The Great Events by Famous Historians, Volume 17

by Unknown

DISUNION IN AMERICA

Yet each and all of these events, important as they were, grew little in men's minds as the year 1860 drew to its close and revealed in America the coming of a mightier quarrel. The slavery question, once supposed to have been settled by the Missouri Compromise, had proved itself incapable of such settlement. The forward march of democracy had in fact made slavery an anachronism, outgrown and impossible. Even the Emperor of Russia saw that, and in 1861 liberated all the serfs within his territories. [Footnote: See Emancipation of Russian Serfs.] In the United States alone among the great Powers of the world, did slavery persist.

In 1854 a new political party, calling itself the Republican, was formed, having for its main principle opposition to the extension of slavery into the Territories. [Footnote: See The Rise of the Republican Party.] Other issues might and did complicate the central question, but it was the slavery issue that inflamed men's minds, made Kansas a "battle-ground" between settlers from North and South, and sent John Brown upon his reckless raid. Watching the increasing success of the Republicans, Southern leaders began to reassert the doctrine of the right of secession. They said openly that if a Republican president were elected they would leave the Union.

And in 1860 a Republican president was elected. Was the long-predicted, and to most of Europe eagerly desired, disruption of the United States at hand? Was the break to be accomplished peacefully or in flame and wrath? The fading year of 1860 left the advancing world of democracy in panic over the danger to what had been its most successful stronghold.

[For the next section of this general survey, see volume XVIII.]

(1844) INVENTION OF THE TELEGRAPH, Alonzo B. Cornell

After the experiments of Franklin that did so much to advance the study of electrical phenomena, and to suggest practical applications of electricity, physicists in all countries occupied themselves with investigations along lines marked out by the American philosopher. In 1749 Franklin devised the lightning-rod. But notwithstanding the labors of many investigators, it was more than fifty years before any other practical discovery or invention in electricity was brought into general use. The first great achievement of the kind was Morse's improvement of the electric telegraph. That Morse's fellow-countryman, Joseph Henry, chiefly prepared the way for that triumph, the following account, with just emphasis, demonstrates.

Among the European scientists and inventors to whom both Henry and Morse were indebted was the French electrician, André Marie Ampère (1775-1836), whose name (ampère) has been given to the practical unit of electric-current strength. Ampère was the first and is the most famous investigator in electrodynamics. He also invented a telegraphic arrangement in which he used the magnetic needle and coil and the galvanic battery. Others, in the latter part of the eighteenth century and the earlier years of the nineteenth, devised similar arrangements. But no strictly electromagnetic apparatus for telegraphic signalling was put to successful use until 1836, when, in England, Charles Wheatstone, who is commonly regarded as the first inventor of practical electric telegraphy, constructed an apparatus whereby thirty signals were transmitted through nearly four miles of wire. From 1837 to 1843 he had as an associate William Fothergill Cooke, and the two worked together to develop the electric telegraph. They afterward quarrelled over their respective claims to credit, but in 1838-1841 telegraph lines secured by their patents were set up on the Great Western and two other English railways.

Meanwhile other inventors were still working for the same results, in many parts of the world, and it has been significantly said that "the electric telegraph had, properly speaking, no inventor; it grew up little by little." Nevertheless with respect to the distinctive character of Morse's improvements, and his title to a peculiar place among those through whose labors the electric telegraph "grew," there can be no question.

Alonzo B. Cornell, son of the founder of Cornell University, at one time Governor of New York, was intimately connected with electrical and telegraphic affairs for many years; therefore on the subject here presented he speaks with professional authority. His father was the first builder of the Morse telegraphs.

* * * * *

During the early years of the nineteenth century but slight advance was made in the development of electrical science, although there were many persons both here and abroad engaged in experimental work, and there was considerable increase of literature bearing upon the subject. It was reserved for another illustrious American to accomplish the next important and decisive step in the pathway of progress. In 1828 Joseph Henry, then professor of physics at the Albany Academy, afterward a professor at Princeton, and subsequently for many years secretary of the Smithsonian Institution at Washington, made the highly important discovery that by winding a plain iron core with many layers of insulated wire, through which the electric current was passed, he could at pleasure charge and discharge the iron core with magnetic power. Thus Henry produced the electromagnet which was the beginning of the mastery by man of the subtle fluid. He also discovered that the intensity and power of the electric current were materially augmented by increasing the number of the series of battery plates without increasing the quantity of metal used in their construction.

These discoveries of Henry were, beyond all question, the most important in real and intrinsic value ever made in the progress of electric science, as they form the solid basis upon which all subsequent inventors have been enabled to accomplish successful results in their various fields of endeavor. It is conceded by all familiar with the history of electrical progress that the name of Professor Joseph Henry is to be honored and cherished as one of the very foremost of scientific discoverers of any age or country, and it must remain a cause of sincere and permanent regret that of all the fabulous wealth that has resulted from the advancement of electrical science, this modest and unselfish inventor should have passed hence without ever having realized any substantial reward for his great work. Not only so, but he was never awarded the appropriate acknowledgment to which he was so eminently entitled for the inestimable benefits his discoveries conferred upon his countrymen and upon the world at large.

The possibility of utilizing Professor Henry's electromagnet for the purpose of transmitting intelligence to a distant point was conceived by still another American, Professor Samuel Finley Breese Morse, of New York, [Footnote: He was born in Charlestown, Massachusetts, April 27, 1791.—ED.] during his passage on board the packet-ship Sully, from Havre to New York, in the winter of 1832. Incidental discussions between himself and Doctor Jackson, a fellow-passenger, in reference to recent electrical improvements on both sides of the Atlantic, led Morse to the conclusion that intelligence might be instantaneously transmitted over a metallic circuit to a distant point, and he thereupon determined to devote himself to the solution of the problem involved. The following day he exhibited a rough sketch of a plan for recording electric impulses necessary to convey and express intelligence. He pursued the subject with great devotion during the remainder of the voyage, and after arrival in New York began the construction of the necessary apparatus to accomplish his purpose.

Morse was by profession a portrait painter of more than ordinary merit, and was obliged to continue his artistic labors for a livelihood. He was a graduate of Yale College, where his attention had first been attracted to electrical experiments. He was thus, in a measure, prepared for carrying forward the important work he had undertaken, and pursued his labors with great assiduity. Devoting every spare moment to the pursuit of his object, which was attained but slowly by reason of his lack of mechanical skill and ingenuity, not until 1837 had he so far succeeded in his efforts as to be prepared to make application for letters-patent to enable him to secure and protect his rights of invention in the electromagnetic telegraph.

