Chapter XV: Concluding Chapter (1)

THE COST OF WAR.

For the information of such of my readers as have neither the time nor the opportunity of diving into history, I will now give a historic outline of the enormous cost of war in blood and treasure, principally in the campaigns of 1812-13-14 and 1815. Europe, disunited, had been conquered by Napoleon; the only Power setting him at utter defiance being this glorious old isle. Our forefathers had repeatedly assisted the continental nations with enormous sums of money, and arms to combat this tyrant; but lacking unity, and having to confront a master-mind in generalship, at least fifty years before his time, this all-conquering General rolled them all up in detail. In fact the whole of continental Europe was fascinated with a craven-hearted dread of the conqueror's supposed irresistible power. His very name was worse than a nightmare to thousands. His terrible legions, his invincible legions, the famed and dreaded legions, were the whole talk of Europe. And I am sorry to record it, that there were _then_, as _now_, thousands of foolish chicken-hearted men, calling themselves Britons, that predicted our entire destruction as a nation. The redoubted Massena boasted that he would drive all the English leopards into the sea, or cut them to pieces. He commanded an army of veterans, who had marched from victory to victory, from triumph to triumph. But this redoubtable Marshal of France, "the spoilt child of fortune," received a very awkward lesson from the detested Albions and the boys of the Green Isle, for no regiment on grim Busaco's iron ridge distinguished themselves so much as the 88th Connaught Rangers. They hurled the boasting legions of Napoleon over the rocks in grand style, well thrashed the invincibility out of the conquerors of Austerlitz, Jena, and Wagram, and largely helped to nail victory to that flag which was, and is now, second to none, and made some of the croaking know-all gents hide their heads. The spell of French invincibility was rudely dissipated, and the designs of the tyrant as regards Spain and Portugal were baffled. We say now, shame on all those that would try to traduce the reputation of those that struggle upon field after field for life or death, for national independence, national honour and happiness. Old England knows nothing of the horrors and miseries of war, the massacres and violations of mothers, wives, and daughters. No! her domestic happiness, human loves, and human friendships are never interrupted or broken; and on each revolving Sabbath, her church bells invite all, rich and poor, to the house of prayer and thanksgiving. Our victorious General, Wellington, repeatedly set the continental nations an example how to thrash Napoleon's much puffed-up invincibles. "Stick to them, my men!" was often the cry. It was often death, but always victory for us. Austria and Russia were beaten on the one field of Austerlitz. Prussia threw down the gauntlet on the field of Jena, but was completely crushed, nearly all her fortresses being taken from her. She was humbled in the dust, and an indemnity of six hundred and forty million francs (a butcher's bill of twenty-five million pounds sterling) demanded by the conqueror. This was enforced with merciless fury by the French, in addition to which an enormous host were quartered upon the conquered provinces, which shall be hereafter enumerated. Prussia was held by an iron grasp: close upon one hundred thousand of her noble sons having perished, and she lay prostrate at the conqueror's feet. But still she fought out a death-struggle with the great conqueror, and on the bloody field of Eylan the conquering hero was brought to a stand. He could not advance, and would not retire; he was brought to the verge of destruction. This terrible battle, my young readers must know, was fought in the depth of winter, amidst ice and snow, and under unexampled horrors. The loss on both sides was immense. The Russians and Prussians lost twenty-five thousand, and the French thirty thousand; thus fifty-five thousand men, with thousands of horses, were weltering in blood in the midst of ice and snow, in a space of two leagues, both sides claiming the victory. Yet another terrible battle was fought at Friedland, in the depth of a Russian winter. The allies here were defeated. They lost seventeen thousand men and five thousand prisoners, with twenty guns. Napoleon was weakened by the loss of ten thousand. The two great Emperors met on a raft on the Niemen, and there made peace, dividing the known world between them. Almost the first words from the Emperor of Russia to the great conqueror were:[39] "I hate the English as much as you do, and am ready to second you in all your enterprises against them." Napoleon's answer was: "Peace is already made." With Napoleon's talents, he talked the Emperor into anything he liked. Now comes the great Northern Confederation. The whole of the North of Europe were compelled to declare war against Old England. All their ports were closed against us. Spain and Portugal threw in their lot against us. Thus we had the whole of Europe to combat. But our forefathers came out as true Britons. With our unconquerable fleet, and Nelson as our leader, we put the world in arms at defiance. The Confederation had a short life. We blockaded every port in Europe. The whole Danish fleet was taken or sunk at Copenhagen by that heroic Nelson. Proceeding at once to Cronstadt with his victorious fleet, he demanded a conference with the Russian Emperor. It was granted. The ever-victorious Admiral explained our demands. One of the Emperor's advisers said at once to the Emperor; "Rather than submit to such humiliating terms, we had better have war to the knife." The gauntlet was thrown down at the feet of him that shook the world with renown. Nelson's reply was, "With all my heart. You shall have war to your heart's content in less than one hour" (pointing to his victorious fleet). "Stay," said the Emperor. They talked it over, and peace with us was signed, which meant war with France. Our victorious Nelson was one too many for the crafty Russians. In writing home, he said to our Minister at War: "I flatter myself that a British Admiral, with a good fleet at his back (he had nearly thirty sail) is the best man you could select to send to negotiate. Some of the Czar's advisers did not like the terms. I at once gave the Emperor to understand that he could have peace on one hand, or war on the other (pointing to my fleet just outside the harbour). I found I had hit the nail fairly on the head, and at once made peace with the Emperor of all the Russias, and war with Napoleon. He has promised to declare, should that tyrant interfere with him." Shortly after this, the terrible battle of Trafalgar was fought, which swept the French and Spanish flags from the sea. It was here that Nelson met a glorious death;[40] but this victory proclaimed the commercial death-blow of Napoleon. We say again, it was off the shoals of Trafalgar where the funeral pile of Napoleon's greatness was witnessed. It frustrated all his deep laid schemes of subjugating us as a nation, and proclaimed that--

"Britain ruled the waves."

