. Decatur chivalrously surrendered his right to name the
distance, which Barron made the shortest possible, eight paces, on
account of his defective eyesight. Decatur was without a superior as a
pistol shot, and, declaring that he did not wish the life of his
antagonist, said he would only wound him in the hip.

At the word "two," both fired so exactly together, that only one
report was heard. Barron was struck in the right hip, as Decatur
intended, and sank to the ground. Decatur stood erect a moment and was
seen to turn pale, compress his lips, and press his hand against his
side. Then he fell, the ball having passed through his abdomen.

"I am mortally wounded," he said, "and wish that it had been in the
defence of my country." His attendants helped him to his feet, and
started slowly toward the waiting carriage. His pain was so great that
after a few paces he sank exhausted, near where Barron was stretched
on the ground. While the two thus lay near each other, waiting to be
carried off, they shook hands, and each freely forgave the other.

Decatur was lifted into the carriage, which reached Washington at
half-past ten. He would not allow himself to be carried into his home
until his wife and two nieces were sent to the upper floor where they
could not see the dreadful sight. Wishing to save the distracted ones
from the grief of witnessing his suffering, he refused them permission
to enter the room where he lay.

The news caused consternation and sorrow in Washington, where no man
was more honored and loved than he. He thanked his friends for their
sympathy, told them he had not long to live, and signed his will. "I
am a dying man," said he, "and only regret that my wound was not
received on the quarter-deck in the service of my country."

When the surgeons proposed to probe for the bullet, he said it was not
worth while as it had done all the harm it could. He remarked that he
did not believe it possible for a person to suffer so much pain and
yet live. But not once did he utter a groan. His agony was beyond
description and did not cease until half-past ten, when he died.

It seemed as if the whole male population of Washington and the
adjacent county were present at the funeral, besides most of the
officers of the government, members of Congress, and resident foreign
ministers. The _National Intelligencer_, in an extra, said: "A hero
has fallen. Commodore Stephen Decatur, one of the first officers of
our navy, the pride of his country, the gallant and noble-hearted
gentleman, is no more. He expired a few minutes ago, of the mortal
wound received in the duel this morning. Mourn, Columbia! for one of
thy brightest stars is set! A son without fear and without reproach,
in the fulness of his fame, in the prime of his usefulness, has
descended into the tomb."

[Signature of the author.]




OLIVER HAZARD PERRY

(1785-1819)

[Illustration: Oliver Hazard Perry. [TN]]


Oliver Hazard Perry was born in Rhode Island, August 23, 1785. The
late Commodore Mackenzie, of the navy, who possessed what we may term
a fine biographical faculty, has traced in his interesting narrative
of the Life of Perry, with fond minuteness, the early incidents of the
boy's career. The chief characteristics, he tells us, "were an
uncommon share of beauty, a sweetness and gentleness of disposition
which corroborated the expression of his countenance, and a perfect
disregard of danger, amounting to apparent unconsciousness." This
biographer gives some curious anecdotes of his school days.

Suffice it to say, that the family removing to Newport about this
time, Perry found good opportunities of education at that place, and
availed himself of them in a manly spirit. He was especially
instructed in mathematics, and their application to navigation and
nautical astronomy. As proof of the boy's ingenuousness, and the
interest he excited in intelligent observers, it is related that Count
Rochambeau, the son of the General of the Revolution, then residing at
Newport, was particularly attracted to him, and that Bishop Seabury,
on his visitation, marked him as a boy of religious feeling. These are
traits which shape the man; we shall find them reappearing in the
maturity of Perry's life, in his worth, humanity, and refinement.

The boy was but thirteen when his father, in 1798, was called into the
naval service of his country in the spirited effort made by President
Adams to resist the aggressions of France upon the ocean. He took the
command of a small frigate, built under his direction in Rhode Island,
named the General Greene, and carried with him to sea his son Oliver
as a midshipman, at the express solicitation of the youth. The General
Greene was actively employed in the waters of the Gulf of Mexico,
giving all its officers abundant opportunity for practice in the
infant service. The French war flurry after a while blew over, as the
Directory, the mainspring of these aggressions, lost power; peace was
patched up, and Jefferson shortly after inaugurated an unwholesome
pacific policy by a sweeping reduction of the navy, as if it were not
small enough already. In this mutilating operation the elder Perry was
dropped, the younger one fortunately retained.

The navy, however, was soon revived by the demands of the nation to
resist the iniquitous and insulting depredations upon life and
property inflicted by the Barbary powers. The United States had borne
far too patiently with these injuries, though she had the honor of
being in advance of the old powers of Europe in resisting them. The
Mediterranean became the scene of many a chivalrous exploit of our
early officers, a score of whom, headed by Preble, Bainbridge,
Decatur, Somers, and others of that stamp of fiery and indomitable
valor, gained immortal laurels by their deeds of daring in conflict
with the infidel.

The young Perry served as midshipman in the frigate Adams, which
sailed from Newport, in 1802, to join Commodore Morris' command at
Gibraltar. His ship was for some time employed in blockading a
Tripolitan at that port; a tedious but instructive service in
manoeuvring, at the close of which Perry, in consequence of his
accomplishments, was promoted by his captain to the duties of a
lieutenant. The frigate was then employed as a convoy, making the tour
of the northern ports. This gave Perry an opportunity to study scenes
of the old world, which can never lose their influence in the
formation of the man of education and refinement.

In 1809, Perry got to sea in command of an armed schooner, the
Revenge, which was employed on the coast service. While on the
southern coast, he had an opportunity to gain distinction, which he
did not fail to avail himself of, in cutting out a stolen American
vessel from under the guns of a British ship in Spanish waters, off
Florida. Conveying his prize off the coast, he was threatened by his
Majesty's ship Gore, of double his force, when, having, as Mackenzie
says, "no idea of being 'Leopardized,'" he put his little schooner in
readiness for boarding at a moment's notice--a spirited resolution of
great bravery, which he would no doubt have carried out, had the
British vessel insisted upon overhauling the Revenge. While engaged in
cruising off Connecticut and Rhode Island, in the beginning of 1811,
he unfortunately lost his vessel, through an error of the pilot, on
the Watch Hill Reef, opposite Fisher's Island, as he was sailing from
Newport to New London. Every seamanlike effort was made to save the
vessel, and when all was unavailing, Perry showed equal skill and
resolution in landing the crew in a heavy January swell, with a
violent wind. He was himself the last to leave the vessel. He was not
merely acquitted of neglect, but his conduct was extolled by a court
of inquiry.

He was, of course, thrown temporarily out of command by the loss of
his vessel; an interval of repose which he hastened to turn to account
by forming a matrimonial alliance with Miss Elizabeth Champlin Mason,
of an influential family at Newport, to whom he had become engaged
several years before, on his arrival from the Mediterranean. The
wedding took place in May, 1811, affording him ample opportunity for
the honeymoon, previous to the actual outbreak of the war impending
with England.

This event found him at Newport, with the rank of master commandant,
in charge of the flotilla of gunboats keeping watch in the harbor. It
was a service not altogether adapted to satisfy the ambitious spirit
of a young officer, but it was important in itself, and became, in
Perry's hands, a step to future eminence. His course, at this time,
illustrates a valuable truth, that no honorable employment is
profitless to a man of genius. He will in some way turn it to
account. Constructing gunboats, and recruiting men in port, were
services not calculated to make any great blaze in a despatch, but
they conducted Perry to his glorious bulletins of victory, and the
resounding praises of the nation.

He saw the new field of military operations opening on the lakes, and
his experienced eye must have seen as well the certain difficulties,
as the possible honors of the situation. It was not the post which an
officer with the claims of Perry would have sought, while brilliant
victories were being won, in the eye of the world, on the vast theatre
of the ocean. Others, however, were before him on that element.

Despairing of a command at sea, he offered himself to Commodore
Chauncey, who had recently been placed at the head of the lake
service. His character was understood by this officer, and the proffer
accepted. The necessary communications were made to the Government,
and in the middle of February, in 1813, he was ordered to join
Chauncey at Sackett's Harbor, with the picked men of his Newport
flotilla. He lost no time in reporting himself at the appointed spot.
His destination was Lake Erie, where he was to supervise the
construction of two vessels to be employed in the next campaign, and
he was anxious to get to the work; but Chauncey, who felt the need of
his aid, detained him for a while on Lake Ontario. He, however, toward
the end of March, reached Erie, where the vessels were building.

His experience in constructing gunboats at Newport was now of avail to
him. He put the defence of the works, which had been greatly
neglected, in a state of efficiency, and set himself to the collection
of supplies, workmen, and an armament: no easy matter at that day and
in that place in the wilderness; for such, as compared with our own
time, it then was. The labors of Perry in this work of preparation
were, in fact, of the most arduous character. They should not be
forgotten as a heavy item to his credit in the sum total of his
victory. Three gunboats and two brigs were launched and equipped in
May.

It was at this time that he received advices that Chauncey was about
to make an attack on the British post of Fort George, at the mouth of
the Niagara River. He had been promised a share in this adventure, and
hastened to the scene. The incidents of this journey show the spirit
of the man. In his own words, in a letter describing this passage of
his life: "On the evening of May 23d, I received information, about
sunset, that Commodore Chauncey would in a day or two arrive at
Niagara, when an attack would be made on Fort George. He had
previously promised me the command of the seamen and marines that
might land from the fleet. Without hesitation I determined to join
him. I left Erie about dark in a small four-oared open boat. The night
was squally and very dark. After encountering headwinds and many
difficulties, I arrived at Buffalo on the evening of the 24th,
refreshed, and remained there until daylight; I then passed the whole
of the British lines in my boat, within musket-shot. Passing
Strawberry Island, several people on our side of the river hailed and
beckoned me on shore. On landing they pointed out about forty men on
the end of Grand Island, who, doubtless, were placed there to
intercept boats. In a few moments I should have been in their hands. I
then proceeded with more caution. As we arrived at Schlosser, it
rained violently. No horse could be procured. I determined to push
forward on foot; walked about two miles and a half, when the rain fell
in such torrents I was obliged to take shelter in a house at hand. The
sailors whom I had left with the boat, hearing of public horses on the
commons, determined to catch one for me. They found an old passing one
which could not run away, and brought him in, rigged a rope from the
boat into a bridle, and borrowed a saddle without either stirrup,
girth, or crupper. Thus accoutred they pursued me, and found me at the
house where I had stopped. The rain ceasing, I mounted; my legs hung
down the sides of the horse, and I was obliged to steady the saddle by
holding by the mane. In this style I entered the camp, it raining
again most violently. Colonel Porter being the first to discover me,
insisted upon my taking his horse, as I had some distance to ride to
the other end of the camp, off which the Madison lay."

Having thus reached head-quarters, arrangements were rapidly made, and
the landing of the troops assigned to Perry. In the ignorance or
inexperience of some of the officers, there was considerable confusion
in directing the boats in the river, which was remedied by Perry's
vigilance and decision. He was everywhere, in the midst of danger,
guiding and directing; the unexpected attack of the British was met by
his energy, the landing effected, and the object of the expedition
accomplished. This victory opened the port of Black Rock, where
several American vessels were collected, which Perry undertook to get
into Lake Erie against the strong current of the river, a feat which
was accomplished with extraordinary fatigue; so that he returned to
his station at Erie, with a respectable addition of five vessels to
his own newly launched little fleet in that harbor. The American force
was composed of the brigs Lawrence and Niagara, of twenty guns each,
and seven smaller vessels, numbering in all fifty-four guns. Captain
Barclay, commander of the British forces on the lake, had the Detroit,
of nineteen guns, the Queen Charlotte, Lady Provost, and three other
vessels, numbering altogether sixty-three guns. The range of the
enemy's guns gave them the advantage at a distance, when the
corresponding American fire was ineffectual. The Americans, too, were
under a disadvantage in the enfeebled state of the crews, by the
general illness which prevailed among them. The British force had
undoubtedly the superiority in trained men, as compared with Perry's
extemporized miscellaneous command, and untried junior officers. The
latter proved, however, to be of the right material.

On the morning of the engagement the American fleet was among the
islands off Malden at Put in Bay, when the British fleet bore up.
There was some difficulty at first in clearing the islands, and the
nature of the wind seemed likely to throw Perry upon the defensive,
when a southeast breeze springing up, enabled him to bear down upon
the enemy. This was at ten o'clock of a fine autumnal morning. Perry
arranged his vessels in line, taking the lead in his flag-ship, the
Lawrence, on which he now raised the signal for action, a blue flag,
inscribed in large white letters, with the words of the dying
Lawrence, "Don't give up the ship!" He accompanied this movement with
an appeal to his men. "My brave lads, this flag contains the last
words of Captain Lawrence. Shall I hoist it?" "Ay, ay, sir!" was the
willing response. In this way he cheered the men in the awful pause,
"a dead silence of an hour and a half," preceding the action, for in
the light breeze the vessels were long in overcoming the intermediate
distance of several miles.

Perry, who knew the perils of the day, prepared his papers as if for
death. He leaded the public documents in readiness to be cast
overboard, and--a touching trait of these moments--gave a hurried
perusal to his wife's letters, and tore them to pieces lest they
should be read by the enemy.

The awful silence is suddenly broken by a bugle sounded on board the
Detroit, and the cheers of the British seamen. A shot from that vessel
fell short of its mark. The Lawrence bears on to meet the fire,
accompanied by the other vessels of the command in appointed order,
each destined for its appropriate antagonist. At noon the British fire
from the superior long guns, was telling fearfully on the American
force, when Perry made all sail for close quarters, bringing the
Lawrence within reach of the Detroit. He maintained a steady,
well-directed fire from his carronades, assisted by the Scorpion and
Ariel. The destruction on the deck of the Lawrence was fearful. Out of
100 well men, says Mackenzie, who had gone into action, 22 were killed
and 61 wounded. We shall not insult the humanity of the reader by the
details of this fearful carnage. It has probably never been exceeded
in the terrors of the "dying deck," in naval warfare.

In the midst of this storm of conflict, Perry, finding his ship
getting disabled, and seeing the Niagara uninjured at a safe distance,
resolved to change his flag to that vessel. He had half a mile to
traverse, exposed to the fire of the enemy, in an open boat. Nothing
deterred, with the exclamation, "If a victory is to be gained I'll
gain it," he made the passage, part of the time standing as a target
for the hostile guns. Fifteen minutes were passed exposed to this
plunging fire, which splintered the oars and covered the boat with
spray. The Lawrence, stripped of her officers and men, was compelled
to surrender.

Perry instantly bore up to the Detroit, the guns of which were plied
resolutely, when she became entangled with her consort, the Queen
Charlotte, and the Niagara poured a deadly fire into both vessels.
This cannonade decided the battle in seven minutes, when the enemy
surrendered. The American loss in this engagement was 27 killed and 96
wounded; that of the British 41 killed and 94 wounded. Gallant actions
were performed and noble men fell on both sides. It was every way a
splendid victor, placing the genius of Perry and his magnanimous,
spirited conduct throughout, in the highest rank of naval exertion.

The memorable letters, brief, at once eloquent and modest, which he
wrote that afternoon announcing his victory, are too characteristic to
be omitted in any personal account of the man. Addressing General
Harrison, he writes: "Dear General--We have met the enemy and they
are ours. Two ships, two brigs, one schooner, and one sloop. Yours,
with very great respect and esteem. O. H. Perry." The other was to the
Secretary of the Navy: "Sir, it has pleased the Almighty to give to
the arms of the United States a signal victory over their enemies on
this lake. The British squadron, consisting of two ships, two brigs,
one schooner, and one sloop, have this moment surrendered to the force
under my command, after a sharp conflict. I have the honor to be, sir,
very respectfully, your obedient servant. O. H. Perry." In consonance
with this simple eloquence, the mark of a master-mind, was his
chivalrous care of his wounded and conduct toward his prisoners.

The victory having been gained, and the lake thus cleared of the foe,
Perry was enabled to act in concert with General Harrison in driving
the British from Michigan, and when his fleet was of no avail to
follow them in their rapid flight, he joined that officer's land
expedition, and was present, acting as his aid, at the battle of the
Thames. "The appearance of the brave commodore," writes Harrison in
his official report, "cheered and animated every heart." Perry also
gained the gratitude of the Moravians, in whose district the contest
took place, by his care in relieving the inevitable evils of war. He
met everywhere on his homeward route with complimentary toasts and
resolutions, gathering volume as he reached his native State, where he
was received at Newport with military and civic honors. The city of
New York paid him a grateful attention in a request communicated by De
Witt Clinton, then mayor, to sit for his portrait for the civic
gallery. The portrait was painted by Jarvis, representing him in the
act of boarding the Niagara, and is preserved in the City Hall. He was
created an honorary member of the Cincinnati; Congress voted him a
medal and money; he was dined and feasted, and "blazed the comet of
the season."

Perry's next service was in August, 1814, in command of the Java, 44,
a frigate recently built at Baltimore. He was, however, not able to
get to sea, in consequence of the blockade by the enemy. On the
conclusion of peace he sailed in this vessel to join Commodore Shaw's
squadron in the Mediterranean. In 1819 he sailed as commodore in
command of the John Adams, for the West Indies, bound for the State of
Venezuela, to carry on an armed negotiation for the protection of
American commerce from aggressions in that quarter. Arriving at the
mouth of the Orinoco, he shifted his flag to the Nonsuch, and ascended
the river to the capital, Angostura, where he remained twenty days
transacting his business, in the height of the yellow-fever season.
His vessel had hardly left the river, on her way to Trinidad, when he
was attacked. For nearly a week he suffered the progress of the
terrible disease on board the small schooner, under a tropical sun,
when he reached the station whither he had sent his flag-ship, the
Adams. But he reached port only to die at sea, within a mile of the
anchorage, on August 23, 1819, when he had just completed his
thirty-fourth year. Such and so early was the fate of the gallant
Perry. His remains were interred from the John Adams at Port Spain,
with every attention by the English governor. Subsequently they were
brought home in a national vessel by order of Congress, and
reinterred at the public expense in the cemetery at Newport. The
country also provided for the support of his family. If ever America
produced a man whom the nation delighted to honor it was Perry.




SAM HOUSTON[7]

By AMELIA E. BARR

(1793-1863)

         [Footnote 7: Copyright, 1894, by Selmar Hess.]

[Illustration: Sam Houston. [TN]]


The builders of the American Commonwealth were all great and
individual men, but the most grandly picturesque, the most heroic,
figure among them, is that of General Sam Houston. Neither modern
history, nor the scrolls of ancient Greece or Rome, can furnish a tale
of glory more thrilling and stirring than the epic Sam Houston wrote
with sword and pen, as a Conqueror of Tyranny and a Liberator of Men.

His life is a romance, and even his antecedents have the grandeur and
glamour of military glory, for his ancestors, as "Sons of Old Gaul,"
had drawn their long swords in every battle for Scottish liberty, and
his own father died while on military duty in the Alleghanies. He had
also a mother worthy of the son she bore; a grand, brave woman, who
put the musket into his boyish hands with the words, "My doors are
ever open to the brave, Sam, but are eternally closed to cowards."

This was in the year 1813, when there was promise of a war with
England, and Sam was not then twenty years old--a tall, slender,
wonderfully handsome youth, with the air and manner of a prince. But
nothing of this bearing was due to schools or schoolmasters, he was
not of any man's moulding, although he had been educated for his
future in a noble manner. For to escape the drudgery of measuring tape
and molasses, he fled to the Indians when but a lad, and was adopted
by their chief, and with the young braves he learned to run and leap,
and hunt and ride, and find his way through pathless woods with all
their skill. This was his practical education; he had only one book
for mental enlargement, but this was Pope's translation of "The
Iliad." He read and re-read this volume till he could recite it from
beginning to end; till the words were living, and the spectral heroes
were his friends and companions. So that when he joined General
Jackson's battalion, he had the heart of a Greek demi-god and the
physical skill and prowess of a Cherokee Indian chief.

He made a glorious record in this war, and, being severely wounded,
both by arrows and gunshot, he returned to his home to be nursed by
his mother. When he was able to rise again peace was assured and he
resolved to become a lawyer. He was told that eighteen months' hard
study would be necessary, but in six months he passed a searching
examination, and was admitted to the bar of Tennessee with _éclat_.
Then honor after honor came as naturally to him as a tree bears fruit
or flower--first Adjutant-General of the State with the rank of
Colonel; then District Attorney--Major-General--Member of
Congress--Governor of the State of Tennessee. All these places and
honors were awarded him by large majorities during a period of nine
years. Indeed, between A.D. 1818 and 1827, the records of Tennessee
read like some political romance, of which the handsome and beloved
Sam Houston was the hero.

This was his second school. He was learning during these years those
great principles of government which enabled him afterward to
legislate so wisely for the land he conquered. And as soon as he was
ready for his destiny, an event happened which drove him back again to
the wilderness. Concerning this event no human being has the right to
speak authoritatively; it was an affair strictly between himself and
his bride of hardly three months. But whatever occurred, shattered his
life to pieces. He separated from his wife, resigned his office as
governor, and in the presence of a vast and sorrowing multitude, bid
adieu to all his friends and honors, and set his face resolutely to
his Indian father, who was then king of the Cherokees in Arkansas.

He began, in fact, his journey to Texas, the theatre of the great work
for which his previous life had been a preparation. The thought of
Texas was not a new one to him. No man had watched the hitherto futile
efforts of that glorious land for freedom with greater interest; and
there is little doubt that Andrew Jackson was a sharer in all
Houston's Texan enthusiasms, and that he also quietly encouraged and
aided the efforts for its Americanization. Indeed, at that day Texas
was a name full of romance and mystery. Throughout the South and West,
up the great highway of the Mississippi, on the busy streets of New
York, and among the silent hills of New England, men spoke of the
charmed city of San Antonio as Europeans in the eighteenth century
spoke of Delhi and Agra and the Great Mogul. French traders went there
with fancy goods from New Orleans, and Spanish Dons from the wealthy
cities of Central Mexico came there to buy. From the villages of
Connecticut, from the woods of Tennessee, and the lagoons of the
Mississippi, adventurous Americans entered the Spanish-Texan Territory
at Nacogdoches, going through the land buying horses, and lending
their stout hearts and ready rifles to every effort for freedom which
the Texans made. For though the Americans were few in number and much
scattered, they were like the salt in a pottage, and men caught fire
and the idea of "freedom" from them.

Texas was at this time a territory of the Empire of Mexico, and Mexico
was making constant, though as yet ineffectual, efforts to become
independent. Twenty years before Houston entered Texas, a number of
Americans joined the priest Hidalgo in his struggle to make Mexico
free. They were all shot, but this did not hinder Magee and Bernardo,
with 1,200 Americans, raising the standard of liberty two years later.
This party took San Antonio, and the fame of their deeds brought young
Americans by hundreds to their aid; though they received no money, the
love of freedom and the love of adventure being their motive and their
reward.

But these brave paladins were soon followed by men who bought land and
made homes, and in 1821 Austin, with the sanction of the Spanish
Viceroy, introduced three hundred families, who received every
reasonable guarantee from the Spanish Government. They were scarcely
settled ere there was another Mexican revolt against Spain. This time
the Mexicans under Santa Anna achieved the independence of their
country, and a Mexican Republic was formed, with a constitution so
liberal that it was gladly accepted by the American colonists. But its
promises were fallacious. For ten years Santa Anna was engaged in
fighting for his own supremacy, and when he had subdued all opposition
he had forgotten the traditions of freedom for which he first drew his
sword, and assumed the authority of a dictator.

In the meantime the American element had been steadily increasing, and
Santa Anna was, not unnaturally, afraid of its growing strength and
influence. In order to weaken it, he substituted for the constitution
under whose guarantee they had settled, military and priestly laws of
the most oppressive kind; and the complaints and reprisals at length
reached such a pitch, that all Americans were ordered to deliver up
their arms to the Mexican authorities. It was simply an order to
disarm them in the midst of their enemies. Now the rifle is to the
frontier American a third limb, and in Texas it was also necessary for
the supply of food for the family, and vital for their protection from
the Indians. The answer to this demand was a notice to Santa Anna
posted on the very walls of the Alamo Fortress:

"_If you want our arms--take them! Ten thousand Americans._" This was
a virtual declaration of war, but the American Texans were by no means
unprepared for the idea, nor yet for its translation into practice.

Austin--who had been sent with a remonstrance to Santa Anna--was in
the dungeons of the Inquisition in Mexico; but Houston, Lamar,
Burleson, Burnet, Bowie, Crockett, Sherman, and many another name able
to fire an army, were on the ground. Besides which, the sympathy of
the whole land was with the little band of heroes. For the idea of
Texas had been carried in the American heart for two generations. As
far back as 1819, President Adams had wanted Texas, and Henry Clay
would have voted three millions for it. Van Buren told Poinsett to
offer five millions. Jackson added an additional half-million for the
Rio Grande territory; but Jackson had more faith in Houston and the
American settlers in Texas than in money. His brave old heart was on
fire for the wrongs and cruelties inflicted by Santa Anna on his
countrymen; and he was inclined to make Mexico give Texas as an
atonement for the insults offered them. There is little doubt that the
defiance posted on the walls of the Alamo thrilled him with a similar
defiance, and that he instinctively put his hand on the spot where he
had been used to wear his sword.

The first step of the American-Texans was to set a civil government in
motion. Declarations and manifestoes had to be made, and loans raised
in order to maintain an army in the field. There were many fine
fighters, but Houston was the only statesman; and to him the arduous
duty naturally fell. In the meantime Lamar and Burleson with 200
picked men attacked the Alamo Fortress. It was defended by General Cos
with 1,000 men and forty-eight cannon; but on the afternoon of the
third day's fighting surrendered to the Americans. This was but the
first act in the drama, for as soon as the news reached Mexico, Santa
Anna with a large "army of subjugation" was on the road to Texas.

The Alamo was taken by the Americans during the first day of December,
1835; on March 2, 1836, Texas was declared by the Convention assembled
at the settlement of Washington, to be an independent republic, and 55
out of 56 votes elected Houston commander in chief. Houston
immediately set out for the Alamo, but when he reached Gonzales he
heard that every man in it had died fighting, and that Santa Anna had
made a huge hecatomb of their bodies and burned them to ashes. Houston
immediately sent an express to Fannin, who was defending Goliad, to
blow up the fortress of Goliad, and unite with him on the Guadalupe.
Fannin did not obey orders. He wrote to Houston that "he had named the
place _Fort Defiance_, and was resolved to defend it." This decision
distressed Houston, for Fannin's men were of the finest
material--young men from Georgia and Alabama, fired with the idea of
freedom and the spread of Americanism, or perhaps with the fanaticism
of religious liberty of conscience. After reading Fannin's letter,
Houston turned to Major Hockley, and said, as he pointed to the little
band of men around him, "Those men are the last hope of Texas; with
them we must achieve our independence, or perish in the attempt."