In explanation of the slow progress of his experimental work, Professor Morse, in writing to a friend, said: "Up to the autumn of 1837 my telegraphic apparatus existed in so rude a form that I felt reluctance to have it seen. My means were very limited, so limited as to preclude the possibility of constructing an apparatus of such mechanical finish as to warrant my success in venturing upon its public exhibition. I had no wish to expose to ridicule the representative of so many hours of laborious thought. Prior to the summer of 1837 I depended upon my pencil for subsistence. Indeed, so straitened were my circumstances that in order to save time to carry out my invention and to economize my scanty means I had for months lodged and eaten in my studio, procuring food in small quantities from some grocery, and preparing it myself. To conceal from my friends the stinted manner in which I lived, I was in the habit of bringing food to my room in the evenings; and this was my mode of life for many years."

After the continuance of this heroic struggle for more than five years, Morse found himself compelled to seek the aid of more accomplished mechanical skill than he possessed, to perfect his apparatus, and was obliged to surrender a quarter interest in his invention in order to obtain pecuniary aid for this purpose.

Having thus succeeded in obtaining, at such serious sacrifice, the requisite financial assistance to enable him to perfect the mechanism necessary to demonstrate his invention, Professor Morse lost no time in completing his apparatus and presenting it for public inspection. On January 6, 1838, he first operated his system successfully, over a wire three miles long, in the presence of a number of personal friends, at Morristown, New Jersey. In the following month he made a similar exhibition before the faculty of the New York University, which was an occasion of much interest among the scientists of the metropolis.

Shortly thereafter the apparatus was taken to Philadelphia and exhibited at the Franklin Institute, where he received the highest commendation from the committee of science and arts, with a strong expression in favor of government aid for the purpose of demonstrating the practical usefulness of the system.

From Philadelphia, Morse removed his apparatus to Washington, where he was permitted to demonstrate its operation before President Van Buren and his Cabinet. Foreign ministers and members of both Houses of Congress, as well, also, as prominent citizens, were invited to attend the exhibition, and manifested much interest in the novelty of the invention. A bill was introduced in Congress making an appropriation of thirty thousand dollars for the purpose of providing for the erection of an experimental line of telegraph between Washington and Baltimore, to illustrate, by practical use, its general utility. The bill was in good time favorably reported from the committee on commerce, but made no further progress in that Congress. Similar bills were subsequently introduced and diligently supported in each succeeding Congress, but it was not until the very closing hour of the expiring session of 1843 that the necessary enactment was effected and the appropriation secured.

The plan of construction devised by Professor Morse for the experimental line of telegraph to be erected between Washington and Baltimore, under the Congressional appropriation, provided for placing insulated wires in a lead pipe underground. This was to be accomplished by the use of a specially devised plough of peculiar construction, to be drawn by a powerful team, by which means the pipe containing the electric conductors was to be automatically deposited in the earth. This apparatus was entirely successful in operation, and the pipe was thus buried to the complete satisfaction of all concerned, at a cost very much lower than the work could have been accomplished in any other manner. Two wires were to be used to form a complete metallic circuit, for at that time it was not known, as was shortly afterward discovered, that the earth could be used to form one-half of the circuit. For purposes of insulation the wires were neatly covered with cotton-yarn and then saturated in a bath of hot gum-shellac, but this treatment proved defective in insulating properties, for when ten miles of line had been completed the wires were found to be wholly useless for electric conduction.

No mode had been devised for the treatment of india-rubber to make it available for purposes of insulation, and gutta-percha was wholly unknown as an article of use or commerce in this country. Twenty-three thousand dollars of the Government appropriation had been expended, and the work thus far accomplished was an acknowledged failure. Only seven thousand dollars of the available fund remained unexpended, and this was regarded as inadequate to complete the undertaking under any other plan. The friends of the enterprise were in despair, and for some time saw no other alternative than to apply to Congress for an additional appropriation. This, however, was regarded as almost hopeless, and the difficulty of the situation was extremely embarrassing.

An amusing incident was related of the means used to keep from public knowledge the desperate situation. Professor Morse finally visited the scene of activity where the pipe-laying was proceeding, and, calling the superintendent aside, confided to him the fact that the work must be stopped without the newspapers finding out the true reason of its suspension. The quick-witted superintendent was equal to the occasion, and, starting the ponderous machine, soon managed to run foul of a protruding rock and break the plough. The newspapers published sensational accounts of the accident and announced that it would require several weeks to repair damages. Thus the real trouble was kept from the public until new plans could be determined upon.

After long and careful consideration, Professor Morse very reluctantly decided to erect the wires on poles. This plan was, at first, considered wholly objectionable, under the apprehension that the structure would be disturbed by evil-minded persons. It had, however, become manifest that this was the only mode of construction that could be accomplished within the remainder of the appropriation, and, finally, upon ascertaining that pole lines had already been adopted in England, it was determined to proceed in this manner. The line was thus completed between Washington and Baltimore about May 1, 1844, and proved to be successful and in every way satisfactory in its operation.

Shortly after the completion of the line the National Democratic Convention, which nominated Polk and Dallas for President and Vice-President, assembled in Baltimore [May, 1844]. Reports of the convention proceedings were promptly telegraphed to the capital city, where the telegraph office was thronged with Members of Congress interested in the news. These reports created an immense sensation in Washington and speedily removed all doubts as to the practical success of the new system of communication. A despatch from the Honorable Silas Wright, then United States Senator from New York, refusing to accept the nomination for Vice-President, was read in the National Convention and produced an extraordinary interest from the fact that very few of the delegates had ever heard of the telegraph, and it required much explanation to satisfy them of the genuineness of the alleged communication.

Having thus established beyond all reasonable question the practical utility of the telegraph as a superior means of public and private communication, Professor Morse and his associates offered their patents to the United States Government for the very moderate price of one hundred thousand dollars, with a view of having the system adopted for general use in connection with the postal establishment. This proposition was referred to the Postmaster-General for consideration and report. After due deliberation that officer reported that "Although the invention is an agent vastly superior to any other ever devised by the genius of man, yet the operation between Washington and Baltimore has not satisfied me that, under any rate of postage that can be adopted, its revenues can be made to cover its expenditures." Under the influence of this report Congress very naturally declined the offer of the patentees, and the telegraph was thereupon relegated to the domain of private enterprise. The result was that the patentees finally realized for their interests many times the amount of their offer to the Government.

During the autumn of 1844 short exhibition lines were erected in Boston and New York, for the purpose of familiarizing business men of those cities with the characteristics of the new invention, but they attracted little attention and the promoters had much cause of discouragement on account of public indifference. For the purpose of arousing more attention to the system, appeals were made to the public press for favorable notice, which were also generally declined. The proprietor of one of the most prominent and enterprising of the New York daily papers distinctly refused to encourage the establishment of telegraph lines, for the reason, as he freely acknowledged, that if the new method of transmitting intelligence were to come into general use his competitors could use it as well as himself, and he would therefore be deprived of his present advantage over them for procuring early news by the use of an expensive system of special despatch then maintained by his paper. Two years later he refused to join other papers in receiving the Governor's message by telegraph from Albany, and was so badly beaten by his rivals in this instance that his paper was thenceforward one of the most generous patrons of the telegraph.

