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Marshal Ney.
[CONCLUDED ]
But it is in the Russian campaign that he
displayed his greatest qualities as a command
er/ The history of the Grand Army in its in
vasion of Russia and retreat Iroin it, combines
more of glory and of gloom than anything ol
its kind in the annals of man. The contrast
between that army ot near three hundred thou
sand men, crossing the Niemen in presence of
Napoleon, as he sat in his tower and saw those
glorious legions move in beautiful order and
high spirits before him; and the remnant of that
scattered army in rags, wan and ghastly, fol
lowing their iron-heaned leader as he strode on
fool over the same river, always fills one with
the profoundest melancholy. At Smolcnsko,
Ney made a last effort to dissuade the Emperor
Irom pressing intoß-Ussia so late in the season.
But neither he nor the other generals that form
ed his council could divert his purpose. The
battles of Valentini and Krasnoi soon followed,
and last of all came Borodino, in which Ney
“ outdid himself,” and earned the title Napoleon
gave him on the spot of “ Prince of Moskwa.”
Atth rt commencement of that action Bonaparte
kept Ney close beside him, and would not fur a
long time allow him to take any part in the con
flict! There they stood within hailing distance
ot each other, and gazed on the battle that rag
ed on the right. At length Napoleon called Ney
to him and gave his last orders. The drums
beat their wild and hurried charge, and Ney
with his three divisions hurled themselves on
the loe. The enemy’s artillery swept within a
certain limit every inch of ground, and it seem
ed impossible that a bodv of men could stand
there a single moment. Bonaparte watched the
progress ot the column till it at length entered
the storm of grape shot, when the head ol it
gunk down and disappeared like snow when it
meets the river. Yet Ney still towered unhurt
amid his falling column, and without faltering
a moment, led the remnant of his division
straight through the destructive fire, up to the
very intrenchments, and carried them. Then
commenced that terrific struggle for the heights
ot Demenowskie. Davoust and Ney strove to
gether with more than human valor to gain the
eminence. After four hours of steady, unpar
alleled effort against superior force, and in the
midst of incessant discharges ot artillery, Ney
sent to Bonaparte for help. The Young Guard
and the reserved cavalry were ordered down,
while Napoleon wheeled four hundred cannon
on the redoubt. Under cover of this terrible
fire, the mighty columns of cavalry and infan
try moved to the assault. The Russian artillery
from the batteries stretched whole battalions on
the field at every discharge. But it was all in
vain. The rent columns closed again as be
fore, “each treading where his comrade stood,”
and pressed on like the in-rolling wave ol the
sea. Finding the French were gaining ground,
the Russian commander ordered his whole left
wing to leave the intrenchments and meet the
French in the plain below. The shock was aw
lui. Eighty thousand men were crowded into a
small space, and for more than an hour raged
against each other in all the ferocity of war,
while seven hundred pieces of cannon played
incessantly upon the dense masses of living
flesh. Ney moved amid this wild storm the
same calm and determined man as ever. His
uniform riddled with balls, and his lace be
grimed vyith powder and smoke, he still, with
his clear darlop voice, cheered on his troops,
and with his cool bravery held his exhausted
men to the encounter with a tenacity that could
not be overcome, and which sayed Bonaparte
that day from a ruinous defeat.
Napoleon often gazed with astonishment on
the movements of his favorite marshal. The
quiet determination with which he set out to
execute the most hopeless order—the progress
he would make against the most desperate odds,
and the victory he would wring from defeat it
self, brought even from Napoleon bursts of ad
miration.
The blazing towers of Moscow, the turning
point of Napoleon’s invasion and his fortune,
have scarcely crumbled to ashes before the fated
army turn their faces homeward. We should
like to be made acquainted with the conversa
tion of Napoleon and Ney as they sat together
in the Kremlin and talked over the disastrous
issue they had met and the only way of escape
from total annihilation. The fiery and impetu
ous harangues of the former, and the blunt
characteristic replies ot the Jailer, while the
cracking of the flames and the falling of col
umns and walls without were borne to their
.ears, must have been in the highest degree dra
matic. From the heap of ruins and from the
-solitude which was more prophetic than the up
roar of the storm, Ney was appointed to cover
the retreat; and this act ot Napoleon utters
more distinctly his opinion ot that Marshal’s
generalship than language can do. The whole
history of Ney’s conduct during that memorable
retreat seems to belong rather to some here of
romance lhan an actual man. The marvellous
details appear incredible, and would not be be
lieved it the evidence was not incontestable.—
With a mere handful of men he placed himself
between the French and Russian armies, and
by his incredible exertions, desperate valor, and
.exhaustless iogenuit}*, saved a portion of that
host which would otherwise have been totally
annihilated. That retreat alone would make
him immortal. With all the fault found with
his generalship, there was not a commander
among either the French or allied forces during
the whole war, that ever did or ever could ac-.
complish what Ney performed in that memora
ble flight. Had he fallen we believe Bonaparte
would have fallen also, and the former really
saved the army, which the latter never could
have done. Without provisions, almost with
out arms, he battled the well-tried and countless
legions of Russia back from his beloved Empe
ror—and over the wintry fields of snow and
amid the driving storm, with a heart untamed
and a will unsubdued, he hovered like a pre
lecting spirit around the divided and flying ranks
of his coumrymen, The soldiers, exhausted
and despairing, threw their muskets from them
into the snow-drifts, and laydown by thousands
to die. Cold, benumbed, and famine-struck,
this ghost of an army straggled on through the
deep snow, with nothing but the tall pines sway
ing and roaring mournfully in the blast for land
marks to the giazmg eye, while an enraged and
well disciplined army was pressing in the rear.