He immediately sent wagons into all the surrounding country to gather
the women and the children, for he anticipated the atrocities which
would mark every mile of Santa Anna's progress through the country;
and he was determined that these helpless non-combatants should be
placed in comparative safety in the eastern settlements. Then
commenced one of the grandest and most pathetic "retreats" history has
any record of. Encumbered by hundreds of women and children in every
condition of helplessness, the bravery, tenderness, and patience of
these American soldiers is as much beyond credence as it is beyond
praise. The whole weeping, weary company were to guard, and to forage
for; yet the men were never too weary to help mothers still more
exhausted, or to carry some child whose swollen feet could no longer
bear its weight. On this terrible march many children were lost, many
died, and many were born; and the whole company suffered from
deprivations of every kind.

On March 23d Houston wrote to General Rusk, "Before my God, I have
found the darkest hours of my life! For forty-eight hours I have
neither eaten nor slept!" And just at this time came the news that
Fannin with 500 men had been massacred, after fighting until their
ammunition gave out, and surrendering as prisoners of war under
favorable terms of capitulation. This news was answered by a
passionate demand for vengeance, and Houston, gathering his men around
him, spoke words which inspired them with an unconquerable courage.
His large, bright face, serious but hopeful, seemed to sun the camp,
and his voice, loud as a trumpet with a silver tone, set every heart
to its loftiest key.

"They live too long," he cried, "who outlive freedom, and I promise
you a full cup of vengeance!" But in words not to be gainsayed, he
told them they _must_ put their women and children in safety first of
all. Then he explained the advantages they were gaining by every mile
they made the enemy follow them--how the low Brazos land, the
unfordable streams, the morasses, and the pathless woods were
weakening, separating, and confusing the three great bodies of
Mexicans behind. He declared the freedom of Texas to be sure and
certain, and bid them prepare to achieve it.

When they arrived at Harrisburgh they found Santa Anna had burned the
place. It was evident then, that the day and the hour was at hand.
Houston transported the two hundred families he had in charge across
the Buffalo Bayou, which was twenty feet deep, and the very home of
alligators. He then destroyed the only bridge across the dangerous
stream, and wrote the following letter, now in the archives of the
Texas Republic:

"This morning we are in preparation to meet Santa Anna. We will only
be about seven hundred to march, besides the camp guard. But we go to
conquest. The troops are in fine spirits, and now is the time for
action. I leave the results in the hands of an all-wise God, and I
rely confidently in His Providence.

                                   "SAM HOUSTON."

Both armies were on the field of San Jacinto, and Santa Anna had with
him nearly two thousand men, against the 700 with General Houston.
Houston advanced to the attack at three o'clock in the afternoon, with
the war cry of "_Remember the Alamo!_" It was taken up by 700 men with
such a shout of vengeance as mortal ears never heard before. With it
on their lips they advanced close to the Mexican lines, while a storm
of bullets went over their heads. Houston and his horse were both
wounded, but both being of the finest metal, they pressed on
regardless of wounds. The Americans did not answer the volley until
they could pour their lead into the bosoms of their foes. They never
thought of reloading, but clubbing their rifles until they broke, they
then flung them away, and fired their pistols into the very eyes of
the Mexicans. When nothing else remained, they drew their bowie knives
and cut their way through the walls of living flesh.

Nothing comparable to that charge for freedom was ever made. Men said
afterward that the unseen battalions--the mighty dead as well as the
mighty living--won the battle. "Poor Fannin!" exclaimed General
Sherman, "he has been blamed for disobeying orders; but I think he
obeyed orders to-day!" Men fought like spirits, impetuous, invincible,
as if they had cast off flesh and blood. The battle began at three
o'clock in the afternoon of April 21, 1836, and after the Americans
reached the Mexican line, it lasted _just eighteen minutes_. At four
o'clock the whole Mexican army was flying, and the pursuit and
slaughter continued until dark. It was a military miracle, for the
American loss was only eight killed and seventeen wounded. Of the
Mexicans, 630 were left dead on the field; multitudes perished in the
bayou and morass; and there were nearly eight hundred prisoners. Only
seven men are known to have escaped either death or capture. Santa
Anna was found hiding in coarse clothing, and Houston had the greatest
difficulty to save his life. For Houston knew that the lives of all
the Americans in Mexico were in danger, besides which, he was needed
to secure the peace and independence of Texas. It required Houston's
influence, however, to convince men whose fathers and brothers and
sons had been brutally massacred at Goliad and the Alamo, that their
private vengeance must give way to the public good.

Just about the time that the battle of San Jacinto was fought,
President Jackson was one day found by Mr. Buchanan studying earnestly
the map of Texas. He was tracing Houston's plan of retreat--of which
he had doubtless received information--and putting his finger upon San
Jacinto he said, "Here is the place! If Sam Houston is worth one
bawbee, he will make a stand here, and give them a fight!" A few days
after this declaration, news was received in Washington that the fight
had been given and won on that very spot.

The annexation of Texas was now publicly, as it had long been
privately, the hope and goal of the Government; and for this end
Jackson, says Mr. Parton, "displayed an energy and pugnacity seldom
exhibited before or since, by a politician in his seventy-seventh
year." But "failure" was a word not in Jackson's vocabulary; he
annexed Texas, and dying as the measure was accomplished, talked only
in his last moments of Texas and Houston.

Houston was elected President of the new Republic by acclamation, and
he served the State two terms in this capacity. Both were marked by
the finest statesmanship; and during them the Texans suffered little
from the ferocious Apache, Comanche, and other Indian tribes. For
Houston fearlessly slept in their camps, and treated them as brethren;
and his Indian "Talks" have an Ossianic poetry about them. Thus he
writes to the Indian Chief Linney: "The red brothers know that my
words to them have never been forgotten by me. They have never been
swallowed up in darkness, nor has the light of the sun consumed them.
Truth cannot perish, but the words of a liar are as nothing. Talk to
all the red men, and tell them to make peace. War cannot make them
happy. It has lasted too long. Let it now be ended and cease forever,"
etc., etc.

After the annexation of Texas, Houston represented the State for three
terms in the United States Senate; but in 1859 he failed of
re-election, because he refused to go with the South on the fatal
subject of Secession. Yet so great was the confidence of the people in
his honor and ability, that they elected him Governor of Texas in the
same year; and he entered on the office in December, 1859. The
election of Mr. Lincoln in 1860 precipitated events; and though
Houston used all his mighty personal influence, and all his charmful,
potent eloquence to keep Texas in _the Union_, he failed, and was
deposed from the Governorship on his refusal to sign the Ordinance of
Secession.

Then he calmly withdrew from the scene, and there are many living who
remember his pathetic parting words. "I have seen," he said, "the
statesmen and patriots of my youth gathered to their fathers, and the
government which they had reared rent in twain, and none like them are
now left to reunite it again. I stand almost the last of a race who
learned from them the lessons of human freedom!"

These events inflicted a mortal wound upon his great spirit, and when
he heard the roar of the cannon announcing the secession of Texas, he
turned to his wife and said, "My heart is broken!" The words were only
too true; for two years he lingered a sad and solemn old man, mourning
for the woes of his country and for the defection of his eldest son
Sam, who had joined the Confederates, and been taken prisoner by the
Northern army. He was also suffering from the wounds received both in
the war of 1812 and also at San Jacinto; and it was evident that he
had come to the close of life. He himself looked forward to the event
without fear, and with a wise and well-grounded hope.

On March 2, 1863, Houston was seventy, and in response to an ovation
in his own city of Houston, he made a short, broken little speech. It
was his last public effort, and from it he went back home to
Huntsville, to die. His last days were spent in incessant and
heart-broken prayers for his country and for his family; and on July
26, 1863, three weeks after the fall of Vicksburg, he breathed his
last to the words "_Texas! Texas!_"

So honestly and unselfishly had this great man lived that he died in
poverty, needing many comforts; this hero, who by his valor and
statesmanship had increased the territory of the United States by more
than _eight hundred thousand square miles_, or about the equivalent of
_the thirteen original States_! But the splendor of his name is not to
be touched by such an accident as poverty; to the people of Texas,
Houston will ever be a beloved memory; and on the Roll of Fame he
shines forth, the noblest, the most princely, the most picturesque and
chivalrous character in American history.

[Signature of the author.]




WINFIELD SCOTT[8]

By HON. THEODORE ROOSEVELT

(1786-1866)

         [Footnote 8: Copyright, 1894, by Selmar Hess.]

[Illustration: Winfield Scott. [TN]]


Winfield Scott was born at Petersburg, Virginia, on June 13, 1786. His
father was a gallant Revolutionary soldier, his mother one of the
well-known Virginia family of Masons. He attended the schools in his
neighborhood, and graduated at the then famous college of William and
Mary; and upon graduation began his career as a lawyer. All his tastes
were military, however, and in 1807 he joined a volunteer organization
to watch the coasts, which were menaced by the British frigates; there
being then great excitement over the Leopard and Chesapeake affair.
When this flurry subsided he went down to practice in South Carolina.
Soon after his arrival there was another alarm of war, and back went
Scott post-haste for Washington, again abandoning his law, with the
hope of getting a commission in the army. Yet again, in 1808, the
chances of war once more retiring to the background, he tried his
fortune at the bar, this time in Virginia. Alarms of war were frequent
during the next four years, however, and Scott rigidly confined his
practice as a lawyer to the intervals when it was not deemed possible
that there could be danger from abroad.

In 1808 he was made a captain of light artillery, and was sent with
his company to New Orleans. Scott was always frank in announcing his
utter contempt for Jefferson's foreign policy as President, and his
abhorrence of the men whom Jefferson got into the army at this period.
West Point had only just started. Its few graduates did well in the
war of 1812, but most of the other officers of the army were men
appointed by political influence at the time, or else old officers who
in their youth had had some experience in the Revolutionary War, but
who were disabled by age, drunkenness, and long lack of acquaintance
with military matters. Among the officers themselves there were savage
factions, and Scott got into one or two scrapes in consequence of his
advocacy of one of the parties. In May, 1812, the long-delayed
hostilities were evidently close at hand, and Scott left New Orleans
for Washington.

In September, Scott, now made a lieutenant-colonel, reached Niagara,
only to share in the humiliating though petty defeats with which the
land war opened on our northern frontier. His first serious affair was
at the abortive effort to storm the Heights of Queenstown. When Van
Rensselaer, who had led the attack, was wounded so as to be unable to
take further part, Scott himself assumed the command. At this time
about a fourth of the American militia had crossed and were attacked
by slightly superior numbers of British regulars and Indians. Their
remaining companions, utterly undisciplined and with no leaders, were
struck by panic cowardice and refused to cross to the assistance of
their fellows. Scott behaved with distinguished personal bravery,
rallying his raw troops and leading them in a charge with the bayonet,
always a favorite weapon with him. Nevertheless his forces soon fell
into disorder and were driven over the cliffs to the edge of the
water, where, from lack of boats, most of the men were made prisoners,
Scott among the number. Much difficulty was experienced by the British
officers in preventing the Indians from massacring the prisoners.
Scott was a man of gigantic proportions. This fact, and the reckless
courage with which he had fought, had attracted the attention of the
Indians. Some of them came into the room where he was confined and
attempted to murder him, and only his great strength and quickness
enabled him to beat them off until he was rescued by a British
officer.

Soon after his capture he was exchanged, and promoted to the rank of
colonel. He joined the American armies as chief of staff to the
major-general commanding, and being about the only man in the army who
had any knowledge of tactical manuals and military treatises
generally, he was kept busy from morning till night in organizing the
staff service, drilling the officers, and the like. These duties,
however, did not interfere with his leading and commanding his troops
in battle. He led the advance guard in the successful assault on Fort
George in May, 1813, took part in a number of skirmishes, and served
with gallantry in Wilkinson's unsuccessful campaign.

Early in the spring of 1814 a camp of instruction for officers and men
was formed, with Scott in command, near Buffalo. Up to this time the
imbecility of the administration (and of the people whom the
administration represented) in not preparing for the war, had been
well matched by the supineness with which they carried it on. During
the eighteen months that had elapsed since the beginning of the
contest, only the navy, built by the Federalists when in power fifteen
years before, had saved the country from complete disgrace, the armies
generally being utterly inadequate in number, and moreover models of
all that troops ought not to be. Even in 1814 this remained true of
the forces intrusted with the defence of the Capital itself; but on
the northern frontier Scott, and his immediate superior, Brown, by
laborious work succeeded in turning the inefficient mob of the first
two campaigns into as admirable a weapon of offence and defence as
ever was handled by a general officer.

In July the little army of skeleton regiments, thus carefully drilled,
was ready for the invasion of Canada. On July 5th the fight at
Chippewa took place. The battle was practically between Scott's wing
of Brown's army and Riall's British troops, the numbers being almost
exactly equal. There was very little manoeuvring. After a tolerably
heavy artillery fire and some skirmishing between the light troops and
Indians on each side, in the woods, the British regulars and Scott's
American regulars advanced against each other in line across the
plain, occasionally halting to fire. It was noticed that the fire of
the Americans was the more deadly; their line was thinner and more
extended than that of the British. When within sixty or seventy paces
of one another the two sides charged; there was a clash of bayonets;
then the thinner American line, outflanking the more solid British
column, closed in at the extremities, and the British broke and fled
immediately.

This was not only a needed victory for the Americans, but it was the
first occasion for a generation that British regulars had been faced
in the open, on equal terms, with the bayonet and defeated. At this
very time the British had just brought to a close the terrible war
with the French in the Peninsula. Their troops had been pitted
successfully against the best marshals and the best troops of what was
undoubtedly the foremost military power of Continental Europe; and now
the American regulars, trained by Scott and under his leadership,
performed a feat which no French general and no French troops had ever
been able to place to the credit of their nation.

Three weeks later the British and American forces again came together
at the bloody battle of Lundy's Lane. The most desperate fighting on
this occasion took place during the night, the Americans and British
charging in turn with the bayonet, and the artillery of both sides
being captured and recaptured again and again. The Americans were
somewhat inferior in numbers to the British, and the slaughter was
very great, considering the number of men engaged, amounting to nearly
a third of the total of both forces. In the end the fight ceased from
exhaustion, the armies drawing off from one another and leaving the
field of battle untenanted; but the result was virtually a victory for
the British, for the next day they advanced, and the Americans retired
to Fort Erie. Scott, who had exposed himself with the reckless
personal courage he always showed when under fire, was dismounted and
badly injured by the rebound of a cannon ball in the early part of the
battle, and about midnight, just before the close of the actual
fighting, received a musket ball in the body which disabled him.

Scott did not recover from his wound in time to take part in the
remaining scenes of the war. After its close he went abroad, visiting
London and Paris, and being very well received, returning in 1816, and
again taking up his duties in the army. He indulged himself in the
luxury of a sharp quarrel with Andrew Jackson, a luxury which any man
could easily obtain by the way, but which was too much for any man not
possessing Scott's abundant capacity to take care of himself in any
conflict. He interested himself greatly in improving the tactics of
the army, and went out to take command in the Black Hawk war, where he
had no opportunity to distinguish himself. At the time of the
nullification outbreak in South Carolina he was appointed to see to
the interests of the United States in Charleston, where he acquitted
himself with equal tact and resolution. He commanded in the Seminole
war, but again had no opportunity to distinguish himself; and in the
winter of 1837-38 was stationed on the northern frontier, where he
succeeded in preventing invasions of Canada by American sympathizers
with the then existing Canadian rebellion. Soon after this he
superintended the removal of the Cherokees from Georgia, doing
everything in his power for the Indians, who, in defiance of the
pledged faith of the United States, were being driven out of that
State.

For the next few years Scott was comparatively inactive. He had a
great taste for politics, and could not forbear meddling with them,
although he was at the time general-in-chief of the army. He was a
very sincere Union man, and was an outspoken Whig, though with a
strong latent leaning to the Know-nothing party; for he distrusted
both foreigners and Catholics. He would not own slaves, and
disbelieved in slavery, but he also utterly disapproved of the actions
of the political abolitionists of the day. He was not only a very
ambitious but a very vain man, and at times his desire for civic
honors led him to try for success on fields where he did not show to
such advantage as on the field of battle.

When the Mexican war broke out, the President, Polk, whom Scott
detested, was reluctant to see Scott given a chance to make a record,
in view of his being a pronounced Whig, and of the probability that a
successful general, if nominated on the Whig ticket, would sweep the
country. However, toward the end of 1846, it became impossible longer
to pass by Scott's demands for active service, and, moreover, the
administration felt the less reluctance inasmuch as Taylor, another
Whig, had achieved much credit by his victories along the Rio Grande.
Accordingly Scott was despatched with a fine army to attack Mexico
from the seaboard of the Gulf and to penetrate to the capital of the
country.

Early in March of 1847 he landed near the city of Vera Cruz, with
12,000 men. Trenches were opened, a bombardment begun, and the castle
of San Juan de Ulloa surrendered on the 27th, 5,000 prisoners and four
hundred pieces of artillery falling to the victors. Scott lost in all
but sixty-four men killed and wounded. As soon after this victory as
he could gather horses and mules the army started for the interior,
and on April 18th encountered the Mexican army, about the same in
numbers as Scott's, under Santa Anna, strongly posted at Cerro Gordo.
Scott made his plans with great skill, and the battle is remarkable
because of the closeness with which the methods and results of the
actual attacks followed the outline which Scott gave of what he wished
accomplished, in his general orders of the day previous. The Americans
attacked with resolution. In places the Mexicans defended themselves
well, but in other places, where their troops were raw, they gave way
very quickly, and, as a result, the whole force was speedily routed
and driven in headlong flight, with great loss of artillery and
prisoners. Scott pushed closely after them, but almost immediately was
halted by the necessity of discharging four thousand volunteers whose
terms of service had expired. After waiting in vain for
reinforcements, the Americans again marched forward, and halted some
time at Puebla, where the long-looked-for additional troops finally
arrived in August.

The army had suffered a good deal from sickness, and Scott was anxious
to bring it into contact with the enemy as soon as possible.
Accordingly he pushed straight for Mexico. The Mexican armies,
numerically about equal in strength to his own, occupied very strong
positions, from which they were driven only by desperate fighting at
Contreras, San Antonio, and Buena Vista, the Americans losing 1,000
men killed and wounded, but capturing 3,000 of their adversaries and
thirty-seven pieces of artillery. An armistice followed, but the
negotiations came to nothing, and in September hostilities were
resumed. The strong outworks of Molino Del Rey and Chapultepec were
stormed with great loss to the Americans; for they were places of
formidable strength, the Mexicans defended themselves well, and the
assailants were few in numbers. The bravery of the victors, under
these circumstances, showed that Scott had not forgotten the art which
enabled him to turn the raw troops of 1812 into men who, alone among
the troops of civilized nations, could meet the British infantry in
the open on equal terms.

The City of Mexico fell immediately after the storming of Chapultepec,
and Scott marched in. There was no further fighting of consequence,
although bands of guerillas and brigands of all kinds had to be
dispersed. Scott treated them with proper severity. The campaign ended
unhappily for Scott in one way, for he became embroiled with the
administration and some of its partisans among the high officers of
the army, the intrigues which caused this embroilment being instigated
chiefly by Democratic jealousy of the Whig general. However, he was
thanked by Congress.

This was the end of Scott's active service. He again plunged into
political life, and in 1852 ran for the presidency on the Whig ticket,
but was hopelessly defeated. He continued general-in-chief of the army
until 1861, when he retired from the command. He was too old to take
the field and do his part toward the suppression of the rebellion, but
he remained stanchly loyal to the flag upon which his victories had
conferred such glory, and to which he himself had owed so much. Even
when his State seceded it did not affect him or cause him to waver in
his allegiance to the country for which he had so often drawn his
sword. He died May 29, 1866.

Scott had many little vanities, and peculiarities of temper and
disposition, at which it is easy to laugh; but these are all of small
moment in estimating the man's character and the worth of his
services. He was a fearless, honest, loyal, and simple-hearted
soldier, who served the nation with entire fidelity and devotion. He
was very successful in battle, and, not only his crowning campaign
against Mexico, but the way in which he trained and led his troops in
the Canadian campaign against the British, show him to have possessed
military abilities of a high order. His name will always stand well up
on the list of American worthies.

[Signature of the author.]




ULYSSES SIMPSON GRANT[9]

By OLIVER OPTIC

(1822-1885)

         [Footnote 9: Copyright, 1894, by Selmar Hess.]

[Illustration: Ulysses Grant. [TN]]


Napoleon I. was a genius; General Grant was not. But the earnest,
persistent, and determined efforts of men only moderately endowed by
nature with intellectual gifts, sometimes surpass what is accomplished
by the spasmodic flashes of those born to be conquerors. So far as the
successful career of the most prominent hero of the War of the
Rebellion may be used to "point a moral," it forcibly emphasizes the
results of energy, perseverance, and a determination to succeed in
spite of all obstacles. As a military strategist he was doubtless
surpassed by others who were engaged in the gigantic struggle with
him; but he accomplished, by adding to his soldierly abilities, his
personal attributes, which seemed not to have been within the power of
any other of the able commanders associated with him in the mighty
conflict.

It is not claimed that General Grant was born into the world with
brilliant, or even superior, intellectual powers, and his greatness
was in the combination of his individual qualities, and the fact that,
like Wellington, he was "rich in saving common-sense." He was a
soldier in the most comprehensive sense; and if he did not overtop his
colleagues in a knowledge of the science of war, he was at least their
equal. The career of its greatest hero illustrates the manner in which
the loyal nation gave to posterity a victorious Union.

Grant was born in humble circumstances at Point Pleasant, a village on
the Ohio River, and there were no accidents of family to gild or cloud
his coming into the world. He was descended from Puritan stock, and
one of his ancestors, a captain in the Old French War, was killed in
battle. The general's grandfather served through the Revolutionary
War. His father was a tanner in Ohio, but his son was not inclined to
follow that occupation, though he was willing to do so if his father
insisted upon it until he was of age, but not a day longer. He stated
his preferences in regard to his future employment, desiring to be a
farmer, a trader on the river, or to obtain an education. The first
was not practicable, and the second was not regarded as very
reputable. His father wrote to the representative of his district in
Congress, who obtained for the young man a nomination to the Military
Academy at West Point.

All the education the young candidate for military honors had was only
such as he had obtained at the district school, and the examination
for admission was considered a very trying ordeal, though it included
only the branches taught in the common schools. He "brushed up" his
studies, and as he was always cool and self-possessed, he did not fail
from embarrassment, as many do on such occasions, but was passed and
admitted. Of the class of eighty-seven only thirty-nine were
graduated. In rank Grant was the twenty-first, indicating about the
average ability.

As a cadet he was popular with his comrades. He was honest, fair, and
square, and was especially careful of the rights of others. The horse
had been a favorite with him from his early childhood, and at the
Academy he was distinguished as a bold and fearless rider. He was
sober and rather dignified in his manner. The name given to him by his
parents was "Hiram Ulysses;" but the Congressman had made a mistake in
presenting the nomination, and at West Point he was known as "Ulysses
Sidney." Failing to correct the error, he accepted the initial S., but
made it stand for "Simpson," after his mother. The first name was
suggested by an elderly female relative, who appears to have read the
Odyssey, and appreciated its hero. The initials of his name as it
finally stood had a national significance, which the newspapers were
not tardy in using at the time of his first decided victory.

He was graduated in 1843, and appointed brevet second lieutenant in
the Fourth Regiment of Infantry. The engineers and the cavalry are
considered more desirable arms of the service than the infantry, and
the best scholars at the Military Academy are assigned to them.
Grant's rank placed him in the latter. His regiment was sent to
Jefferson Barracks, St. Louis. Frederick T. Dent, his classmate, was
in the same command, and resided in the vicinity. He was invited to
the house of the Dents, where he made the acquaintance of Miss Julia
T. Dent, who became his wife five years later.

In 1845, the events which led to the Mexican War assumed form, and
Grant's regiment was ordered to Corpus Christi, where he was
commissioned as a full second lieutenant. His post was situated at the
mouth of the Rio Nueces, between which and the Rio Grande was a
triangular section of territory claimed by both governments; and this
was the nominal subject of dispute between the United States and
Mexico. General Taylor, commanding about four thousand troops, was
ordered to move his force to the Rio Grande, on which the Mexicans had
concentrated an army. A body of United States dragoons, commanded by
Captain Thornton, was surprised by an overwhelming force of the enemy,
and all of them killed, wounded, or captured. This event fired the
blood of the soldiers, as well as of the people of the country, and
Taylor crossed the river with the main body of his little army.

The Mexican generals declared that the advance of Taylor into the
disputed territory was an act of war, and active hostilities had
commenced. While the general was hastening to reinforce one of the
forts attacked, he came upon the Mexicans drawn up in order of battle
at Palo Alto. An action, mostly with artillery, followed, and the
enemy were defeated and driven from the field. It was the first battle
fought in thirty-one years with any foe other than Indians, by
American soldiers. Grant was in that first conflict of half a century,
as he was in the last ones.

The Mexicans had fled from this first considerable battle of the war
to Resaca de la Palma, where they had established themselves in a
strong position. Taylor attacked them the next day, and though their
force was triple that of their assailants, they were again defeated
and routed. The Mexicans fought with dogged courage, however they may
be judged from the events of the war. Three months later, General
Taylor marched upon Monterey with an army reinforced to 6,000 men. It
was strongly fortified, but the city was captured after a hard-fought
battle.

In the midst of the conflict in the town, while the Mexicans were
disputing its possession from the windows of the strongly constructed
houses, the ammunition of the brigade to which Grant was attached was
exhausted, and it became necessary to send for a fresh supply. It was
a service of extreme peril, and a volunteer was called for to perform
it. Grant was a bold rider, and he promptly offered himself to execute
the dangerous mission. Mounting a very spirited horse, he resorted to
the Indian fashion of hanging at the side of his steed so that the
body of the animal protected him against the shots from the windows,
and he passed safely through the street. With a sufficient escort he
succeeded in conveying a load of ammunition to the point where it was
needed.

Soon after the battle of Monterey, Grant's regiment was sent to Vera
Cruz to reinforce the larger army that was to march under General
Scott to the "Halls of the Montezumas." Lieutenant Grant, as a
careful, substantial, and energetic officer, was selected for the
important position of quartermaster of the Fourth Regiment. The army
proceeded on its uninterrupted career of victory till the capital of
Mexico was in its possession. The heights of Cerro Gordo were stormed
and carried, and Grant, as usual, was in the thickest of the fight.