Early in the year 1845 a corporate organization was effected for the extension of the telegraph from Baltimore to Philadelphia and New York, under the name of the Magnetic Telegraph Company, for which a special act of incorporation was obtained from the Legislature of the State of Maryland. Nearly all of the capital of this company was subscribed by Washington people. Baltimore and Philadelphia furnished only a few hundred dollars, while New York contributed nothing. Slow progress was made toward the construction of the line on account of the difficulty of obtaining the right of way either upon railways or highways, and it was not until January, 1846, that the line was completed to the west side of the Hudson River, which formed an impassable barrier to further progress for a considerable period.

No method of insulation had yet been devised that would permit the operation of an electric conductor under water, and it was doubted whether a wire could be maintained for a span sufficient to cross the river overhead. Finally however high masts were erected on the Palisades near Fort Lee, and on the heights at Fort Washington on the New York side, and a steel wire was suspended upon them. This plan was successful, except that occasionally the wire was broken by an extraordinary burden of sleet in the winter season. This method of crossing the lower Hudson was continued for more than ten years, when it was superseded by submarine cables.

During the year 1846 incorporated companies were formed, under which telegraph lines were extended from New York to Boston, Buffalo, and Pittsburg, and within the next three years nearly every important town in the United States and Canada, from St. Louis and New Orleans to Montreal and Halifax, was brought into telegraphic communication. Thus, after fifteen years of struggle with all the pains of poverty, often lacking even the common necessaries of life, Professor Morse and his faithful colaborers had the supreme satisfaction, in 1847, of knowing and realizing that the telegraph system had finally achieved, not only scientific success, for this had been proven years before, but that financial success, ample and complete, had come to pay them richly for all the dark days and wearisome years through which they had passed.

Once generally established, the telegraph won its way to popular appreciation very rapidly. It was in harmony with the spirit of the age, and it was not long before every town of any considerable importance regarded telegraphic facilities as an indispensable necessity. The small cost soon induced the construction of rival lines, regardless of the rights of the patentees, and within a very few years unwise competition began to bring many lines to a condition of bankruptcy. The weaker concerns soon passed through the sheriff's hands and found purchasers only at an extreme sacrifice, at the bidding of the more provident and conservative proprietors of competing lines. Instead of inducing a more prudent course, these disastrous results only served to feed the spirit of rivalry, and general insolvency seemed to threaten the permanent prosperity of the telegraph business, in consequence of the wild and reckless competition which appeared to be inherent in its nature.

This extremely unsatisfactory condition of telegraph rivalry drifted on from bad to worse until 1854, when, from dire necessity of self-preservation, a few of the more prudent and far-sighted proprietors of telegraph property were induced to combine their interests with some of their competitors and thus avoid the ruinous policy which had been so rapidly exhausting their vitality. Accordingly the principal telegraph lines in Ohio, Indiana, Michigan, and some of the neighboring States were brought into fraternal relations and formed the nucleus of the Western Union Telegraph Company.

The new policy soon brought prosperity in place of waste and improvidence. Profits were devoted to the purchase of additional lines, thus enlarging their domain and strengthening their position. Prosperity increased with rapid strides; and the beneficial effects of extirpating wasteful rivalry and building up a substantial system with superior facilities and provident management gave the new organization a dominating influence among the telegraph companies of America. The same general policy has been pursued to the present time [1894], and has resulted in the establishment of a prosperous corporation of magnificent proportions, carrying on a useful and beneficent business under a greater number of governmental jurisdictions, great and small, than any other corporate organization in existence.

For the development of the telegraph enterprise in America no thanks are due to the wealthy capitalists. As a rule they would not listen to suggestions of investing their money in what was contemptuously termed rotten poles and rusty wires. They wanted something more substantial and conservative as the basis of their investments. An early pioneer and builder of telegraph lines, whose name is now held in grateful memory for deeds of philanthropic beneficence visited the city of Chicago in 1847 to solicit subscriptions to the capital stock of a company then engaged in construction of the first line of telegraph between that place and the city of Buffalo. He presented a carefully prepared prospectus showing an estimated earning capacity of the projected line of one hundred dollars per day. The merits of the contemplated enterprise were freely canvassed at a meeting of bankers, at which one of the most prominent declared that any man who ever expected to see one hundred dollars per day paid for telegraphing west of Buffalo must be crazy and unworthy of belief. This oracular declaration prevailed, and the project was ignominiously rejected by the wise men of Chicago. Fortunately, citizens of smaller towns, like Ypsilanti, Kalamazoo, South Bend, Kenosha, and Racine, took a more sensible view of the proposed enterprise, and the line was built despite the contempt of Chicago capitalists. Now, however, the men of Chicago pay more than five thousand dollars a day for telegraphing at rates far lower than would have been thought possible in that early day.

The true spirit of enterprise, which has so grandly developed the resources of our imperial domain, has generally been found to prevail among people of modest means. Thus, nearly every dollar of capital contributed toward the establishment of telegraph lines in this country came from the offerings of people in very moderate circumstances. In this connection, therefore, it is extremely gratifying to state that very few enterprises of any kind have returned such generous recompense for the amount of capital invested as the telegraph and telephone lines in America. Considering the apparently temporary and short-lived character of the structures erected for these purposes, it seems difficult to comprehend the truth of this statement.

The method of telegraphic communication devised by Professor Morse has been continued in general use in this country, but instead of requiring separate wire for each circuit as formerly, six independent circuits are now operated simultaneously over a single wire by the use of the sextuplex apparatus.

(1846) REPEAL OF THE ENGLISH CORN LAWS, Justin McCarthy

After the repeal of the corn laws the tariff legislation of Great Britain was guided by a new policy, that of free trade, and it has been followed ever since. The reactionary tendencies of Continental Europe after the fall of Napoleon reached also to England, where they controlled the conduct of political affairs until Canning, in 1822, became Secretary for Foreign Affairs. His policy was liberal and did much in forming the public opinion that at length found voice in Catholic emancipation (1829), in the Reform Bill (1832), and in the abolition of slavery in the English colonies (1833). Then followed important amendments of the poor-laws, extension of local governmental powers in the towns, improvement of popular education, and other reforms.