Our forefathers could now laugh at Napoleon's threats of invasion. The combined fleets of France and Spain were completely annihilated, and before he could attempt to reach our shores, a new fleet and a fresh set of seamen must be forthcoming. But our darling hero had purchased this last triumph with his blood. His name, however, still lives fresh in every true Briton's heart, and his last signal will be handed down to our children's children: "England expects that every man this day will do his duty." Such language has frequently inspired our men amidst the storm of shot and shell, and England has often since had to acknowledge that her sons _have_ done their duty. Europe struggled on under the iron grasp of Napoleon. Spain and Portugal declared war against the tyrant. Oceans of blood were spilt; millions of money that could have been put to good use were lavished upon war material. Russia, Austria, and Prussia again tried to stem the torrent of Napoleon's conquest; but there was no unity in their camps, and the great conqueror beat them all in detail, up to this. The only time his victorious legions were beaten in the open field was when opposed by our thin red line. Napoleon's much puffed-up invincibles were beaten, _and had to retire from every field on which our conquering general, Wellington, planted his standard_. We never once met the enemy in a pitched battle, either by land or sea, but to beat them. The sons of Albion, side by side with the undaunted sons of the Emerald Isle, set an example to Europe. Before the Moscow campaign took place, the flower of the French army were opposed to us in the Peninsula, on the fields of Corunna, Albuera, Barrosa, Busaco, Douro, Fuentes de Oñoro, Roliça, Talavera, and Vimiera; and from 1812 to the end of the war, we met and rolled them up on all the following fields, or stormed their strongholds and took every one from them: Badajoz, Ciudad Rodrigo, Nive, Nivelle, Orthes, Pyrenees, San Sebastian, Salamanca, Toulouse, Vittoria, and Waterloo. Hundreds of thousands of men perished on the above fields. The poor inhabitants were butchered without mercy in cold blood, because they tried to do all they could to help their countrymen in arms. It was a war of extermination for freedom. This war cost us close upon two hundred millions sterling. The Spaniards and Portuguese were all in our pay. But we now approach Napoleon's great campaign in Russia in 1812. He had, for a long time, been making preparations for it. Russia had set him at defiance, refusing to close her ports against our merchandise. Vast armies, with all kinds of warlike stores, were passing through Germany on to the Russian frontier during the early part of 1812. The great conqueror set out to join, as he thought, his invincible hosts. At Dresden, June 1812, he reached the climax of his earthly fame. He was the centre of attraction; four kings, innumerable princes and dukes, waited upon him: queens were maids of honour to Maria Louisa. But in a few short months this much-exalted hero had to confess that "from the sublime to the ridiculous was but a step."

The humiliation of Prussia, the conquest of Austria, the dreadful spectacles that thousands who now surrounded Napoleon's standard had witnessed on the bloody fields of Jena, Austerlitz, Wagram, Eylan, Friedland, with pyramids of friends and foes, bodies all around; with weeping mothers and smiling infants at their breasts, searching amidst the piles of dead for their loved ones. All were for a time forgotten. The conquerors were now to be seen side by side with the vanquished in the above disastrous fields which had struck Germany down. This all-conquering hero was now the king of kings, elevated to the highest pinnacle of fame, surrounded by his Old Guards and the terrible cuirassiers with Prince Murat at their head, who had frequently ridden over Russians, Austrians, Prussians, Spaniards and Portuguese. No power on earth seemed capable of stopping them. As often as their beloved Emperor appeared, the shouts of enthusiasm, with the cry of _Vive l'Empereur_,[41] rent the air, as they struck their sabres, confident of victory. He was now exalted to the skies, but (so much for human mutability) he proved that, from the exalted pinnacle of fame to the ridiculous was but a step. He invaded Russia without any provocation but ambition, in all the majesty of war, with the strongest and best equipped army that the world had then seen. It consisted of--

Infantry 491,953 Horses 187,111
Cavalry 96,579
Artillery 58,626 Number of guns 1,372
-------
Total of invading army, 647,158