The first considerable obstacle after the capture of Vera Cruz having
been removed, the army proceeded on its march to the City of Mexico,
occupying Jalapa and Castle Perote on the way; but at Puebla the
forces were so reduced by sickness, death, and the expiration of
enlistments as to compel a halt. For three months General Scott was
compelled to wait for reinforcements; but when he could muster 11,000
effective men, a very small number for the conquest of a country, he
resumed his march, and in August arrived in the vicinity of the
capital. Outside of the causeways leading to the city were the
strongholds of Chapultepec and Cherubusco, and batteries mounting a
hundred guns.

Chapultepec was a fortification one hundred and fifty feet above the
average level of the ground. A front of nine hundred feet bristled
with cannon. Behind it was a mill called El Molino del Rey, fortified
and garrisoned, which defended the approach to the castle. The capture
of this work was assigned to General Worth, to whose command the
Fourth Regiment belonged. The assault was a desperate one, for it was
"the last ditch" of the Mexicans; but it was carried, though the
assailing force lost one-fourth of its number in the assault. "Second
Lieutenant Grant behaved with distinguished gallantry," is the
official report of his conduct. Though custom and the precedents of
the service permitted the quartermaster to remain at a safe distance
from actual fighting in charge of the baggage trains, Grant never
availed himself of this immunity from personal peril, but retained his
place with the regiment.

When the strong places which defended the city fell, Scott and his
army marched into the capital. The Mexican forces fled, and the United
States flag floated over the "Halls of the Montezumas." The country
was conquered, and the war was ended. Grant had been engaged in all
the battles near the Rio Grande, and in most of them from Vera Cruz to
the City of Mexico, and he had won the brevet rank of captain for his
gallantry.

After the ratification of the treaty of peace, by which California was
acquired, the army evacuated Mexico, and Captain Grant was sent to New
York with his regiment. Its companies were separated and sent to
various military stations. After serving at Detroit and Sackett's
Harbor, the Fourth Infantry was sent to Oregon in 1851, the discovery
of gold in California having attracted an immense immigration to the
shores of the Pacific. The battalion of which Grant's company was a
part was stationed at Fort Dallas, and had some experience in Indian
warfare. In 1848 he had been married to Miss Dent; but in the wilds of
Oregon he was separated from his family. There was nothing there to
satisfy his reasonable ambition, no hope of rising in his profession,
and he became discontented. In 1853 he was commissioned as a full
captain; but this did not reconcile him to his situation, and he
resigned his position in the army to enter upon an untried life as a
civilian.

Grant was now thirty-two years of age; he had a wife and two children,
and it was necessary for him to provide for their support. His first
choice of an occupation had been that of a farmer, and he went back to
that in the present emergency. His wife owned a farm about nine miles
from St. Louis, and Grant located himself there. He built a house upon
it of hewn logs, working upon it with his own hands. He was not a
"gentleman farmer" in any sense, for he drove one of his teams with
wood to the city. He wore an old felt hat, a seedy blouse, and tucked
his trousers' legs into the tops of his boots. His habits were very
simple, and the lack of means compelled him to live on the most
economical scale.

The retired captain was not successful as a farmer; but he was known
as an honest, upright man, faithful in all his obligations. In his
need of a remunerative occupation he applied for the position of city
engineer in St. Louis; but he failed to obtain it. As a real estate
agent and as a collector he was equally unsuccessful, and his fortunes
were at a very low ebb. He obtained a place in the custom-house, but
at the end of two months the death of the collector compelled him to
retire. But while fortune seemed to have completely deserted him,
subjecting him to the fate of thousands of others in the struggle to
live and care for his family, it was more propitious to his father,
who was in comparatively easy circumstances, and had established
himself in the leather business in Galena, Ill. It seemed to be
incumbent upon him to do something for the relief of his oldest son,
and in 1860 the ex-captain became a member of the firm of "Grant &
Sons." This was the position in which the opening of the War of the
Rebellion found him.

For years the military spirit of the North had been repressed and
discouraged. Sober and dignified people regarded the soldier as
unnecessary, and military parades were looked upon as childish, and
classed in the category with circus shows. But suddenly, when the
cannon of the Rebellion began to resound in the South, the people were
awakened from their dream of security, and the profession of arms,
which had been disparaged and had almost fallen into disrepute, became
in the highest degree honorable, for the safety of the nation depended
upon it. Millions were ready to fight for the Union, but there were
very few trained officers to organize and command those who were eager
to uphold the flag and save the nation. Except here and there one who
had served in the Mexican or Indian wars, there was not a soldier in
the land who had any experience of actual warfare.

To Galena came the intelligence that Fort Sumter had been bombarded,
and with it the proclamation of President Lincoln calling for 75,000
volunteers. Grant was profoundly moved by the situation of the
country, and without seeking for or thinking of the honors and
emoluments that might be reaped, he patriotically desired to serve his
country in the present terrible emergency. The nation had educated him
for military service, and though he had fought with honor through one
war, he did not regard the debt as paid. He was a soldier, but he did
not boast of what he had done, or even claim the rank in the gathering
armies to which his experience entitled him.

In less than a week he was drilling a company in Galena, whose members
wished to make him their captain; but another citizen wanted the
place, and he declined it. He consented to go to Springfield, the
capital of the State, with the company. On the way he met the Hon.
Elihu B. Washburn, and by him was presented to Governor Yates, who,
however, did not appear to be greatly impressed, and did not take much
notice of him. Then Grant wrote to the adjutant-general of the army at
Washington, stating that he had been educated at West Point at the
public expense, and considered it his duty to tender his services to
the Government. He did not apply for the commission of a
brigadier-general; but was willing to serve in any capacity where he
might be needed.

No response came to this modest offer, and Grant visited Cincinnati,
where George B. McClellan, who had been appointed major-general of
volunteers by the governor of Ohio, was organizing the forces. Both
had served in Worth's brigade in Mexico; and Grant thought his former
friend might tender him a position on his staff. Though he called upon
him several times, he failed to find him, and returned to Springfield.
While he was waiting at the capital, Governor Yates sent for him, and
asked him if he knew how many men belonged in a company, how many
companies in a regiment, and similar questions concerning details
which were very perplexing to a civilian.

Grant assured him that he was a graduate of West Point, had served
eleven years in the regular army, and knew all about such matters.
This reply helped the governor out of his embarrassment, and the
soldier was invited to take a seat in the State House, and act as
adjutant-general. One who knew Grant better than others suggested to
the governor that he should appoint him to the command of a regiment.
This advice was acted upon, and the patriotic seeker for military
employment was appointed colonel of the Twenty-first Regiment of
Illinois Infantry. Grant promptly accepted the commission, and
hastened to Mattoon, where the regiment was encamped, and assumed the
command.

His command was a body of three months' troops, composed of excellent
material, but in rather a demoralized condition when the colonel
assumed command, for the men were American citizens, jealous of their
rights as such, and military discipline was new and strange to them.
Grant marched them to Caseyville, where he drilled them for four
weeks, and transformed them from a mob of independent citizens into
one of the best-disciplined bodies of troops in the country, which
became noted for its orderly and excellent bearing. The change was
effected so skilfully that no man believed he had sacrificed his
citizenship. The strong will of the colonel, dignified by the genuine
principle of patriotism, overcame the prevailing idea of equality, and
his command was a unit. The men were proud of the leadership of a
regular army officer, and admired him to such a degree that they
re-enlisted for three years.

While Colonel Grant was at Caseyville it was reported that Quincy, on
the Mississippi, was menaced by rebel guerillas from Missouri, and he
was ordered to the exposed point. In the absence of transportation he
marched his regiment one hundred and twenty miles of the distance.
From this point his command was sent into Missouri, where the
discipline and the morals of the body were improved by quiet and
judicious measures. Guarding railroads was the service in which the
regiment was employed; and when serving with other commands Grant was
the acting brigadier-general, though he was ranked by all the other
colonels.

In July of the opening year of the war Grant became a
brigadier-general of volunteers. The appointment was obtained by Mr.
Washburn, who had befriended him before. The Western Department was at
this time under the command of General Fremont. Grant's district was a
part of Missouri, with Western Kentucky and Tennessee, and he
established his head-quarters at Cairo, a point of the utmost military
importance as a depot of supplies and a gunboat rendezvous. Kentucky
had proclaimed a suspicious neutrality, and near Cairo, on the other
side of the river, were the three termini of a railroad from the
South. A Confederate force seized two of them, and Grant hastened to
secure Paducah, the third. The enemy hurriedly retired as he landed
his force, and Grant issued a temperate and judicious proclamation,
for he was on the soil of the enemy. He had acted without orders from
his superior, and returning to Cairo after an absence of less than a
day, he found Fremont's order, already executed, awaiting him. He also
took possession of Smithland, at the mouth of the Cumberland River.

With a force of 3,100 men General Grant made an incursion into
Missouri to break up a rebel camp at Belmont, where he fought his
first battle in the Rebellion. He had accomplished his purpose, when
the enemy was reinforced from Columbus, on the other side of the
river, and though he brought off his command in safety he narrowly
escaped capture himself. Fremont was superseded by Halleck, and for
the next two months Grant was employed in organizing and drilling
troops. Columbus, with 140 cannon and full of men and material, closed
the Mississippi. The Confederate line of defence against the invasion
of the South extended from this point across the country, including
Fort Henry on the Tennessee and Fort Donelson on the Cumberland, the
latter mounting forty guns, with quarters for 20,000 soldiers.

Grant was studying this line of defence, devising a plan to break
through it. By order of General Halleck he had sent out a
reconnoissance in force, under General Smith, who reported to him that
the capture of Fort Henry was practicable. Grant forwarded this report
to the commander of the department, and asked for permission to attack
it. This was refused in sharp and curt terms. A written application,
earnestly seconded by Commodore Foote, who had brought the gunboat
service up to a state of efficiency in the West, secured the desired
order. With 17,000 men, in connection with 7 gunboats under the
command of the commodore, Grant started upon his mission the day after
he received the order. Fort Henry was captured, though the army was
not engaged. The main body of the Confederate force escaped to Fort
Donelson.

The capture of Fort Henry cheered the army and the people. Grant
telegraphed the result of the attack to Halleck, and announced his
intention to proceed against Fort Donelson. Leaving 2,500 men to
garrison the fort, Grant marched with 15,000 from Fort Henry, while a
considerable addition to his force came up the river. The
fortification was invested, and after three days of persistent
fighting in cold, snow, and hunger, the fort surrendered. The gunboats
were severely handled by the water batteries of the enemy, and the
commodore was badly wounded, so that most of the work fell upon the
army.

It was a brilliant victory, and the loyal nation resounded with the
praises of Grant. This was the pointer to the fame he afterward
achieved. His reply to the rebel general, "I propose to move
immediately on your works," was repeated all over the country, and the
initials of his name came to mean "Unconditional Surrender," the terms
he had demanded of the commander of the fort.

The strategetic line of the Confederates was broken, and new
dispositions of their forces became necessary on account of this
important victory; Columbus was abandoned, and its men and material
sent to Island No. 10. The battle of Pittsburg Landing, or Shiloh, as
it is called in the South, followed under Grant's command. It was a
bloody and hotly contested action, and not as decisive as that of
Donelson. The ground was held, and the arrival of Buell with
reinforcements caused the Confederates to retire. Sherman had a
command in this battle under Grant, and the strong friendship between
these two great commanders, which subsisted to the end, had its origin
about this time.

Not such were the relations between Halleck and Grant, for the latter
was practically thrown into the shade by the former; but the hero of
Fort Donelson continued to do his duty faithfully, making no issue
with his superior. At this time he was in command of the Army of the
Tennessee. While he remained in this position the Union army and navy
had made decided progress in the West and the South; but no real
advance was made in the direction of the rebel capital. Then McClellan
was removed from his position of general-in-chief, and Halleck was
appointed in his place. Grant seemed to be forgotten for the time, or
his operations were overshadowed by those in the East. But he had
driven the enemy out of West Tennessee, and was turning his attention
toward Vicksburg.

When he had sufficiently informed himself in regard to the situation,
he proposed to the general-in-chief a movement upon Vicksburg, which
was really the Gibraltar of the Mississippi, and he was invested with
full powers to carry out his own plans. Constantly and earnestly
supported by Sherman, he battered against this strong fortress for six
months. Various expedients were resorted to for the reduction of the
place, without success. With the written protest of four of his ablest
generals in his pocket, Grant moved his army to a point four miles
below Grand Gulf, fought several battles on his way, and came to the
rear of Vicksburg. The Confederate engineers were doubtless as skilful
as any in the world, and seemed to be justified in regarding the
fortress, with its surrounding batteries, fortifications, swamps, and
tangled jungles, as impregnable.

Following up his regular siege operations, Grant exercised his
indomitable will against those tremendous defences, and Vicksburg
fell. The news of its surrender was spread all over the loyal nation
with that of the great victory of Gettysburg. The Confederacy had been
cut in two, and a decided turn in the struggle for the Union was
clearly indicated. The name of the victorious general was again upon
the lips of all the people. Grant himself seemed to be the only man
who remained unmoved. President Lincoln sent him an autograph letter,
acknowledging that Grant was right while he was wrong; and even
Halleck was magnanimous enough to send him a very handsome letter of
congratulation. The fortunate general had been made a major-general of
volunteers after his victory at Donelson; and he was now promoted to
the rank of major-general in the regular army.

A new department had been created for Major-General Grant, covering
nearly all the territory south of the Ohio. He was worn out and sick
after the severe exertions of the summer; but when informed that
Rosecrans was shut up and closely besieged by Bragg, in Chattanooga,
he set out for this point with only his personal staff. On the way he
used the telegraph and the mails, and suggested or ordered such steps
as would relieve the place, for the Army of the Cumberland, shut off
from supplies, was in desperate straits, sick and famished.
Reinforcements were hurried, and the result of his preparations was
the decided victory of the battle of Chattanooga and Missionary Ridge.
In this battle General Sheridan came to his notice for the first time.

General Grant was thanked, and presented with a gold medal by
Congress. He had become the idol of the loyal nation; but he bore his
honors very meekly. The grade of lieutenant-general was revived, and
conferred upon him. All the armies of the United States were now under
his command. He was called to Washington, and it is not possible even
to mention the honors that were showered upon him. In due time he took
his place at the head of the Army of the Potomac, and fought some of
the most terrible battles of the war. Richmond was his first objective
point, and failing in the direct approach to the capital of the
Confederacy, he moved upon it from the south. It was a long struggle,
but in the end Richmond fell.

At Appomattox Court House Grant received the surrender of General Lee,
granting the most magnanimous terms to the defeated army. The other
armies of the Confederacy soon followed the example of the Army of
Virginia, and the long and terrible conflict of over four years was
ended in a victorious Union. As soon as the surrender was effected,
General Grant, without any pomp or parade, proceeded to Washington,
not even taking in Richmond on his way, and reported in person to
President Lincoln. He advised the immediate reduction of the army,
sustained at an enormous expense, and no longer needed.

The war was ended! Perhaps no man ever stood higher in the estimation
of his country than Grant, and it was inevitable that he should become
a candidate for the Presidency. He had been a Democrat in politics
before the war; but he was elected to the first office in the nation
by the people, though the candidate of the Republican party. He was
hardly as successful in this office as he had been in the field; but
he carried with him the respect and admiration of the people to the
day of his death. He was re-elected to the Presidency; and the
objections of the people to a third term more than anything else,
prevented his third nomination.

After his return to private life he visited nearly every country in
Europe, and was everywhere honored as no citizen of the Republic had
ever been before. In the last years of his life he engaged in a
financial and banking business, by which he lost all his property.
About the same time an insidious disease was wearing away his life. He
had been approached before to write a history of his military life, to
which he would not listen. In his financial strait he accepted an
offer, and wrote the work, in two octavo volumes, while suffering from
the weakness and pain of his malady. He was doing it for his family,
for his own days were numbered; and there is nothing on record more
heroic than his struggle to finish this task.

Four days after he had finished his literary labor of love, he died of
the disease which had been the burden of his last days. He passed away
at Mount McGregor, N. Y., July 23, 1885. The loyal people mourned him
as the saviour of the nation from disruption, and even those who had
been his enemies in war were his friends in death. The whole nation
was present in spirit at his obsequies. His remains were interred at
Riverside Park, New York, and only await the imposing monument which
the metropolis of the nation he saved is to rear above his tomb.

His character can never be as prominent as the victories he won for
his imperilled country; but his honesty, his unsullied honor, and his
self-abnegation entitle him to another crown of glory.

[Signature of the author.]




WILLIAM TECUMSEH SHERMAN[10]

By ELBRIDGE S. BROOKS

(1820-1891)

         [Footnote 10: A Copyright, 1894, by Selmar Hess.]

[Illustration: William Sherman. [TN]]


Achievement wins applause. And when the steps toward achievement are
tinged with mystery, romance, or daring, the applause is irresistible
and continuous. So it has come to pass that by the side of Xenophon's
masterly "retreat of the Ten Thousand," of Cortes's burning his ships
at Vera Cruz, and of Marlborough's bold march through the heart of
Germany to the victory at Blenheim, stands Sherman's March to the Sea
and his "Christmas Gift" of captured Savannah. And yet this brilliant
leader of men had never seen a hostile shot fired until he was
forty-one, and his first battle was the defeat at Bull Run.

The March to the Sea, upon which Sherman's fame as a soldier so
largely rests, was by no means the greatest or most significant of his
many achievements. His record as a soldier is filled with examples of
his courage, his shrewdness, and his tenacity, while his mingling of
gentle ways and grim determination, of restlessness and calm, of
forethought, fearlessness, and frankness, make him at once a unique
and central figure in the decade of war and reconstruction that forms
so important a chapter in the story of the United States of America.

William Tecumseh Sherman was born on February 8, 1820, in the town of
Lancaster, the county-seat of that fair and fertile section known as
Fairfield County, in the southern part of the State of Ohio--the busy
commonwealth that furnished 300,000 men to the armies of the Union,
and gave to the Civil War its three greatest generals; for Grant and
Sherman were Ohio born, and Sheridan's boyhood was spent in the same
State.

But Sherman's ancestors were of stout Puritan stock, dating back
almost to the days of the Mayflower. His first American "forebear" was
a Puritan minister, Rev. John Sherman, an emigrant to the Connecticut
colony from Essex in England. Of one of the collateral branches was
Roger Sherman, drafter and signer of the Declaration of Independence.
The father of the soldier was Judge Sherman, of the Ohio Supreme
Court; his mother was "a Hoyt of New England."

William Tecumseh Sherman was the sixth of eleven children, a younger
brother being the lad who, later, became Senator John Sherman of Ohio.
Judge Sherman, the father of the boys, died in 1829, and William was
adopted into the family of Senator Thomas Ewing, of Ohio, a resident
of Lancaster, and a notable figure in American history, for he was
senator and cabinet minister for nearly forty years.

Sherman's training was that of a soldier from boyhood. At sixteen, he
was entered as a cadet at the Military Academy at West Point, from
which he graduated in 1840, standing sixth in a class of 42.
Engineering was his favorite study, but devotion to his books seems
not to have kept him out of mischief. He was not, he himself admitted
later, "a Sunday-school cadet," his record for behavior being 124 in
the Academy standard--not so very far from the foot. But Grant, it
must be remembered, ranked even lower in his behavior record, standing
at 149.

The twenty years that followed Sherman's graduation from West Point
were variously spent. He was commissioned second lieutenant in the
Third Artillery, July 1, 1840, and ordered to Florida to face the
hostile Seminoles. He was promoted to be first lieutenant November 30,
1841, and in 1842 was ordered to Fort Morgan, in Alabama. From 1843 to
1846 he was stationed at Fort Moultrie, in Charleston Harbor (where
the afterward famous Major Robert Anderson was his superior officer),
at Bellefontaine, Alabama, and at Pittsburg, in Pennsylvania, on
recruiting service. When the war with Mexico was declared, Lieutenant
Sherman was sent to California, then a debatable land. He reached
Monterey Bay, by way of "the Horn," in January, 1847, and spent three
years in California, returning east as bearer of despatches to the War
Department in 1850. In May, 1850, he married Miss Ellen Ewing,
daughter of Senator Ewing, then Secretary of the Interior under
President Taylor, and in September following he was commissioned as
captain and sent to St. Louis.

It was at this time, so Sherman notes in his "Memoirs," that he felt a
great disappointment to think that the war with Mexico was fought to a
finish without his having been "in it," and he adds, "of course, I
thought it was the last and only chance in my day, and that my career
as a soldier was at an end." It was at an end for a time, for after
garrison duty at St. Louis and New Orleans, he resigned from the army,
and, in 1853, sought to make his fortune in business.

He first went to California as manager of the San Francisco branch of
a St. Louis bank, but the ill success of the enterprise drove him east
again in 1857, when he engaged in the banking business in New York
City. To this enterprise, however, the famous panic of 1857 put an
early end, and in 1858 he was embarked in the law, with an office at
Leavenworth, Kan. This, too, failing to supply sufficient bread and
butter, he tried farming in Ohio for a while, and then applied for a
government position in Washington. Instead of this, however, he
secured an appointment as Superintendent and Professor of Engineering
in a new military college just started at Alexandria, in Louisiana. He
entered upon the duties of his position on the 1st of January, 1860,
when the mutterings of rebellion were already abroad; and just as he
had put the academy into good working order the war-cloud became so
black that Sherman, in a manly letter to Governor Moore, of Louisiana,
declared his intention of maintaining his allegiance to "the old
constitution as long as a fragment of it survives," resigned his
office, and returned to Ohio. In April, 1861, he accepted the
presidency of a St. Louis street railway company. Then Sumter was
fired on, the war fever filled the land, troops were hurried to the
front, and Sherman signified to the Secretary of War his desire to
serve his country "in the capacity for which I was trained." On May
14, 1861, he was appointed colonel of the Thirteenth United States
Infantry, and assigned to inspection duty in Washington under General
Scott, the commander-in-chief; and then the real story of his life
began.

At first fate seemed to be against him. He was too outspoken and
hard-headed to suit the reckless and effusive boasters of those early
days of the war, which he insisted would be long and bloody, unless
the whole military power of the Republic was put into the field to
crush the rebellion before it could grow into a revolution. He was as
disgusted as Washington had been in revolutionary times, with
short-service enlistments, and refused point-blank to go to Ohio to
enlist "three-months men," saying, in his blunt way, "You might as
well try to put out fire with a squirt gun as expect to put down this
rebellion with three-months troops." He was assigned to the command of
the Third Brigade of the First Division of McDowell's army, and had
his "baptism of fire" upon the disastrous field of Bull Run, which he
has characterized as "one of the best planned and worst fought battles
of the war." That famous "skedaddle," as it was the fashion to call
it, he frankly admitted, in his official report, began among the men
of his brigade, and the "disorderly retreat" speedily became a
humiliating rout, which only a few cool-headed officers, such as
Colonel Sherman, could check or control.

The chagrin over the stampede at Bull Run was so great, that the more
conscientious Union officers expected to be held responsible for it
and duly court-martialed; but to Colonel Sherman's surprise, his
superiors saw beyond the demoralization of the moment, and in August,
1861, he was made brigadier-general of volunteers and transferred to
the Department of the Cumberland, with head-quarters at Louisville,
Ky. From thenceforth all his fighting and all his fame was associated
with the armies of the West.

At once he saw the desperate condition of affairs in Kentucky--a
border State, only to be held for the Union by prompt and decisive
measures. He called for reinforcements frequently and emphatically,
and when the Secretary of War visited him on a tour of inspection, and
asked his views on the situation, Sherman paralyzed him by asserting
that for the defence of Kentucky, 60,000 men were needed at once, and
that 200,000 would be necessary there before the war in that State
could be ended. This was so out of proportion to the Secretary's
estimate that Sherman was declared crazy; he was deprived of his
command at the front and relegated to a camp of instruction near St.
Louis.

But so shrewd and correct an observer, so energetic a leader, and so
determined a fighter, could not long be left in retirement, and in
February, 1862, General Sherman was ordered to assume command of the
forces at Paducah, Ky. Desperate fighting soon followed. The battle of
Shiloh (sometimes called Pittsburg Landing) showed of what stuff the
"crazy Sherman," as the newspapers had called him, was made, and from
Shiloh's bloody field in 1862, to Johnston's surrender at Raleigh in
1865, Sherman's fame rose steadily, until it left him one of the three
greatest generals of the Civil War, and one of the famous commanders
of the century.

From Shiloh to Raleigh, Sherman stood, in a measure, as Grant's right
hand, for, even when Grant was "hammering away" in Virginia, Sherman,
by his strategy, shrewdness, and daring in the West was giving him
material support and help. In the three years of fighting, from 1862
to 1865, these events stand prominently out in Sherman's military
record--the tenacity with which he held the right of the line at
Shiloh, the faithful service he rendered as commander of the left
before Vicksburg, his rapid relief of Knoxville, his brilliant capture
of Atlanta, his daring and famous march to the sea and the capture of
Savannah, his equally daring march through the Carolinas to the help
of Grant, and his final capture of Johnston's army, which was the real
close of the war.

In all these events the peculiar traits of character that made Sherman
so conspicuous a success stood out in bold relief--his coolness in
danger, his bravery in action, his daring in devices, his readiness of
invention, his electric surprises, his scientific strategy, his
ruthlessness in destruction, his courtesy to the conquered, his
devotion to his soldiers, his loyalty to his superior in command, his
restlessness, his energy, his determination to succeed. These all
contributed to the result that made "Sherman's army" famous the world
over, and stamped him as the hero of a campaign that, according to
military critics, "stands alone in the history of modern warfare."

His scientific fencing with General Joseph E. Johnston, the
Confederate leader, was as masterly as it was effective. He forced his
rival from the stand he had taken as warder of the gateways to the
South's supply land, fighting him step by step from Dalton backward to
Atlanta, and capturing that stronghold of the Confederacy by
persistent and desperate fighting. Then, when Atlanta was won,
Sherman's ability to cut the Gordian knot, as no other man dared, was
displayed with especial force. Instead of frittering away his precious
time by simply holding Atlanta, or wasting strength unnecessarily by
hunting up a baffled and elusive foe, or devoting all his energy to
keeping open his long line of communication and supply, he determined
to strike a disastrous blow at the Confederacy, swiftly and
unexpectedly. Cutting loose from his connection with the West, he
would live on the enemy and lay waste the storehouse of the
Confederacy--or, as he expressed it in outlining his plans to General
Grant, "move through Georgia, smashing things, to the sea."

The boldness of this desperate measure at first attracted, as it
afterward alarmed, the authorities at Washington. Consent was given
and then recalled, but, before the recall could reach him Sherman had
acted quickly, fearing this same countermand. Upon receipt of the
order consenting to his march, he cut the telegraph wires to the
north, then he burned his bridges, tore up the railroad that connected
him with the West, and, with his army reduced to its actual available
fighting strength of 60,000 men, with banners streaming, gun-barrels
glistening in the sun, bands playing, and the men singing lustily
"Glory, glory, hallelujah!" Atlanta was left behind, and "Sherman's
army" set its face eastward and commenced its memorable march to the
sea.