Through all this gradual progress in liberal government and public amelioration, the need of another reform had been pointed out by some thinkers and statesmen, and at last the condition of the country favored the views of its advocates. The corn laws protected the English producers by imposing heavy duties on imported grain. At one time these duties practically prohibited such importation. McCarthy shows how the laws operated upon the people, and his story of the memorable agitation for their repeal and of the accomplishment of that object could not have been better told.

In 1815 the celebrated Corn Law was passed, which was itself moulded on the Corn Law of 1670. By the Act of 1815 wheat might be exported upon a payment of one shilling per quarter customs duty, but the importation of foreign grain was practically prohibited until the price of wheat in England had reached eighty shillings a quarter, that is to say, until a certain price had been secured for the grower of grain at the expense of all the consumers in this country. It was not permitted to Englishmen to obtain their supplies from any foreign land, unless on conditions that suited the English corn-grower's pocket.

We may perhaps make this principle a little more clear, if it be necessary, by illustrating its working on a small scale and within narrow limits. In a particular street in London, let us say, a law is passed declaring that no one must buy a loaf of bread out of that street, or even round the corner, until the price of bread has risen so high in the street itself as to secure to its two or three bakers a certain enormous scale of profit on their loaves. When the price of bread has been forced up so high as to pass this scale of profit, then it would be permissible for those who stood in need of bread to go round the corner and buy their loaves of the baker in the next street; but the moment that their continuing to do this caused the price of the baker's bread in their own street to fall below the prescribed limit, they must instantly take to buying bread within their own bounds and of their own bakers again. This is a fair illustration of the principle on which the corn laws were moulded. The Corn Law of 1815 was passed in order to enable the landowners and farmers to recover from the depression caused by the long era of foreign war. It was "rushed through" Parliament, if we may use an American expression; petitions of the most urgent nature poured in against it from all the commercial and manufacturing classes, and in vain. Popular disturbances broke out in many places. The poor everywhere saw the bread of their family threatened, saw the food of their children almost taken out of their mouths, and they naturally broke into wild extremes of anger. In London there were serious riots, and the houses of some of the most prominent supporters of the bill were attacked. The incendiary went to work in many parts of the country. At that time it was still the way in England, as it is now in Russia and other countries, for popular indignation to express itself in the frequent incendiary fire. At one place near London a riot lasted for two days and nights; the soldiers had to be called out to put it down, and five men were hanged for taking part in it.

After the passing of the Corn Law of 1815, and when it had worked for some time, there were sliding-scale acts introduced, which established a varying system of duty, so that when the price of home-grown grain rose above a certain figure, the duty on imported wheat was to sink in proportion. The principle of all these measures was the same. How, it may be asked, could any sane legislator adopt such measures? As well might it be asked, How can any civilized nation still, as some still do, believe in such a principle? The truth is that the principle is one which has a strong fascination for most persons, the charm of which it is difficult for any class in its turn wholly to shake off. The idea is that if our typical baker be paid more than the market price for a loaf, he will be able in turn to pay more to the butcher than the fair price for his beef; the butcher thus benefited will be enabled to deal on more liberal terms with the tailor; the tailor so favored by legislation will be able in his turn to order a better kind of beer from the publican and pay a higher price for it. Thus, by some extraordinary process, everybody pays too much for everything, and nevertheless all are enriched in turn. The absurdity of this is easily kept out of sight where the protective duties affect a number of varying and complicated interests, manufacturing, commercial, and productive.

In the United States, for example, where the manufacturers are benefited in one place and the producers are benefited in another, and where the country always produces food abundant to supply its own wants, men are not brought so directly face to face with the fallacy of the principle as they were in England at the time of the Anti-Corn Law League. In America "protection" affects manufacturers for the most part, and there is no such popular craving for cheap manufactures as to bring the protective principle into collision with the daily wants of the people. But in England, during the reign of the Corn Law, the food which the people put into their mouths was the article mainly taxed, and made cruelly costly by the working of protection.

Nevertheless, the country put up with this system down to the close of the year 1836. At that time there was a stagnation of trade and a general depression of business. Severe poverty prevailed in many districts. Inevitably, therefore, the question arose in the minds of most men, in distressed or depressed places, whether it could be a good thing for the country in general to have the price of bread kept high by factitious means when wages had sunk and work become scarce. An Anti-Corn-Law association was formed in London, It began pretentiously enough, but it brought about no result. London is not a place where popular agitation finds a fitting centre. In 1838, however, Bolton, in Lancashire, suffered from a serious commercial crisis. Three-fifths of its manufacturing activity became paralyzed at once. Many houses of business were actually closed and abandoned, and thousands of workmen were left without the means of life. Lancashire suddenly roused itself into the resolve to agitate against the corn laws, and Manchester became the headquarters of the movement which afterward accomplished so much.

The Anti-Corn-Law League was formed, and a Free-Trade Hall was built in Manchester on the scene of that disturbance which was called the "massacre of Peterloo." The leaders of the Anti-Corn-Law movement were Richard Cobden, John Bright, and Charles Villiers. Cobden was not a Manchester man. He was the son of a Sussex farmer. After the death of his father he was taken by his uncle and employed in his wholesale warehouse in the city of London. He afterward became a partner in a Manchester cotton-factory, and sometimes travelled on the commercial business of the establishment. He became what would then have been considered a great traveller, distinct, of course, from the class of explorers; that is, he made himself thoroughly familiar with most or all of the countries of Europe, with various parts of the East, and with the United States and Canada. He had had a fair, homely education, and he improved it wherever he went by experience, by observation, and by conversation with all manner of men. He became one of the most effective and persuasive popular speakers ever known in English agitation. He was not an orator in the highest sense. He had no imagination and little poetic feeling, nor did genuine passion ever inflame into fervor of declamation his quiet, argumentative style. But he had humor; he spoke simple, clear, strong English; he used no unnecessary words. He always made his meaning plain and intelligible, and he had an admirable faculty for illustrating every argument by something drawn from reading or from observation or from experience. He was, in fact, the very perfection of a common-sense talker, a man fit to deal with men by fair, straightforward argument, to expose complicated sophistries, and to make clear the most perplexed parts of an intricate question. He was exactly the man for that time, for that question, and for the persuasive and argumentative part of the great controversy which he had undertaken.

Cobden's chief companion in the struggle was John Bright, whose name has been completely identified with that of Cobden in the repeal of the Corn Laws. Bright was an orator of the highest order. He had all the qualifications that make a master of eloquence. His presence was commanding; his voice was singularly strong and clear, and had peculiar tones and shades in it which gave indescribable meaning to passages of anger, of pity, or of contempt. His manner was quiet, composed, serene. He indulged in little or no gesticulation, he had a rich gift of genuine Saxon humor. These two men, one belonging to the middle class of the North, one sprung from the yeomanry of Southern England, had as a colleague Charles Villiers, a man of high aristocratic family, of marked ability, and of indomitable loyalty to any cause he undertook. Villiers for some years represented the free-trade cause in Parliament, and Bright and Cobden did its work on the platform. Cobden first, and Bright after him, became members of the House of Commons, and they were further assisted there by Milner Gibson, a man of position and family, an effective debater, who had been at first a Conservative, but who passed over to the ranks of the Free Traders, and through them to the ranks of the Liberals or Radicals.