Clouds of ravens, whose dusky forms glanced
like spirits through the snow-filled air, croaked
over the falling columns, while troops of dogs,
that had followed Jhe army from Moscow, fell
on the prostrate forms before life was wholly
extinct. The storm howled by as the soldiers
sunk at night in the snow to rest, many iO lise
no more, while the morning sun, if it shone at
all, looked cold and dimly down through the
flying clouds of a northern sky. There vveie
long intervals when not a drum or trumpet note
broke the muffled tread of the staggering legions.
On the rear of such an army, and in sight of
"tji 1
such horrors, did Ney combat. Nothing but a I
spirit unconquerable as fate itself could have
sustained him, or kept alive the flagging cour
age of his troops. Stumbling every moment
over the dead bodies of their comrades who had
marched but a few hours in advance of them, i
thousands threw away their arms in despair, i
and wandered off into the wilderness to die with i
cold, or be slain by the Cossacks. Yet Ney i
kept a firm band around him that ah the power
of Russia could not conquer. Now ordering
his march with the skill of a general, and now
with musket in hand fighting like a common
soldier, the moral force of example accomplish
ed what authority alone never could have done.
At length the brave and heroic commander
seemed to have reached the crisis ot his fate,
and there was no escape from the doom that
bung over him. The Russians had finally
placed themselves between the French army
and that -rear guard, now dwindled to a few
thousand. Ignorant of his danger, Ney was
leading his columns through a dense fog to the
hanks of the Lossmina. on which were strewn
the dead bodies ol his countrymen, when a
battery of [forty cannon suddenly poured a
destructive storm of grape-shot into the very
heart of his ranks. The next moment the
height before him and on either side appeared
lined with dense columns of infantry and ar
tillery. Ney had done all that man could do,
and here his career seemed about to close. He
was ordered to capitulate. He replied, “A
Marshal of France never surrenders” and closing
his columns marched straight upon the batteries.
Vain valor. His noble and devoted followers
proved themselves worthy of their heroic leader,
but after a loss of hall their number they were
compelled to retire. Finding the army gradual
ly extending itself on every side to hem him in,
he returned back towards Smolensko for an
hour, then forming a body of 4000 men, turned
north towards the Dnieper. Having reached
the stream in safely, tie arranged his fragment
of an army so as to march over the ice at a mo
ment’s warning, and then waited three hours be
fore crossing to allow the weak and wounded
stragglers to come in. Pressed by the most ap
palling clangers he still yielded to the dictates of
mercy. There on the banks of the frozen river,
and during this time of intense anxiety, did this
strange, indomitable man lie down with his
martial cloak around him, and sleep. Bona
parte, far in advance, struggling forward on foot
with a birch stick in his hand to keep from fail
ing on the ice, surrounded by his lew exhausted
followers, was pressed with anxiety for ihe fate
ot Ney—his now last remaining hope. But the
marshal, with only three thousand men, had
still a wilderness between him and the Emperor,
and that wilderness was filled with Cossacks,
For sixty miles he struggled on with his weary
columns amid six thousand of these wild war
riors. At one lime they got in advance of him
and fell unexpectedly upon his advanced posts,
which were immediately driven in, and all was
given up as lost. But Ney ordered ti e trum
pets to sound the charge, and with the cheering
words, “Comrades, now is the moment; for
ward, they are ours,” rallied their courage tothe
assault, and the Cossacks fled. Thinking their
general saw what they did not see, and that the
enemy were cut off, the soldiers pressed forward
where otherwise they \#uld have yielded and
tied. At length with only fifteen hundred men
out of the forty thousand with which he had
started, he arrived near Orcha and near the
French army. When Bonaparte heard ol it, he
exclaimed, “ I have three hundred millions in
my coffers inihe Tuileries— I would willingly
have given them to save Marshal Ney.” Wel)
he might, and half his empire with it, for
without him he had been a throneless Emperor.
The meeting of Bonaparte and his brave Mar
shall shows the profound impression the conduct
of the latter had made on him. As his eye fell
on the worn but still unconquerable veteran, h a
exclaimed, “ What a man, what a soldier! ”
But words failed, to express his admiration, and
he clasped the stern warrior to his bosom and
embraced him with all the rapture one hero em
braces another.
But Ney’sexhaustingefforts were not yet over.
Bonaparte dared not relieve him from his dan
gerous and important post. Though the rear
guard had melted away again and again under
his command, he still renewed its ranks, and
presented the same determined Iront to the ene- ’
my. At the awful passage ofthe Beresina, he
stood again between the army and destruction.
At length the scattered remnants of the French
Legions reached the Niemen, the boundary of
the Russian territory. Ney arrived destitute of
troops —the rear guard had again melted away.
Collecting in haste a few hundred men whom
he found in the town ( Wilna,) he planted twen
ty-four cannon on the redoubts, and kepi back
the enemy all day, while the army was retiring.
