Part 2

“My friends,” said he, “it is all clear enough to me. To-morrow will be a great day for France. Old Beaulieu will begin to know his enemy. The plain before us shall be the scene of more Austrian astonishment and dismay than has been known in Italy for many years. Beaulieu supposes that I intended to file off along the coast to Genoa; whereas, here I am, ready to overwhelm his centre. Following up this victory, it will be easy to cut him off from communication with the Piedmontese.”

The officers gazed with wonder and admiration upon the stripling who was thus summarily disposing of the fate of armies and countries, and while they listened to his words of conscious power, an awe crept over them, they felt themselves in the presence of a superior being; and yet among them were several men of splendid qualities,—born to command.

By this time the groups around the fires had stretched themselves upon the hard earth to repose, and the pacing of the sentinels alone disturbed the stillness of the scene, where thousands of brave warriors submitted to the conqueror, sleep. Bonaparte and his officers returned to a house in the little village of Monte Notte, which had been selected as the quarters for the night. And the army slumbered on, beneath the sweet vigil of the moon, and beside the cheerful warmth of the camp-fires until the cold, white light in the east told that the most glorious king of day, who has arisen and set upon so many fields of conflict, was about to ascend the heavens.

“Far off his coming shone,”

and the stars soared out of sight, and the moon slowly faded to vapor, as the white light turned to a golden glow.

Then was heard the roll of the reveillé. With astonishing rapidity, the French were under arms and in motion. Bonaparte and his staff rode to an elevated knoll, commanding the whole plain, and then were ordered the movements which gave to the young commander-in-chief the victory of Monte Notte. D’Argenteau, the Austrian commander, found himself attacked upon one side by the divisions of La Harpe, Cervoni and Augereau, and upon the other by Massena. Then boomed the cannon, and the rattled musketry over the plain. The Austrian infantry sustained the conflict with admirable courage. But they were surrounded by superior forces and after several charges had been made by the French, in the full confidence of victory, the discomfited d’Argenteau was compelled to retreat towards Dego. In fact, the retreat was a disorderly flight. The French made two thousand prisoners, and several hundred Austrians were left dead on the field. The centre of the Austrian army had been completely overwhelmed. Bonaparte was the victor of Monte Notte. In after years, when the imperial crown adorned his brow, the conqueror showed his contempt for ancestral distinctions by saying that he dated his title to rule from this battle.

THE CAMP-FIRE AT MONDOVI.

When the conflict is at an end, and the awful silence of night descends upon the field where stark and stiff lie the mangled dead, among the broken weapons and spoils of the fight, the scene is fearfully impressive. There lie the cold forms of those, who in life were furious foes; but in death, side by side, united in their doom of darkness, they are all clay together. The bugle and the drum, which were sounded to signal the contest, are broken beside the mutilated and bloody bodies of those who played them at the head of the marching regiments. The captain, whose gallant “forward!” roused the spirits of his men, lies where he perished, in the van. The standard-bearer still clasps a portion of that dear symbol of his country, which numbers cut from his hands, and seems to have yielded his breath, while hugging that remnant to his heart. The grim veteran of a hundred fights, to whom death has been a jeer and a mockery, and the youth, with blooming cheek and eager eye, who left his mother’s cottage high in the hope of a glorious renown, are found cold and stiff together; the one with a smile of scorn curling his lip, the other with the keen agony, kindled by the rushing remembrance of the dear home lost forever, pictured in his countenance. The meek moon and the sentinel stars shining on this field of death, with a pallid light, add to its horrors, increasing the ghastly hue in the faces of the slain.

Such a scene was presented on the night of the 22nd of April, 1796, after the desperate battle of Mondovi. Near the town of that name, the dispirited army of Colli had been overtaken by two divisions of Bonaparte’s army, commanded by Serrurier and Massena. Serrurier had been repulsed, but the onset of Massena was irresistible, and the enemy were attacked on both flanks at once. The cavalry of the Piedmontese over powered and drove back that of the French, but the wonderful valor of Murat, the most glorious of cavalry officers, renewed the fortune of the day, and, shortly afterwards, Colli’s army was put to flight. During the retreat, the Piedmontese suffered dreadfully, losing the best of their troops, their cannons, baggage and appointments.

Wearied with the desperate conflict, the greater portion of the victorious army encamped in and about the town of Mondovi, a body of cavalry, alone pursuing and harassing the enemy. The description of the field of battle given above, will apply to this one, with the addition of a view of the towers and spires of Mondovi, and of numerous blazing fires in the vicinity, around which the exhausted troops had sunk to repose. Bonaparte had arrived; and, now, having gathered his principal officers at a ruined building, just outside of the town, which seemed to have been an old chapel, talked over with them the achievements of the day, and what was contemplated for the morrow. The ruin consisted of four broken walls, and was entirely roofless. It was several yards square, and the floor was strewn with fragments of sculpture which had once adorned the edifice. In the centre of the floor a fire was kindled, and camp-stools were ranged around it. At some distance from the ruin, guards were placed, with orders to keep the inquisitive beyond ear-shot. This place had evidently been selected by Bonaparte, in preference to the best mansion of Mondovi, to be secure from the treachery of Italians, who might have overheard and communicated to the enemy important information.