Every year Villiers brought on a motion in the House in favor of free trade. For a long time this motion was only one of the annual performances which, by an apparently inevitable necessity, have to prelude for many years the practical movement of any great parliamentary question. Villiers might have brought on his annual motion all his life, without getting much nearer to his object, if Manchester, Birmingham, Sheffield, Leeds, and other great northern towns had not taken the matter vigorously in hand; if Cobden and Bright had not stirred up the energies of the whole country, and brought clearly home to the mind of every man the plain fact that reason, argument, and arithmetic, as well as freedom and justice, were distinctly on their side.

The Anti-Corn-Law League showered pamphlets, tracts, letters, newspapers, all over the country. They sent lecturers into every town, preaching the same doctrine, and proving by scientific facts the justice of the cause they advocated. These lecturers were enjoined to avoid as much as possible any appeals to sentiment or to passion. The cause they had in hand was one which could best be served by the clear statement of rigorous facts, by the simple explanation of economical truths which no sophism could darken, and which no opposing eloquence could charm away. The Melbourne Ministry fell in 1841. It died of inanition: its force was spent. Sir Robert Peel came into office. Cobden, who then entered the House of Commons for the first time, seemed to have good hope that even Peel, strong Conservative though he was, might prove to be a man from whom the Free Traders could expect substantial assistance. Sir Robert Peel had, in fact, in those later years expressed again and again his conviction as to the general truth of the principles of free trade. "All agree," he said in 1842, "in the general rule that we should buy in the cheapest and sell in the dearest market." But he contended that while such was the general rule, yet various economical and social conditions made it necessary that there should be some distinct exceptions, and he regarded the corn laws and sugar duties as such exceptions. It may be mentioned, perhaps, that the corn laws had, in fact, been treated as a necessary exception by many of the leading exponents of the principles of free trade. Thus we have to notice the curious fact that while Sir Robert Peel's own party looked upon his accession to power as a certain guarantee against any concession to the Free Traders, the Free Traders themselves were, for the most part, convinced that their cause had better hope from him than from a Whig Ministry.

The Free Traders went on debating and dividing in the House, agitating and lecturing all over the country, for some years without any marked Parliamentary success following their endeavors. An immense and overwhelming majority always voted against them in the House of Commons. They were making progress, and very great progress, but it was not that kind of advance which had yet come to be decided by a Parliamentary vote. Probably a keen and experienced eye might have noted clearly enough the progress they were making. The Whig party were coming more and more round to the principles of free trade. Day after day some Whig leader was admitting that the theories of the past would not do for the present, and, as we have said, the Tory leader had himself gone so far as to admit the justice of the general principles of free trade. At one point the main difference between Sir Robert Peel, the leader of the House of Commons, and Lord John Russell, the leader of the opposition, seems to have been nothing more than this, that Peel still regarded grain as a necessary exception to the principle of free trade, and Lord John Russell was not clear that the time had come when it could be treated otherwise than as an exception.

An event, however, over which no parties and no leaders had any control, suddenly intervened to hasten the action and spur the convictions of the leaders on both sides, and especially of the Prime Minister. This was the great famine which broke out in Ireland in the autumn of 1845. The vast majority of the Irish people had long depended for their food on the potato alone. The summer of 1845 had been a long season of wet and cold and sunlessness. In the autumn the news went abroad that the whole potato crop of Ireland was in danger of destruction, if not already actually destroyed. Before attention had well been awakened to the crisis, it was officially announced that more than one-third of the entire potato crop had been swept away by the disease, and that it had not ceased its ravages, but, on the contrary, was spreading more and more every day.

The general impression of those who could form an opinion was that the whole of the crop must perish. The Anti-Corn-Law League cried out for the opening of the ports and the admission of grain and food from all places. Sir Robert Peel was decidedly in favor of such a course. The Duke of Wellington and Lord Stanley opposed the idea, and the proposition was given up. Only three members of the Cabinet supported Sir Robert Peel's proposals—Lord Aberdeen, Sir James Graham, Mr. Sidney Herbert. All the others objected, some because they opposed the principle of the measure, and were convinced that if the ports were once opened they would never be closed again, which indeed was probably Peel's own conviction; and others on the ground that no sufficient proof had yet been given that such a measure was necessary. Lord John Russell, almost immediately after, wrote a letter from Edinburgh to his constituents, the electors of the city of London, in which he declared that something must immediately be done, that it was "no longer worth while to contend for a fixed duty," and that an end must be put to the whole system of protection, as "the blight of commerce, the bane of agriculture, the source of bitter division among classes, the cause of penury, fever, and crime among the people." This letter produced a decisive effect on Peel. He saw that the Whigs were prepared to unite with the Anti-Corn-Law League in agitating for the total repeal of the corn laws, and he therefore made up his mind to recommend to the Cabinet an early meeting of Parliament, with the view to anticipate the agitation which he saw must succeed in the end, and to bring forward, as a Government measure, some scheme which should at least prepare the way for the speedy repeal of the corn laws.

A Cabinet council was held almost immediately after the publication of Lord John Russell's letter, and Peel recommended the summoning of Parliament in order to take instant measures to cope with the distress in Ireland, and also to introduce legislation distinctly intended to prepare the way for the repeal of the corn laws. Lord Stanley could not accept the proposition. The Duke of Wellington was himself of opinion that the corn laws ought to be maintained, but at the same time he declared that he considered good government for the country more important than corn laws or any other considerations, and that he was therefore ready to support Sir Robert Peel's Administration through thick and thin. Lord Stanley and the Duke of Buccleuch, however, declared that they could not be parties to any legislation which tended toward the repeal of the corn-laws. Sir Robert Peel did not feel himself strong enough to carry out his project in the face of such opposition in the Cabinet itself, and he tendered his resignation to the Queen. The Queen sent for Lord John Russell, but Russell's party were not very strong in the country and they had not a majority in the House of Commons. Lord John tried, however, to form a ministry without a Parliamentary majority, and even although Sir Robert Peel would not give any pledge to support a measure for the immediate and complete repeal of the corn laws, Lord John Russell was not successful.