In two parallel columns the army of invasion and destruction moved
through the fertile land, cutting a swath of desolation forty miles
wide, and crippling the Confederacy by dissipating its most cherished
resources. For fully a month the army was practically lost, so far as
communication with the North was concerned. Then it struck the sea at
Savannah, captured that beautiful city, and, in the celebrated
despatch which actually reached President Lincoln on Christmas Eve,
General Sherman presented to the President and the country "the city
of Savannah, as a Christmas gift."

Savannah taken, the more difficult march northward was determined
upon, so as to make a junction with Grant before Richmond, and end the
war by one final and tremendous stroke. The "Campaign of the
Carolinas," as this northward march was called, was a really greater
achievement than the march to the sea, for it was against more
formidable natural odds, and was done in midwinter. The distance
covered, from Savannah to Goldsboro, in North Carolina, was four
hundred and twenty-five miles; five large rivers were crossed, three
important cities were captured, and the Stars and Stripes were once
more flung to the breeze above the ruins of Fort Sumter. And yet, in
fifty days from the start, the army reached Goldsboro, "in superb
order," and concluded what Sherman himself designates as "one of the
longest and most important marches ever made by an organized army in a
civilized country." It was a great achievement, but it was without the
novelty, the mystery, and the dramatic qualities of the earlier
cross-country campaign, and so it has come to pass that the first has
been the most famous, and Sherman's march to the sea has gone into
history as one of the romances and glories of the War of the
Rebellion.

The campaign of the Carolinas fitly ended, as had the march to the
sea, in victory; and the successes at Averysboro and Burtonville
culminated on April 26, 1865, in the surrender, near Raleigh, of
Johnston, and the last organized army of the Confederacy.

The war was over. Sherman's army marched northward to Washington,
where, on May 24, 1865, on the second day of the famous Grand Review,
General Sherman and his victorious army marched past the presidential
reviewing stand--"sixty-five thousand men," says General Sherman, "in
splendid physique, who had just completed a march of nearly two
thousand miles in a hostile country." Then came the disbandment;
Sherman bade his "boys" good-by in a ringing farewell order; the men
departed to their waiting homes, and the splendid "Army of the West"
was a thing of the past.

After the conclusion of the war General Sherman was, for four years,
stationed at St. Louis, as Commander of the Military Division of the
Mississippi. He was a notable public character, with a reputation for
bravery that none dare assail, and a record as a soldier that made him
one of the nation's heroes. He stood next to Grant in position, merit,
and popularity; and when, in 1869, General Grant was elected to the
presidency, Sherman, who had been named lieutenant-general in 1866,
was promoted to the vacant post as general of the army, with
head-quarters at Washington.

He visited Europe in 1871-72 and, both because of his own brilliant
record, and his official position as head of the American army, he was
everywhere received with honor and distinction. Returning home he
wrote his "Memoirs;" they were published in 1875, and stamped him, in
the opinion of critics, as "by far the ablest writer among America's
military men."

On February 8, 1884, he was placed upon the retired list--"turned out
to grass," as he expressed it, "and told I could spend the rest of my
days in peace and retirement." As an especial mark of the nation's
pride in his record, he was, as the order stated, "placed upon the
retired list of the army, without reduction in his current pay and
allowances," and the President in the same order publicly put on
record the gratitude of the American people "for the services of
incalculable value rendered by General Sherman in the War for the
Union, which his great military genius and daring did so much to end."
It was a fitting tribute to the man who had worn the uniform of his
country for forty years, faithful to every trust and equal to every
emergency, and who had risen through every grade from a cadetship and
a lieutenancy, to the proud eminence of General of the Armies of the
United States.

The twenty-six years that were his after the close of the great
struggle in which he had been one of the central figures, were filled
with a quiet enjoyment of life and a wide personal popularity.
Wherever he went he was a living hero, welcomed and honored as such by
the people who owed so much to his wise brain and his unsheathed
sword. He could have been President of the United States, had he been
willing to accept the nomination that was offered him; instead, he
declined with peremptory and characteristic bluntness, and he is, it
is believed, the only man who ever did refuse that high office.

After his retirement he made his home, first in St. Louis and then in
New York, where the last five years of his life were passed, and where
he speedily became one of the great city's familiar, honored, and
notable figures. Here, too, the final call came to him. On February
14, 1891, when he had just passed his seventy-first birthday, sounded
the order "parade is dismissed," and Sherman died in his own home, in
West Seventy-first Street, mourned by an entire nation. He was buried
in St. Louis by the side of his wife, who had died in 1890.

William Tecumseh Sherman was, in the strictest sense of the word, a
soldier. His bearing and presence told of camp and uniform. With a
military education and military environments, he could not understand,
and could not calmly brook, the cautious conservatism of the civilian,
which would often temporize when swift, determined action seemed
necessary, and which was often boastful at home, and timorous in the
field. Able in action, fierce in assault, unerring in judgment,
watchful in detail; with a sagacity and foresight that amounted almost
to genius, and a memory that was marvellous, General Sherman was a
great military leader, and one who, when the opportunity came, rode
straight into fame and reputation. As determined as he was daring, as
magnanimous as he was impulsive, as clear-headed as he was energetic,
and as gentle-hearted in peace as he was ruthless in war, he was
indeed a unique figure in America's history, and, as time goes on, his
name will stand as that of one of the great Republic's most famous men
and most cherished memories.

[Signature of the author.]




PHILIP HENRY SHERIDAN

(1831-1888)


Philip Henry Sheridan, Commander-in-chief of the United States Army,
and the last and most brilliant of the great generals of the North,
was born at Albany, N. Y. March 6, 1831. He had few advantages of
early education and training, but in 1848 he obtained a cadetship at
West Point. Sheridan's hot blood and impulsive temperament were
manifested even in his student days, and a quarrel with a comrade
resulted in his suspension for a year. He was consequently unable to
graduate in 1852, as he should have done, but in the following year he
concluded his studies and was appointed a brevet second lieutenant of
infantry. In 1854 he was assigned to the First Infantry in Texas, and
the same year he received his commission as second lieutenant of the
Fourth Infantry. With the latter regiment he served during the next
six years in Washington Territory and Oregon. In the attack upon the
Indians at the Cascades, Washington Territory, in April, 1856, the
United States troops landed under fire, and routed and dispersed the
enemy at every point. General Scott drew special attention to
Sheridan's bravery on this occasion.

[Illustration: Philip Henry Sheridan. [TN]]

But it was the great Civil War which developed Sheridan's talents, as
in the case of many other distinguished officers, and made promotion
rapid. The resignation of commanders with Southern sympathies and the
creation of new regiments secured Sheridan a first lieutenancy in the
Fourth Infantry in March, 1861, and a captaincy in the Thirteenth
Infantry in the following May. Yet that memorable year in the history
of the United States "brought him little employment and no laurels."
After various minor services he was commissioned as colonel of the
Second Michigan Cavalry on May 25, 1862. He at once engaged with the
regiment in Elliot's raid against the railroad, which was destroyed at
Booneville. During the month of June he commanded the Second Cavalry
Brigade in several skirmishes, and on July 1st gained a brilliant
victory at Booneville over a superior cavalry force. His appointment
as brigadier-general of volunteers dated from this action. In the
autumn of 1862 Sheridan received the command of the Eleventh Division
of the Army of the Ohio, under General Buell. Moving out of Louisville
with Buell, against Bragg, he took part, on October 8th, in the
stoutly contested battle of Perryville, where he manoeuvred his
division with conspicuous skill and effect, holding the key of the
Northern position, and using the point to its utmost advantage.

At the famous battle of Murfreesboro, which was one of the bloodiest
and most prolonged of the campaign, Sheridan held the key-point for
several hours in the first day's fighting, "displaying superb tactical
skill and the greatest gallantry." After repulsing four desperate
assaults his ammunition unfortunately gave out. He then ordered a
bayonet charge and withdrew his lines from the field; but by his
obstinate resistance invaluable time had been gained by his chief,
General Rosecrans, to make new dispositions. Sheridan's commission as
major-general followed upon these services. From this time little of
interest occurred until September 19 and 20, 1863, when Sheridan again
distinguished himself at the battle of Chickamauga, rescuing his
division from a perilous position. General Thomas was transferred to
the command of Rosecrans' besieged army at Chattanooga, and thither
General Grant arrived with reinforcements from Vicksburg. Grant was
determined to dislodge the Southern commander, Bragg, who was posted
on Lookout Mountain and Missionary Ridge. Hooker carried Lookout
Mountain and Thomas captured the Ridge on November 25th. In the latter
operation Sheridan's division was the first to cross the crest, and it
pressed the enemy's rear-guard until long after dark, seizing wagons
and artillery. By his successful conduct in the West, Sheridan had now
thoroughly established his military reputation.

Grant, who had now become lieutenant-general, established his
head-quarters in Virginia in March, 1864. He was very badly off for an
energetic commander of cavalry there, and discussed the matter with
General Halleck. The latter at once suggested Sheridan, remembering
his splendid dash and bravery at Missionary Ridge. "The very man!"
exclaimed the laconic Grant, and Sheridan accordingly became commander
of the Cavalry Corps of the Army of the Potomac. Sheridan's progress
during the campaign of 1864 was like a whirlwind. His troops covered
the front and flanks of the infantry through the battle of the
"Wilderness" until May 8th, when the greater part of the force was
withdrawn, and next morning Sheridan started on a raid against the
enemy's points of communication with Richmond. Getting within the
Confederate lines he dashed upon the outworks of Richmond itself,
where he took one hundred prisoners, and thence moved to Haxall's
Landing, from which point he returned to the Northern army, having
destroyed many miles of railroad track, besides trains and a great
quantity of rations, and liberated Union soldiers. This expedition
included repulses of the enemy at Beaver Dam and Meadow Bridge, and
the defeat of the enemy's cavalry at Yellow Tavern, where their best
cavalry leader, J. E. B. Stuart, was killed. From May 27th to June
24th Sheridan was engaged in almost daily engagements and skirmishes,
harassing the enemy, and, with that good fortune which sometimes
attends the most daring soldiers, resisting all attempts to defeat or
capture him.

The Middle Department and the Department of West Virginia, Washington,
and Susquehanna were constituted the "Middle Military Division" in
August, 1864, and General Grant put Sheridan in command of the same.
He chafed for opportunities of further distinguishing himself and
justifying his appointment; but the enemy, under General Early, had
been reinforced, and for six weeks Sheridan was kept on the defensive
near Harper's Ferry. At length, when Early's forces had been
diminished, Sheridan expressed such confidence of success if he were
allowed to attack, that Grant gave him permission in only two words of
instruction, "Go in!" Sheridan went in, attacking Early with great
vigor, on September 19th, at the crossing of the Opequan. After a
severe battle the enemy was routed; Sheridan captured three thousand
prisoners and five guns, and sent Early, as he expressed it, "whirling
through Winchester." Next day President Lincoln, on Grant's
recommendation, appointed the victorious soldier a brigadier-general
in the regular army. Taking up the pursuit of Early in the Shenandoah
Valley, Sheridan found him on the 20th strongly posted on Fisher's
Hill, just beyond Strasburg. Quietly moving Crook's command through
the wood, he turned the enemy's left on the 22d, and drove him from
his stronghold, capturing sixteen guns.

The losses of Sheridan and those of Early in these two battles were
almost precisely equal, being about fifty-four hundred men each; but
the Northern general had captured many guns and small arms. Sheridan
continued the pursuit up the valley, but finding it impracticable to
proceed either to Lynchburg or Charlottesville, he returned through
the valley, devastating it on his way and rendering it untenable for
an enemy's army. By Sheridan's successes Grant obtained the
unobstructed use of the Baltimore & Ohio Railroad and the Chesapeake &
Ohio Canal, whereas his defeat would have exposed Maryland and
Pennsylvania to invasion.

Sheridan's next operations, however, were the most important, as they
have become the most renowned, in his career. Passing through
Strasburg, he posted his troops on the further bank of Cedar Creek,
while he himself, on October 16th, went to Washington, in response to
a request from Secretary Stanton, for consultation. Before the sun
rose on the morning of the 19th, Early, who had been reinforced,
surprised, during a fog, the left of the Union army and uncovered the
position also of the Nineteenth Corps, capturing twenty-four guns and
about fourteen hundred prisoners. General Wright succeeded in
retaining his grasp on the turnpike by moving the Sixth Corps to its
western side and the cavalry to its eastern; but the whole army in the
process had been driven back beyond Middletown.

Sheridan was at Winchester at this time, on his return from
Washington. Hearing the noise of battle, he dashed up the turnpike
with an escort of twenty men, rallying the fugitives on his way, and
after a ride of a dozen miles reached the army, where he was received
with indescribable enthusiasm. This famous incident gave rise to
Buchanan Read's stirring poem of Sheridan's ride, now one of the most
popular pieces in the repertories of public readers, both in England
and the United States. After the lapse of a few hours, spent in
preparing his forces, Sheridan ordered an advance, and literally swept
the enemy from the field in one of the most overwhelming and decisive
engagements of the war. All the lost Union guns were retaken, and
twenty-four Confederate guns and many wagons and stores were captured.
Congress passed a vote of thanks to Sheridan and his troops for the
"brilliant series of victories in the valley," and especially the one
at Cedar Creek. Sheridan was appointed by the President a
major-general in the army "for the personal gallantry, military skill,
and just confidence in the courage and patriotism of your troops," as
the order expressed it, "displayed by you on October 19th."

On February 27, 1865, Sheridan, with his cavalry, 10,000 strong, moved
up the valley, destroying the Virginia Central Railroad, the James
River Canal, and immense quantities of supplies, and defeating Early
again at Waynesboro. He then made his way toward Grant's army and
arrived at the White House on March 19th. In subsequent operations he
acted immediately under General Grant. The final campaign of the war
began, and on March 31st Sheridan was attacked by a heavy force of
Lee's infantry, under Picket and Johnson; but on the following day,
being reinforced by Warren, he entrapped and completely routed Picket
and Johnson's forces at Five Forks, taking thousands of prisoners.
Sheridan displayed great tactical skill and generalship on this
occasion, and the decisive battle of Five Forks compelled General Lee
to evacuate Petersburg and Richmond. Lee was soon in flight, but
Sheridan was speedily on his trail, and, far away in the Northern van,
he constantly harassed the enemy. Overtaking the flying army at
Sailor's Creek, he captured sixteen guns and four hundred wagons, and
detained the enemy until the Sixth Corps could come up, when a
combined attack resulted in the capture of more than six thousand
prisoners.

On April 8th Sheridan again engaged the Confederates at Appomattox
Station. Early on the morning of the 9th the enemy endeavored to break
through, but abandoned the attempt when Sheridan, moving aside,
disclosed the infantry behind. Sheridan mounted his men and was about
to charge, when the white flag betokening surrender was displayed in
his front. This brought the war in Virginia to a close, though in
Alabama and other districts the conflict continued to a somewhat later
period. The Confederate power, however, was broken by the surrender at
Appomattox Court-house, which practically ended the Civil War.

Sheridan subsequently conducted an expedition into North Carolina. On
June 3, 1865, he took command of the Military Division of the
Southwest, at New Orleans, and was appointed to the Fifth Military
District (Louisiana and Texas) in March, 1867. President Johnson,
being dissatisfied with his administration, relieved him of his
appointment during the reconstruction troubles in Louisiana, and
transferred him to the Department of the Missouri. He continued in
command until March 4, 1869, when he was promoted to the rank of
lieutenant-general, and assigned the command of the Division of the
Missouri, with head-quarters at Chicago.

During the Franco-German War of 1870-71 General Sheridan visited
Europe, and was present as a spectator with the German forces at
several celebrated engagements. He was held in high esteem by Prince
Bismarck and Count Von Moltke. After the sanguinary battle of
Gravelotte, which Sheridan witnessed, Bismarck returned with the King
to Pont-à-Mousson, and on the evening of the next day the German
Chancellor entertained at dinner General Sheridan and his American
companions, "with whom he talked eagerly in good English, while
champagne and porter circulated." At one point of the Franco-German
War, when Bismarck was at Versailles, anxiously desiring a French
government with which he could conclude a durable peace, "it almost
seemed," says Mr. Lowe, in his "Life of Bismarck," "as if he had no
other resource but to pursue the war on the principles laid down by
General Sheridan." The American soldier had said to the Chancellor:
"First deal as hard blows at the enemy's soldiers as possible, and
then cause so much suffering to the inhabitants of the country that
they will long for peace and press their government to make it.
Nothing should be left to the people but eyes to see and lament the
war."

[Illustration: Sheridan ride.]

In 1875, during the political disturbances in Louisiana, General
Sheridan was sent to New Orleans, returning to Chicago on quiet being
restored. On the retirement of General Sherman, in March, 1884, he was
appointed Commander-in-chief of the Army of the United States. He
died August 5, 1888. General Sheridan was the most brilliant cavalry
officer whom America has produced. In addition to conspicuous personal
bravery, he had an eagle eye for piercing through the designs of an
enemy and for detecting at a glance all their weak points. He
possessed wonderful energy, remained undepressed in the presence of
overwhelming odds, and had a superb confidence in moments of the
greatest danger. His career was one of the most romantic and
adventurous called forth by the great American civil struggle.




ROBERT EDMUND LEE

By GENERAL VISCOUNT WOLSELEY

(1807-1870)

[Illustration: Robert Lee. [TN]]


It is my wish to give a short outline of General Lee's life, and to
describe him as I saw him in the autumn of 1862, when at the head of
proud and victorious troops he smiled at the notion of defeat by any
army that could be sent against him. I desire to make known to the
reader not only the renowned soldier, whom I believe to have been the
greatest of his age, but to give some insight into the character of
one whom I have always considered the most perfect man I ever met.

As a looker-on, I feel that both parties in the war have so much to be
proud of that both can afford to hear what impartial Englishmen, or
foreigners, have to say about it. Inflated and bubble reputations were
acquired during its progress, few of which will bear the test of time.
The idol momentarily set up, often for political reasons, crumbles in
time into the dust from which its limbs were perhaps originally
moulded. To me, however, two figures stand out in that history,
towering above all others, both cast in hard metal that will be
forever proof against the belittling efforts of all future detractors:
one, General Lee, the great soldier; the other, Mr. Lincoln, the
far-seeing statesman of iron will, of unflinching determination. Each
is a good representative of the genius that characterized his country.
As I study the history of the secession war, these seem to me the two
men who influenced it most, and who will be recognized as its greatest
heroes when future generations of American historians record its
stirring events with impartiality.

General Lee came from the class of landed gentry that has furnished
England at all times with her most able and distinguished leaders. The
first of his family who went to America was Richard Lee, who, in 1641,
became Colonial Secretary to the Governor of Virginia. The family
settled in Westmoreland, one of the most lovely counties in that
historic State, and members of it from time to time held high
positions in the government. Several of the family distinguished
themselves during the War of Independence, among whom was Henry, the
father of General Robert E. Lee. He raised a mounted corps known as
"Lee's Legion," in command of which he obtained the reputation of
being an able and gallant soldier. He was nicknamed by his comrades
"Light-Horse Harry." He was three times Governor of his native State.
To him is attributed the authorship of the eulogy on General
Washington, in which occurs the so-often quoted sentence, "First in
war, first in peace, and first in the hearts of his countrymen,"
praise that with equal truth might have been subsequently applied to
his own distinguished son.

The subject of this slight sketch, Robert Edmund Lee, was born January
9, 1807, at the family place of Stratford, in the county of
Westmoreland, State of Virginia. When only a few years old, his
parents moved to the small town of Alexandria, which is on the right
bank of the Potomac River, nearly opposite Washington, but a little
below it.

He was but a boy of eleven when his father died, leaving his family in
straitened circumstances. Like many other great commanders, he was in
consequence brought up in comparative poverty, a condition which has
been pronounced by the greatest of them as the best training for
soldiers. During his early years he attended a day-school near his
home in Alexandria. He was thus able in his leisure hours to help his
invalid mother in all her household concerns, and to afford her that
watchful care which, owing to her very delicate health, she so much
needed. She was a clever, highly gifted woman, and by her fond care
his character was formed and stamped with honest truthfulness. By her
he was taught never to forget that he was well born, and that, as a
gentleman, honor must be his guiding star through life. It was from
her lips he learned his Bible, from her teaching he drank in the
sincere belief in revealed religion which he never lost. It was she
who imbued her great son with an ineradicable belief in the efficacy
of prayer, and in the reality of God's interposition in the every-day
affairs of the true believer. No son ever returned a mother's love
with more heartfelt intensity. She was his idol, and he worshipped her
with the deep-seated inborn love which is known only to the son in
whom filial affection is strengthened by respect and personal
admiration for the woman who bore him. He was her all in all, or, as
she described it, he was both son and daughter to her. He watched over
her in weary hours of pain, and served her with all that soft
tenderness which was such a marked trait in the character of this
great, stern leader of men.

He seems to have been throughout his boyhood and early youth perfect
in disposition, in bearing, and in conduct--a model of all that was
noble, honorable, and manly. Of the early life of very few great men
can this be said. Many who have left behind the greatest reputations
for usefulness, in whom middle age was a model of virtue and perhaps
of noble self-denial, began their career in a whirlwind of wild
excess. Often, again, we find that, like Nero, the virtuous youth
develops into the middle-aged fiend, who leaves behind him a name to
be execrated for all time. It would be difficult to find in history a
great man, be he soldier or statesman, with a character so
irreproachable throughout his whole life as that which in boyhood,
youth, manhood, and to his death, distinguished Robert Lee from all
contemporaries.

He entered the Military Academy of West Point at the age of eighteen,
where he worked hard, became adjutant of the cadet corps, and finally
graduated at the head of his class. There he mastered the theory of
war and studied the campaigns of the great masters in that most
ancient of all sciences. Whatever he did, even as a boy, he did
thoroughly, with order and method. Even at this early age he was the
model Christian gentleman in thought, word, and deed; careful and
exact in the obedience he rendered his superiors, but remarkable for
that dignity of deportment which all through his career struck
strangers with admiring respect.

He left West Point when twenty-two, having gained its highest honors,
and at once obtained a commission in the engineers. Two years
afterward he married the granddaughter and heiress of Mrs. Custis,
whose second husband had been General Washington, but by whom she left
no children. It was a great match for a poor subaltern officer, as his
wife was heiress to a very extensive property and to a large number of
slaves. She was clever, very well educated, and a general favorite; he
was handsome, tall, well made, with a graceful figure, and a good
rider; his manners were at once easy and captivating. These young
people had long known one another, and each was the other's first
love. She brought with her as part of her fortune General Washington's
beautiful property of Arlington, situated on the picturesque wooded
heights that overhang the Potomac River, opposite the capital to which
the great Washington had given his name. In talking to me of the
Northern troops, whose conduct in Virginia was then denounced by every
local paper, no bitter expression passed his lips, but tears filled
his eyes as he referred to the destruction of his place, that had been
the cherished home of the father of the United States. He could
forgive their cutting down his trees, their wanton conversion of his
pleasure-grounds into a graveyard, but he could never forget their
reckless plunder of all the camp equipment and other relics of General
Washington that Arlington House had contained.

Robert Lee first saw active service during the American war with
Mexico in 1846, where he was wounded, and evinced a remarkable talent
for war that brought him prominently into notice. He was afterward
engaged in operations against hostile Indians, and obtained the
reputation in the army of being an able officer of great promise.
General Scott, then the general of greatest repute in the United
States, was especially attracted by the zeal and soldierly instinct of
the young captain of engineers, and frequently employed him on distant
expeditions that required cool nerve, confidence, and plenty of
common sense. It is a curious fact that throughout the Mexican War
General Scott in his despatches and reports made frequent mention of
three officers--Lee, Beauregard, and McClellan--whose names became
household words in America afterward, during the great Southern
struggle for independence. General Scott had the highest opinion of
Lee's military genius, and did not hesitate to ascribe much of his
success in Mexico as due to Lee's "skill, valor, and undaunted
energy." Indeed, subsequently, when the day came that these two men
should part, each to take a different side in the horrible contest
before them, General Scott is said to have urged Mr. Lincoln's
Government to secure Lee at any price, alleging he "would be worth
fifty thousand men to them." His valuable services were duly
recognized at Washington by more than one step of brevet promotion: he
obtained the rank of colonel and was given command of a cavalry
regiment shortly afterward.

I must now pass to the most important epoch of his life, when the
Southern States left the Union and set up a government of their own.
Mr. Lincoln was in 1860 elected President of the United States in the
abolitionist interest. Both parties were so angry that thoughtful men
soon began to see that war alone could end this bitter dispute.
Shipwreck was before the vessel of state which General Washington had
built and guided with so much care during his long and hard-fought
contest. Civil war stared the American citizen in the face, and Lee's
heart was well-nigh broken at the prospect. Early in 1861 the seven
Cotton States passed acts declaring their withdrawal from the Union,
and their establishment of an independent republic, under the title of
"The Confederate States of America." This declaration of independence
was in reality a revolution; war alone could ever bring all the States
together.

Lee viewed this secession with horror. Until the month of April, when
Virginia, his own dearly cherished State, joined the Confederacy, he
clung fondly to the hope that the gulf which separated the North from
the South might yet be bridged over. He believed the dissolution of
the Union to be a dire calamity not only for his own country, but for
civilization and all mankind. "Still," he said, "a Union that can only
be maintained by swords and bayonets, and in which strife and civil
war are to take the place of brotherly love and kindness, has no charm
for me." In common with all Southerners he firmly believed that each
of the old States had a legal and indisputable right, by its
individual constitution, and by its act of union, to leave at will the
great Union into which each had separately entered as a sovereign
State. This was with him an article of faith of which he was as sure
as of any divine truths he found in the Bible. This fact must be kept
always in mind by those who would rightly understand his character, or
the course he pursued in 1861. He loved the Union for which his father
and family in the previous century had fought so hard and done so
much. But he loved his own State still more. She was the sovereign to
whom in the first place he owed allegiance, and whose orders, as
expressed through her legally constituted government, he was, he felt,
bound in law, in honor, and in love to obey without doubt or
hesitation. This belief was the mainspring that kept the Southern
Confederacy going, as it was also the corner-stone of its
constitution.