As usual, Bonaparte had the paper containing the lines of his movements before him, and with pencil and compasses in hand, he devised and marked alterations even while he talked. Among the officers gathered around the fire, were Massena, Berthier, Serrurier, Murat and Duroc.

Next to the commander-in-chief himself, Massena had the most remarkable personal appearance of any of the group. His massive features had a somewhat Jewish cast and their general expression was extremely heavy, or rather drowsy. The eyes were half-closed, and they did not sparkle like those of the rest, when Bonaparte spoke. Yet it was well known that, when excited by the storm of battle, their flash was terrible. The expression of the mouth, was always that of an inexorable will. The whole aspect of Andrew Massena was that of a man of great powers, difficult to rouse. Napoleon himself remarked that it was only in danger that appalled most men, that Massena acquired clearness and force of thought. His want of activity was his great defect as a commander.

Serrurier was a large man, with rough, prominent features, in which strong passions and dogged determinations were plainly expressed. His dress was torn and dusty; for although repulsed by the Piedmontese, he had fought like a lion on that desperate day.

The face of Duroc was manly and prepossessing. The slightly receding forehead, prominent nose, clear, bright eyes, and firm mouth, were illumined by a bland, but determined expression, indicative of the truly heroic spirit of this faithful friend of Napoleon. By the side of Michael Duroc, could be seen the stalwart form and noble countenance of Joachim Murat, the great leader of the cavalry, whose desperate charge had decided the battle in favor of the French. His gaudy costume was arranged with scrupulous nicety, and it bore no traces of the conflict. He sat toying with his long, dark curls during the conference.

“To-morrow, we will occupy Cherasco, which is within ten leagues of the Piedmontese capital,” said Bonaparte. “It has been a month of glory. Within that time, we have gained complete possession of the mountain passes and thus opened the road for our armies into Italy. We have gained three battles over forces far superior to our own; inflicted upon the enemy a loss of about twenty-five thousand men in killed, wounded, and prisoners, taken eighty pieces of cannon and twenty-one stand of colors; and almost annihilated the army of Sardinia. We can dictate a treaty at Turin.”

“The fight to-day was desperate enough, however,” said Murat, ever vain of his services. “The cavalry was beaten back by the Piedmontese, and General Stengel was among the slain.”

“A brave man lost to France,” interrupted Bonaparte.

“But I soon taught them that the French cavalry was not so easily beaten,” continued Murat. “That charge decided the day.”

“I am told,” said Bonaparte, “that the charge was indeed brilliant. But we expect such from Murat, and we hope that, hereafter, he may have the best opportunities of displaying his valor and horsemanship at the head of the cavalry of France. You have won a high promotion. General Serrurier, you were repulsed; but you afterwards bravely sustained your reputation, and contributed much to the victory. As for you, General Massena, high as were my expectations from your valor and skill, you have astonished me. France will yet regard you as a child of victory.”

Massena opened his eyes somewhat wider and nodded his thanks. “The troops,” he remarked, “are sadly worn with their rapid marches, and four days’ fighting. Besides, since they have been so severely treated for seizing upon what food and clothes they found along the line of march, they have suffered much for want of the common necessaries of life.”

“I know—I know,” replied Bonaparte; “I pity them, and hope that their wants may soon be relieved. But they must not become Goths and Vandals. What did you say was the loss of the enemy, to-day, Berthier?”

“It is estimated at about three thousand men,” replied the officer addressed—an elegant looking soldier, with a frank, intelligent countenance.

“Colli is then effectually crippled,” said Bonaparte. “He will not dare to make a stand between us and Turin. I learn that Cherasco is an ill-defended place, but it has an important position at the confluence of the Stura and the Tanaro, and with the artillery taken from the enemy, we can soon render it defensible, should that be necessary. But at present, the prospect is that we shall in a few days conclude a peace with the king of Sardinia, and then we must pursue the Austrians, whom we shall drive beyond the Alps. But in the meantime, you, Murat, shall take some of our trophies to Paris, and proclaim the triumphs of France. A more fitting messenger of victory could not be found.” At this intelligence Murat’s eyes sparkled, and a smile lit up his dark features; for next to the storm of battle, this proud soldier loved to boast of victory. Next to being a lion upon the field of battle, he desired to be a lion in the saloons of Paris.