They had some desperate combats on various fields. The Russian army retired, fighting with desperation, when pressed too closely by Napoleon's host. But 30,000 of the enemy perished, for want of food, before a shot, so to speak, was fired. The only great battle fought on the advance to Moscow was at Borodino, 7th September, 1812: and out of all Napoleon's vast host, all he could bring into action, after waiting for days to collect stragglers, was 103,000 infantry, 36,000 cavalry, and 593 guns. The terrible battle raged from morning until night; the Russians were not beaten, but almost annihilated. Both sides fought with desperation; the one to save their hearths and homes, the other well knowing they had nothing to fall back upon. This field presented a terrible spectacle: huge masses of men having fought hand-to-hand all day. "Here," said Napoleon, "is the field where the brave shall find a glorious death: the coward will perish in the deserts of Siberia." The Russians lost 38 generals and 45,000 officers and men; prisoners and guns taken were about equal: the Russians lost 10 and took 13 guns. The victors (for the French justly claimed the victory, as the Russians retired during the night) lost 32 generals and 52,000 officers and men. All that was left to the boasting enemy was the bloody field, for the dead and dying lay in ghastly piles, friend and foe mixed together. The victors were in a worse plight than the vanquished; they had to lie down supperless on the field of gore, and get up breakfastless. The Russians had plenty to eat, and retired next day to Moscow. The enemy followed them up, and entered Moscow in triumph, amidst martial music and ringing shouts of _Vive l'Empereur_. A strange scene presented itself; not a living soul to meet the great conqueror. He was entering into a deserted city. All the inhabitants had fled. Moscow, with all its palaces and stately mansions, was abandoned to the foe. But it was soon enveloped in flames. Napoleon had expected that, as their capital was in his hands, he would have been able to dictate to the Emperor Alexander his own terms of peace. But no! he had fought his way for a thousand miles from the Niemen: he had beaten the Russian army: he had taken their capital, which was all in flames around him. But he could not subdue a brave nation, who had sworn to die to a man or conquer the great tyrant. The Spaniards and Portuguese, backed up by old England, had set Europe an example how to combat for their liberty. The noble heroism displayed in the defence of Saragossa had set Europe in a blaze. The orders of Alexander to his generals were, not to attempt to negotiate, but to fight to the death. The great conqueror was compelled to eat a large slice of humble pie, "and order a retreat" from the midst of a people he could not subdue.

It is a point of the highest importance, involving, as it does, a decisive refutation of the assertion so often repeated and handed down to our children, "that it was the _cold_ in Russia which destroyed Napoleon's grand army," which crossed the Niemen, June, 1812. Out of this vast host under Napoleon's immediate command, before a single flake of snow fell, 247,000 men and 92,000 horses had perished by the ravages of war and starvation. Other corps, under command of different marshals, suffered in proportion. As the army advanced, it got worse and worse. The great multitude of mouths destroyed Napoleon. Reinforcements kept joining the great conqueror at Moscow; and when the retreat commenced, he had more than replaced what he had lost at Borodino. They turned their faces towards the sunny south, laden with the spoil of Moscow. Napoleon thought of retiring by another road. But no, no. The Russians, now augmented to about 150,000 men, with nearly 50,000 cavalry, took up a strong position at Malo-Jaeoslowitz, and beat the conqueror. This field presented a horrible spectacle. The town was built of wood; and for hours desperate hand-to-hand fighting took place in its narrow streets, which, became completely choked with dead and dying, friend and foe. The houses on both sides the streets were enwrapt in flames. The guns (French) were ordered forward. They dashed on at a gallop, crushing over the heaps of both friend and foe, as they lay weltering in blood and flames. The Russians had not died for nothing. They, as brave men, died to save the honour of their homes, their wives, their mothers, and their daughters. They beat the tyrant, and compelled him to retire by a route that was already exhausted. The consequences of this bloody engagement were most disastrous to the French. There was no alternative for it now. It was most humiliating. He who had set Europe at defiance, must now retire by the wasted road _via_ Smolensk. Guns and prisoners were captured every day. The Russian army hung upon their flanks and rear. To go into all the fights that took place during that terrible retreat would fill a large volume. The dreadful passage of the river Beresina, on the retreat, completed the ruin of the grand army. The Russian Commander-in-Chief, Kutusoff, shrank from the responsibility of facing the hero of so many fields. He had felt the weight of one hundred and fifty thousand men on the bloody field of Borodino. He did not know that it was but the wreck of the once grand army that was before him. Had he but posted his victorious army on the heights on the banks of that noble stream, Napoleon, with the remainder of his dejected, half-famished army, must have been all slain, drowned, or taken prisoners. Had Wellington been there, with such an army as the Russian chief commanded, the subsequent slaughter in the campaigns of 1813-14 and 1815 would have been avoided. Napoleon would most likely have met a soldier's death. It was well ordained by an all-wise God. The nation that had defied the laws of God and man would not have been humbled, as they were subsequently, after the carnage of Leipsic and the rout at Waterloo. But the sight of his old Guards was enough; they had decided every field for the last twenty years where Napoleon commanded. The passage of the river was disputed by Kutusoff's lieutenants (by his permission). The bloody struggle at the temporary bridges is almost beyond description. The Russian guns, planted on the heights, played with terrible effect upon the mass of the terror-stricken, confused multitude. In the midst of the confusion, one of the bridges broke, and all upon it miserably perished in the masses of floating ice. The frantic crowd (for discipline was all gone) at once rushed to the remaining bridge. The artillery and cavalry cut their way through their comrades, plunging, like the car of Juggernaut, through dead and dying. Thousands were mobbed into the river--now a raging torrent of floating ice. Heaven and earth seemed combined to destroy a nation of infidels; for the rain came down in torrents, converting a gentle stream into a raging torrent. In the midst of this dreadful scene, with the Russian guns firing as fast as possible upon the remaining bridge, it caught fire. Despair and misery now rendered the enemy desperate. Numbers rushed on to the burning bridge; it broke, and all were lost.