The next morning he continued his defence,
but the soldiers, seeing their comrades bending
their footsteps towards France, and away from
the bullets of the Russians, began to follow alter
1 till he was left almost alone. Still true to hi*
1 duty he continued to cover the retreat ol the army
i he had so often saved. All had not yet passed
the Niemen, and by dint of persuasion, and
• threats, and promises, he collected thirty men
around him, and with musket in hand defended
1 wjlh this handful the gate ol Wilna, At length,
i when the last soldier was over, he slowly retired
I through the streets with his face to the enemy,
I and crossing the river, “ was the last of the Grand
• Army that left the Russian territory”
Gumbinnen was the first place in Germany,
• after crossing the river, at which rest could be
1 obtained. General Dumas, who was sick, had
• just entered the house of a French physician in
this town, when a man accosted him whom he
1 took to be a perfect stranger. His powerful
• form was wrapped in a large military cloak—
' his beard was long and.untiimmed —his counte
nance begrimed with powder, and his whiskers
half burnt off, while his emaciated lace spoke of
• toils and privations of n*> common magnitude.
But his eye slih burned with that lustre no one
; ever forgot who once saw it in battle. “What,”
’ said the stranger, “ Dumas, do you not know
mr*l” “ No,” replied Dum.aa, “ whoareyou?”
! “lam the rear guard of the Grand Army—
■ Marshal Ney, I have fired the last musket-shot
! on the bridge ofKowno; I have thrown into the
• Niemen the last ol our arms and I have walked
hither as you see me across the forests,” He
t had done all that man could do—fought till his
I army was annihilated, then formed another—
i created means where they did|not exist—sustained
t the sinking courage of his followers when all
r before him was blank and hopeless—struggled |
! at last with a few hundred and then thiny, and ;
i then alone, as rear guard ol the army, and then
finally on foot and almost unattended, crossed |
\ the forests to the remnant of that army.
■ We cannot follow him through the campaign
■ of 1813, He fought beside the Emperor, though
: his fortunes were evidently declining. At
' Bautzen, Lufzen, Dresden, Denonewitz, Leipsic
1 and many other places, he exhibited his accus
■ tomed skill and braverv. After the abdication
of Napoleon, he lived In Paris in a)most -entire
seclusion. Too rough for the polished society
of the French capital, and too stern and grave to
be dissipated, he dwelt by himself. His palace
was elegantly furnished; and his wife, fond of
gaiety and luxury, entertained her friends there,
while he would be dining by himself, musing
over the stormy and adventurous life he had led.
Sick of the inactive monotonous life of Paris,
he retired to his country-seat, where, in the sports
of the field, he could find some relief to his rest
lusspess. ft was here he received his unexpected
order to join the Sixth Military Division, On
arriving at Paris h« learned to his astonishment
that Bonaparte had left Elba, and was on his
way to the capilol. Here we approach the only
dark spot jn his history. The defence his own
friends make lor him fails to exculpate him.
Bonaparte’s star had apparently bet forever at
his exile, and Ney did perfectly right to sustain
the government of France; but he had no right
to betray the trust his Monarch Reposed in him,
and go over with his army to the side of the in
vader. He, by this act, became a traitor; but
his treason had more excuses than the like crime
ever had before. At first he regarded the descent
of Napoleon on the shores of France, as the
most extravagant rashness, and designed, as he
declared, to bring him a prisoner to Paris. But
he hardly set out on his expedition before
Bonaparte began to ply him with those arts he
knew so well how to use. He had made Ney
what he was, and he appealed to the gratitude ol
the noble-hearted veteran. He had stood by his
side in the smoke and thunder of battle, and he
recalled these scenes to his imagination. They
had been warriors together in danger, ancLßona
parte excited him wilh those recollections, so!
calculated to move a heart like his. Me kept
Iris emissaries constantly ab ut him, represent- i
ing to him the utter feebleness and imbecility ol
the Bourbon throne—he called him again the
“ Bravest of the Brave,” and entreated him not
to fight against his old companion and King.
At the same time he promised peace to France,
and all that Ney could desire. A plain blunt
soldier—wilh a heart lull ot great affections lor
heroes like himself, what wonder is it that his
constancy shook! Added to all this, the emissa
ries ot Bonaparte had at length affected the fidel
ity of the army, and while Ney was wavering,
his soldiers had already determined for Napo
leon. He felt he could not resist the tide it lie
would, while he evidently had lost ail desire to
do so. His act of treason has many palliations;
still it was unworthy of him. if his old affec
tions and his gratitude were too strong to allow
him to fight against his former Monarch, his
have prevented him from lighting
against his new one. He should have returned
and resigned his command, and retired from the
contest He himself altervvards felt so. The
excitement enthusiasm under which he had
acted had passed away, and he saw the transac
tion in a clear and just light. It weighed on his
heart, and he grew melancholy and spiritless.
He had lost his sell-respect; and his honor,
which he heretofore had kept blight as his sword,
was tarnished. Kindly feelings had conquered
him whom no enemy could subdue, and now the
eye no danger could daunt or hardship dim, be
came dull and lustreless. That glorious lore
head, that had been the terror of so many hun
dred battles, had a spot upon it, and Ney fell fee
bler than in the hour of extremest peril. Re
morse gnawed at his heart, and the feeling of
personal dignity was gone for ever. He be
came morose and restless, and not until ordered
by Bonaparte to Lille, “ il he would see the first
battle,” did he evince any of his old file. This
single fact is the greatest apology we could offer
for him. It shows that, whatever his act may
be, his heart was not that of a traitor. It was
not the deliberate treason ot a villain, but the
sudden impulse of a man too frequently go
verned by his feelings. He afterwards doubtless
hoped, in the excitement of battle, to rid himself
of his remorse, and perhaps by his valor to wipe
out the disgrace he had brought on his name.