“General,” said Duroc, “you may remember that when we stood upon the heights of Monte Lemoto, and beheld that glorious picture of the plains of Piedmont and Italy, you exclaimed, ‘Hannibal crossed the Alps; as for us, we have gone round them!’ It seems to me, with deference, that if reinforcements are not speedily sent to our aid, you will find yourself in a position more nearly resembling that of Hannibal, when, although victorious in Italy, he was deserted by Carthage. The chief difference will be, however, that Hannibal, by fortunate circumstances, was enabled to maintain his army against all the forces of Rome. But we should soon be overwhelmed by superior numbers.”

“The government of France has neglected its duty,” replied Bonaparte, “but I cannot believe that it will desert us altogether. If so, however, I have no doubt, that we can provide for ourselves.”

“For myself,” said Serrurier, “I love France, but despise the present government. But for the bravery of the army, whose triumphs they have taken to themselves, the members of that government would not now hold their places.”

At these words, Bonaparte raised his head, and gave a steady, piercing glance at the frank, out-spoken soldier’s countenance, probably with the design of ascertaining the full depth of his meaning. But Serrurier returned glance for glance, and Bonaparte returned to the contemplation of his map. There was more in that young conqueror’s look than, perhaps, any of that martial group, suspected.

The chief incidents of the fight of the day having been communicated to Bonaparte by the various officers engaged in its terrible scenes, he proceeded to award commendation where it was due; and then gave the generals orders in regard to the movements of the next day. Despatches, hurriedly written, were sent to the generals of the divisions not engaged at Mondovi, and then the conference terminated. Most of the officers retired to their respective commands; but, accompanied by Duroc and Murat, the sleepless commander-in-chief rode over the field, to gain a more accurate knowledge of the terrible character of the battle—to observe where the fight had been thickest, what corps had suffered the greatest loss, and what had the been advantages and disadvantages of the ground. In many places, it was difficult for the horses to proceed without trampling upon the groups of ghastly dead; and the reckless Murat occasionally rode directly over the corpses, while talking to the commander-in-chief. A considerable number of women, from Mondovi, were seen among the bodies, collecting many little articles of value attached to the clothing of the dead warriors. At the approach of Bonaparte and his officers they scampered away, like so many frightened vultures, upon which Murat would give chase for a short distance to increase their alarm. After a complete survey of the field, Bonaparte and his aids returned to Mondavi. The only remark the young commander-in-chief was heard to make, was, “It was a hard-won victory—Mondovi ought to be decisive.” And it was decisive. At Cherasco, Sardinia submitted to the victor’s terms; and thus one of the bravest of the foes of France was crushed after a campaign of very brief duration, the glories of which are thus touched upon by Bonaparte in an eloquent and powerful proclamation to his soldiers.

“Soldiers! in a fortnight you have gained six victories, taken twenty-one pair of colors, fifty-live pieces of cannon, several fortresses, and conquered the richest part of Piedmont; you have made fifteen thousand prisoners, and killed or wounded more than ten thousand men; you had hitherto been fighting for barren rocks, rendered famous by your courage, but of no service to the country; you this day compete by your services with the army of Holland and of the Rhine. Destitute of every thing, you have supplied all your wants. You have gained battles without cannon, crossed rivers without bridges, made forced marches without shoes, bivouacked without brandy, and often without bread. Republican phalanxes, the soldiers of liberty alone, could have endured what you have endured. Thanks be to you for it, soldiers!”

THE CAMP-FIRE AT THE BRIDGES OF LODI.

Beaulieu, the veteran general of the Austrians, had been beaten and compelled to retreat before the French commander of twenty-six. The Po being crossed and the Tesino turned, Bonaparte beheld the road to Milan open before him. But he prepared to make the effort to cut off Beaulieu’s retreat, and compel the Austrian army to surrender. Like Nelson, upon the sea, he thought no triumph complete unless the enemy was entirely prostrated. But to cut off the retreat of Beaulieu, it was necessary to anticipate him at the passage of the rivers. A great number of these flow from the Alps, and cross Lombardy on their way to the Po and the Adriatic. After the Po and the Tesino, come the Adda, the Oglio, the Mincio, the Adige and numerous others.

The Adda was now before Bonaparte. It is a large and deep river, although fordable in some places. The passage was to be made at the town of Lodi, an old place containing about twelve thousand inhabitants. It has old Gothic walls, but its chief defence consists in the river, which flows through it, and which is crossed by a wooden bridge, about five hundred feet in length. Having crossed the river, Beaulieu drew up twelve thousand infantry and four thousand horse on the opposite bank, posted twenty pieces of artillery so as to sweep the bridge, and lined the bank with sharpshooters. It was against all military practice to attempt the passage of a river in the face of such difficulties. But it was the military mission of Bonaparte to astonish the routine generals.