In April, 1861, at Fort Sumter, Charleston Harbor, the first shot was
fired in a war that was only ended in April, 1865, by the surrender of
General Lee's army at Appomattox Court House, in Virginia. In duration
it is the longest war waged since the great Napoleon's power was
finally crushed at Waterloo. As the heroic struggle of a small
population that was cut off from all outside help, against a great,
populous, and very rich republic, with every market in the world open
to it, and to whom all Europe was a recruiting ground, this secession
war stands out prominently in the history of the world. When the vast
numbers of men put into the field by the Northern States, and the
scale upon which their operations were carried on, are duly
considered, it must be regarded as a war fully equal in magnitude to
the successful invasion of France by Germany in 1870. If the mind be
allowed to speculate on the course that events will take in centuries
to come, as they flow surely on with varying swiftness to the ocean of
the unknown future, the influence which the result of this Confederate
war is bound to exercise upon man's future history will seem very
great. Think of what a power the re-United States will be in another
century! Of what it will be in the twenty-first century of the
Christian era! If, as many believe, China is destined to absorb all
Asia and then to overrun Europe, may it not be in the possible future
that Armageddon, the final contest between heathendom and
Christianity, may be fought out between China and North America? Had
secession been victorious, it is tolerably certain that the United
States would have broken up still further, and instead of the present
magnificent and English-speaking empire, we should now see in its
place a number of small powers with separate interests.

Most certainly it was the existence of slavery in the South that gave
rise to the bitter antagonism of feeling which led to secession. But
it was not to secure emancipation that the North took up arms,
although during the progress of the war Mr. Lincoln proclaimed it, for
the purpose of striking his enemy a serious blow. Lee hated slavery,
but, as he explained to me, he thought it wicked to give freedom
suddenly to some millions of people who were incapable of using it
with profit to themselves or the State. He assured me he had long
intended to gradually give his slaves their liberty. He believed the
institution to be a moral and political evil, and more hurtful to the
white than to the black man. He had a strong affection for the negro;
but he deprecated any sudden or violent interference on the part of
the State between master and slave. Nothing would have induced him to
fight for the continuance of slavery; indeed, he declared that had he
owned every slave in the South he would willingly give them all up if
by so doing he could preserve the Union. He was opposed to secession,
and to prevent it he would willingly sacrifice everything except honor
and duty, which forbade him to desert his State. When in April, 1861,
she formally and by an act of her Legislature left the Union, he
resigned his commission in the United States army with the intention
of retiring into private life. He endeavored to choose what was right.
Every personal interest bade him throw in his lot with the Union. His
property lay so close to Washington that it was certain to be
destroyed and swept of every slave, as belonging to a rebel. But the
die was cast; he forsook everything for principle and the stern duty
it entailed. Then came that final temptation which opened out before
him a vista of power and importance greater than that which any man
since Washington had held in America. General Long's book proves
beyond all further doubt that he was offered the post of
commander-in-chief of the Federal army. General Scott, his great
friend and leader, whom he loved and respected, then commanding that
army, used all his influence to persuade him to throw in his lot with
the North, but to no purpose. Nothing would induce him to have any
part in the invasion of his own State, much as he abhorred the war
into which he felt she was rushing. His love of country, his unselfish
patriotism, caused him to relinquish home, fortune, a certain future,
in fact, everything, for her sake.

He was not, however, to remain a spectator of the coming conflict; he
was too well known to his countrymen in Virginia as the officer in
whom the Federal army had most confidence. The State of Virginia
appointed him major-general and commander-in-chief of all her military
forces. In open and crowded convention he formally accepted this
position, saying, with all that dignity and grace of manner which
distinguished him, that he did so "trusting in Almighty God, an
approving conscience, and the aid of my fellow-citizens." The scene
was most impressive. There were present all the leading men of
Virginia, and representatives of all the first families in a State
where great store was attached to gentle birth, and where society was
very exclusive. General Lee's presence commanded respect, even from
strangers, by a calm, self-possessed dignity the like of which I have
never seen in other men. Naturally of strong passions, he kept them
under perfect control by that iron and determined will, of which his
expression and his face gave evidence. As this tall, handsome soldier
stood before his countrymen, he was the picture of the ideal patriot,
unconscious and self-possessed in his strength; he indulged in no
theatrical display of feeling; there was in his face and about him
that placid resolve which bespoke great confidence in self, and which
in his case--one knows not how--quickly communicated its magnetic
influence to others. He was then just fifty-four years old, the age of
Marlborough when he destroyed the French army at Blenheim. In many
ways and on many points these two great men much resembled each other.
Both were of a dignified and commanding exterior; eminently handsome,
with a figure tall, graceful, and erect, while a muscular,
square-built frame bespoke great activity of body. The charm of manner
which I have mentioned as very winning in Lee, was possessed in the
highest degree by Marlborough. Both, at the outset of their great
career of victory, were regarded as essentially national commanders.
Both had married young, and were faithful husbands and devoted
fathers. Both had in all their campaigns the same belief in an
ever-watchful Providence, in whose help they trusted implicitly, and
for whose interposition they prayed at all times. They were gifted
with the same military instinct, the same genius for war. The power of
fascinating those with whom they were associated, the spell which they
cast over their soldiers, who believed almost superstitiously in their
certainty of victory, their contempt of danger, their daring courage,
constitute a parallel that is difficult to equal between any other two
great men of modern times.

From the first Lee anticipated a long and bloody struggle, although
from the bombastic oratory of self-elected politicians and patriots
the people were led to believe that the whole business would be
settled in a few weeks. This folly led to a serious evil, namely, the
enlistment of soldiers for only ninety days. Lee, who understood war,
pleaded in favor of the engagement being for the term of war, but he
pleaded in vain. To add to his military difficulties, the politicians
insisted upon the officers being elected by their men. This was a
point which, in describing to me the constitution of his army, Lee
most deplored.

The formation of an army with the means alone at his disposal was a
colossal task. Everything had to be created by this extraordinary man.
The South was an agricultural, not a manufacturing, country, and the
resources of foreign lands were denied it by the blockade of its ports
maintained by the fleet of the United States. Lee was a thorough man
of business, quick in decision, yet methodical in all he did. He knew
what he wanted. He knew what an army should be, and how it should be
organized, both in a purely military as well as an administrative
sense. In about two months he had created a little army of fifty
thousand men, animated by a lofty patriotism and courage that made
them unconquerable by any similarly constituted army. In another month
this army, at Bull Run, gained a complete victory over the Northern
invaders, who were driven back across the Potomac like herds of
frightened sheep.

The Confederates did not follow up their victory at Bull Run. A rapid
and daring advance would have given them possession of Washington,
their enemy's capital. Political considerations at Richmond were
allowed to outweigh the very evident military expediency of reaping a
solid advantage from this their first great success. Often afterward,
when this attempt to allay the angry feelings of the North against the
act of secession had entirely failed, was this action of their
political rulers lamented by the Confederate commanders.

In this article, to attempt even a sketch of the subsequent military
operations is not to be thought of. Both sides fought well, and both
have such true reason to be proud of their achievements that they can
now afford to hear the professional criticisms of their English
friends in the same spirit that we Britishers have learned to read of
the many defeats inflicted upon our arms by General Washington.

As a student of war I would fain linger over the interesting lessons
to be learned from Lee's campaigns; of the same race as both
belligerents, I could with the utmost pleasure dwell upon the many
brilliant feats of arms on both sides; but I cannot do so here.

The end came at last, when the well-supplied North, rich enough to pay
recruits, no matter where they came from, a bounty of over five
hundred dollars a head, triumphed over an exhausted South, hemmed in
on all sides, and even cut off from all communication with the outside
world. The desperate, though drawn battle of Gettysburg was the
death-knell of Southern independence; and General Sherman's splendid
but almost unopposed march to the sea showed the world that all
further resistance on the part of the Confederate States could only be
a profitless waste of blood. In the thirty-five days of fighting near
Richmond which ended the war in 1865, General Grant's army numbered
190,000, that of Lee only 51,000 men. Every man lost by the former was
easily replaced, but an exhausted South could find no more soldiers.
"The right of self-government," which Washington won and for which Lee
fought, was no longer to be a watchword to stir men's blood in the
United States. The South was humbled and beaten by its own flesh and
blood in the North, and it is difficult to know which to admire most,
the good sense with which the result was accepted in the so-called
Confederate States, or the wise magnanimity displayed by the victors.
The wounds are now healed on both sides; Northerners and Southerners
are now once more a united people, with a future before them to which
no other nation can aspire. If the English-speaking people of the
earth cannot all acknowledge the same sovereign, they can, and I am
sure they will, at least combine to work in the interests of truth and
of peace for the good of mankind. The wise men on both sides of the
Atlantic will take care to chase away all passing clouds that may at
any time throw even a shadow of dispute or discord between the two
great families into which our race is divided.

Like all men, Lee had his faults; like all the greatest of generals,
he sometimes made mistakes. His nature shrank with such horror from
the dread of wounding the feelings of others, that upon occasions he
left men in positions of responsibility to which their abilities were
not equal. This softness of heart, amiable as that quality may be,
amounts to a crime in the man intrusted with the direction of public
affairs at critical moments. Lee's devotion to duty and great respect
for obedience seem at times to have made him too subservient to those
charged with the civil government of his country. He carried out too
literally the orders of those whom the Confederate constitution made
his superiors, although he must have known them to be entirely
ignorant of the science of war. He appears to have forgotten that he
was the great revolutionary chief engaged in a great revolutionary
war, that he was no mere leader in a political struggle of parties
carried on within the lines of an old, well-established form of
government. It was very clear to many at the time, as it will be
commonly acknowledged now, that the South could only hope to win under
the rule of a military dictator. If General Washington had had a Mr.
Davis over him, could he have accomplished what he did? It will, I am
sure, be news to many that General Lee was given the command over all
the Confederate armies a month or two only before the final collapse;
and that the military policy of the South was all throughout the war
dictated by Mr. Davis as President of the Confederate States. Lee had
no power to reward soldiers or to promote officers. It was Mr. Davis
who selected the men to command divisions and armies. Is it to be
supposed that Cromwell, King William the Third, Washington, or
Napoleon could have succeeded in the revolutions with which their
names are identified, had they submitted to the will and authority of
a politician as Lee did to Mr. Davis?

Lee was opposed to the final defence of Richmond that was urged upon
him for political, not military, reasons. It was a great strategic
error. General Grant's large army of men was easily fed and its daily
losses easily recruited from a near base; whereas if it had been drawn
far into the interior after the little army with which Lee endeavored
to protect Richmond, its fighting strength would have been largely
reduced by the detachments required to guard a long line of
communications through a hostile country. It is profitless, however,
to speculate upon what might have been, and the military student must
take these campaigns as they were carried out. No fair estimate of Lee
as a general can be made by a simple comparison of what he achieved
with that which Napoleon, Wellington, or Von Moltke accomplished,
unless due allowance is made for the difference in the nature of the
American armies, and of the armies commanded and encountered by those
great leaders. They were at the head of perfectly organized,
thoroughly trained, and well disciplined troops; while Lee's soldiers,
though gallant and daring to a fault, lacked the military cohesion and
efficiency, the trained company leaders, and the educated staff which
are only to be found in a regular army of long standing. A trial heat
between two jockeys mounted on untrained horses may be interesting,
but no one would ever quote the performance as an instance of great
racing speed.

Who shall ever fathom the depth of Lee's anguish when the bitter end
came, and when, beaten down by sheer force of numbers, and by
absolutely nothing else, he found himself obliged to surrender! The
handful of starving men remaining with him laid down their arms, and
the proud Confederacy ceased to be. Surely the crushing, maddening
anguish of awful sorrow is only known to the leader who has so failed
to accomplish some lofty, some noble aim for which he has long striven
with might and main, with heart and soul, in the interests of king or
of country. A smiling face, a cheerful mien, may conceal the sore
place from the eyes, possibly even from the knowledge of his friends;
but there is no healing for such a wound, which eats into the very
heart of him who has once received it.

General Lee survived the destruction of the Confederacy for five
years, when, at the age of sixty-three, and surrounded by his family,
life ebbed slowly from him. Where else in history is a great man to be
found whose whole life was one such blameless record of duty nobly
done? It was consistent in all its parts, complete in all its
relations. The most perfect gentleman of a State long celebrated for
its chivalry, he was just, gentle, and generous, and childlike in the
simplicity of his character. Never elated with success, he bore
reverse, and at last, complete overthrow, with dignified resignation.
Throughout this long and cruel struggle his was all the
responsibility, but not the power that should have accompanied it. The
fierce light which beats upon the throne is as that of a rush-light
in comparison with the electric glare which our newspapers now focus
upon the public man in Lee's position. His character has been
subjected to that ordeal, and who can point to any spot upon it? His
clear, sound judgment, personal courage, untiring activity, genius for
war, and absolute devotion to his State mark him out as a public man,
as a patriot to be forever remembered by all Americans. His amiability
of disposition, deep sympathy with those in pain or sorrow, his love
for children, nice sense of personal honor, and genial courtesy
endeared him to all his friends. I shall never forget his sweet,
winning smile, nor his clear, honest eyes, that seemed to look into
your brain. I have met many of the great men of my time, but Lee alone
impressed me with the feeling that I was in the presence of a man who
was cast in a grander mould, and made of different and of finer metal
than all other men. He is stamped upon my memory as a being apart and
superior to all others in every way: a man with whom none I ever knew,
and very few of whom I have read, are worthy to be classed. I have met
but two men who realize my ideas of what a true hero should be: my
friend Charles Gordon, was one, General Lee was the other.

       *       *       *       *       *

The following beautiful letter was written by Lee to his son in
1860:[11]

         [Footnote 11: Copied, with the kind permission of the
         publisher, G. W. Dillingham, from John Esten Cooke's Life of
         Lee.]

"You must study to be frank with the world; frankness is the child of
honesty and courage. Say just what you mean to do on every occasion,
and take it for granted you mean to do right. If a friend asks a
favor, you should grant it, if it is reasonable; if not, tell him
plainly why you cannot; you will wrong him and wrong yourself by
equivocation of any kind. Never do a wrong thing to make a friend or
keep one; the man who requires you to do so, is dearly purchased at a
sacrifice. Deal kindly, but firmly, with all your classmates; you will
find it the policy which wears best. Above all, do not appear to
others what you are not. If you have any fault to find with anyone,
tell him, not others, of what you complain; there is no more dangerous
experiment than that of undertaking to be one thing before a man's
face and another behind his back. We should live, act, and say,
nothing to the injury of anyone. It is not only best as a matter of
principle, but it is the path to peace and honor.

"In regard to duty, let me, in conclusion of this hasty letter, inform
you that, nearly a hundred years ago, there was a day of remarkable
gloom and darkness--still known as 'the dark day'--a day when the
light of the sun was slowly extinguished, as if by an eclipse. The
Legislature of Connecticut was in session, and as its members saw the
unexpected and unaccountable darkness coming on, they shared in the
general awe and terror. It was supposed by many that the last day--the
day of judgment--had come. Someone, in the consternation of the hour,
moved an adjournment. Then there arose an old Puritan legislator,
Davenport, of Stamford, and said that, if the last day had come, he
desired to be found at his place doing his duty, and therefore, moved
that candles be brought in, so that the House could proceed with its
duty. There was quietness in that man's mind, the quietness of
heavenly wisdom and inflexible willingness to obey present duty. Duty,
then, is the sublimest word in our language. Do your duty in all
things, like the old Puritan. You cannot do more, you should never
wish to do less. Never let me and your mother wear one gray hair for
any lack of duty on your part."




THOMAS JONATHAN JACKSON[12]

By MARION HARLAND

(1826-1863)

         [Footnote 12: Copyright, 1894, by Selmar Hess.]

[Illustration: Thomas Jackson. [TN]]


In 1842 a young man from Lewis County, Va., "dropped" discouraged out
of his class in West Point, after a few weeks' trial of drill and
curriculum, and returned home.

The story of his defeat was canvassed freely in the neighborhood
smithy, the head-quarters of provincial gossip, and was under
discussion one May day while Cummins Jackson, a planter and bachelor,
waited to have a horse shod.

"There's a chance for Tom Jackson!" observed the blacksmith, with
friendly officiousness.

The early life of Cummins Jackson's nephew was well known to speaker
and bystanders. Left an orphan at seven years of age, he, with his
brother, older than himself, and their little sister, were thrown upon
the charity of uncles and aunts. "Tom" was accounted steady and
industrious, yet there was a serious break in his record. The brothers
had run away to seek their fortunes in company when Warren was
fourteen, Tom but twelve years old, going down the Ohio to the
Mississippi and maintaining themselves by cutting wood for passing
steamboats until disabled by malarial fever. Thomas took the lead in
the juvenile prodigals' return to relatives and respectability, and
was kindly received by his bachelor uncle. Since then he had worked in
Cummins Jackson's mill and upon his farm as diligently as he sought to
"get an education" in the "old field school" nearest to his home.

His imagination took fire at his uncle's report of the blacksmith's
suggestion. Armed with a letter of introduction signed by leading
citizens of the county, to the Congressman from the district, he went
in person to Washington and through the kindness of the
representative obtained an interview with the Secretary of War.

"Gruff and heroic with the grit of Old Hickory himself" was the
cabinet-officer's opinion of the country lad. He commended him to the
West Point Board of Examiners in terms that secured him admission to
the Military Academy in spite of certain grave deficiencies in his
early education.

The story of the wrestle with these and other disabilities during the
next four years is interesting and instructive. Three extracts from a
list of rules for his personal conduct, set down at this time in a
private note-book, sound the keynote of his subsequent career:

"_Sacrifice your life rather than your word._

"_Resolve to perform what you ought; perform without fail what you
resolve._

"_You may be whatever you resolve to be._"

He was respected by all his classmates, known and liked by a few. He
was too reserved by nature, too busy in practice, to be a general
favorite. His labors were unremitting, his recreations few and simple.
With no prevision of the destinies awaiting them, Jackson, McClellan,
A. T. Hill, Reno, Picket, Foster, and Maury, as beardless boys,
studied and were drilled side by side for four terms and were
graduated upon the same day. There were seventy in this remarkable
class, and the name of Thomas Jonathan Jackson stood seventeenth upon
the roll of merit.

"If we had to stay here one year more, old Jack would be at the head,"
the witnesses of the fierce ordeal of his West Point training used to
say.

The class of '46 was ordered forthwith to the seat of war in Mexico.
Jackson's first engagement was the siege of Vera Cruz; his next the
battle of Cherubusco. The official report of this last mentions him
favorably. As second lieutenant, he was called upon early in the
action to take the place of the next in rank above him, the first
lieutenant having fallen in the charge. After the battle Jackson was
further promoted to the rank of brevet captain. His "devotion,
industry, talent, and gallantry" were noted officially after
Chapultepec, not only by his colonel, but by Generals Pillow and
Worth, and by the Commander-in-chief, Winfield Scott.

What he afterward confessed as the "one wilful lie he ever told" is
thus reported by a brother-officer:

"Lieutenant Jackson's section of Magruder's battery was subjected to a
plunging fire from the Castle of Chapultepec. Horses were killed or
disabled, and the men deserted the guns and sought shelter behind wall
or embankment. Lieutenant Jackson remained at the guns, walking back
and forth and kept saying, 'See, there is no danger; _I_ am not hit!'
While standing with his legs wide apart, a cannon-ball passed between
them.... No other officer in the army in Mexico was promoted so often
for meritorious conduct, or made so great a stride in rank."

After peace was declared in 1848, he was stationed for two years at
Fort Hamilton, and six months at Fort Meade in Florida; in 1851 he was
elected Professor of Natural and Experimental Philosophy and
Artillery Tactics in the Virginia Military Institute, situated in
Lexington, Va. In the decade succeeding this event, he was to the
casual eye the least striking figure in the group of professors who
taught the art of war in the beautiful mountain-girt "West Point of
the South."

"I should have said that he was the least likely of our family to make
a noise in the world," said his sister-in-law in 1862, when the
popular voice was ranking him with Bayard, Roland, Sidney, and
Napoleon.

"I knew that what I willed to do, I could do," he had said of his
recovery from physical weaknesses which made his acceptance of the
Lexington professorship of doubtful expediency, in the judgment of
friends.

He never willed to be eloquent in the lecture-room or brilliant in
society in his life as teacher, church official, and neighbor there
was no evidence of the personal magnetism which was to make him the
soul and genius of the Confederate army. While carrying into every
detail of daily existence the military law of system and fidelity, he
was aggressive in nothing. The grave, quiet gentleman who was never
late in class, never negligent of the minutest professional duty, who
was always punctual at religious services, and never missed a meeting
of the Faculty of the V. M. I., or of the deacons of the Presbyterian
Church, was reckoned a good Christian and upright citizen, exemplary
in domestic and social relations--perhaps a trifle ultra-conscientious
in some particulars. But for the prevalency of orthodoxy in "the
Valley" he would have been considered eccentric in his religious views
and practice. He established a Sunday-school for the negroes and
superintended it in person; he gave a tenth of his substance to the
church; he "weighed his lightest utterances in the balances of the
sanctuary;" he would not pick up an apple in a neighbor's orchard
unless he had permission to take it; he never wrote or read letters on
Sunday, or mailed one that must travel on that day to reach its
destination; used neither tobacco, tea, nor coffee, and during the war
was "more afraid of a glass of wine than of Federal bullets." His
reverence for women was deep and unfeigned; he was gentleness itself
to little children; bowed down before the hoary head, and never sank
the lover in the husband. All that he had and all he was, belonged
first to GOD, then to his wife.

"His person was tall, erect, and muscular.... His bearing was
peculiarly English, and in the somewhat free society of America was
regarded as constrained. Every movement was quick and decisive; his
articulation was rapid, but distinct and emphatic, and often made the
impression of curtness. He practised a military exactness in all the
courtesies of society.... His brow was fair and expansive; his eyes
blue-gray, large, and expressive; his nose Roman and well-chiselled,
his cheeks were ruddy and sunburned; his mouth, firm and full of
meaning; his beard was brown"--is a pen-picture drawn by a brother
officer.

On December 2, 1859, a corps of cadets was sent to Charlestown, Va.,
to secure law and order during the execution of John Brown. Major
Jackson's graphic description of the scene in a letter to his wife
contains this passage:

"I was much impressed with the thought that before me stood a man in
the full vigor of health, who must in a few moments enter eternity. I
sent up the petition that he might be saved."

An officer upon duty, he saw the terrible spectacle with Cromwellian
composure, but the man behind the impassive mask was upon his knees in
prayer for the human soul. Under date of January 21, 1860, he writes:

"Viewing things at Washington from human appearances we have great
reason for alarm, but my trust is in God. I cannot think that He will
permit the madness of men to interfere so materially with the
Christian labors of this country at home and abroad."

She who, of all the world, knew him best records:

"He never was a secessionist and maintained that it was better for the
South to fight for her rights in the Union than out of it.... At this
time (March 16, 1861) he was strongly for the Union. At the same time,
he was a firm State's rights man."

At dawn, April 21st, he received an order from the Governor of
Virginia to report to him immediately at Richmond, bringing the corps
of cadets with him. At 1 o'clock P.M. he bade a final farewell to home
and Lexington.

On June 4th he writes incidentally to his "Little One" from Harper's
Ferry:

"The troops here have been divided into brigades, and the Virginia
forces under General Johnston constitute the First Brigade, of which I
am in command."

This brigade was to share with the commanding officers the _sobriquet_
by which he is known better than under his real name. In the battery
attached to it were forty-nine graduates of colleges, besides nineteen
divinity students.

From the first victory of Manassas (June 21, 1861), when General Bee
turned the tide of battle by shouting to the wavering lines, "Look at
Jackson, standing like a stone wall! Rally behind the Virginians!" to
the fatal blunder of May 2, 1863, "Stonewall" Jackson was the flashing
star that guided the Confederate armies to glorious success. His faith
in the God of armies was so blended with the conviction that he was a
chosen instrument in the Omnipotent hand to repel invasion and secure
an honorable peace for his beloved State, that his sublime confidence
infused officers and men.

A fragment of a camp ballad, popular in 1862, will give a faint idea
of the enthusiasm excited by the "praying fighter:"

  Silence! ground arms! kneel all! caps off!
    Old Blue-light's going to pray.
  Strangle the fool that dares to scoff!
    Attention! 'tis his way!
  Appealing from his native sod
    In _forma pauperis_ to God;
  "Lay bare Thine arm--stretch forth Thy rod!
    Amen!" _That's_ Stonewall's way.

Love-letters to his "only sweetheart," written in camp, in the saddle,
from smoking battle-fields, red with the blood of the slain, reveal a
heart as tender as it was stout, faith that never failed, the courage
of a lion, the unspoiled simplicity of a child.

Our last extract from war papers is significant of what might have
been but for the fall of the South's greatest chieftain at the most
critical period of the struggle:

"Jackson alone stands forth the one advocate of 'ceaseless invasion'
as our 'safest hope,' the first conviction of his mind and a policy in
accord with Southern feeling."

Mrs. Jackson joined her husband at his quarters near Fredericksburg,
bringing with her the baby-girl he had never seen until then, on April
20, 1863. On the 23d the little one, held in the proud father's arms,
was baptized by the regimental chaplain. Nine golden days followed the
reunion of the loving family before Hooker crossed the Rappahannock in
force. Wife and baby were hurried off to Richmond after "a hasty,
tender adieu," and the battle of Chancellorsville began.

"From the opening of this campaign," says Jackson's biographer, "it
was observed that a wondrous change came over him. From the quiet,
patient, but arduous laborer over his daily tasks, he seemed
transformed into a thunderbolt of war."

During the three awful days of Chancellorsville "the thunderbolt"
seemed omnipresent to the Confederate soldiers, oftenest in the
hottest of the fight, always where he was most sorely needed.

On the afternoon of May 2d, in making his way from one part of the
field to another with his staff and couriers, they were mistaken for
Federal cavalry, and a volley of musketry was poured in upon them,
wounding General Jackson mortally.

On the way to the rear a second disaster overtook the doomed band. A
Federal battery opened a fire across the road, and the devoted
attendants, laying the wounded chief in a shallow ditch, covered him
with their own bodies while the tempest of shot tore up the earth on
all sides of them. The danger was averted by a change in the range of
the guns, and the mournful march was resumed. Meeting a North Carolina
general who "feared," in reply to Jackson's eager questions, "that his
troops could not maintain their position," the hero spoke out, in the
accustomed tone of command:

"You _must_ hold your ground, General Pender! you must hold your
ground, sir!"

It was his last military order. Some hours later he lay in his tent,
weak from pain and loss of blood, one arm gone, and his other wounds
dressed, when a messenger arrived in haste from General J. E. B.
Stuart, relating that he was contending against fearful odds in the
field, and asking for counsel from the friend who would never more
ride forth at his side. At the tidings of Stuart's extremity, General
Jackson aroused himself to interrogate the bearer of the message,
query succeeding query with characteristic impetuosity. Suddenly the
martial fire faded ashily, his eyes dulled into mournfulness.

"I don't know. I can't tell--" as if groping for thought or words.
"Tell General Stuart to do what _he_ thinks best."