His last charge at Waterloo showed that the
firmness and bravery of the man was uudimin
ished. It is true the Old Guard was not what it
had been, it required the experience and train
ing of the veterans that fell in the snow drifts of
Russia. But still it was “the Old Guard,”
which had ever regarded itself the prop and
pride of Bonaparte. It was the same that had
gained him so many battles—the same that at
Krasnoi, in the retreat from Russia, when re
duced to a little band, closed round their emperor
and marched past the Russian batteries: playing
in the hottest of the fire the popular air, On pent-*
on ctre mieux qu‘ o.u sein de sa fanvillc ?” It was
the “ unconquerable guard.”
From eleven in the morning till lour in the af
ternoon, the battle had raged, while victory
perched on neither standard. The heavy French
cavalry had charged the English squares in vain.
Jerome Bonapaite had left 1400 men around
Hougoumont. The centre of the English lines
had not yielded an inch, yet, exhausted and
wore, they stood less firmly in their places. The
Old Guard had remained passive spectators of
the scene during the whole day, being reserved
for the last moment to complete the victory. At
this juncture, the head of the Prussian columns
appeared on the field. Fifty thousand fresh
troops added to the Engli-h army would make
the odds too great. Instead of retiring till
Grouchy would come up and restore the balance,
Bonaparte look the rash and de Derate resolution
of bringing his entire reserve into the field, and
with one awful charge break the centre, and pre
vent the threatened junction of the two armies.
For this purpose he called up the Old Guard,
and placing himself at their head marched do wn
the slope, and halting in a hollow, addressed
them in his fiery, vehement manner. He told
them every thing rested on their valor. They
answered with the shout, “ Vive VErnpereur, ’
that was heard all along the British lines. lie
then placed them under Ney, who ordered the
charge. Bonaparte has been blamed for not
heading this charge himself; but he knew he
could not carry that guard so far, nor hold them
so long before the artillery, as Ney. The mere
power Ney carried with him, from the reputa
tion he had gained of being the “bravest of the
brave,” was worth a whole battalion. When
ever a column saw him at their head, they knew
that it was to be victory or annihilation. With
the exception of Macdonald, we do not know a
general in the two armies who could hold his
soldiers so long in the very face of destruction
as he. The whole continental struggle exhibi
ted no sublimcr spectacle than this Jast effort of
Napoleon to save his sinking empire. Euro e
had been put upon the plains of Waterloo to be
battled for. The greatest military energy and
skill the world possessed had been tasked to the
utmost during the day. Thrones were tottering
on the ensanguined field, and the shadows of fu
gitive kings flitted through the smoke of battle.
Bonaparte’s star trembled in the zenith, now
blazing out in its ancient splendor, now sud
denly paling before his anxious eye. At length,
when the Prussians appeared on the field, he re
solved to pul Europe on one bold throw. He
committed himself and France to Ney, and saw
his empire rest on a single charge. We almost
forget Napoleon’s ambition and guilt in our sym
pathy wilh him in this critical u oment ot his
life. The intense anxiety with which he watched
the advance of that column, arid the terrible sus
pense ha suffered when the smoke ol battle
wrapped i' from sight, and the utter despair ot
i his great heart when the curtain lifted over a fu
j gitive army, and the despairing shriek rung on
every side, “la garde reculc. “ ia garde recule
makes us for the moment almost wish he had
gained the day. Ney felt the immense respon
sibility resting upon him. He tell the pressure
of an empire on his brave bean, and resolved
not to prove unworthy of the great trust com
mitted to his care. Nothing con] ibe more im
| posing than the movement of that grand column
to the assault. That Guard had never vet re
| coiled before a human foe, and the allied forces
| beheld with awe its firm and terrible advance to
] the final charge. For a moment the batteries
stopped playing, and the firing ceased along the
British lines- Without the beating of a drum
or the blast of a bugle, to cheer their steady
courage, they moved in dead silence over the*
plain. The next moment the artillery opened,
and the head of that gallant column seemed to
sink into the eai th. Ran k after rank went down,
yet they neither stopped nor faltered. Dissolv
ing squadrons, and whole columns disappearing
one after another in the destructive fire, affected
not their steady courage. The column closed
up as before, and each treading over inis fallen
comrade, pressed firmly rn. The horse which
Ney rode fell under him, and he had scarcely
mounted another before it also sunk to the earth.
Again and again did (hat unflinching man feel
his steed sink down, till five had been shot under
him. Then, wilh his uniform riddled with bul
lets, and his face singed and blackened with
powder, he inarched on foot, with drawn sabre,
at the head of his column. In vain did the ar
tillery hurl its storm of fire and lead into that
living mass. Up to the very muzzles they
pressed, and driving the artillerymen from their
own pieces, pushed on through the English lines.
But sh? sudden firing of that hitherto unseen rank
into their very laces, pouring a sheet 0 f flame
into their bosoms, was too much for human
courage. They reeled, shook, turned and fled.
Ney was borne back in the refluent tide, and
hurried over the field. But for the crowd of fu
gitives that forced him back, he would have
stood alone and fallen in his footsteps. As it
was, disdaining to fly, though the whole army
was flying, he formed his men into two immense
squares, and endeavored to stemihe terrific tide,
aud would have done so had il not been lor the =
fifty thousand fresh Prussians that pressed on
his exhausted ranks. For a long lime they
stood and let the artillery plough through them.