Lord Grey, son of the Lord Grey of the Reform Bill, objected to the foreign policy of Lord Palmerston, and thought a seat in the Cabinet ought to be offered to Cobden. Lord John Russell had nothing to do but to announce to the Queen that he found it impossible to form a ministry. The Queen sent for Sir Robert Peel again and asked him to withdraw his resignation. Peel complied, and almost immediately resumed the functions of First Minister of the Crown. The Duke of Buccleuch consented to go on with him, but Lord Stanley held to his resolution and had no place in the Ministry. His position as Secretary of State for the Colonies was taken by William E. Gladstone. Gladstone, however, did not sit in Parliament during the eventful session when the corn laws were repealed. He had sat for the borough of Newark, which was under the influence of the Duke of Newcastle; and as the Duke of Newcastle had withdrawn his support from the Ministry, Gladstone did not seek re-election for Newark, and remained without a seat in the House of Commons for some months.

Parliament met on January 22, 1846. The "speech from the throne," delivered by the Queen in person, recommended the legislature to take into consideration the necessity of still further applying the principle on which it had formerly acted, when measures were presented "to extend commerce and to stimulate domestic skill and industry, by the repeal of prohibitive and the relaxation of protective duties." In the debate on the "address" Sir Robert Peel rose, after the mover and seconder had spoken and the question had been put from the Chair, and at once proceeded to explain the policy which he intended to adopt. His speech was long and labored, and somewhat wearied the audience by the elaborate manner in which he explained how his opinions had been brought into gradual change with regard to free trade and protection. He made it, however, perfectly clear that he was now a convert to Cobden's opinions, and that he intended to introduce some measure which should practically amount to the abolition of protection.

It was in this debate, and immediately after Peel had spoken, that Benjamin Disraeli made his first great impression on Parliament. He had been in the House for many years, and had made many attempts, had sometimes been laughed at, had sometimes been disliked, and occasionally for a moment admired. But it was when he rose immediately after Sir Robert Peel, and denounced Peel as one who had betrayed his party and his principles, that he made the first deep impression on the House of Commons, and came to be considered as a serious and influential Parliamentary personage. "I am not one of the converts," Disraeli said, "I am perhaps a member of a fallen party." A new Protection party was formed almost immediately under the leadership of George Lord Bentinck, a man of great energy and tenacity of purpose, who had hitherto spent his life almost altogether on the turf, who had had almost no previous preparation for leadership or even for debate, but who certainly, when he did accept the responsible position offered to him, showed a considerable capacity for leadership and an unwearying attention to his duties.

On January 27th Sir Robert Peel explained his financial policy. His intention was to abandon the sliding scale altogether, to impose for the present a duty of ten shillings a quarter on corn when the price of it was under forty-eight shillings a quarter, to reduce that duty by one shilling for every shilling of rise in price until it reached fifty-three shillings a quarter, when the duty should fall to four shillings. This, however, was to be only a temporary arrangement. It was to last but three years, and at the end of that time protective duties on grain were to be wholly abandoned. We need not go at any length into the history of the long debates on Peel's propositions. The discussion of one amendment, which was in substance a motion to reject the scheme altogether, lasted for twelve nights. The third reading of the bill passed the House of Commons on May 15th, by a majority of ninety-eight.

The bill went up at once to the House of Lords, and at the urgent pressure of the Duke of Wellington was carried through that House without any serious opposition. The Duke made no secret of his own opinions. He assured many of his brother peers that he disliked the measure just as much as anyone could do, but he insisted that they had all better vote for it nevertheless. Sir Robert Peel had triumphed, but he found himself deserted by a large and influential section of the party he once had led. Most of the great landowners and country gentlemen of the Conservative party abandoned him. Some of them felt the bitterest resentment toward him. They believed he had betrayed them, although nothing could be more clear than that for years he had distinctly been making it known to the House that his principles inclined him toward free trade, and thereby leaving it to be understood that, if opportunity or emergency should compel him, he would be glad to declare himself a Free Trader, even in the matter of grain.

Strange to say, the day when the bill was read in the House of Lords for the third time saw the fall of Peel's Ministry. The fall was due to the state of Ireland. The Government had been bringing in a coercion bill for Ireland. It was introduced while the Corn Bill was yet passing through the House of Commons. The situation was critical. All the Irish followers of Daniel O'Connell would be sure to oppose the Coercion Bill. The Liberal party, at least when out of office, had usually made it their principle to oppose coercion bills if they were not attended with some promises of legislative reform. The English Radical members, led by Cobden and Bright, were certain to oppose coercion. If the Protectionists should join with these other opponents of the Coercion Bill the fate of the measure was assured, and with it the fate of the Government. This was exactly what happened. Eighty Protectionists followed Lord George Bentinck into the lobby against the bill, in combination with the Free Traders, the Whigs, and the Irish Catholic and national members. The division took place on the second reading of the bill on Thursday, June 25th, and there was a majority of seventy-three against the Ministry.

The moment after Sir Robert Peel succeeded in passing his great measure of free trade he himself fell from power. His political epitaph, perhaps, could not be better written than in the words with which he closed the speech that just preceded his fall: "It may be that I shall leave a name sometimes remembered with expressions of good-will in those places which are the abode of men whose lot it is to labor and to earn their daily bread by the sweat of their brow—a name remembered with expressions of good-will when they shall recreate their exhausted strength with abundant and untaxed food, the sweeter because it is no longer leavened with a sense of injustice."

With the fall of the principle of the protection in corn may be said to have practically fallen the principle of protection in that country altogether. That principle was a little complicated in regard to the sugar duties and to the navigation laws. The sugar produced in the West Indian colonies was allowed to enter that country at rates of duty much lower than those imposed upon the sugar grown in foreign lands. The abolition of slavery in the colonies had made labor there somewhat costly and difficult to obtain continuously, and the impression was that if the duties on foreign sugar were reduced it would tend to enable those countries which still maintained the slave trade to compete at great advantage with the sugar grown in the colonies by that free labor to establish which England had but just paid so large a pecuniary fine. Therefore the question of free trade became involved with that of free labor; at least, so it seemed to the eyes of many a man who was not inclined to support the protective principle in itself. When it was put to him, whether he was willing to push the free-trade principle so far as to allow countries growing sugar by slave labor to drive our free-grown sugar out of the market, he was often inclined to give way before this mode of putting the question, and to imagine that there really was a collision between free trade and free labor. Therefore a certain sentimental plea came in to aid the Protectionists in regard to the sugar duties.