The scene now became awful. All retreat cut off, thousands must now die or surrender. The magnitude of the disaster to the French was manifest in the spring. Twelve thousand dead bodies were found washed up on the banks of the river, fourteen thousand more were killed, and sixteen thousand taken prisoners. Nearly all their artillery were lost. In the midst of this terrible scene, mothers were seen lifting their infants above their heads in the water, holding them up until they were exhausted, then sinking beneath the waves. An infant found near the gate of Smolensko, abandoned by its wretched mother, was adopted by the Old Guard. Carried between them, it was saved in the midst of the horrors of the Beresina. It was again seen on the bridge of Kowno, and finally escaped all the horrors of the retreat, and eventually met a soldier's death, as colonel commanding the Zouaves, at the storming of the Malakoff. A number of men became mad from the frightful accumulation of disasters all around them; others were reduced to a state of idiocy. Their eyes were fixed; with a haggard look they marched on, not knowing what they were doing. Commands, outrageous blows--nothing could rouse them; and at night they would sink to the ground, and perish for want of food. Others would carelessly sit down upon the dead bodies of their comrades, and resign themselves to rest, to sleep, and death. Others marched on resolutely; but at length their limbs tottered, their steps became shorter, they fell behind their more robust comrades (tears often running down their cheeks); their knees smote each other, they staggered like drunken men, then fell to rise no more, completely exhausted for want of food. Others marched on, taking no notice. All at once symptoms of paralysis appeared, their knees shook, their arms fell from their hands, and they sank down by the wayside, with a fixed look, watching the crowd until they sank from exhaustion and died--cursing him who had been the cause of all their misery. When remonstrated with about his foolhardy march to Moscow to humble Alexander, by some of the heads of his army, and the head of the Roman Church, his answer was: "Do you think that the arms will drop from my soldiers' hands?" They did, however, drop by thousands. One of his faithful Old Guard, looking death in the face, said to a comrade: "Your assistance is in vain, my friend;" then faintly murmured: "He has ruined us all. The only favour I ask is, to carry to my children these decorations (see that the enemies do not pollute them). I won them on the fields of Jena, Austerlitz, Eylan, Friedland, and Spain." He then sank back and expired, for lack of the common necessaries of life. Others, their fingers and toes dropped off, from the extreme frost. Their arms fell to the ground, but they still staggered on until night. In every bivouac, hundreds of corpses were found sitting around what had been their watch-fires, stiff dead; to all appearance looking at each other--their eyes fixed. Others, that could not get near the fire, were found sitting back to back. They had devoured the last morsel of horse-flesh, their strength failed them, and they sank and died from starvation. Such a picture is only too true. These are what some madmen call the glories of war.

Shortly after the dreadful scene at the Beresina, Napoleon left his once grand army, now nothing but a confused rabble of all arms and followers mixed up. His superb cavalry were nearly all dismounted. Of guns they had but few. Murat, who now commanded, had nothing but horse-flesh to feed his starving followers with, and but little of that. The Cossacks of the Don were hovering all around them, hacking at all stragglers. No mercy was shown by these infuriated savages. Napoleon was now travelling through Poland, almost at lightning speed, on two rough sledges, accompanied with but three followers. He dashed through Germany, changing horses every twenty miles. The monster was not yet satisfied. He had not been the cause of enough misery. He carried the dreadful news to Paris of the destruction of his once Grand Army. He made (or tried to make) the Government believe that his army had conquered Russia, that it was still unconquerable, and that they were still superb. He acknowledged that nearly all his cavalry and artillery were destroyed by the extreme cold. He demanded 500,000 more men. "I will then," he said, "give Alexander a few battles on the plains of Germany, and all will be restored. I have to thank England for all the misery which has overtaken us; but I will lay London in ashes yet." He had yet to learn that London was to him sacred ground; that its people openly acknowledged daily the saving power of the great Architect of the Universe. He permitted the tyrant to go thus far, and no further; to show us and our children's children, in days to come, the finger of His love: "I will be your God, and ye shall be my people. Fear not." To go into all the desperate fights which took place after Napoleon's departure, I could not. Murat kept picking up strong detachments of all arms that had been left to keep the communication open.

The invincibility was all thrashed out of Murat's dejected, half-frozen, half-starved, half-clad followers. The heroic Marshal Ney (an Irishman) still commanded the rear guard. Four times it melted away, and as often this exemplary soldier re-formed another. At the gate of Wilna this unconquerable soldier, a prince and a Marshal of France, fought as a grenadier (which he was) with a musket. When called upon to surrender he exclaimed, "A Marshal of France may die, but never surrender."[42] Such was the heroic Ney. History has not preserved a nobler instance of humanity than that displayed by the Emperor Alexander and his brother Constantine, at Wilna. The condition of the wounded and prisoners, till the arrival of Alexander, was horrible beyond conception. Huddled together in hospitals without fire, water, medicine, beds, or even straw, there they lay in hundreds, with their limbs shattered, or in the last stage of disease. Hundreds died every day, their bodies thrown out of the windows by those in attendance; but their places were immediately filled up by multitudes of others, who crawled or were carried into these abodes of wretchedness to draw their last breath, cursing him who had been the cause of all their misery. Hard biscuit, and but little of that, was all they had for food; their only drink was snow, carried to them by their comrades. The putrid smell of above six thousand bodies, which lay unburied, was unbearable. Into these hidden dens of living, tombs, the Emperor Alexander and his brother immediately on arrival entered. Steps were at once taken to stop these horrors; the dead putrefied bodies were at once collected, and burned or buried. They amounted to the astounding number of seventeen thousand, lying dead about the streets and hospitals. The total number that succumbed at Wilna was upwards of thirty thousand in a few weeks. This was the termination of a campaign of unexampled dangers and glory to the Russian arms, by deeds of unprecedented Christian mercy to a fallen foe. The wreck of the once grand army re-crossed the Niemen, and left the Russian territory, on the 13th December, 1812--about 20,000 of rag-tail, bob-tail, miserable wretches. It must have been humiliating to the remains of the Old Guard (about 800 strong) to be pursued by a detachment of Cossacks. But my readers must know that five-sixths of this motley army had never seen Moscow, or been within hundreds of miles of it. The last stand was made at the bridge of Kowno, by the rear-guard, under the intrepid Ney. He fired the last shot that drove his pursuers back; threw all spare arms into the Niemen, and retired with honour, covered with blood and mud, and black with powder; his clothing all in tatters, and his good sword still reeking with the blood of a Cossack. In that state, the hero presented himself to General Dumas, who was lying wounded a few miles from the frontier. "Who are you?" said the General, as he entered into the sick chamber. "I am the rear-guard of the grand army. I have fired the last musket shot on the bridge of Kowno, and have thrown into the river the last of our arms. I am Marshal Ney."[43] When the truth came out, the grand army was accounted for as follows:--Killed in action, 130,000, including officers; taken prisoners, 48 generals, 5,000 officers, and 190,000 men. Nearly all the wounded were either taken or died; 132,000 officers and men died of fatigue and starvation; yet to add 110,000 Poles, killed or died of starvation and cold; 35,000 Austrians, and 18,000 Prussians--wings of the host--never were near Moscow, and not much engaged, retired to their own country. This nearly brings up the grand total, about 20,000 of the wreck being added. The Russian loss was as heavy, if not heavier, than that of the enemy. The noble lines of Johnson, on Charles XII., seem a poetic prophecy of the far greater catastrophe on Napoleon. By a few alterations they become descriptive of his fate:--