The "resolve" he and others had thought invincible, the iron nerve
that had not quivered in the shock of fifty engagements, failed him.
Yet he rallied as the cannonading jarred his bed and insisted upon
receiving reports from hour to hour.

"Good! good!" he ejaculated, when told how his own brigade was
behaving. "The men will some day be proud to say to their children, 'I
was one of the Stonewall brigade.' The name belongs to them, not to
me. It was their steadfast heroism at First Manassas that earned it.
They are a noble body of men."

His wife and child were recalled in season to be with him for two days
immediately preceding his death. Although confident up to the dawn of
his last day on earth, that GOD still had work for him to do, and
would raise him up to do it, he received the news of his approaching
dissolution with perfect calmness.

"He preferred the will of GOD to his own;" he "would be infinitely the
gainer by the translation from earth to heaven." He gave his wife
instructions as to his burial and her future home; smiled radiantly,
in murmuring "Little darling! sweet one!" as the baby he had named for
his mother was lifted for the father's last kiss.

"Jackson must recover," General Lee had exclaimed upon hearing of his
condition. "God will not take him from us now that we need him so
much. Say to him that he has lost his left arm, _I my right!_"

Men who had not blenched when brought face to face with death that
menaced themselves, bowed to the earth, weeping like women, as mortal
weakness stole upon the strong right arm of the Confederacy. Without
the tent "the whole army was praying for him," while incoherent
sentences of command and inarticulate murmurings fell from his
lips--fainter with each utterance. The watchers thought speech and
consciousness gone forever, when the voice that had pealed like the
blast of Roland in charge and rally, sounded through the hushed
chamber, sweet, distinct, and full of cheer, but in dreamy
inflections:

_"Let us cross over the river and rest under the shade of the trees!_"

Forced march, and midnight raid, and mad rush of battle were over.
Victorious Greatheart slept upon the field.

[Signature of the author.]

[Illustration: Jackson at Chancellorsville.]




DAVID GLASCOE FARRAGUT

By L. P. BROCKETT, A.M.

(1801-1870)

[Illustration: David Farragut. [TN]]


Heroes have not been wanting in the history of maritime warfare, at
any time in these last three hundred years. Holland points with pride
to her gallant DeRuyter and Van Tromp, who made the little republic
among the marshes and canals that yield tribute to the Zuyder Zee,
famous the world over. England glories in her Blake, her Collingwood,
and most of all, in her Nelson, the model naval hero of all her
history; and we cannot suppress our admiration of the daring of the
reckless John Paul Jones, the matchless patriotism of Lawrence, and
the gallant bearing and extraordinary success of Perry, Bainbridge,
Decatur, and the elder Porter; while in the War of the Rebellion the
heroic Foote, Dupont, Winslow, D. D. Porter, and Rogers, covered their
names with glory.

But among all these illustrious names there is none which so
thoroughly awakens our enthusiasm, or so readily calls forth our
applause, as that of Farragut. With all of Nelson's courage and
daring, he had more than his executive ability and fertility of
resource, a wider and more generous intellectual culture, and a more
unblemished, _naïve_, frank, and gentle character.

He bore in his veins some traces of the best blood of Spain, his
father, George Farragut, having been a native of Citadella, the
capital of the island of Minorca, and a descendant of an ancient and
honorable Catalonian family. The father came to this country in 1776,
and united most heartily in our struggle for independence, attaining
during the war the rank of major. After the conclusion of the war,
Major Farragut married Miss Elizabeth Shine, of North Carolina, a
descendant of the old Scotch family of McIven, and settled as a farmer
at Campbell's Station, near Knoxville, Tenn. Here, on July 5, 1801,
his illustrious son was born. The father seems to have been not
altogether contented with a farmer's life in that mountainous region,
for not long after we hear of him as a sailing-master in the navy, and
an intimate friend of the father of Commodore David D. Porter, who
then held a similar rank. Young Farragut inherited his father's love
for the sea, and though brought up so far inland, among the Cumberland
Mountains, he had hardly reached the age of nine and a half years,
when the longing for a sailor's life possessed him so strongly, that
his father consented; and after some little delay, a midshipman's
warrant was procured for him.

His first cruise was under the command of Captain (then
master-commandant) Porter, who, in July, 1812, was promoted to the
rank of captain, and soon after sailed in the Essex for the South
American coast and the Pacific. To this famous frigate the young
midshipman was ordered before her departure, and he remained on her
through the eventful two years that followed, when she drove the
British commerce out of the Pacific. When on March 28, 1814, the
British frigate Phoebe, thirty-six guns, and sloop-of-war Cherub,
twenty-eight guns, without scruple attacked the Essex in the harbor of
Valparaiso, in violation of the rights of a neutral nation, there
ensued one of the fiercest naval battles on record. Though fighting
against hopeless odds, the two British vessels having twice the number
of guns and men of the Essex, Commodore Porter, with the reckless
daring which was so marked a trait of his character, refused to strike
his colors till his ship had been three or four times on fire, and was
in a sinking condition, with her rigging shot away, the flames
threatening her magazine, and 152, out of her crew of 255, killed,
wounded, or missing. The battle had lasted two and a half hours. On
his surrender, the Essex Junior, a whaling-ship which he had converted
into a sloop-of-war, but which had been unable to take any part in the
battle, was sent home with the prisoners on parole. The young
midshipman, then a boy under thirteen, was in the hottest of the
fight, and was slightly wounded during the action. Before the loss of
the Essex, he had served as acting-lieutenant on board the Atlantic,
an armed prize.

On his return to the United States, Commodore Porter placed him at
school at Chester, Pa., where he was taught, among other studies, the
elements of military and naval tactics; but in 1816 he was again
afloat and on board the flag-ship of the Mediterranean squadron, where
he had the good fortune to meet in the chaplain, Rev. Charles Folsom,
an instructor to whom he became ardently attached, and to whose
teachings he attributed much of his subsequent usefulness and success.

This pleasant period of instruction passed all too quickly, and the
boy, now grown to man's estate, after some further service in the
Mediterranean, was, on January 1, 1821, at the age of nineteen and a
half years, promoted to the rank of lieutenant, and ordered to duty on
the West India station. In 1824 he was assigned to duty at the Norfolk
navy-yard; and with the exception of a two years' cruise in the
Vandalia, on the Brazil station, remained at Norfolk till 1833. Here
he married a lady of highly respectable family, and during the long
years of suffering through which she was called to pass, from a
hopeless physical malady, he proved one of the most tender and
affectionate of husbands, never wearying of administering all the
relief and comfort to the sufferer in his power. When death at last
terminated her protracted distress, he mourned her tenderly and long.
He subsequently married another lady of Norfolk, Miss Virginia Loyall,
the daughter of one of the most eminent citizens of that city.

In 1860 he had spent nearly nineteen years afloat--eighteen years and
four months on shore duty, and ten years and ten months either
waiting orders or on leave of absence. Forty-eight of his fifty-eight
years had been spent in the naval service.

In April, 1861, came the rebellion. Captain Farragut was at his home
in Norfolk, surrounded by those who were sympathizers with the
rebellion, and who were already maturing plans for the seizure of the
Government property and its conversion to rebel uses. No more loyal
heart ever beat than his, and in frank and manly terms he denounced
the whole proceedings of the traitors, and gave expression to his
abhorrence of them. This roused all the hatred of the plotters of
treason, and they told him at once, in tones of menace, that he could
not be permitted to live there if he held such sentiments. "Very
well," was his prompt reply, "then I will go where I can live and hold
such sentiments." Returning to his home, he informed his family that
they must leave Norfolk for New York in a few hours. They immediately
made their preparations, and the next morning, April 18, 1861, bid
adieu to Norfolk. The Navy Department was, however, anxious to give
him employment, and in default of anything else he served for a time
as a member of the Naval Retiring Board, which shelved the incompetent
officers of the navy, and promoted the active, loyal, and deserving.

Meantime, the Government had resolved on the capture of New Orleans,
and entered with zeal upon the work of fitting out a squadron, as well
as an army, for its reduction. The squadron was to consist of a fleet
of armed steamers, and twenty bomb-schooners, each carrying gigantic
mortars, fifteen-inch shells.

The bomb-fleet was to be under the command of Commander David D.
Porter, but he was to report to Flag-officer Farragut, who was to have
charge of the entire squadron. Selecting the Hartford as his
flag-ship, and having made all possible preparations for his
expedition, Flag-officer Farragut received his orders on January 20,
1862, and on February 3d sailed from Hampton Roads. Arriving at Ship
Island on February 20th, he organized the West Gulf Blockading
Squadron, and in spite of difficulties of all sorts--the delay in
forwarding coal, naval stores, hospital stores, ammunition, etc., the
labor of getting vessels drawing twenty-two feet over the bars at Pass
L'Outre and Southwest Pass, where the depth was but twelve and fifteen
feet, the ignorance and stupidity of some of the officers, and every
other obstacle he had to encounter--made steady progress. The
difficulties were not all surmounted until April 18th, when the
bombardment of Fort Jackson, the lowermost of the two forts defending
the passage of the Mississippi, was commenced. These forts were
seventy-five miles below New Orleans and possessed great strength. A
continuous bombardment was maintained for six days, by which the forts
were considerably damaged, but they still held out stoutly. A heavy
iron chain had been stretched across the river, supported by large
logs, to obstruct the passage of vessels, and was placed at a point
where the fire of the two forts could be most effectively
concentrated. Above this chain lay the rebel fleet of sixteen gunboats
and two iron-clad rams. Along the banks of the river were land
batteries, mounting several guns each.

Finding that the forts were not likely to yield to the bombardment,
Flag-officer Farragut called a council of war, and after hearing
their opinions, which were somewhat discordant, issued his general
order of April 20th, in which the spirit of the hero gleams out. This
was his language: "The flag-officer having heard all the opinions
expressed by the different commanders, is of the opinion _that
whatever is to be done will have to be done quickly_. When, in the
opinion of the flag-officer, the propitious time has arrived, the
signal will be made to weigh, and advance to the conflict.... He will
make the signal for close action, _and abide the result--conquer or be
conquered_."

After further and severe bombardment of the forts, the flag-officer
gave notice to the steam-vessels of the squadron, of his determination
to break the chain and run past the forts, engage the rebel fleet, and
having defeated it, ascend the river to New Orleans, and capture that
city. It was a most daring movement. The chain had previously been
broken, and the mortar-vessels moved up and anchored ready to pour in
their fire as soon as the forts should open. The steam-fleet moved up
in two columns, one led by Flag-officer Farragut in person, in the
Hartford, the other by Captain Theodorus Bailey, as second in command,
in the Cayuga. The left column (Farragut's) was composed of the
Hartford, Brooklyn, Richmond, Sciota, Iroquois, Kennebec, Pinola,
Itasca, and Winona; the right (Bailey's), of the Cayuga, Pensacola,
Mississippi, Oneida, Varuna, Katahdin, Kineo, and Wissahickon. The
right column was to engage Fort St. Philip; the left, Fort Jackson.
The fleet were fairly abreast of the forts before they were
discovered, and fire opened upon them; but from that moment the firing
was terrible, and the smoke, settling down like a pall upon the river,
produced intense darkness, and the ships could only aim at the flash
from the forts, the forts at the flash from the ships. A fire-raft,
pushed by the ram Manassas against the flag-ship (the Hartford), set
it on fire, and at the same instant it ran aground; but by the prompt
and disciplined exertions of the men the flame was extinguished in a
few minutes and the ship got afloat, never ceasing its fire upon the
enemy. At times the gunboats passed so near the forts as to be able to
throw their broadsides of shrapnel, grape, and canister with most
destructive force into their interior; and the forts, in the endeavor
to depress their guns sufficiently to strike the vessels, lost their
shot, which rolled into the ditches. They were nearly past the forts
when the rebel fleet came down upon them, the iron-clad ram Manassas
among them. Several of these gunboats were iron-clad about the bow,
and had iron beaks or spurs. The Cayuga, Captain Bailey's flag-ship,
was the first to encounter these; and soon after the Varuna, commanded
by Captain Boggs, found itself in a nest of rebel steamers, and moved
forward, delivering its broadsides, port and starboard, with fearful
precision, into its antagonists, four of which were speedily disabled
and sunk by its fire. The Varuna was finally attacked by the Morgan
and another rebel gunboat, both iron-clad at the bow, which crushed in
her sides; but crowding her steam, she drew them on, while still fast,
and poured broadsides into both, which drove them ashore crippled and
in flames. Running his own steamer on shore as speedily as possible,
the gallant Boggs fought her as long as his guns were out of water,
and then brought off his men, who were taken on board the Oneida and
other gunboats of the fleet. Several of the gunboats were considerably
injured, but none of them lost except the Varuna. The Itasca, Winona,
and Kennebec were disabled and obliged to fall back. Thirteen of the
seventeen vessels composing Flag-officer Farragut's squadron were able
to pass in safety these forts, and had defeated a rebel fleet,
destroying thirteen of their gunboats and rams, and the iron-clad
Manassas, and compelling the remainder to shelter themselves under the
guns of the forts. The entire loss of the Union squadron was but 36
killed and 135 wounded.

The gallant flag-officer now ascended the river, encountering slight
opposition from the Chalmette batteries, about three miles below New
Orleans; but they were silenced in twenty minutes, and at noon of
April 25th, he lay in front of the city, and demanded its surrender.
Four days later the forts were surrendered to Captain Porter, and
General Butler came up the river to arrange for landing his troops,
and taking possession of the conquered city. Meantime, Farragut had
ascended the river above the city to Carrolton, where had been erected
some strong works to oppose the progress of Flag-officer Foote, should
he descend the river. These, on the approach of the gunboats, were
abandoned, and their guns spiked. They were destroyed.

New Orleans being safely in the possession of the Union forces,
Flag-officer Farragut ascended the Mississippi, and on June 27th ran
his vessels safely past the rebel batteries at Vicksburg, and
communicated with Flag-officer Davis, then commanding the Mississippi
squadron, and arranged for a joint attack upon Vicksburg. The attack
failed, because the bluffs at Vicksburg were too high to be
effectively bombarded by the gunboats, and the capture of the city
required the co-operation of a land force. He therefore repassed the
batteries in safety on July 15th, and descending the river, made
Pensacola the head-quarters of his squadron. On July 11th, the rank of
rear-admiral, having been created in accordance with the
recommendation of a committee of Congress, Captain Farragut was
advanced to that rank, and placed first on the list for his
meritorious conduct in the capture of New Orleans. He also received
the thanks of both houses of Congress. In the autumn of 1862 he
directed the naval attacks on Corpus Christi, Sabine Pass, and
Galveston, which resulted in the capture of those points. In his
duties as the commander of a blockading and guarding squadron, there
was much of detail: attacks of guerillas along the river shores, to be
parried and punished; surprises of the weaker vessels of the squadron
to be chastised and revenged; expeditions against rebel towns on or
near the coast, to be aided and sustained; and careful lookout to be
kept for blockade-runners, who sought their opportunities to slip into
the ports of Mobile, Galveston, and Aransas. These occupied much of
his time during the autumn and winter of 1862-63.

The admiral had long desired to attack the defences of Mobile, and
thus effectually check the blockade-running, which it was impossible
wholly to prevent while that port was left unmolested. But it was not
until August 5, 1864, that the assault was finally made.

The fleet which was to take part in the attack consisted of fourteen
sloops-of-war and gunboats, and four iron-clad monitors. The admiral
arranged them for the attack as follows: the Brooklyn and Octorara
were lashed together, the Brooklyn being on the starboard side,
nearest Fort Morgan--the Brooklyn being, much against the admiral's
wishes, allowed the lead; next the Hartford and Metacomet, followed by
the Richmond and Port Royal, the Lackawanna and Seminole, the
Monongahela and Kennebec, the Ossipee and Itasca, and the Oneida and
Galena. The four monitors were arranged in the following order, to the
right or starboard of the gunboats: the Tecumseh, Commander T. R. M.
Craven, taking the lead, and followed by the Manhattan, Commander
Nicholson; the Winnebago, Commander Stevens; and the Chickasaw,
Lieutenant-commander Perkins.

The rebels, in addition to three forts all manned with large
garrisons, had a squadron consisting of the iron-clad ram Tennessee,
regarded by them as the most formidable armed vessel ever constructed,
and three powerful gunboats, the Selma, Morgan, and Gaines.

The fleet steamed steadily up the channel, the Tecumseh firing the
first shot at 6.47 A.M. The rebels opened upon them from Fort Morgan
at six minutes past seven, and the Brooklyn replied, after which the
action became general. The Brooklyn now paused, and for good
reason--the Tecumseh, near her, careened suddenly and sank almost
instantly, having struck and exploded a torpedo; and her gallant
commander and nearly all her crew sank with her.

Directing the commander of the Metacomet to send a boat instantly to
rescue her crew, Admiral Farragut determined to take the lead in his
own flag-ship, the Hartford, and putting on all steam, led off through
a track which had been lined with torpedoes by the rebels; but he
says, "Believing that, from their having been some time in the water,
they were probably innocuous, I determined to take the chance of their
explosion."

Turning to the northwestward to clear the middle ground, the fleet
were enabled to keep such a broadside fire on the batteries of Fort
Morgan as to prevent them from doing much injury. After they had
passed the fort, about ten minutes before eight o'clock, the ram
Tennessee dashed out at the Hartford; but the admiral took no further
notice of her than to return her fire. The rebel gunboats were ahead,
and annoyed the fleet by a raking fire, and the admiral detached his
consort, the Metacomet, ordering her commander, Lieutenant-commander
Jouett, to go in pursuit of the Selma, and the Octorara was detached
to pursue one of the others. Lieutenant-commander Jouett captured the
Selma, but the other two escaped under the protection of the guns of
Fort Morgan, though the Gaines was so much injured that she was run
ashore and destroyed. The combat which followed between the Tennessee
and the Union fleet, and resulted in the surrender of that formidable
iron-clad vessel, is best described in the admiral's own words:

"Having passed the forts and dispersed the enemy's gunboats, I had
ordered most of the vessels to anchor, when I perceived the ram
Tennessee standing up for this ship. This was at forty-five minutes
past eight. I was not long in comprehending his intentions to be the
destruction of the flag-ship. The monitors and such of the wooden
vessels as I thought best adapted for the purpose, were immediately
ordered to attack the ram, not only with their guns, but bows on at
full speed; and then began one of the fiercest naval combats on
record.

"The Monongahela, Commander Strong, was the first vessel that struck
her, and in doing so carried away her own iron prow, together with the
cutwater, without apparently doing her adversary much injury. The
Lackawanna, Captain Marchand, was the next vessel to strike her, which
she did at full speed; but though her stem was cut and crushed to the
plank-ends for the distance of three feet above the water's edge to
five feet below, the only perceptible effect on the ram was to give
her a heavy list.

"The Hartford was the third vessel that struck her; but, as the
Tennessee quickly shifted her helm, the blow was a glancing one, and,
as she rasped along our side, we poured our whole port broadside of
nine-inch solid shot within ten feet of her casement.

"The monitors worked slowly, but delivered their fire as opportunity
offered. The Chickasaw succeeded in getting under her stern, and a
fifteen-inch shot from the Manhattan broke through her iron plating
and heavy wooden backing, though the missile itself did not enter the
vessel.

"Immediately after the collision with the flag-ship, I directed
Captain Drayton to bear down for the ram again. He was doing so at
full speed, when, unfortunately, the Lackawanna ran into the Hartford
just forward of the mizzenmast, cutting her down to within two feet of
the water's edge. We soon got clear again, however, and were fast
approaching our adversary, when she struck her colors and ran up the
white flag.

"She was at this time sore beset; the Chickasaw was pounding away at
her stern, the Ossipee was approaching her at full speed, and the
Monongahela, Lackawanna, and this ship were bearing down upon her,
determined upon her destruction. Her smoke-stack had been shot away,
her steering-chains were gone, compelling a resort to her
relieving-tackles, and several of her port shutters were jammed.
Indeed, from the time the Hartford struck her, until her surrender,
she never fired a gun. As the Ossipee, Commander Le Roy, was about to
strike her, she hoisted the white flag, and that vessel immediately
stopped her engine, though not in time to avoid a glancing blow.

"During this contest with the rebel gunboats and the ram Tennessee,
which terminated by her surrender at ten o'clock, we lost many more
men than from the fire of the batteries of Fort Morgan."

The rebel Admiral Buchanan was severely wounded, and subsequently lost
a leg by amputation. Admiral Farragut, as humane in his feelings
toward a wounded foe as he was gallant and daring in action,
immediately addressed a note to Brigadier-General Page, the commander
of Fort Morgan, asking permission to send the rebel admiral and the
other wounded rebel officers by ship, under flag of truce, to the
Union hospitals at Pensacola, where they could be tenderly cared for.
This request was granted, and the Metacomet despatched with them.

The admiral had stationed himself "in an elevated position in the main
rigging, near the top," a place of great peril, but one which enabled
him to see much better than if he had been on deck, the progress of
the battle; and from thence he witnessed, and testified with great
gratification to the admirable conduct of the men at their guns,
throughout the fleet; and, in this connection, gives utterance to a
sentiment which shows most conclusively his sympathy and tenderness:
"Although," he says, "no doubt their hearts sickened, as mine did,
when their shipmates were struck down beside them, yet there was not a
moment's hesitation to lay their comrades aside and spring again to
their deadly work."

It is said that at the moment of the collision between the Hartford
and Lackawanna, when the men called to each other to save the admiral,
Farragut, finding the ship would float at least long enough to serve
his purpose, and thinking of that only, called out to his
fleet-captain, "Go on with speed! Ram her again!"

The results of this victory were the destruction of the rebel fleet;
the capture of the armored ship Tennessee, and of 230 rebel officers
and men; the abandonment on the next day of Fort Powell, with 18 guns;
the surrender on the 8th of Fort Gaines, with 56 officers, 818 men,
and 26 guns; and on August 23d, after a further bombardment of
twenty-four hours, of Fort Morgan, with 60 guns and 600 prisoners. By
these captures the port of Mobile was hermetically sealed against
blockade-runners, and a serious blow given to the rebel cause.

Rear-admiral Farragut remained in command of the West Gulf squadron
till November, 1864, when he requested leave of absence, and was
called to Washington for consultation in regard to future naval
operations. Soon after the opening of Congress, a resolution of thanks
to him for his brilliant victory at Mobile was passed, and the rank of
vice-admiral, corresponding to that of lieutenant-general in the army,
was created, and on January 1, 1865, David Glascoe Farragut promoted
to it. This appointment made him the virtual chief commander of the
naval forces of the United States.

The West Gulf blockading squadron, during all the time Admiral
Farragut was in command of it, had had more fighting and less prizes
than any other blockading squadron on the coast; and while Admirals
Dupont, Lee, Porter, and Dahlgren had accumulated immense fortunes by
their shares of prize-money, Admiral Farragut had received little
beyond his regular pay. The merchants of New York, understanding this,
and recognizing the great services he had rendered to commerce and to
the nation, subscribed the sum of fifty thousand dollars, which was
presented to him in United States 7.30 Treasury notes, in January,
1865, in testimony of their appreciation of his ability and success as
a naval commander. Until 1866 the rank of vice-admiral was the highest
known in the navy In July of that year the office of admiral was
specially created and bestowed on Farragut. He saw no further
important service, but died quietly at Portsmouth, N. H., August 14,
1870.

[Illustration: Farragut at Mobile Bay.]

Even the English _Army and Navy Gazette_ speaks of Admiral Farragut as
"the doughty admiral whose feats of arms place him at the head of his
profession, and certainly constitute him the first naval officer of
the day, as far as actual reputation won by skill, courage, and hard
fighting goes."




DAVID DIXON PORTER

(1814-1891)

[Illustration: David Porter. [TN]]


Among the coincidences of naval and military command in the war for
the Union, the association of the names of Farragut and Porter, in the
important series of operations on the Mississippi, has not escaped
attention.

The former, as the reader has seen in the previous sketch, was
introduced to the service in his childhood, under the care and
protection of Commodore David Porter, and boy as he was, fully shared
the adventures and perils of his famous cruise in the Pacific. Nearly
fifty years after that event Captain Farragut, in command of the
Department of the Gulf, entered the Mississippi in concert with the
son of his old commander of the Essex, to vindicate the national honor
by the restoration of New Orleans to the Union--a service which was to
prove the ability of both officers, and lead them to the highest rank
known to the naval service of the United States. Looking into the
future, Commodore Porter, the hero of the War of 1812, would hardly
have dreamt that the "boy midshipman, who had been introduced to him
at New Orleans, would, with two of his own sons, at the end of half a
century, receive the highest honors of their country, the reward of
the most arduous and perilous services against a domestic foe on the
Mississippi."

Of these sons of Commodore Porter, thus distinguished in this field of
duty, William D. Porter, the elder, on more than one occasion, in
command of the gunboat Essex, recalled not merely the name of his
father's vessel, but the courage and patriotism, the spirit and
success which had given the old ship her reputation. The younger,
David D. Porter, the subject of this notice, born in Philadelphia,
entered the navy as midshipman in the year 1829. His first cruise was
in the Mediterranean, under Commodore Biddle, till 1831. After a
year's leave of absence, he returned to that station, which has ever
proved, in its liberal intercourse with the men of other nations, and
its undying associations of nature and art, a most important school in
the education of the young naval officers of the United States. Having
passed his examination in 1835, young Porter was attached to the coast
survey service from 1836 to 1841, when he was promoted to a
lieutenancy and was ordered to the frigate Congress, in which he
sailed for four years on the Mediterranean and South American
stations. In 1845, we find him attached to the National Observatory at
Washington in special service. During the Mexican war which succeeded,
he was in charge of the naval rendezvous at New Orleans, was
subsequently again employed on the coast survey, and from 1849 to 1853
was, by permission of the department, in command of the California
mail steamers Panama and Georgia, running from New York to Aspinwall,
a rising commercial service of national importance, to which his
experience and personal character were of great value. After this he
was in various home services, till 1861, when he was promoted to the
rank of commander, and placed in command of the steam-sloop Powhatan,
in which he joined the Gulf Blockading squadron off Pensacola. He had
thus, at the outbreak of the Rebellion, been thirty-two years in the
service, over nineteen of which had been spent at sea and nine on
shore duty.

A special service of great importance was presently intrusted to him.
When in the beginning of 1862, an expedition was set on foot to open
the Mississippi River to New Orleans, he was assigned to the command
of a fleet of bomb-vessels to co-operate with the squadron of Captain
Farragut in that enterprise--a service which he carried out with
distinguished ability.

After the capture of New Orleans, Commander Porter continued to
co-operate with Captain Farragut on the Mississippi, being engaged in
the movement on Vicksburg in May. In the following October he was
placed in command of the Mississippi squadron, with the rank of acting
rear-admiral, and when, in the ensuing year, operations were actively
resumed for the capture of Vicksburg, his squadron, in concert with
the victorious army of General Grant, was constantly employed in the
most hazardous and honorable service.