Many of the old Antislavery party found themselves deceived by this fallacy, and inclined to join the agitation against the reduction of the duty on foreign sugar. On the other hand, it was made tolerably clear that the labor was not so scarce or so dear in the colonies as had been represented, and that colonial sugar grown by free labor really suffered from no inconvenience except the fact that it was still manufactured on the most crude, old-fashioned, and uneconomical methods. Besides, the time had gone by when the majority of the English people could be convinced that a lesson on the beauty of freedom was to be conveyed to foreign sugar-growers and slave-owners by the means of a tax upon the products of their plantations. Therefore, after a long and somewhat eager struggle, the principle of free trade was allowed to prevail in regard to sugar. The duties on sugar were made equal. The growth of the sugar plantations was admitted on the same terms into that country, without any reference either to the soil from which it had sprung or to the conditions under which it was grown.

It had for a long time been stoutly proclaimed that the abolition of slavery must be the destruction of our West Indian colonies. Years had elapsed and the West Indian colonies still survived. Now the cry of alarm was taken up again, and it was prophesied that although they had got over the abolition of slavery they never could survive the equalization of the sugar duties. Jamaica certainly had fallen greatly away from her period of temporary and factitious prosperity. Jamaica was owned and managed by a class of proprietors who resembled in many ways some of the planters of the States of America farthest south—of the States toward the mouth of the Mississippi. They lived in a kind of careless luxury, mortgaging their estates as deeply as they possibly could, throwing over to the coming year the superabundant debts of the last, and only managing to keep their heads above water so long as the people of England, by favoring them with a highly protective system, enabled them still to compete against those who grew sugar on better and more economical plans. The whole island was given over to neglect and mismanagement. The emancipated negroes took but little trouble to cultivate the plots of ground they had obtained, and were quite content if they could scratch enough from the soil to enable them barely to live. Therefore Jamaica did at a certain time fall far below the level of her former seeming prosperity.

The other islands had been better managed. Their estates were less encumbered by debt, and they passed through each successive crisis without sustaining any noticeable injury. In most of these islands the product increased steadily after the emancipation of the slaves. The negroes then began to work earnestly, and education grew not greatly but distinctly among all classes. Jamaica, the most unfortunate among the islands, has been constantly the scene of little outbursts of more or less serious rebellion. As the late Lord Chief Justice of England observed in a charge on a famous occasion, "The soil of the island might seem to have been drenched in blood." But these disturbances, or insurrections, or whatever they may be called, did not increase in number after the abolition of slavery and after the equalization of the sugar duties, but, on the contrary, decreased. During our time only one considerable disturbance has taken place in Jamaica, and in former years such tumult was of frequent recurrence. In the West Indies we have, therefore, the most severe test to which the principle of free trade could well be subjected. It is not too much to say that in the more fortunate of these islands it has established its claim, and that even in the least fortunate no evidence whatever has been given that the people would have been in any way the better off if the old system had been retained.

The navigation laws had, too, a certain external attraction about them which induced many men, not actually Protectionists, to believe in their necessity. The principle of the navigation laws was to impose such restrictions of tariff and otherwise as to exclude foreign vessels from taking any considerable part in our carrying trade. The law was first enacted in Oliver Cromwell's day, at a time when the Dutch were rivals on the sea, and when it was thought desirable to repress, by protective legislation, the energy of such experienced seamen and pushing traders. The navigation law was modified by Mr. Huskisson in 1823, but only so far as to establish that which we now know so well as the principle of reciprocity. Any nation which removed restrictions from British merchant marine was favored with a similar concession. The idea also was that these navigation laws, keeping foreigners out of England's carrying trade, enabled her to maintain always a supply of sailors who could at any time be transferred from the merchant marine to the royal navy, and thus be made to assist in the defence of the country.

Of course, the ship-owners themselves upheld the navigation laws, on the plea that, if the trade were thrown open by the withdrawal of protection, their chances would be gone; that they could not contend against the foreigners upon equal terms; that their interests must suffer, and that Great Britain would in the end be a still severer sufferer, because, from the lack of encouragement given to the native traders and the sailors, England would one day or another be left at the mercy of some strong power which, with wiser regulations, would keep up her protective system and with it her naval strength.

Nevertheless, the ship-owners and the Protectionists and those who raised the alarm-cry about England's naval defences were unable to maintain their sophisms in the face of growing education and of the impulse given by the adoption of free trade. In 1849 the navigation laws were abolished. We believe there are very few ship-owners who will not now admit that the prosperity of their trade has grown immensely, in place of suffering, from the introduction of the free-trade principle in navigation as well as in com and sugar.

(1846) THE DISCOVERY OF NEPTUNE, Sir Oliver Lodge

Among modern astronomical discoveries none has been regarded as more important than that of Neptune, the outermost known planet of the solar system. It was a rich reward to the watchers of the sky when this new planet swam into their ken. This discovery was hailed by astronomers as "the most conspicuous triumph of the theory of gravitation." Long after Copernicus even, the genius of philosophers was slow to grasp the full conception of a spherical earth and its relations with the heavenly bodies as presented by him. So it was also with the final acceptance of Newton's demonstration of the universal law of gravitation (1685), whereby he showed that "the motions of the solar system were due to the action of a central force directed to the body at the centre of the system, and varying inversely with the square of the distance from it." After making this discovery, Newton himself, with the aid of others, especially of the French mathematician Picard, labored for years to verify it, and still further verification was necessary before it could be fully comprehended and accepted by the scientific world. The discovery of the asteroids or small planets revolving in orbits between those of Mars and Jupiter, aided in confirming the Newtonian theory, which the discovery of Uranus, by Sir William Herschel (1781), had done much to establish.

From the time of Sir William Herschel the science of stellar astronomy, revealing the enormous distances of the stars—none of them really fixed, but all having real or apparent motions—was rapidly developed. The discovery of stellar planets, at almost incalculable distances, still further changed the aspect of the heavens as viewed by astronomers, and when the capital discovery of Neptune was made those men of science were well prepared for studying its nature and importance. These matters, as well as the simultaneous calculation of the place of Neptune by Adams and Leverrier, and its actual discovery by Galle, are set forth by Sir Oliver Lodge in a manner as charming for simplicity as it is valuable in its summary of scientific learning.

The explanation by Newton of the observed facts of the motion of the moon, the way he accounted for precession and nutation and for the tides; the way in which Laplace explained every detail of the planetary motions—these achievements may seem to the professional astronomer equally, if not more, striking and wonderful; but of the facts to be explained in these cases the general public is necessarily more or less ignorant, and so no beauty or thoroughness of treatment appeals to it or excites its imagination. But to predict in the solitude of the study, with no weapons other than pen, ink, and paper, an unknown and enormously distant world, to calculate its orbit when as yet it had never been seen, and to be able to say to a practical astronomer, "Point your telescope in such a direction at such a time, and you will see a new planet hitherto unknown to man"—this must always appeal to the imagination with dramatic intensity, and must awaken some interest in the dullest.