But the lateof Napoleon was written, and though
we believe Ney did what no other man in Eu- <
rope could have done, the decree could not be 1
| reversed. The star that had blazed so balefully |
over the world went down in blood, and the <
| “bravest of the brave” had fought his fast bat
i tie. It was worthy of his great name, and the ;
charge of the Old Guard at Waterloo with him ]
at their head will be pointed to by the remotest
generations with a shudder.
We now come to the expiation of his treason
by a public execution. The allies, after they
assembled in Paris, demanded some victims to
appease their anger. Many were selected, but
better counsel prevailed, and they were saved,
! Ney was a prominent example ; he had routed
| their armies and 100 nearly wrested their crowns ’
! Irom them at Waterloo to be forgiven. Though
| no more guilty than Marshal Soult, and many
others, it was impossible to save him. It was (
intended at first to try him by martial law, but {
the Marshals of France refused to try so brave,
generous and heroic a warrior. By a royal or- 1
dinance, the Chamber of Peers was directed to i
try him. Scorning to take advantage of any ,
technicalities of law, he was speedily found
guilty and condemned to death, by a majority ‘
of a hundred and fifty-two. Seventeen only 1
were found to vote in his favor. That he was j
guilty of treason, in the letter of the charge,
was evident, but not to that extent which de- ;
manded his death. No man had done more for <
France than he, or loved her honor and glory ]
with a higher affection ; and his ignominious
death is a lasting disgrace to the French nation, 1
Justice was the excuse , not the ground of his \
condemnation. To have carried out the prin
ciple on which his sentence was based, W' uld ,
! have ended in a public massacre. NcyandLa- '
bedoyere were the only victims offert4Pip to ap- *
pease an unjust haired. Wellington should |
have interfered to save so gallant an enemy at ,
the hazard of his own lile.
Ney v:as publicly shot by Frenchmen.
His last moments did not disgrace his life, (
He was called from his bed to hear his sentence |
read. As the preamble went on enumerating
his many titles, he hastily broke in—“ Why 1
cannot you simply call me Michael Ney?— -
now a French soldier, and soon a heap ofdust.” ■
The last interview with his wife and children
shook his stern heart more than all the battles ;
he had passed through, or his approaching <
death. This over, he resumed his wonted calm- ,
ness. In reply to one of his sentinels, who
said “ Marshal, you should now thinkof death,”
he replied, “Do you suppose any one should
teach me to die ?” But recollecting himself, he 1
added in a milder tone, “Comrade, you are <
right; send for the Curate of St. Sulpice ; 1 will ,
die as becomes a Christian !”
The place is still shown in the gardens of the '
Luxembourg, where he was executed. Ashe
alighted from the coach, he advanced towards 1
the file of soldiers drawn up as executioners,
with the same calm mien he was wont to exhi
bit on the field of battle. An officer, stepping
*' forward to bandage his eyes, he stopped him
with the proud interrogation—“Areyouigno
rant that for twenty five years I have been ac
customed to face both ball and bullets?” He
then took off his hat, and with his eagle eye—
now subdued and solemn—turned towards hea
ven, said with the same calm and decided voice
that had turned the tide of so many battles, 11 I
declare before God and man, that I have never
betrayed mv country ; may my death render her
happy!— Vive la France I" He then turned to
the soldiers, and gazing on them a moment,
struck one hand upon his heart, and said—“ My
comrades, fire on me!” Ten balls entered him,
and he fell dead. Says C 1. Napier, in speak
ing of his death, “ thus, he who had foughtjZue
hundred battles for France—not one against hei
—was shot as a traitor.”
His lather, who loved him tenderly as the son
of his pride and the glory of his name, was
never told of his ignominious death. He
at this time eighty-eight years of age, and lived
to be a hundred years old. He saw by the
mourning weeds on his family, that some ca
i tastrophe had happened, and his lather’s hear
told but too well where the bolt had struck ; but
1 he made no inquiries, and though he lived
twelve years alter, never mentioned his s m’s
1 name, and was never told of his late. He knew
■ he was dead, but he asked not how or where h
■ died.
The great fault in Ney’s character was ind >-
• lence. Unless his energies w r ere summoned
i from their repose by some pressing danger, ht
• was inclined to inactivity. Yet this tendency,
which has so often been severely censured, is
; almost necessarily associated with the prodi
• gious power and resolution he possessed. The
r Lion is not easily roused, and strength is al
i ways immobile till there is a call equal to its
i capacity. The heavy English squares can
; never be converted into light troops without Jos
i ing their invincible tenacity. Bonaparte pos
- sessed in an exliaordinary degree the strange
f combination ot high nervous excitement—con
? slant activity and headlong impetuosity--with
• unconquerable endurance, steady courage anti
1 clear and comprehensive judgment. In this
• hewasunlike almost any other man in history,
j Ney had not this combination, and we would
■ like to have those who criticise his character,
. point to one besides Napoleon, that has.