It was he who forwarded to the Secretary of the Navy at Washington the
brief and authoritative announcement: "Sir, I have the honor to inform
you that Vicksburg surrendered to the United States forces on July
4th." This was the first bulletin to the country and to the world of
this memorable event. Simultaneously with the victory of General Mead
over Lee at Gettysburg, it was hailed as the crowning disaster to the
Rebellion. As a reward for his services on the Mississippi, Porter was
promoted to the full rank of rear-admiral.

In December, 1864, he commanded the fleet which bombarded Fort Fisher.
After a terrific assault the fort was captured January 13, 1865, and
Wilmington, the last Confederate port, was closed. Porter received
another, his fourth, vote of thanks from Congress, and in 1866 was
made vice-admiral. On Farragut's death, in 1870, he was immediately
appointed to succeed him as admiral, and held the rank until his
death, on February 13, 1891.




GIUSEPPE GARIBALDI

(1807-1882)

[Illustration: Guiseppe Garibaldi. [TN]]


Garibaldi has not left the world without some account of his birth,
parentage, and early life. Not a little of his great, naïve, and
enthusiastic character may be studied in those Memoirs, of which his
eccentric friend, Alexander Dumas, published a free translation. He
was born July 22, 1807. He was a native of Nice, a city inhabited by a
mongrel race, but himself sprung from a purely Italian family The name
of Garibaldi, common enough throughout North Italy, betokens old
Lombard descent. He first saw light, as he states, in the very house
and room where, forty-nine years before, Masséna was born. His father,
Domenico, had come from Chiavari, in the Riviera di Levante; he gives
his mother's name Rosa Raguindo. Garibaldi's father and grandfather
were seamen, and he took to the sea as his native element, developing
great strength and skill as a swimmer, an accomplishment which enabled
him to save drowning men on several memorable occasions. For what book
learning he had he seems to have been indebted to the desultory
lessons of priestly schoolmasters under the direction of his mother.
Of this latter he always spoke with great tenderness, acknowledging
that "to her inspiration he owed his patriotic feelings," and stating
that "in his greatest dangers by land and sea his imagination always
conjured up the picture of the pious woman prostrated at the feet of
the Most High interceding for the safety of her beloved."

In early life he embarked in his father's merchant vessel, a brig, and
in that and other craft he made frequent voyages to Odessa, Rome, and
Constantinople. Soon after the revolutionary movements of 1831 he was
at Marseilles, where he fell in with Mazzini, busy at that time with
the organization of "Young Italy," and with the preparations for an
invasion of Italy by sea, which, upon Mazzini's expulsion from
Marseilles, was attempted at Geneva, and directed against the Savoy
frontier. The Savoy expedition turned out an egregious failure, the
blame of which Garibaldi, on Mazzini's statement, throws on the Polish
General Ramorino's treachery. Garibaldi himself, who had embarked on
board the royal frigate Eurydice to gain possession of that vessel by
a mutiny of the crew, being off Genoa, and hearing of a plot to storm
the barracks of the Carabinieri, landed in the town to join it; but
the attack upon the barracks miscarried, and he, not daring to go back
to his ship, saw himself irreparably compromised, fled to Nice, and
thence crossed the Var and found himself an exile at Marseilles. Here
he betook himself again to his sea life, sailed for the Black Sea and
for Tunis, and at last on board the Nageur, of Nantes, for Rio de
Janeiro.

In the commentaries before alluded to Garibaldi gives the fullest
particulars of the exploits by which he rose to distinction beyond the
Atlantic during the twelve years elapsing from his leaving Europe in
1836 to his return to Italy in 1848. It is the romance of his career,
and will some day be wrought into an epic blending the charms of the
Odyssey with those of the Iliad--a battle and a march being the theme
of the eventful tale almost from beginning to end.

Garibaldi took service with the Republic of Rio Grande do Sul, a vast
territory belonging to Brazil, then in open rebellion and war against
that empire. He took the command of a privateer's boat with a crew of
twelve men, to which he gave the name of Mazzini, and by the aid of
which he soon helped himself to a larger and better-armed vessel, a
prize taken from the enemy. In his many encounters with the Imperial
or Brazilian party the hero bought experience both of wonderfully
propitious and terribly adverse fortune, and had every imaginable
variety of romantic adventure and hair-breadth escapes. He was
severely wounded, taken prisoner, and in one instance at Gualeguay, in
the Argentine territory, he found himself in the power of one Leonardo
Millan, a type of Spanish South American brutality, by whom he was
savagely struck in the face with a horsewhip, submitted to several
hours' rack and torture, and thrown into a dungeon in which his
sufferings were soothed by the ministration of that "angel of
charity," a woman, by name Madame Alleman.

Escaping from his tormentor by the intervention of the Governor of
Gualeguay, Paolo Echague, Garibaldi crossed from the territories of
the Plate into those of the Rio Grande, and faithful to the cause of
that republic, he fought with better success, winning battles,
storming fortresses, standing his ground with a handful of men, or
even single-handed, against incredible odds, beating strong squadrons
with a few small vessels, giving through all proofs of the rarest
disinterestedness, humanity, and generosity, disobeying orders to sack
and ravage vanquished cities, and exercising that mixture of authority
and glamour over his followers which almost enabled him to dispense
with the ties of stern rule and discipline. At last, after losing a
flotilla in a hurricane on the coast of Santa Caterina, where he
landed wrecked and forlorn, having seen his bravest and most cherished
Italian friends shot down or drowned, he fell in with his Anita--not,
apparently, the first fair one for whom he had a passing fancy--with
whom he united his destinies, for better for worse, in life and till
death, in some off-hand manner, about which he is reticent and
mysterious. Anita turned out almost as great and daring and
long-enduring a being as her heroic mate, and was by his side in all
fights by land and sea, till the fortunes of the Republic of Rio
Grande declined, when, after giving birth to her first-born, Menotti
Garibaldi, September 16, 1840, she went with that infant and his
father through unheard of hardships and dangers in the disastrous
retreat of Las Antas; when at last, Garibaldi, beginning to feel the
responsibilities of a growing family, and despairing of the issues of
an ill-conducted war, took leave of his Republican friends at Rio
Grande and went for a short respite in his adventurous career to
Montevideo.

After trying on the journey to find employment as a cattle-driver,
Garibaldi settled at Montevideo in the capacity of a general broker
and teacher of mathematics; but war having broken out between the
Republic of the Uruguay and Buenos Ayres, the Condottiere was
solicited to draw his sword for the former state which afforded him
hospitality, and was trusted with the command of a little squadron
destined to operate on the Parana River against a largely superior
Argentine force. This expedition was contrived by enemies high in
power in the Montevidean Government, who, jealous of the reputation
won by Garibaldi at Rio Grande, vainly plotted to have him
assassinated with his friend Anzani, and hoped to rid themselves of
him by exposing him to dangers from which it seemed impossible that he
could extricate himself. Garibaldi, however, made the best of his
desperate position, and escaped, not only with his life, but also with
"honor--the only thing that was not lost."

Presently, danger pressing sorely on the republic, he organized his
Italian Legion, which behaved well through a new series of land and
sea combats, its band of only 400 combatants often beating the enemy's
corps 600 men strong, at the close of which exploits its soldiers
refused grants of land offered to them by a grateful state, "the
stimulus of their exertions," as their commander said, "being only the
triumph of the Republican cause." The legion was afterward as a mark
of honor, allowed precedence over all the other troops of the
republic. The war continued, and under the auspices of their commander
the soldiers of the Italian Legion rose to such distinction that at
the affairs of the Boyada and of Salto Sant' Antonio, February, 1846,
Garibaldi was empowered to write to the government of the republic
that the brilliant successes of those deeds of arms were entirely due
to their gallantry.

Meanwhile, however, news from Europe came to turn the attention of
Italian patriots to the momentous events which were rapidly changing
the conditions of the peninsula. Years had passed. Pius IX. was Pope;
Sicily had risen in open and successful revolt; a republic had been
proclaimed in France; Constitutions were being wrested from the
reluctant hands of most European despots. Austria was convulsed with
insurrectionary attempts; the Milanese drove Radetsky from their city
after five days' fighting, and Charles Albert unfurled the national
standard and crossed the Ticino.

The theatre of the exploits of the hero of Montevideo was soon
changed. All who had a heart and soul in Italy were up and doing, and
could Italy's greatest heart and soul remain beyond the seas?
Garibaldi, on the first reports of the Pope's liberal leanings, wrote
to the Nuncio Bedini at Montevideo, October 17, 1847, offering the
services of the Italian Legion to his Holiness, who was now almost on
the eve of a war with Austria, "although," the letter said, "the
writer was well aware that St. Peter's throne rests on a solid basis,
proof against all human attacks and needing no mortal defenders." The
Nuncio returned thanks and praises and referred Garibaldi's tender to
the Pontifical Government at Rome. But Garibaldi, never well disposed
to losing time, after vainly waiting for further communication from
Pope or Nuncio, brooked no longer delay. With incredible difficulty he
scraped together money and means, and embarked with his brave friend,
Anzani (who died at Genoa soon after landing), having with him only 85
men and two cannon, and leaving the remainder of his legion to follow
when and how it could.

He crossed the ocean, landed at Nice, proceeded to Genoa and Milan,
and when Charles Albert, defeated at Custozza, withdrew from the
Lombard city and accepted an armistice, which saved Piedmont from
invasion, August, 1848, Garibaldi passed over to Mazzini, and at the
head of a volunteer force, of which Mazzini was the standard-bearer,
issued a manifesto in which he proclaimed the Sardinian king a
traitor, and declared that "the royal war was at an end, and that of
the people was now to begin." That proclamation was, however, only an
idle bravado. Mazzini, even if he had the spirit, lacked the physical
strength of a fighting man. The Garibaldians, on hearing the news of
the fall of Milan, lost heart, and many crossed over the frontier to
Switzerland. With thinned and dispirited bands, Garibaldi, aided by
his friend Medici, ventured on a few desultory fights near Luino, on
Lake Maggiore, but soon fell back and withdrew to Lugano in the Canton
Ticino, his health, it is said, breaking down, and his immediate
followers being reduced to some three hundred.

A few months later Pius IX., fallen from his popularity and pressed
hard by his disaffected subjects, who murdered his minister and almost
stormed him in his palace at the Quirinal, ran away to Gaëta, and a
Roman Republic was proclaimed, of which Mazzini, in a triumvirate with
two others, mere men of straw, became the head. Attacked by the French
in flagrant violation of all rights of nations, Rome undertook to
defend itself, and whatever Italy could boast of generous hearts,
regardless of party differences, rallied round Garibaldi, who drove
back the French from Porta Pancrazia, April 29 and 30, 1849, defeated
the Neapolitans in that campaign of Velletri, which was like the farce
contrasting with the tragic drama soon to be acted at Rome, and
withstood a three months' siege, in which many of the noblest
champions of the Italian cause lavished their lives in a hopeless,
yet, as it proved, not a fruitless struggle.

The French having gained possession of the city July 13, 1849,
Garibaldi left it with a band of devoted volunteers, retired via Terni
and Orvieto, gathering together about 2,000 men in his progress,
crossed the Apennines, and pressed by the Austrians with overwhelming
forces, sought a refuge at San Marino, gave the enemy the slip in the
night, embarked at Cesenatico for Venice, which was still withstanding
the Austrian siege, was met by four Austrian men-of-war, which
compelled him to put back and land on the coast near Ravenna, and
wandered ashore in the woods, where Anita, his inseparable companion
in this disastrous march, succumbed to the fatigues of the journey,
and expired in the hero's arms. Garibaldi's devoted friends Ugo Bassi
and Ciceruacchio, falling into the hands of the Austrians, were shot
by them without any forms of trial and by an act of barbarism which no
human or divine law could justify. The heart-broken hero, with a few
trusty men, made his way from the Adriatic to the Mediterranean, was
arrested by the Sardinian Carabinieri at Chiaveri, conveyed to Genoa,
where La Marmora was in command, and there embarked for Tunis; hence,
finding nowhere a refuge, he proceeded to the Island of La Maddalena,
off the shore of Sardinia, and hence again to Gibraltar and Tangier.

La Marmora received the heart-broken fugitive as a brother, supplied
him with ample means for his journey to Tunis, and obtained for him
from the Turin Government the assignment of an honorable pension,
which Garibaldi did not in his straits disdain to accept. But, in his
opinion, all seemed now over for Italy; Charles Albert's son, Victor
Emmanuel, after the defeat of Navara, had made his peace with Austria
in March, 1849. Venice had succumbed after heroic sufferings in
August, and Garibaldi, again crossing the ocean, settled at New York
as a tallow chandler, and only came back to Europe in 1855.

When Garibaldi returned from America he did not look out for Mazzini
or his Republicans in England or Switzerland, but sought a home in
Piedmont, a Constitutional State, which allowed him an obscure but
peaceful retreat in his hermitage at Caprera, an island rock on the
Sardinian coast near the Maddalena, and conveyed to him a hint that
the time might soon come in which his country's cause would summon him
from retirement. And, truly, four years later (1859) the destinies of
Italy were nearing their fulfilment. France and Piedmont took the
field against Austria. Garibaldi, leaving his island home, was met and
highly welcomed by Victor Emmanuel, to whom he swore fealty as the
only hope of Italy. He now took the command of the Chasseurs des
Alpes, aided the royal army in its defence of the territory previous
to the arrival of its great French auxiliary, and, following in the
upper region a line parallel to that kept in the plain by the conquest
of Palestro, Magenta, and Solferino, beat the Austrians at Varese and
San Fermo, bewildered his adversary Urban, by the rashness of his
movements on the mountains above Como, advanced upon Bergamo and
Brescia, and pushed on to the Valtellina up to the very summit of the
Stelvia Pass. Here the peace of Villafranca put an end to the
struggle, and Garibaldi, afflicted by the arthritic pains to which he
was a martyr all his life, travelled for a few days' rest to Tuscany
and Genoa.

At Genoa, during the autumn and winter, Garibaldi, hospitably
entertained by his friend Augusto Vecchi outside the city, busied
himself with that expedition of "the Thousand" which made one state of
the south and north of Italy. He embarked on May 11, 1860, at Genoa,
landed in Sicily, at Marsala, beat the Neapolitans at Calatafimi,
followed up his success to Palermo, and, aided by the insurgent city,
compelled the garrison to surrender. He again routed the Bourbon
troops at Milazzo, and had soon the whole island at his discretion
with the exception of the citadel of Messina. He then crossed over
into Calabria, and, almost without firing a shot, drove the Neapolitan
king's troops before him all over the mainland, compelled the king to
abandon the strong pass of La Cava and to withdraw his forces from
his capital, where Garibaldi, with only a few of his staff, made his
triumphal entry on September 7, 1860.

After a few days' rest Garibaldi followed the disheartened king to
Capua, obtained new signal successes on the Volturno, at Santa Maria,
and Caserta; but would probably have been unable to accomplish the
enterprise had not the Piedmontese, whose government had aided
Garibaldi's expedition while pretending to oppose it, overrun the
Marches, beaten Lamoricière and the Papal forces at Castel Fidardo,
and, crossing the frontier and the Apennines, besieged and reduced the
strong places of Capua and Gaëta. Garibaldi, who, as a dictator, had
with doubtful success endeavored to establish something like rule in
the Two Sicilies, aware of the arduousness of a task which would have
exceeded many wiser men's powers, met Victor Emmanuel at Naples,
delivered the two kingdoms into his hands, and, declining all the
proffered honors and emoluments for himself, took leave of his
sovereign and embarked for the solitude of his rock-farm at Caprera.

Rome alone now remained outside of the United Italian Kingdom, and
Garibaldi, raising bands of adventurers, made two or three attempts to
capture it, but was repulsed by its French garrison, and it was not
until 1870 that, the French troops being recalled to their own sorely
distressed country, the union of Italy under Victor Emmanuel became an
accomplished fact, though in the great liberator's absence. Garibaldi
once more was seen in Rome, April, 1879. He was supposed to be
proposing great purchases of arms, to be enlisting hosts of
volunteers, to be planning thorough reforms and preparing formidable
expeditions against Austria. But Garibaldi, away from Caprera, could
not fail to have his good as well as his evil angels about him. He saw
the king; he listened to General Medici, his own right arm in so many
campaigns, and now first aide-de-camp to King Humbert, as he had
before been to King Victor Emmanuel. He listened, while they showed
him the folly of further war, and, though not convinced, he was
silenced. Although too proud to acknowledge the absurdity of his
schemes in words, he was too wise not to give them up in deeds. He
withdrew from the vain popular acclamation; shut his door against the
crowd of his visitors, and although he announced his intention to take
up his domicile in Rome, he pleaded indisposition as an excuse for
inaction and retirement. Unfortunately there was only too much ground
in the plea. The arthritic pains, of which symptoms had manifested
themselves as early as during the Lombard campaign of 1849, had been
seriously aggravated by his toils, and the sight of his helplessness
in Rome as he hobbled up the steps of Montecitorio in 1874, was
saddening to all beholders, and prepared his friends for that end
which, however, was to be put off for several years. The fatigue of
the voyage from Caprera in 1879, and still more the excitement of
incessant calls, objectless conferences, and endless exhibitions soon
entirely prostrated the hero, and before the backward spring had fully
set in it became evident that Garibaldi's life could only be a
lingering agony.

[Illustration: Meeting of Victor Emmanuel and Garibaldi.]

His life, if life it may be called, and at all events his sufferings,
were prolonged yet a few years. He left home in the spring of 1881 on
a mad scheme of liberating, "by force if necessary," his
son-in-law, Canzio, who had been arrested as a plotter for the
republic. But having obtained the man's release from the king's
government as a favor, he once more sought the peace of his hermitage
where he died, June 2, 1882.




FIELD-MARSHAL COUNT VON MOLTKE

(1800-1891)

[Illustration: Count von Moltke. [TN]]


Suddenly, but quietly and painlessly, on the evening of April 24,
1891, passed away one of the most remarkable men of the present
century. Hellmuth Karl Bernhard von Moltke was born, October 26, 1800,
at Parshim, in Mecklenburg, where his father, previously a captain in
the Prussian army, had retired, impoverished in circumstances, to an
estate which he inherited. When little Hellmuth was three years old,
his father, Baron Moltke, settled at the free town of Lubeck, the once
famous head of the Hanseatic League. Here, in 1806, on the retreat
from the disastrous battle of Jena, Marshal Blücher, who like Von
Moltke was of Mecklenburg origin, sought refuge with his shattered
troops; and little Moltke was a witness of the sack and plunder of the
town by the troops of Napoleon, his father's house being one of those
that suffered most severely. It is said that the incidents of this
event made a lasting impression upon the mind of the boy. At the age
of nine, with his elder brother Fritz, young Hellmuth was placed under
the care of Pastor Knickbein, at Hohenfelde, near Horst, a scholarly
man of a kindly and genial disposition, for whom he always retained a
deep regard. His sense of indebtedness appears in the inscription
which he wrote on the title-page when forwarding to him a copy of his
first work, his "Letters from Turkey;" "To my dear teacher and
fatherly friend to whom I owe so much, I send this, my first work, as
a slight testimony of respect."

The favorite recreation of the two brothers while here at school was
playing at war, as perhaps was natural at such a period. They were
accustomed to collect the peasant boys of the village and divide them
into two rival armies, Fritz commanding the one, and Hellmuth the
other. Once, when the mimic warfare was at its height, the weaker
force of Hellmuth was routed, and some were taken prisoners. Called
upon to surrender, Hellmuth cried out, "All is not lost!" and hastily
rallying his men he marched them straight to a pond in Pastor
Knickbein's garden, and hurried them to a little island which the boy
himself had constructed with great labor, and accessible only by a
single plank. Facing the enemy with a few of his strongest men, he
kept them at bay until all his troops had passed into the fortress, he
himself being the last to enter. Then the drawbridge was raised and
the victory won. The island, preserved by the good pastor, long since
gone to his rest, still exists, and is pointed out with great pride by
the villagers to curious visitors as the scene of one of the early
exploits of Germany's greatest strategist.

His experiences at the Royal Academy at Copenhagen, to which he was
sent at the age of twelve, were not of the happiest. Relating his
reminiscences of that period, in reply to the question, "Do you retain
pleasant recollections of cadet life?" he remarked, "I have little
reason to do so. Without relations or acquaintances in a strange city,
we spent a joyless youth. The discipline was strict, even hard, and
now, when my judgment of it is unprejudiced, I must say that it was
too strict, too hard. The only benefit we received from this treatment
was that we became accustomed to deprivations."

Passing over the period of his service in the Danish army, and his
entrance into that of Prussia, we find him, after making heroic
efforts on his scanty pay to acquire foreign languages, in which he
attained in after-life so remarkable a proficiency, attached to a
commission for topographical surveys in Silesia and the Grand Duchy of
Posen.

Consolidating and extending his knowledge of military science and of
foreign peoples, as in the case of his visits to the East, Russia,
Rome, and elsewhere, Moltke rose steadily in his profession. In 1845,
he became aide-de-camp to the invalid Prince Henry of Prussia, uncle
of the king; and subsequently, after holding commands of increasing
importance, he was made first aide-de-camp to the Crown Prince
Frederick. Ultimately, in 1859, he was appointed permanent chief of
the staff. His later military career, and brilliant successes against
the Danes, Austrians, and the French, and the various honors accorded
him, are so well known and have been so often and so recently
narrated, that any further reference to them in this present sketch is
unnecessary, the purpose of our notice being to briefly indicate some
of the leading points of the great field-marshal's character. One fact
is memorable, that he had passed the age when men frequently retire
from the public service before the time of his greater achievements.
His splendid career began to the eye of the world at sixty-five.

The guiding principle of his life is well illustrated by the ancient
motto of his family, _Caute et candide_ (warily and gently), and by
his own favorite maxim, _Erst wägen, dann wagen_ (first weigh, then
venture). He was slow, cautious, and careful in laying his plans, but
having formed his design, he was bold, daring even to the verge of
apparent recklessness in its execution. The same calm, immovable
spirit characterized him even in moments when most ordinary
mortals--he was a man _sui generis_--might, with some show of reason,
be perturbed or excited. Even in the most critical period of the
Franco-German war his unruffled quietness remained the same, sterner
perhaps in look, more silent than ever. Though the warrior king,
amidst the carnage of the battle-field might feel depressed; though
Bismarck, man of "iron and blood," might be anxious at the progress
of events, Moltke, seated on his great black horse, calmly surveyed,
telescope in hand, the movements of the troops, or later, resting
quietly in his room at Versailles, awaited the result undismayed. When
war was declared, a friend met him with the remark: "You must indeed
be overworked at present." "No," replied the General, "the work was
done beforehand; all orders are gone out; I really have nothing to
do."

Married in 1842, shortly after his return home from the East, to Miss
Burt, an English lady, he lived with her in the bonds of a rare union
of happiness, concord, and mutual sympathy. On the occasion of her
death, which took place Christmas Eve, 1868, he withdrew still more
from public life, and found in quiet, studious, and laborious life
some slight relief for his grief. Very touching was his devotion to
the memory of his wife. Upon his estate at Kreisau he built a little
mausoleum, situated on a beautiful eminence, embowered in foliage.
This little chapel, constructed of red brick and sandstone, was lined
inside with black and white marble, and in front of the altar was
placed the simple oak coffin in which the remains of his wife reposed,
covered at all seasons of the year with wreaths. Sculptured in the
apse was a finely carved figure of our Lord in an attitude of
blessing, copied from Thorwaldsen. Above were inscribed the words of
St. Paul, "Love is the fulfilment of the Law." When at his
country-seat the aged warrior visited the tomb morning and evening.
Now at her side slumbers the veteran, awaiting with her the signal of
the resurrection.

Of his bearing in the time of his bereavement, the following incident
was related by the late Mr. George Bancroft, the distinguished
historian, at that period United States Minister at Berlin. Mr.
Bancroft was one of the favored few who were accustomed to accompany
Von Moltke in his daily rides in the Thiergarten or to the Grunewald.
Seeing the general on horseback, "my first impulse," said Mr.
Bancroft, "was to trot into another lane. On second thoughts, however,
I turned my horse alongside his, remembering that it was for him to
talk or be silent. To my surprise, he forthwith began a lively
conversation, describing the happiness with which Miss Burt had
blessed her husband, and expatiating upon her manifold virtues as one
crushed by an overwhelming, irreparable loss. Then of a sudden he grew
silent, as if a new current of thought had carried him sheer away. 'Do
you know,' he said, when his lips were again opened, 'it has just been
brought home to me that, after all, perhaps it was better that this
happened now than at another time? You see, I am convinced that a
French invasion is impending; it will burst upon us sooner or later,
whatever the plea may eventually be. Now think if the fortune of war
was to be adverse to our arms! Why, her grief over the country's
adversities must have cut her life short. No, no; that would have been
worse!'"

Von Moltke was a passionate lover of children, and is said to have
been quite the slave to the caprices of his little grandnephew, the
son of Major Hellmuth von Moltke, the aide-de-camp of the count, whom
the emperor, as a special mark of his royal favor, immediately after
the funeral of his chief, made one of his own aides-de-camp.

As far as Count von Moltke's religious views could be ascertained,
they were of a simple type, and characterized by a strict adherence to
the path of duty and virtue. Daily was he accustomed to read his
Bible, one of ancient date, its well-marked pages indicating how
frequently its owner was in the habit of consulting its inspired
pages. An extract from a letter the aged field-marshal wrote on the
eve of his eightieth birthday is peculiarly interesting. "I stand,"
said he, "close upon the end of my life; but how different from that
here will be the measure in a future world according to which our
earthly actions will be judged! Not the brilliancy of success, but the
purity of our endeavors and faithful perseverance in duty, even when
the result was scarcely visible, will decide as to the value of a
man's life. What a wonderful displacement of high and low will be
witnessed at that great review! We do not even know ourselves what we
have to ascribe to ourselves, to others, or to a higher will. It will
be well not to set too great a value on externals." In a passage in
one of his books, referring to our Lord's life here upon earth, he
remarks: "His life was humble. He was the descendant of a people in
bondage, and He had not a place where to lay His head. To the
fishermen He talked in parables about God; He healed the sick, and
died the death of an evil-doer. And yet there has never been anything
on this earth that could be purer, more elevated, and also--even seen
from the worldly point of view--more successful than His conduct, His
teaching, and His death."

The old soldier's habits of life were, like those of the majority of
really great men, extremely simple and singularly free from
ostentation of any kind. Very characteristic of the late field-marshal
are the following data of his life, written by himself on the occasion
of his ninetieth birthday. An Austrian Association for the Promotion
of Popular Knowledge addressed a number of interrogatories to various
European celebrities of great age, which were to explain the
circumstances and conditions under which an exceptionally long life
might be attained. The answers received were collected in a book and
subsequently published.