No joys to him pacific sceptres yield;
War sounds the trump, he rushes to the field;
Behold! surrounding kings their powers combine,
And some capitulate, and some resign.
Peace courts his hand, but spreads her charms in vain;
"Think nothing gained," he cries, "till nought remain
On Moscow's walls till Gothic standards fly,
And all be mine beneath the Polar sky."
The march begins in military state,
And nations on his eye suspended wait;
Stern famine guards the solitary coast,
And winter barricades the realms of frost.
He comes--not want and cold his course delay;
Hide, blushing glory, hide the Moskwa's day;
The vanquished hero leaves his broken bands,
And shows his miseries in distant lands;
Condemned a needy suppliant to wait,
While ladies interpose and slaves debate.
His fall was destined to a barren strand,
A petty fortress and a sea-girt land;
He left a name, at which the world grew pale
To point a moral, and adorn a tale.

Madame de Staël has well said that Providence never appeared so near human affairs as in this memorable year 1812. There was, as far as human eye could see, a special outpouring of Divine wrath. We see in Napoleon the greatness and weakness of puny man, his highest glory, and yet nothingness against the arm of the Great Geometrician of the universe.

The purest treasure mortal times afford
Is spotless reputation; that away,
Men are but gilded loam or painted clay.--SHAKESPEARE.

It was in order to crush us as a nation that precipitated Napoleon and his host into the famine guarded wilds of Russia. Thousands, yea, hundreds of thousands of the working classes in this God-defended isle, will hardly be able to fathom the terrible calamities of the horrors of war in the retreat from Moscow, the only difference being most of the Russian sick and wounded returned to their colours, as they were nursed in the bosom of their friends. But even this terrible blow was not enough to subdue the great conqueror. Russia had been kept in the field by our inexhaustible funds. Arms, with all kinds of warlike stores, were shipped off to Russia by wholesale by us; and, but for the indomitable pluck of our forefathers, the whole of the continent of Europe would have been at the conqueror's feet. Prussia was willing to strike for her independence, but she was powerless--she was bankrupt. All her main fortifications, with her capital, were in the hands of the enemy. Napoleon had boasted, after the crush at Jena, that he would make the princes and nobles of Germany beg their bread. Poor struggling Prussia was held by an iron grasp. Military contributions, which were extracted under pain of instant death, from its unhappy people during the year 1812, would exceed belief if it were not attested by authentic documents: 482,000 officers and men, and 80,000 horses, traversed Prussia's whole extent. More than half this immense force were quartered above three months on the poor inhabitants; they were like a cloud of locusts, devouring all they could lay their hands upon, shooting all that dared to oppose them. We would say fervently, "God protect our beloved isle from the ravages of war."