- Ney was also plain and direct even to blunt
ness, and otten offended his friends by the free
, dom with which he spoke of their errors. He
- never lost sight of his low origin, and was never
t ashanjed of it. To sorpe young officers hoast
' ing of their rank, titles, etc., he said—“ Gentle
t men, I was less fortunate than you. I got no
- thing from ray family, and I esteemed myself
> rich at xMetz, when I had two loaves of bread
[ on my table.” Simple and austere in his habits,
he reminds one of an old Greek or Roman hero,
! The vacillation of feeling which caused him to
t commit the great error of his life, adds to our
- sympathy for him, while it injures the perfection
i of his character. It led him to be a humane
’ soldier, and when second in command frequent
i | ly to disobey orders for the execution of crimi
• nals. EJewasakind yet fearless comma nder,
; an untiring yet skilful leader, and a warnvheart-
I ed and noble man.
We have said nothing of the work from
- which we have taken some of the minor inci
i dents of his life, for we have never before seen
• so poor a hook made from such excellent mate
i rials. Next to Bonaparte, Marshal Ney fur
> nishes the best character for a memoir, of any
> modern general. His life is full of adventure,
i and characterized throughout by great actions,
i Ytt his friends, in compiling these memoirs,
r have followed no law, but chronological order.
>* All his papers and letters, both those written by
, himself and those received from others, seem to
i have been arranged according to their dates,
, and printed in a volume form. There is no
grouping and no unity, and the reader stumbles
: on amid a mass of ill-arranged matter, wonder
! ing how human ingenuity cquld produce so stu
[ pid a book, from such aoundant and interest
ing materials. There is not a single battle de
i scribed in it with even third rate ability, while
with all the heterogeneous mass gathered toge
ther, the work is still incomplete. The life of
Marshal Ney is yet to be written.
Increase or Travel to Europe.—ln no one
; year has the prospects of travelling to Europe
opened so favorably as in the present. The
steamer Great Western, packets Liverpool, Sid
dons. Argo, Si!vie de Grasse, &c., have sailed
within the last four weeks crowded to the ut
most with cabin passengers. All the packed
to sail in May, the splendid Yorkshire, the mag
nificent Queen of the West, the fine Stephen
Whitney, and popular Sheridan, are rapidly
filling up. The Stephen Wnilney, we believe,
is full; the Sheridan neatly so; and the swift
Yorkshire, to sail on the 16th, and the stately
Queen, to leave ontheQlst proximo, have more
than half their berths engaged, Americans
will, this year, spread over Europe in great num
bers. —.V. Y, Herald. •
1 ~ 7~
Chronicle ano Sentinel.
A U G U ST A.
SAT U lIP A Y MORNING. MAY T.
Agency.—Mr V. B Palmer is authorised to act as
our agentfor al! business connected with this office in
the cit es of New York, Philadelphia. Boston and Bal
timore. His office in New York is 160 Nassau-street;
Philadelphia, 59 Pine street ; Baltimore,!?. E corner
of Baltimore and Cal vert-streets; Boston, !6sslate-st.
Messrs. Mason A Tuttle, of New-Vork, are also the
agents of the Chronicle and Sentinel in the city of
New-Vork.
Or We had no Mail last night north of
Charleston.
The Whigs of the Second Congressional
District of Alabama have nominated the Hon.
Henry W. Hilliare, for Congress. The dis
trict is al present represented by Mr. Belser.
i
Manufactures in Columbus.— The Enquirer
of Wednesday says: “ We are happy to state,
that in consequence of a special invitation ex
tended to Col. Farrish Carter, of Scottsboro’,
near Milledgeville, by Maj. John H. Howard,
Col. Carter visited this city last week, and after
a thorough examination made a purchase of a
half interest for himself and others. We are
further advised that a Dr. Beard, of Ala., has
also purchased a large interest. We hear of
others now negotiating; and that our city is to
be a manufacturing city is now beyond all dis
putation, Those in interest will push forward
their works wilh vigor. They have now about
1200 spindles at work—very soon they will have
3500, They will then proceed without delay, to
erect additional buildings, and in less than
twelve months they will have from ten to fif
teen thousand in successful operation. We
have not space to say more to-day. On some
other occasion, we shall have pleasure in laying
before the country some useful and authentic
information in relation to the prospect before us
—at present, we shall content ourselves by say
ing, that it is every way flattering, and that we
are greatly indebted to the energy and forecast
ofMaj. John H. Howard for the favorable cir
cumstances around us.”
Terrible Hail Storm.-— The Watchman of
the Ist inst., published at Decatur, DsKalbCo.,
Geo., says: The injury done by the late hail
storm in this county has scarcely yet been as
certained. In some portions of the county, it
fell in lumps to the size of large goose eggs;
breaking out glass, beating the corn, cotton. &c.
literally into the earth, stripping the trees of
their fruit and leaves, and in some places the
ravines, at the base of steep hills, were covered
to the depth of four feet. In a word, Dt-Kalh
has not witnessed in a long time so large and
destructive a hail storm.
The Kanawha (Va.) Republican says
that a new stream of gas has been struck by the
the salt manutacturers there, which is very
powerful, forcing up a column to the height of
one hundred feel above the ground. It adds that
there is gas enough in one ot these currents to
light all the cities in the Union. One of them
took fire a few days since, and did considerable
damage before it could be subdued.
“Hail Columbia.” —Mr. John Wilson,in an
address to some young ladies assembled near
Baltimore ala May celebration, thus speaks of
the origin of this popular ballad :
“ Hail Columbia” stands at the head ol our
patriotic songs, and is somewhat remarkable in
its origin. About fitly years ago, Mr. Fox, a
young vocalist ot fine talents in the line of his
orotession, was desirous to bring out something
new on his benefit night, being then pet forming
in Philadelphia, He applied accordingly, to the
late Judge Hopkinson, to write him a song for
the occasion ; but the Judge’s numerous engage
ments prevented him !rom entering on the task
until the very morning of the benefit.