Field-Marshal von Moltke answered the questions submitted to him in
his own peculiarly laconic manner, as follows:

_Q._ In which year of your life and on which date did you begin to
learn, and for how many hours a day?--_A._ 1808, in my eighth year,
with four; after 1810, with ten hours a day.

_Q._ Was your health in your youth delicate or robust?--_A._ Tough
nature.

_Q._ Did you grow up in the country or in town?--_A._ Up to my tenth
year in the country.

_Q._ How many hours did you spend in the open air? Regularly?--_A._
Irregularly, and but few hours.

_Q._ Did you cultivate hardening games and other exercises?--_A._ Not
methodically.

_Q._ How many hours did you sleep in childhood?--_A._ Ten hours.

_Q._ Special remarks?--_A._ Joyless youth, scanty nourishment, absence
from the paternal home.

_Q._ Where did you complete your studies--in town or in the
country?--_A._ In town.

_Q._ How many hours a day do you devote to mental work?--_A._ Very
different.

_Q._ Do you attribute to any particular habit of your life a favorable
influence upon your health?--_A._ Moderation in all habits of life. In
all weathers exercise in the open air. No day altogether at home.

_Q._ How long did you sleep at a mature age?--_A._ From eight to nine
hours on an average.

_Q._ What alterations have you made at an advanced age in your mode of
life?--_A._ None.

_Q._ How long did you work daily in your fiftieth, sixtieth,
seventieth, eightieth years?--_A._ Quite as circumstances required it;
often, therefore, very long.

_Q._ What were your recreations?--_A._ Riding on horseback up to my
eighty-sixth year.

_Q._ How many hours do you spend in the open air?--_A._ Now, in summer
on my estate, half the day.

_Q._ How long do you sleep at present?--_A._ Always eight hours still.

_Q._ What are your habits with regard to eating, etc.?--_A._ I eat
very little, and take concentrated food.

_Q._ To what circumstances do you particularly attribute your stalwart
old age (which may God long preserve!)?--_A._ To God's grace and
temperate habits.

An interesting anecdote is related, apropos of his dislike to display,
on the occasion of the opening of new barracks at Frankfort-on-the-Oder,
to which, as the oldest and most distinguished officer of the regiment
in which he first served, he was invited. His acceptance of the
invitation was accompanied by the stipulation that no ceremony should be
made; but the officers, desiring to do honor to their illustrious guest,
had provided the best carriage that the town afforded to meet him at the
station. On his arrival, the field-marshal thanked the officer in
waiting, took a common cab, and with his nephew, who was with him as
aide-de-camp, drove off to the barracks, to the astonishment of the
honest burghers.

His favorite recreations were chess, in which he excelled; music,
especially that of the school of Schubert and Mozart--he entertained
very decided opinions about the "music of the future"--and whist,
which he rarely missed playing after dinner, even when at the seat of
war. The count was an authority on the culture of roses, and at
Kreisau, where he spent most of his time after his retirement from
more active service, he possessed one of the finest and most unique
collections of roses in Germany, a fact which lends an additional
grace to the tribute of respect paid to the field-marshal's memory,
when, the day after his death, the empress visited the head-quarters
of the General Staff and placed a magnificent wreath of his favorite
flower upon the bed of the departed hero.

Had not his reputation as a military strategist overshadowed his other
gifts, the count would have gained distinction in the world of
letters. In the twenties, while engaged in the Topographical
Department, he wrote a pamphlet, published at Berlin, entitled
"Holland and Belgium," by H. von Moltke, in which he calls the
attention of Europe to the Belgian Revolution; this was followed, in
1845, by a critical military work of great merit, "The Russo-Turkish
Campaign of 1828-29 in European Turkey," which created a deep
impression in military circles, and proved of considerable service in
the Russo-Turkish campaign of 1877-78. Moltke's pithy and laconic
style was founded on the model of his chief, General von Müffling, his
instructor in practical and theoretical tactics, in which the members
of the German General Staff are required to excel. He was a graphic
writer and shrewd observer of men and things, as his charming letters
from Russia, France, Turkey, and other places show. Especially
sagacious were his observations on the Turks, made to his sister,
married to Mr. John Burt, an Englishman settled at Holstein, in which
he affirms that the kingdom is rotten, that Turkey had fallen under a
ban, and that ban the Koran, which teaches so warped a doctrine that
its laws and decrees must of necessity oppose all social progress. His
views on Russia, as indicated in his letters written in the form of a
diary to his wife on the occasion of his visit in 1856, when
accompanying Prince Frederick William at the coronation of the Czar
Alexander II. at Moscow, show the same keen powers of observation. He
considered that Russia had a great future before her, but this could
only be realized when her officials became more honest. "Honesty among
Russian officials," he thinks, "can only be brought about by many
years of iron severity." Of the difficulty of governing the French
nation, he wrote, when visiting the court of Napoleon III.: "It would
be as impossible to allow the liberty of the press in France as to
admit discussion of the orders given by generals to their armies when
in the field." We have not the advantage of knowing his views on
England and the English on the three occasions, in 1856, 1858, and
1861, when he visited the country in company with the crown prince to
be present at his betrothal and marriage to the princess royal, and
again at the funeral of the prince consort. How highly his opinion as
an authority was esteemed as early as 1867, is seen by an incident
which occurred during the Universal Exhibition, when Count Moltke, in
company with King William of Prussia and Count Bismarck, dined with
Napoleon III. at St. Cloud. Subsequently, the emperor and Moltke
engaged in an animated conversation apart from the rest. At this
moment Marshal Randon, Minister of War, walked across the room, and
the emperor, noticing him, raised his voice, saying, "Come here,
marshal. General Moltke says that with the needle-gun he would be
strong enough to fight even the French army." Marshal Randon drew
near, and, turning toward Moltke, said, in a tone loud enough to be
heard by all in the room, "Pardon me, general; but, in spite of the
high opinion I have of your judgment, I cannot share your belief. I
venture to affirm, that even with the needle-gun, the French army
would not suffer the fate of the Austrian army;" and the conversation
continued without the bystanders being able to follow it. But after
the departure of the King of Prussia and his suite, Napoleon III.,
struck by these words, energetically busied himself in overhauling
the equipment of the French army. He examined various models of guns
that were submitted to him, and among these the Martini rifle, which
he found excellent, but which was after all rejected for the
Chassepôt. The making of this gun was pushed forward so actively that
the French army was provided with it by 1870.

[Illustration: Moltke at Versailles, 1870.]

In respect of his literary efforts, as of his military achievements,
Moltke was singularly modest. Herr G. von Bunsen tells us how,
"meeting the general one day at a dinner-party, I expressed my regret
at his having neglected to write some letter-press to accompany his
well-known map of the environs of Ancient Rome. 'But a companion book
for it was written,' he replied; 'or rather,' correcting himself, 'he
had begun writing one at Rome, and was prevented from finishing the
MS. when the Government ordered him to convey Prince Henry's body to
Berlin, and there set him engrossing tasks to do.' Hereupon I ventured
to ask him for a loan of this fragment. Of course he believed it to be
lost; but, as a matter of course likewise, it was brought to my door
by an orderly at an early hour next morning. When returning the MS., I
advised the publication of parts of it, which would be found
acceptable independently of his being the author; and if my humble
advice should be followed, would he accept my humble services as
editor? His reply," adds Herr von Bunsen, "has been carefully
preserved. Its purport was that he must lay down three conditions:
First, I must omit what I pleased; secondly, transpose at my pleasure;
and thirdly, _alter the text_ wherever it seemed desirable." "Will any
editor in the world," Herr von Bunsen pithily remarks, "hesitate to
confirm my belief that no MS. of the last unfledged stripling of an
author was ever offered on similar conditions?"

Fitting tributes of respect and admiration were paid to the aged
field-marshal on the occasion of his celebrating his ninetieth
birthday, on October 26, 1890. Telegrams from all sorts and conditions
of men poured in upon him, including, among the princes and sovereigns
of Europe, one from Queen Victoria, who held Count von Moltke in high
esteem. The 26th falling upon Sunday, the schools throughout the
length and breadth of Germany were closed on the previous Saturday to
enable the scholars to add their quota to the general rejoicing. In
Berlin a torchlight procession of vast extent, composed of 20,000
students, artists, members of trades and guilds, marched with banners
and groups of historically dressed personages and impersonifications,
from the old gray Schloss down the Linden, through the Brandenburg
Gate to the Königsplatz, where are situated the buildings of the Grand
Staff. Here addresses were presented to Von Moltke.

On the following day, in the Conference Hall of the General Staff, the
emperor, surrounded by the military magnates of the Reichsrath, the
generals of the twenty army corps specially summoned to be present,
the officers of the General Staff, Chancellor von Caprivi, successor
to Prince Bismarck, the King of Saxony, the grand dukes and the Duke
of Connaught, addressed the marshal in the following terms:

"I thank you in the name of those who have fought together with you,
and whose most faithful and devoted servant you have been. I thank
you for all you have done for my House and for the greatness of the
Fatherland. We greet in you not only a Prussian leader who has won for
the army the reputation of being invincible, but one of the founders
of the German Empire. The presence of the King of Saxony, who has made
a point of personally congratulating you, recalls the time when he and
you fought for Germany's greatness. The distinctions conferred upon
you by my grandfather leave nothing in which I can personally show my
thanks to you.... I call upon all those present to express their
feelings of gratitude that Field-Marshal von Moltke has known how not
to stand alone in his greatness, but to form a school of leaders of
the army for time to come, and for all future generations, by giving
cheers for his excellency."

This, the last occasion on which public honors were accorded to the
field-marshal during his life, appropriately emphasized the universal
esteem in which "Father Moltke," as he was affectionally designated by
the army, was held as one of the founders of the German Empire.




GEORGE DEWEY

By MAJOR-GENERAL JOSEPH WHEELER

(Born 1837)

[Illustration: George Dewey. [TN]]


Every occasion finds a _man_ to meet the exigencies of the hour, every
conflict brings forth its hero, and every war educates soldiers for a
war to come. War begets the warrior. Washington came out of the French
and Indian wars, Jackson from the Creek wars; Scott and Taylor both
emerged from Chippewa and Lundy's Lane, Grant and Lee from Mexico. So,
George Dewey came out of the fierce internecine strife of our Civil
War. He came, too, from one of the great sources of the best elements
of our American population. The Puritans of New England and the
Cavaliers of Virginia sprung from the same soil and a common ancestry,
worked side by side, in a widely different manner, but to the same
end; and from these two classes have sprung nearly all our great
soldiers, statesmen, and authors. From the former came the great naval
hero of the Spanish-American War.

[Illustration: Admiral Dewey at Manila Bay.]

George Dewey was born in Montpelier, Vermont, on December 26, 1837, of
direct descent, in the ninth generation, from Thomas Dewey, who came
from Sandwich, England, to Dorchester, in the Massachusetts Bay
Colony, in 1633.

His father, Dr. Julius Dewey, was a physician, eminent in his
profession, and loved and respected, not only for his ability but for
his innate nobility of character; and his mother was Mary Perrin. His
ancestors on both sides were patriots in the days that tried men's
souls, the hard and bitter days of the Colonial and Revolutionary
Wars. He was the third of four children, and even in his boyhood he
was a leader among his fellows. His breaches of discipline culminated
in his heading an insurrection against the village school-master; but
the pedagogue came off victorious, and administered a severe flogging
to the young rebel, which punishment his father is said to have
reinforced with some home-brewed medicine. The lesson was well
learned, for we hear of no more insurrections.

George Dewey entered the Naval Academy September 23, 1854, and was
graduated fifth in a class of fourteen. He was attached to the frigate
Wabash of the Mediterranean Squadron, and after his two years' cruise
as a midshipman passed his final examination, in which he stood number
one, gaining a final rating of three in his class. War was already
imminent, and rapidly passing through the next grades he was on April
19th attached as lieutenant to the Mississippi, belonging to the West
Gulf Squadron. Early in 1862 Commodores Farragut and Porter prepared
to capture New Orleans. Throughout this campaign Lieutenant Dewey
distinguished himself by his cool courage, quick perception, and ready
skill, winning the praise of Commodore Farragut. In running by the
forts, he stood upon the bridge of the Mississippi, unmoved amid a
storm of shot and shell, and unerringly guided her up the river,
although he knew not a foot of the channel. The next year he was
attached to one of Farragut's gunboats, and later to the Monongahela,
which he commanded temporarily. In 1864, attached to the Colorado, he
again distinguished himself in the attack on Fort Fisher, by a display
not only of great courage, but of marked tactical skill, and by the
fighting of his ship, which, though a junior, he really directed, and
won the enthusiastic congratulations of his superior officers. Made
lieutenant-commander March 3, 1865, Dewey emerged from the Civil War a
matured naval officer at the age of twenty-seven, ripe in experience
and ready for any service or sacrifice for the welfare of his country.

His career from this time until the close of the year 1897, although
important in his development and replete with valuable services in all
directions, must be summed up in a few words.

For two years subsequent to the war, he served with the European
Squadron, first on the Kearsarge, later on the Colorado. 1867 found
him at the Naval Academy. Promoted commander, April 13, 1872, he was
assigned to the Narragansett until 1875. After seven years of bureau
duty in the Navy Department, October 18, 1882, he commanded the
Juniata of the Asiatic Squadron, and then learned the topography of
Manila Bay, where he gave his first lesson to the Spaniard in the
person of the Port Captain of Manila, who impudently proposed that he
"parade his crew," so that some sailors accused of riot might be
identified, Dewey's reply being: "The deck of this vessel is United
States territory, and I'll parade my men for no foreigner that ever
drew breath."

Dewey's health broke down, and in 1884 he was at the Navy Department,
but September 27th was commissioned captain and took command of the
Dolphin, one of the "White Squadron," the beginning of our "New Navy."
He reached the rank of commodore February 28, 1896. On shore he has
served as a member of the Lighthouse Board, Chief of the Bureau of
Equipment, and Chief of the Board of Inspection and Survey. Late in
the year 1897 it became necessary to select a commander of the Asiatic
Station. War with Spain was a possibility. It was therefore essential
that the Asiatic Station be in command of an able and experienced
officer.

It has been said that Commodore Dewey, as also the other commodores,
sought the North Atlantic and European Stations, believing that the
Atlantic would be "the theatre of the war," and that he was averse to
service in the Asiatic. It has also been said that the appointment of
Dewey was a mere chance, a matter of routine. I think that these
statements are not correct. I believe that Commodore Dewey was too old
a sailor, too good a sailor, and too experienced a sailor to attempt
to dictate his own orders. Furthermore, in a conversation with the
President, this subject being mentioned, the President told me that he
had carefully considered the appointment of an officer to command the
Asiatic Station and had finally determined upon Dewey--that he wrote
upon a card which he sent to the Secretary, of the Navy: "Appoint
Dewey to Asiatic Squadron."

In pursuance of the President's action, Commodore George Dewey was
detached on November 30th from Bureau work and ordered to the Asiatic
Station, of which he took command on January 3, 1898. The opportunity
came, and the right man was in the right place.

Commodore Dewey's squadron was composed of four protected cruisers,
two gunboats, and a despatch-boat, as follows: The Olympia
(flag-ship), a protected cruiser of 5,870 tons, mounting fourteen
guns, Captain Gridley and flag-officer, Captain Benjamin P. Lamberton;
the Baltimore, a protected cruiser of 4,413 tons and ten guns, Captain
Nehemiah M. Dyer; the Raleigh, a protected cruiser of 3,213 tons and
eleven guns, Captain Joseph B. Coghlan; the Boston, a protected
cruiser of 3,000 tons and eight guns, Captain Frank Wildes; the
Concord, a gunboat of 1,710 tons and six guns, Commander Asa Walker;
the Petrel, a gunboat of 892 tons and four guns, Commander Wood; and
the revenue cutter McCulloch, despatch-boat. Also the transports
Zaffiro and Nanshan with provisions and coal. There was no armored
vessel in the squadron.

[Illustration: Admiral Dewey Loving Cup. [TN]]

From the day Commodore Dewey took command of the Asiatic Station until
April 24th, active preparations for war were going forward. The ships
were kept stored to their full capacity with provisions, coal, and
ammunition, and there was a continuous round of drill, target
practice, manoeuvres, and evolutions. Dewey would be ready when
action should become necessary. On April 24th the British authorities
notified the American commander that he must quit Hong Kong within
twenty-four hours. Dewey moved his squadron to Mirs Bay immediately.
At six o'clock on the evening of April 25th, he received the following
despatch:

                                   "WASHINGTON, April 24, 1898.

"Dewey, Hong Kong:

"War has commenced between the United States and Spain. Proceed at
once to the Philippine Islands. Commence operations at once,
particularly against the Spanish fleet. You must capture vessels or
destroy. Use utmost endeavors.

                                   LONG."

These orders were all sufficient for Dewey. Even without them he had
no alternative. Obliged to leave British, he would soon be debarred
from Chinese, waters; he was nearly 8,000 miles from a home-port, and
Honolulu, his nearest coaling station, was 6,000 miles away.

The following day was spent in consultation with his commanders in
final preparation for his campaign, and waiting for the arrival from
Manila of Williams, the American Consul, until the evening of the
27th, when at two o'clock he sailed out of Mirs Bay to find the fleet
of Spain. Proceeding across the China Sea, the squadron sighted Cape
Bolinas one hundred and fifteen miles north of the entrance to Manila
Bay, at 3.30 A.M., on Saturday, April 30th. About thirty miles north
of the entrance, a conference of commanders was held. Dewey announced
his plans. Rumors of mines and torpedoes had no terrors for Dewey,
and, steaming slowly into Manila Bay, his squadron passed between
Corregidor and Caballos about midnight.

They arrived opposite Cavite about five o'clock, and, as daylight
increased, the Spanish fleet could be seen in the harbor. This fleet,
under Admiral Montejo, comprised ten vessels, viz.: The Reina Maria
Cristina, a protected cruiser of 3,520 tons; the Castilla, a wooden
cruiser of 3,340 tons; the Don Antonio de Ulloa, Don Juan de Austria,
and Velasco, steel cruisers of 1,152 tons each; the Isla de Luzon and
Isla de Cuba, gunboats of 1,040 tons each; the General Lezo and El
Correo, gun vessels of 524 tons each; and the Marques del Duero,
despatch-boat of 500 tons; besides tugs, transports, and launches, the
latter used as torpedo-boats. There was no armored vessel in this
fleet.

Though counting more fighting vessels, the Spanish fleet was inferior
to the American squadron in size and armament. The Spanish vessels
mounted 116 guns, the American 135. But the Spanish fleet was
protected by land batteries and forts armed with modern guns. The
Spaniards were, therefore, much superior to the Americans in force and
armament.

At ten minutes past five the battle began, the Spaniards opening fire
from ships and forts, at a distance of more than four miles. Two great
mines were exploded in the path of the Olympia, but too far away to
cause damage.

At twenty-three minutes past five Dewey said to Captain Gridley: "You
may fire when ready." Almost instantly an eight-inch gun roared out
American defiance. As with one voice the blue-jackets of the squadron
gave forth the American war-cry, "Remember the Maine!" and the battle
was on.

The Castilla lay moored head and stern under the protection of the
guns, and surrounded by barges, which made it impossible to strike her
below the water-line. The Reina Cristina, Admiral Montejo's flag-ship,
and the other vessels of his fleet moved out to the battle protected
by the forts and batteries. The Olympia in the lead, followed by the
other vessels of the American squadron, headed straight for the centre
of the Spanish line; then changing course, ran parallel to the Spanish
line at a distance of four thousand yards. After passing the Spanish
position the American squadron turned and again passed the Spanish
line, decreasing the distance. The Spaniards were in strong position
and fighting with consummate courage, but it soon became apparent that
nothing could withstand the effects of American gunnery. Still, the
Spaniards, knowing the exact distance of our vessels, were doing some
damage. Early in the battle a shot struck and passed clean through the
Baltimore, and another disabled a six-inch gun and exploded a box of
ammunition, wounding eight men but killing no one. The Olympia was
struck by a shell which, exploding outside, did little damage, and the
signal halyards were cut out of the flag-officer's hands. The lines
were immediately replaced by a blue-jacket. The Boston was struck by
three shells, one starting a fire in a stateroom and another in the
hammock-netting, while a third passed through the foremast near
Captain Wildes. The squadron passed four times before the enemy,
slightly decreasing the distance on each run, and on the fifth,
believing that the depth of water was greater than he had supposed,
Dewey took the Olympia closer, until on this last run he was within
two thousand yards of the enemy. The Spaniards were suffering terribly
and fought with courage and desperation. Admiral Montejo on the Reina
Cristina sallied forth alone and made straight for the Olympia at full
speed, but the concentrated fire of the whole American squadron drove
him back to the protection of the breakwater, and as the flag-ship
sped away, a shell from the Olympia struck her, passed through her
entire length, and set her on fire.

Captain Cadarso was mortally wounded. Admiral Montejo in an open boat
transferred his flag to the gunboat Isla de Cuba. The Castilla was
repeatedly hit and was soon burning fiercely. The Don Juan de Austria
was blown up by a shell entering the magazine. The other Spanish
vessels and all the forts and batteries maintained a terrific firing.
The heavy guns of Manila took part in the fight until Dewey sent a
message to Governor-General Augusti, that unless they were immediately
silenced he would shell the city. The message had its effect. Two
small launches or torpedo-boats started out from the Castilla, headed
for the Olympia, but the danger to her was averted by the concentrated
fire of the squadron, and they hasted in their backward flight. A
shell struck and sank one; the other was disabled. A Spanish gunboat
slipping out of line made for the McCulloch, lying off with the
transports, but nothing escaped the eagle eye on the bridge of the
Olympia, and a hail of shells sent the adventurer scurrying back to
cover.

[Illustration: The Dewey triumphal Arch.]

It was half-past seven; the battle had raged incessantly for two
hours, during which Commodore Dewey with his flag-officer had remained
exposed on the bridge of the Olympia. The men had been undergoing a
constant strain for twenty-four hours and had been served only with
coffee, so at a quarter before eight the Olympia ceased firing, and
the Commodore ordered the squadron to retire. It was time for "Dewey's
Breakfast."

When the marvellous news was signalled from ship to ship: "No damage,
not a man killed," the joy and enthusiasm was unbounded.

The Spanish Admiral, not comprehending the meaning of the American
withdrawal, wired to Madrid a report of a wonderful victory. The
Minister of Marine replied with fulsome compliments. This was the last
news sent out of Manila by cable, and for a week the American people
were in painful suspense.

In the meantime a sumptuous breakfast was served aboard the American
squadron and a conference of commanders held. The two functions
consumed more than three hours, and at a quarter after eleven the
battle was renewed. The big guns at Cavite were hard at work, and the
Baltimore was ordered to silence them. This she speedily accomplished,
destroying the entire battery. The Olympia and other ships soon took
part, and in an hour nothing was left of the Spanish fleet except
sunken and burning hulks. More than a thousand of the enemy were
killed and drowned and six hundred wounded. At half-past twelve the
Americans ceased to fire, and at twelve-forty the Spanish flag was
lowered and the white flag of surrender took its place.

Commodore Dewey immediately requested Governor-General Augusti to
allow him to cable to Washington. On the Governor-General's refusal
the Commodore promptly cut the cable to Hong Kong. The only means of
communication left to him was by despatch-boat to Hong Kong, but he
was unable to start the McCulloch for several days, when he sent two
despatches, one penned on the day of battle, the other on May 4th.
These two telegrams, announcing what Captain Mahan has characterized
as "the greatest naval victory recorded in history," reached Hong Kong
on the 8th of May, one week after the battle, and were received in
Washington on the same evening. The intense anxiety which had pervaded
America and the whole English-speaking world, from the day Dewey
sailed from Mirs Bay, was changed to enthusiasm and gratification.
These two despatches, which will go down in history alongside Perry's
from Lake Erie, formed the clearest and most concise account of the
Battle of Manila and its immediate results.

The first despatch: "May 1st.--Squadron arrived at Manila at daybreak
this morning. Immediately engaged the enemy and destroyed the
following vessels: Reina Cristina, Castilla, Don Antonio de Ulloa,
Isla de Luzon, Isla de Cuba, General Lezo, Marques del Duero, Correo,
Velasco, Isla de Mindanao, a transport and a water battery. The
squadron is uninjured, and only a few men are slightly wounded. Only
means of telegraphing is to American Consul at Hong Kong. Shall
communicate with him.

                                   DEWEY."

The second despatch: "Cavite, May 4th.--I have taken possession of
naval station at Cavite on Philippine Islands. Have destroyed the
fortifications at bay entrance, paroling garrison. I control bay
completely and can take city at any time. The squadron is in excellent
health and spirits. The Spanish loss not fully known, but very heavy;
one hundred and fifty killed, including captain of Reina Cristina. Am
assisting in protecting Spanish sick and wounded; two hundred and
fifty sick and wounded in hospitals within our lines. Much excitement
at Manila. Will protect foreign residents.

                                   DEWEY."

Cavite in his possession, Dewey now entered upon the most difficult
part of his enterprise. Although to take possession of Manila would be
comparatively easy, to hold it with his force would be another matter.
He had to cope with Spanish deceit and Malay craft, with the
ill-concealed antagonism of the German and the unexpressed jealousy of
Japan. Not knowing when to expect another Spanish fleet, he was
obliged to force the representative of Germany to observe the decorum
and etiquette demanded by the situation. Hence the friction with Von
Diederich, when Dewey demanded to know whether his country and ours
were at war, for if so, he was ready to do his part of the fighting.
By July 31st troops in sufficient numbers, under General Merritt, had
arrived; and on August 13th the city was assaulted and surrendered.

The grade of Admiral has been revived by Congress and bestowed upon
Dewey. Never was enacted a more dramatic scene in the House of
Representatives than that when Mr. Moody of Massachusetts, fearing
that in the hurry of the latter days of the Fifty-fifth Congress the
bill passed by the Senate might be overlooked, offered it as a new
section of the Naval Appropriation Bill then under consideration. The
suggestion was received with bursts of applause and acted upon
immediately. A few days afterward the senate bill was passed by the
House.

Only twice before has the grade of Admiral been conferred on an
officer of the United States Navy. Farragut and Porter earned it by
their work in the Civil War. Numerous as are the heroes of our naval
history, none surpass Dewey, and the country is grateful to the
President and Congress that his worth has been recognized.

The fighting in the Philippines is not over, and Dewey remains to
secure the territory won by his fearless entry into Manila Bay and the
magnificent plan of battle that made him victorious on that first May
morning of 1898.

[Signature of the author.]





End of Project Gutenberg's Great Men and Famous Women. Vol. 2 of 8, by Various