Our forefathers knew all this and far more, and had made up their minds that if they had to die, some one else should die with them. They would not die from tyranny, but sword in hand. It is not generally known that at the commencement of this terrible war in 1792, we raised in this glorious Old Isle of Freedom, by the operation of the ballot, 800,000 men, not for offensive warfare, but for defensive; and mind, our united population then was only about 15,000,000. But to proceed: In east Prussia alone, the enemy demanded and took by force 22,700 cattle, horses 70,000, carts and waggons 13,349. The weekly cost of one corps alone (Janot's, 70,000 strong) was 200,000 crowns, or £50,000 sterling, the rest of the army being in proportion. These enormous contributions were exclusive of the war indemnity of 640,000,000 francs, which was rigidly exacted. In addition to all the above, the following was demanded and taken by force:--200,000 quintals[44] of rye, 24,000 of rice, 48,000 of dried vegetables, 200,000 bottles of brandy, 2,000,000 bottles of beer (I think I hear some one remark, they were a thirsty lot), 400,000 quintals of wheat, 650,000 of hay, 750,000 of straw, 6,000,000 pecks of oats, 44,000 oxen, 15,000 cavalry horses, 600,000 quintals of powder, 60,000 of lead, 3,600 waggons, harnessed, with drivers; hospital and field equipage for 20,000 men (sick and wounded). The Germans may well be vindictive, knowing all this and far more; for their wives and daughters were treated in such a manner that pen refuses to record it. If the unfortunate peasant or husband remonstrated, he was at once shot. They may well, I say, have thrown their scabbards away, determined to conquer or die. At Lutzen, Bautzen, Dresden, Leipsic, and a number of other fields, they fought with desperation. At Lutzen and Bautzen, thousands of the Prussians, Landwehr[45] (Militia), fought heroically in the clothing in which they came from the _plough tail_. Their loss was very heavy, but they died to try and save the honour of their mothers, their wives, and their sisters. Here we see the majestic might which slumbers in the peasant's arm; their heroism was worthy of veteran soldiers; 15,500 Prussians fell, and 25,000 French lay upon the bloody field of Bautzen. "What!" said the spoilt child of fortune, "after such a butchery, will these Prussian rustics not leave me a nail? No results? no prisoners? no guns? Why, they rise from the dust. When will this be done. When will it end?"[46] It was on this field that the heroic Marshal Duroc[47] fell. The great conqueror was melted to tears. Taking the hand of his dying old comrade and pressing it to his heart: "Duroc," said the great conqueror, "_there is another world, where we shall meet again_." Memorable words, reader, wrung by anguish even from the child of infidelity. Again he exclaimed, "Another such victory, and I am undone." No one dared to approach him. When appealed to for some urgent orders about the pursuit of the Allies, his answer was: "All to-morrow." Murmurs, regrets, and despair were heard even among the most resolute. The Allies, backed up by British gold, arms, and munitions of war, here determined to fight it out to the bitter end; they might die, but not yield. The hero of Inkermann, Sir G. Cathcart, was in the thick of both battles. His conduct was the admiration of the Emperor Alexander. But at Lutzen and Bautzen the conqueror again fastened victory to the French eagle. The two fields cost him 40,500 officers and men. The undisciplined, raw material of Germany nobly faced Napoleon's veterans. They made good use of the arms our people sent them. As soon as it was found out that Germany had made up its mind in earnest to fight for its liberty, old England at once gave the right hand of fellowship to the fatherland. They could but die; all they wanted was arms and money; and in two short months (from 18th March to 18th May) we sent to Germany, with a free heart, the following, besides keeping up Russia, Spain, and Portugal:--

Field-pieces with carriages, complete 218
Muskets and bayonets 124,119
Swords 34,443
Sets of uniform complete, with overcoats 150,000
Boots and shoes 175,000
Blankets 114,000
Linen shirts 85,000
Gaiters 87,190
Sets of accoutrements 90,000
Knapsacks, complete (with all necessaries) 63,000
Caps and feathers 100,000
Pairs of stockings (wool) 69,624
Pounds of biscuits 702,000
Pounds of beef and pork 691,000

And at the same time, we advanced Russia nearly £2,000,000 sterling. Austria, Prussia, and the smaller German States, Spain and Portugal, were again at this time assisted with the nice little sum of nearly £10,000,000 sterling more. And it must be remembered that at this date our population was only 18,000,000: yet we had an army of 753,375, all voluntarily enlisted for life, or twenty-one years, or as long as required, with a fleet that was well manned, that had and could bid defiance to the world in arms: with a Native army in India of 201,000. It was a death-struggle. Old England was the leader, and our forefathers came out in their true colours, determined to die hard. For humanity's sake, I would advise foreigners to let the Lion in the Briton slumber; for if once roused, I have not the slightest hesitation in asserting that, with our present population in the British isles alone--now nearly 40,000,000--we could put into the field, and keep more men there, than any single State in Europe would like to face. That same invincible spirit is still in the Briton that stood by them on the fields of Albuera and Inkermann. It would be more profitable to die with honour in defence of our homes and those we love so well, than to be treated as the Germans were from 1806 to 1813. The reader need not be at all astonished at the huge armies the Germans keep up at present. If they have to die, they are going to do so sword in hand; but there will be a lot of broken heads, bloody noses, and wooden legs, among their foes. But again, shortly after the terrible battle of Bautzen, an armistice was signed by Napoleon and the Allies. It was nothing but a blind to gain time to bring up his reinforcements from the Rhine. In the meantime the Allies were not idle. Napoleon was trying all he could to get Austria to join his standard, but the star of England again prevailed. It was plain to all that the days of Austerlitz and Jena were past: there was now unity. We at once assisted Austria with 100,000 stand of arms, and accoutrements, and £10,000,000 sterling, to put her army in motion. Old Marshal "Forward!" (Blücher) had said long before this "that if Germany wanted their freedom, they must do as England had done from the first--rise to a man and fight for it." And the old hero said to his king, "We must stick to them, and never stop combating until the enemy are routed out of the Fatherland." He said what he meant, for he never sheathed his victorious sword until the great conqueror was hurled from power. Wellington's victories, one after another, in the north of Spain and south of France had roused the whole German people. Napoleon might well say, "What a war! we shall all leave our remains here." The fact is, the British, side by side with the heroic boys of the Green Isle, had set Europe an example; the benevolent hand of our forefathers had touched the Germans in a vital point. They said, "If a nation of bankers and shopkeepers can beat the conquering legions and roll them up on every field, so will we, or die in the attempt." But we had again to assist the Continent to strike the fetters off. Russia, Austria, and Prussia again received as a loan, at one per cent., £3,000,000 each: Spain, and Portugal, £2,000,000 each: Sweden, £2,000,000: and Sicily, £600,000 sterling, besides warlike stores. And our own forces were augmented to 1,107,000 men in arms, with upwards of 1,000 ships of war, manned by 140,000 seamen and 31,000 marines; for our big cousins must kick up a row with us, thinking of taking Canada from us. But they came off second best, although millions of money were lavished, and thousands of men fell on both sides.