W hen Fox called and found the matter thus,
he was almost distracted. Mrs. Hopkinson,
pitying his situation, took her seat at the piano,
and beckoning to her husband, he took up his
pen, struck off the first verse, which his lady
played to its present air. Fox, almost frantic
with joy, ran for Mr. Kemgle, the composer,
who set it to music. The song was finished ofl
hand —and sung from the manuscript the same
night with rapturous applause. Fox made a for
tune by it; nothing was heard that whole sea
son, but Hail Columbia.
Good Fortune.— Mr, Delavan, the proprie
tor of the Delavan House, Albany, has made a
successful hit in boring for water. He is build
ing a magnificent hotel five stories high, which
he supplied with pipes, in the expectation ol
getting water from the city "water works. He
was disappoint:*.! in this source, and commenc
ed boring for water, in which operation he was
so fortunate as to hit a stratum of coarse sand,
from which gushed a stream of pure soft water
affording about 20,000 gallons per day, which,
by appropriate apparatus, is distributed to every
part of the house.
An Ancient Egg. — We have been present
ed, by a friend in New Bedford, wilh an egg, ol
which the following inscription, which is borne
upon it, gives the history: “ Presented by Capt.
R. 11. Crocker of New Bedford, Mass., April,
1845, This is the egg of a penguirf* taken from
the island of Fchaboe, in December, 1844, fifty
eight feet below the surface of guano; and allow
ing the accumulation to be one eight of an inch
per annum, )the island being halfa mile long,
and a quarter ol a mile wide,) it must be 6408
years old.” —Boston Atlas.
Pauperism, —The Secretary of State in New
York, reports that according to the county re
turns which have reached him, there were in
1842, 26,114 regular paupers in the State; that
of these, 6,285 became paupers through intem
perance; 4,406 from sickness; 6,716 from des
titution, misfortune, &c. The pauper tax of
the Slate is now 5600,00 d. Os the whole num
ber returned, 14.435 were natives ot the United
States, 7,279 of Ireland, 1,572 of England, 751
of Germany. J 93 ot Scotland, 275 of France, and
510 colored persons.
Earthquakes in Africa. —A letter from Mascara
states that on the 14th ult., at Calaa, the earth
having opened in several places, 32 houses fell
down, and several persons lost their lives. A
similar disaster occurred atthe village of Mesu
rata, which was entirely destroyed, but there no
lives were lost. The fissures in the earth were
preceded by a rumbling noise like that of an
earthquake.
Dressing Wounds and Ulcers.— Dr. Lan
gier’s new method consists in applying on the
surface o; the wound a solution of gum
arabic, and on it a bit of goldbeater’s skin ; thus
dressed, a wound an inch in diameter was re
duced in the space of eight days to one-third or
one-sixth of an inch in extent. Cicatrisation
took ffiace so rapidly that the granulations,
covered with a thick epidermis, were as nume
rous and visible as before, but could be touched
without causing pain. A wound produced by
amputation of the breast highly inflamed about
four and a half inches in length, and one and a
half in breadth, under this treatment healed
rapidly, and purulent secretion did not take
place. He proposes applying this method to a
wound left by amputation of the thigh.— Medi
cal Times.
Corn-Stalk Sugar.
To Cel. A G. Summer, Editor South Carolinian :
Dear Sir—When 1 saw you last, you asked
me lor some directions lor cultivating Corn
stalks and making Sugar. I transcribe you an
article, containing much useful information on
the subject, from the Saturday Courier, publish
ed in Philadelphia. I now take pleasure in
complying with my promise, to lurnish you with
my own experience.
DIRECTIONS FOR CULTIVATING THE CORN
STALKS, AND MAKING SUGAR.
“ In various portions of the country, the cul
tivation ol Corn for the manulacture of Sugar,
continues to excite attention. The public are
seeking information upon the subject, as the dis
covery that Sugar can be made from the stalks
of Com, is of recent date. We take pleasure
in presenting our readers any facts that may be
of importance, upon the subject. Dr. Naudain,
ol Delaware, who has had opportunities to gath
er knowledge upon the various experiments that
have been made, presents some views which will
not fail to be regarded with interest.
“ With regard to the culture, it is stated that
Corn should be planted as Broom-corn is com
monly planted, very close in the row, probably
a stalk every three or four inches. Ihe tillage
will be the same as lor Broom-corn. When the
young ears beiiin to appear, it is necessary to
pluck them off carefully, and to repeat the gath
ering as often as necessary, so as to prevent the
formation of any grain. Because, if grain be
allowed to form, it takes all the Sugar from the
stalk. About the lime the corn begins to har
den, the making of Sugar should be begun.
“ It is not necessary to say anything about a
proper mill to crush the stalks and separate the
juice, because mills of the cheapest kinds only
should be employed now, until the business
would fully warrant an expensive outlay. It
would probably be found that the common cider
mill, with plain cylindrical nuts, would be quite
sufficient tor the farmer who would raise a lourth
or halt an acre of Corn for Sugar, for his fami
ly, and this quantity would be quite sufficient
for satisfactory experiment;
“ When the juice is separated from the stalk,
about a tablespoon full of whitewash, made of
the best quick lime, and about the consistence of
thick cream, should be added to each gallon of
the juice, and then the boiling should commence.