Napoleon, coming up on the 10th of May, easily drove the rear-guard of the Austrian army before him into the town, but found his further progress threatened by the tremendous fire of the pieces of cannon, stationed at the opposite end of the bridge, so as to sweep it most completely. The whole body of the enemy’s infantry drawn up in a dense line, supported this appalling disposition of the artillery.

An answering battery was instantly constructed on the French side, Napoleon exposing himself in the thickest of the fire to point two of the guns with his own hands. This he effected in such a manner as to prevent the possibility of any approach on the part of the enemy to undermine or blow up the bridge. Observing, meanwhile, that Beaulieu had removed his infantry to a considerable distance backwards, to keep them out of the range of the French battery, he instantly detached his cavalry, with orders to gallop out of sight, and then ford the river, and coming suddenly upon the enemy, attack them in flank.

He now drew up a body of six thousand grenadiers in close column, under the shelter of the houses, and bade them prepare for the desperate attempt of forcing a passage across the narrow bridge, in the face of the enemy’s thickly-planted artillery.

The cavalry of Napoleon had a difficult task to perform in passing the river, and he waited with anxiety for their appearance on the opposite bank. But a sudden movement in the ranks of the enemy showed him that his cavalry had arrived and charged, and he instantly gave the word. The head of the column of grenadiers wheeled to the left, and was at once upon the bridge. The whole body rushed forward with impetuosity, shouting, “Vive la Republique!” A hundred bodies rolled dead, and the advancing column faltered under the redoubled roar of the guns, and the tempest of the grape shot. At this critical moment, Lannes, Napoleon, Berthier, and L’Allemand, hurried to the front, and dashing onwards were followed by the whole column in the very mouth of the artillery. They gained the opposite side: Lannes reached the guns first, and Napoleon second. The artillerymen were killed; their guns seized; and the Austrian infantry, which had been removed too far back, not having time to come up to support the artillery, the whole army was put to flight.

The French cavalry pursued in the blazing enthusiasm of almost unprecedented victory. About two thousand Austrians were either killed or wounded, and the same number made prisoners, while twenty pieces of cannon remained in the hands of the French.

The victorious army encamped on the banks of the Adda, in the position which had been occupied by the defeated Austrians. Before night fell, Bonaparte was informed that he had failed to get between Beaulieu, and the other divisions of the Austrian army; but, aware of the terror which his daring exploit would strike into the enemy, he scarcely regretted his trifling failure of movement. The line of the Adda was carried; tremendous difficulties had been vanquished with a loss of only two hundred men, and the courage and devotion of the soldiers had been raised to the highest pitch.

The encampment upon the Adda presented a remarkable aspect. Most of the officers had the accommodation of tents, but the troops were destitute of that luxury, and their only resource for rest was to throw themselves upon the ground around their fires. These gallant men, although fatigued with the efforts of the glorious day, were too much excited by their victory to rest without some demonstration. It was a clear, beautiful moonlight night. Although filled in some places with the dead, the Adda danced merrily onward, the ripples sparkling in the moonbeams. All was quiet above; but in camp and town, there was the bustle of men to whom sleep would not come. Bonaparte had retired to his tent to partake of some refreshment, and having soon satisfied his abstemious appetite, he was about to traverse the camp, alone, to observe the spirit of his troops, as well as to ascertain the character and rank of the prisoners. In front of his tent, he was astonished to meet a small deputation of grim-visaged grenadiers, who saluted him with the title of the “Little Corporal.” One of their number then stepped forward, and respectfully communicated the intelligence that they had elected him a corporal, in consideration of his gallant service in the ranks that day, and hoped that they might one day confer still higher honors upon him. Three hearty cheers were then given by the veterans, who appeared to enjoy the joke amazingly; and after they had retired, the young general was saluted in various parts of the camp as the “Little Corporal.” This gaiety was characteristic of the French soldiers. Bonaparte was rather pleased with the singular mode of showing affection for his person, and admiration of his intrepidity.

The general approached a group of Hungarian prisoners without being recognised by them. They were standing near a fire, conversing, and evidently much irritated at the misfortunes of their position. He went among them and mingled in the conversation. An old officer, who spoke to him, appeared to be extremely moody. Bonaparte could not but smile at his language. “Things are going on as ill and irregular as possible,” said this veteran of routine. “The French have got a young general who knows nothing of the regular rules of war; he is sometimes on our front, sometimes on our flank, sometimes on the rear. There is no supporting such a gross violation of rules.” He evidently preferred to be whipped in a regular way. But it is agreed that the object of war is victory, and if rules do not secure that victory, they are of no value. Bonaparte’s system appeared very extraordinary to the Austrian commanders. It was something beyond what they had learned at their German military schools.