At this time, Warren Hastings was carrying on a war on a large scale in India, and slice after slice was being added to our dominions out there; and yet our population was only 18,052,044. Europe owes a debt of gratitude to old England; her liberty was the fruit of British liberality. The vast hosts which stemmed the torrent of conquest on the Elbe, and rolled it back to the gates of Paris, were armed, clothed, and paid by this nation,--this glorious old nation, that is second to none; that some short-sighted, weak-kneed old women--knaves--would fain make their children believe is going down the hill. We again would advise those who talk so loudly about our defenceless state, not to make fools of themselves. We shall not, I think, be found wanting more than our grandfathers were. And those that do not understand the true Briton, we would advise them to read a wee bit, or for ever hold their peace. Let our naval strength be doubled, if necessary. It is far better to be ready, not imbecile, in our vital point. We can do without butcher's bills. We feel confident that our navy would hold their own. But let us proceed. Napoleon had once more collected a vast host around his standards on the plains of Dresden. The great conqueror once more throws down the gauntlet at the feet of Russia, Austria, Prussia, and Sweden. His army was composed of 467,947 infantry, 50,900 cavalry, 1,536 guns, with 35,000 artillerymen; in garrison strongholds, 80,300--total at Napoleon's command 634,174, besides strong armies in the south of France. And in garrison he had yet upwards of 1,200,000 men to back him up; so that it required something more than short-sighted, weak-kneed old women to pull him from his exalted pinnacle. The Allies had in the field 721,383 men, with 1801 guns. All these forces were depending upon Mr. and Mrs. Bull's inexhaustible long stocking. The terrible battle of Dresden was fought; it lasted two days. It is not my intention to describe it. Courage had done its best. But this rascal, Napoleon, was one too many for the Allies. He once more nailed victory to the French Eagle. It was not a crushing blow. The Allies retired from the field in good order. This was the last battle[48] on a grand scale the great conqueror ever won. The fruits of the victory were 13,000 prisoners (nearly all Austrians), 26 cannon, 18 standards, while 40,000 men lay in ghastly piles all over the bloody field. In the suburbs of Dresden the sight was heart-rending, dead and wounded lying in heaps, just as if eighty guns and ammunition waggons had dashed over them. Reader, these are some of the glories of war! Only a few days afterwards, the bloody field of Clum was fought.[49] The slaughter was terrible, for the numbers engaged. The enemy lost 18,000 men, 60 guns, 300 ammunition waggons, two eagles, and 5000 prisoners. This was an awkward blow, coming, as it did, from an army just defeated at Dresden.

The great conqueror's race was run. He had made a good bid for heavy stakes, and had lost all, through Old England's determined constancy. She was the instrument in the hands of God in successfully combating infidelity. Yet another terrible battle was fought at Kutczback. Marshals McDonald and Ney commanded, against the redoubtable Blücher. Napoleon's pets again came off second best. Vast numbers, amounting to thousands, were charged with the bayonet into a raging mountain torrent, and drowned; the continued loud hurrahs telling the triumph of Germany. In trying to escape the infuriated cavalry, thousands more were engulfed, and swept away. In the morning, it was but about up to their knees, fordable at all points; but the flood-gates of heaven appeared to have opened to the destruction of the despisers of Christianity. The French were in overwhelming strength on the field. Things looked black for the struggling Germans; but, owing to the heavy rains, the enemy were divided, and nearly all those who had crossed the (to all appearance) diminutive rivulet, but now a raging torrent, were destroyed in presence of Marshal Ney--one that was second to none for intrepidity. The enemy lost in killed or drowned 28,000 men; 18,000 prisoners, and 103 guns fell into the hands of Blücher. The torrent receded as fast as it had risen, and the fire-eating old Blücher followed the retiring enemy up all night, capturing prisoners and guns at every stride. Altogether, the enemy were weakened by 58,000 officers and men, with 165 guns, and no end of ammunition waggons and standards. This was the most glorious triumph the Germans had yet had. It had a wonderful effect upon the hitherto victorious legions of Napoleon. It spoke volumes. It told them plainly that a terrible day of retribution had dawned. And it aroused the Allies to the highest pitch of excitement. Thousands and tens of thousands who had left their fatherland after the crush at Jena, and came to England, now solicited our Government to send them back to fight in the ranks of their fatherland. The Government nobly responded, and shipped them off in thousands, armed to the teeth. They cheered heartily for Old England and England's King, as they sailed out of Harwich. Hundreds of them cried for joy, to think that the day of vengeance had dawned--that they would be able to wipe out the stain of insulted mothers and ruined sisters. Hundreds shouted out with all their might, "God bless Old England!" and shaking their swords and guns above their heads, they swore to conquer or die. It was no longer an _army_ that Napoleon had to confront, but _nations in arms_. Princes, counts, dukes, poets, tinkers, and tailors, were all animated with the same determined resolution "to conquer or die." And, reader, when a nation is unanimously determined to have their freedom, it is better to build a bridge of gold for them to pass over than to try and keep them in subjection. The following lines were composed and written by the German poet, Theodore Korwen, on the morning of his death, on the bloody field of Dresden:--

"Thou sword upon my thigh,
Those beaming glances, why?
Thou look'st so pleased on me:
I've all my joy in thee.
Hurrah!