The scum that rises should be carefully re
moved; and the juice, if this process has been
properly conducted, will be quite clear, nearly
colorless. Then commences the process of
evaporation; and when the juice has boiled
down in about the proportion ot eight gallons to
’ one, the boiling will be completed, and it may
‘ be poured out into a shallow, light wooden box
to grain.
“ It has been ascertained, although as yet the
reason is not known, that il the juice be boiled
in a deep vessel, like the common cooking ves
sel. Sugar will seldom be obtained; while, if it
r be done in a shallow vessel, so that the juice at
the commencement of the boiling shall not be
more than three to five inches deep, Sugar would
be obtained without difficulty. It has been as
certained, also, that the Sugar from Corn will
not grain so readily as that Irom the Sugar
cane; and in some instances, it has remained
more than a week after the boiling, before the
. Sugar was formed, and yet excellent Sugar was
made.
; “ It should be particularly remembered, that
the juice should be boiled as soon as separated
{ from the stalk. It becomes acid very soon, and
no Sugar can be made if the juice be allowed to
1 stand two or three hours before it is boiled. The
> juice will even spoil in the stalk before it is
i ground, il the stalks be cut off a few hours be
* fore grinding, it is necessary, then, that every
part of the process should be done with the
greatest despatch. The stalks should be brought
to the mill as soon as cut, and ground imraedi
i ately. The vessel for boiling ought to be pro
r perly filled in two hours grinding, and the pro
cess of boiling down should immediately com
f mence, and be continued until completed.
“ Excellent Syrup, superior to the best Mo
r lasses, will be obtained hv observing the above
directions, and boiling five gallons of juice to
t one gallon.
, “ The juice of the Corn-stalk is very rich in
, Sugar, when cultivated in the manner sugsest
'r ei. Tested by Beaume’s Sacharometer, the in
l strument used to measure the strength of syrups,
p the juice ot the Corn-stalk weighs 10 to 10J de
grees, which is about the weight of the best
. cane in the West Indies, and is richer than the
juice of the cane in Louisiana, which is seldom
heavier than 8£ degrees.
“One gallon of juice will produce nearly
’ pounds of Sugar; and one acre of good Corn
g will yield, if carefully expressed, from 700 to
' 1000 gallons of juice.”
I have but little information to add to the above
' article. JVI y kettle holds eighty gallons, though
£ a sixty gallon kettle might answer the purpose,
e but probably it would be best to procure a shal
low vessel, as above recommended tor making
Sugar. I made three boilings before I made
good syrup, not boiling down sufficiently the two
first boilings. Prepare yourself with a skim
mer, a gourd with a long handle will do to re
move the scum when it begins to boil, and lor a
a short lime after. Leave off skimming when
you see the dark glutinous scum is pretty well
removed. Also, prepare yourselt with an iron
ladle, with an iion handle attached to it about
three feet long, (which any blacksmith can
* make,) perforated with small holes. Whoever
5 attends the kettle must use this ladle, in raising
* the juice with it, when likely to boil over. When
the juice boils down considerably, you will see
I* the bubbles begin to show and burst on the sur
’ face. When you see a few such bubbles, if it
be your object to make syrup, I think then is
. the time to take it out; but if you wish the syrup
f to granulate, boil till the bubbles become gene-.
> ral on the surtacc. You can also lest it, b} r dip
ping oat some syrup with a tablespoon* and
whert it cools sufficiently, by taking il between
j your thumb and lore finger; and if it inclines,
to rope, it is syrup, but it it will rope about an
inch it will granulate. You can boil rapidly at
1 the commencement while the juice is thin, but
as it thickens boil with more moderation. If
3 you boil «oo rapidly after the bubbles begin ta
burst on surface, you will certainly burn it*
. and it will give it a candy taste. If you cannot
r I get lime conveniently, lye will answer the pnr
. ! pose. 1 should say, put in about a hall a pint
i; of lye to every fifteen gallons ot juice. Throw
t | in the lye or whitewash made from the lime, im
. J mediately after you quit removing the glutinous
- scum. When you have boiled to satisfy your
-1 self, take out the syrup and put it in some'shal
. low vessel to cool. lam inclined to think, when
I | the juice has been extracted from the stalks by a
i wood mill, that if they were chopped up and
1 boiled in water, good vinegar could be made
from them. I advise you to build a wood mill.
The expense is trifling. You can get a me
* chanic in my neighborhood, who will build you
i one for twenty dollars, by furnishing him two
1 assistant hands; otherwise, send over a common
L mechanic, and alter looking at mine, which is a
. good model, you can have one made at home.
3 1 advise you to plant your Corn for experiment
, in bottom land (il not rich, make it rich by im
-3 provement) in drills, from four to six inches to
the drill, and the drills from thirty to thirty-six
inches wide. Now, sir, I close my crude direc
tions, by wishing that you may win in this race,
a and that we mav all win, and that another arti
' cle of general consumption may be added to the
s products of South Carolina.
Yours respectfully, James S. Pope..
r Island Ford, Edgefield Dist., S. C., Feb. 1845.
i
, Jassimine.—The Jassimine is celetpafecf more
- for the delicacy of its odor and flowers, than for
1 the pretty love legend connected with its Euro
r pean history. The custom which prevailed in
I some countries, of brides wearing Jassimine
i flowers in their hair, is said to have arisen from .
1 the following circumstance: a grand duke ot
; Tuscany had, in 1699, a plant of the delicious