"In the belt of a gallant knight
My glance is ever bright;
A freeman is my lord,
And this makes glad the sword.
Hurrah!

"Yes, trusty sword, I'm free,
And fondly cherish thee;
Dear as a bride, thou art
The treasure of my heart.
Hurrah!

"The trumpet-blast at dawn
Ushers in our wedding morn;
When the hollow cannon roar,
We'll meet to part no more.
Hurrah!

"Oh, sumptuous wedding cheer,
What goodly guests are here!
Ay, now the steed will gleam,
Like a bride on the morning beam.
Hurrah!

"Up, up, ye warriors stout,
Out, German riders, out;
Do ye feel your hearts' glow warm?
Take the loved one to thine arm.
Hurrah!

"Haste, give her lips the pledge,
A kiss to the iron edge;
Tide good, or evil tide,
Curst he who fails his bride.
Hurrah!

"Now bid the charmer sing,
While sparkling sword-blades ring;
'Tis our marriage matins' peal:
Hurrah! thou bride of steel!
Hurrah!"

Fight followed fight in rapid succession. The great conqueror had not taught his marshals how to win fields; they were all beaten in detail. They were splendid leaders of divisions, so long as their great captain was at the helm. He could not give them brains. Marshal Soult was his right-hand man, but he had to go and try to stem the tide of Wellington, who was just one too many for him upon field after field. Defeat after defeat now began to tell upon the French, and from the great conqueror down to the drummer crept a secret feeling of distrust. It is true, Napoleon himself had not yet been beaten, but news was coming in almost daily that gave him a lot of disquietude. The news of Wellington's triumph at Vittoria flew through Germany like wild-fire. The whole French army on that field were routed. They lost all their guns (151), 10,000 prisoners fell into our hands, and one million pounds sterling. King Joseph's coach and all his State papers were part of the booty of this field. It caused the Spanish crown to fall from Joseph's head, and swept the troops of the tyrant out of Spain.[0]

"Rule, Britannia," and "God save the King," were struck up all through the allied camp, which, re-echoing through the Bohemian mountains, told Napoleon plainly that Europe was united against him, and that the detested Albions had turned the tables upon him. Our forefathers had made up their minds to conquer or die; their strength, their shield, their stronghold, was in a Triune God. Europe was shaken to its foundations; duty, based on religion, was arrayed against talent destitute of God. Combat followed combat; but at Gross Beeren--another awkward field--Napoleon's invincibles were again beaten. The field was covered with the slain, 10,000 of the enemy lying in ghastly piles. Thirteen guns, and 1,500 prisoners, fell into the hands of the Allies. Every German heart began to throb with emotion. The Saxons, who had hitherto fought in the ranks of the French, came over in a body from the ranks of the common enemy to fight in the ranks of the fatherland; and with bands playing and colours flying, at once turned about and slipped into their former comrades. But my readers must remember their comradeship was of a forced nature. Yet another terrible defeat was sustained by the heroic Ney, on the field of Dennewitz. The enemy here lost 13,000 officers and men, and 43 guns. Six thousand stand of arms were thrown away in order to accelerate their flight. The Allies lost 6,000--5,000 of whom were Prussians. Napoleon now began to see that his Marshals could not cope with the allied Generals. They were all beaten in detail; so he called them all in, with their armies, and retired on the memorable field of Leipsic, and there put the now united allied armies at defiance. As soon as it suited the plans and time of the allied Commander-in-Chief, this terrible battle commenced. It lasted for three days of unparalleled fighting. The stakes were heavy; freedom on one side, and despotic military slavery on the other. With ringing shouts, on the third day of this butchery, the allied armies advanced in massive columns to storm Napoleon's last position. Under the eye of their beloved chief, the Old Guard fought with desperation, but it was all to no purpose; the great conqueror was defeated. A deep and rapid stream (the Elster) was behind him, with but one bridge. The Allies, who had carried the ramparts of Leipsic with a frightful slaughter, were now _pell-mell_ after the foe. No quarter was given or taken. Thousands on both sides succumbed to the deadly thrust of the bayonet. The Allies, we must remember, were flushed with victory after victory. They had twenty years of cruel bondage to avenge. During this dreadful fight, the bridge--the only line of retreat open--was blown up. A terrible shriek of despair burst from thousands. All who had not crossed must die or surrender. Retribution had overtaken guilty, haughty, insulting France; she was being humbled to the dust.

"The path of glory leads but to the grave."

It was on this field that the last representative of the royal line of Poland perished. "Gentlemen," said that undaunted prince to the officers around him (drawing his sword), "it now behoves us to die with honour;" and plunging into the midst of a Russian column, he terminated a life of honour. It was one of the last scenes of this bloody drama, which was frightful on both sides. The brunt of the fighting, as will be noticed, fell upon the Russians:--

Other Non-Commissioned
Generals. Officers. Officers & Privates.
The Russians lost 18 864 21,740
The Prussians 〃 2 520 14,950
The Austrians 〃 1 399 9,793
The Swedes 〃 -- 10 321
-- ---- ------
Total loss of Allies 21 1793 46,804