Prediction is no novelty in science; and in astronomy least of all is it a novelty. Thousands of years ago Thales, and others whose very names we have forgotten, could predict eclipses, but not without a certain degree of inaccuracy. And many other phenomena were capable of prediction by accumulated experience. A gap between Mars and Jupiter caused a missing planet to be suspected and looked for, and to be found in a hundred pieces. The abnormal proper-motion of Sirius suggested to Bessel the existence of an unseen companion. And these last instances seem to approach very near the same class of prediction as that of the discovery of Neptune. Wherein, then, lies the difference? How comes it that some classes of prediction—such as that if you put your finger in fire it will be burned—are childishly easy and commonplace, while others excite in the keenest intellects the highest feelings of admiration? Mainly, the difference lies, first, in the grounds on which the prediction is based; second, in the difficulty of the investigation whereby it is accomplished; third, in the completeness and the accuracy with which it can be verified. In all these points, the discovery of Neptune stands out as one among the many verified predictions of science, and the circumstances surrounding it are of singular interest.

Three distinct observations suffice to determine the orbit of a planet completely, but it is well to have the three observations as far apart as possible so as to minimize the effects of minute but necessary errors of observation. When Uranus was found old records of stellar observations were ransacked with the object of discovering whether it had ever been unwittingly seen before. If seen, it had been thought, of course, to be a star—for it shines like a star of the sixth magnitude, and can therefore be just seen without a telescope if one knows precisely where to look for it and if one has good sight—but if it had been seen and catalogued as a star it would have moved from its place, and the catalogue would by that entry be wrong. The thing to do, therefore, was to examine all the catalogues for errors, to see whether the stars entered there actually existed, or whether any were missing. If a wrong entry were discovered, it might of course have been due to some clerical error, though that is hardly probable considering the care spent in making these records, or it might have been a tailless comet, or possibly the newly found planet.

The next thing to do was to calculate backward, to see whether by any possibility the planet could have been in that place at that time. Examined in this way the tabulated observations of Flamsteed showed that he had unwittingly observed Uranus five distinct times; the first time in 1690, nearly a century before Herschel discovered its true nature. But more remarkable still, Le Monnier, of Paris, had observed it eight times in one month, cataloguing it each time as a different star. If only he had reduced and compared his observations, he would have anticipated Herschel by twelve years. As it was, he missed it. It was seen once by Bradley also. Altogether it had been seen twenty times.

These old observations of Flamsteed and those of Le Monnier, combined with those made after Herschel's discovery, were very useful in determining an exact orbit for the new planet, and its motion was considered thoroughly known. For a time Uranus seemed to travel regularly, and as expected, in the orbit which had been calculated for it; but early in the present century it began to be slightly refractory, and by 1820 its actual place showed quite a distinct discrepancy from its position as calculated with the aid of the old observations. It was thought at first that this discrepancy must be due to inaccuracies in the older observations, and they were accordingly rejected, and tables prepared for the planet based on the newer and more accurate observations only. But by 1830 it became apparent that it did not coincide with even these. The error amounted to about 20". By 1840 it was as much as 90", or a minute and a half. This discrepancy is quite distinct, but still it is very small; and had two objects been in the heavens at once, the actual Uranus and the theoretical Uranus, no unaided eye could possibly have distinguished them or detected that they were other than a single star.

The errors of Uranus, though small, were enormously greater than other things which had certainly been observed; there was an unmistakable discrepancy between theory and observation. Some cause was evidently at work on this distant planet, causing it to disagree with its motion as calculated according to the law of gravitation. If the law of gravitation held exactly at so great a distance from the sun, there must be some perturbing force acting on it besides all the known forces that had been fully taken into account. Could it be an outer planet? The question occurred to several, and one or two tried to solve the problem, but were soon stopped by the tremendous difficulties of calculation.

The ordinary problem of perturbation is difficult enough: Given a disturbing planet in such and such a position, to find the perturbations it produces. This was the problem that Laplace worked out in the Mécanique Céleste.

But the inverse problem—given the perturbations, to find the planet that causes them—such a problem had never yet been attacked, and by only a few had its possibility been conceived. Friedrich Bessel made preparations for solving this mystery in 1840, but he was prevented by fatal illness.

In 1841 the difficulties of the problem presented by these residual perturbations of Uranus excited the imagination of a young student, an undergraduate of Cambridge—John Couch Adams by name—and he determined to make a study of them as soon as he was through his tripos. In January, 1843, he was graduated as senior wrangler, and shortly afterward he set to work. In less than two years he reached a definite conclusion; and in October, 1845, he wrote to the astronomer-royal, at Greenwich, Professor Airy, saying that the perturbations of Uranus could be explained by assuming the existence of an outer planet, which he reckoned was now situated in a specified latitude and longitude.

We know now that had the astronomer-royal put sufficient faith in this result to point his big telescope at the spot indicated and begin sweeping for a planet, he would have detected it within 1-3/4º of the place assigned to it by Adams. But anyone in the situation of the astronomer-royal knows that almost every post brings absurd letters from ambitious correspondents, some of them having just discovered perpetual motion, or squared the circle, or proved the earth flat, or discovered the constitution of the moon or of ether or of electricity; and in this mass of rubbish it requires great skill and patience to detect such gems of value as may exist.

Now this letter of Adams's was indeed a jewel of the first water, and no doubt bore on its face a very different appearance from the chaff of which I have spoken; but still Adams was unknown: he had been graduated as senior wrangler, it is true, but somebody must be graduated as senior wrangler every year, and a first-rate mathematician is not produced every year. Those behind the scenes—as Professor Airy of course was, having been a senior wrangler himself—knew perfectly well that the labeling of a young man on his taking his degree is much more worthless as a testimony to his genius and ability than the general public is apt to suppose.

Was it likely that a young and unknown man should have solved so extremely difficult a problem? It was altogether unlikely. Still, he should be tested: he should be asked for explanations concerning some of the perturbations which Professor Airy had noticed, and see whether he could explain these also by his hypothesis. If he could, there might be something in his theory. If he failed—well, there was an end of it. The questions were not difficult. They concerned the error of the radius vector. Adams could have answered them with perfect ease; but sad to say, though a brilliant mathematician, he was not a man of business. He did not answer Professor Airy's letter.

It may seem a pity to many that the Greenwich equatorial was not pointed at the place, just to see whether any foreign object did happen to be in that neighborhood; but it is no light matter to derange the work of an observatory, and alter the plans laid out for the staff, into a sudden sweep for a new planet on the strength of a mathematical investigation just received by post. If observatories were conducted on these unsystematic and spasmodic principles they would not be the calm, accurate, satisfactory places they are.

Of course, if anyone had known that a new planet was to be found for the looking, any course would have been justified; but no one could know this. I do not suppose that Adams himself felt an absolute confidence in his attempted prediction. So there the matter dropped. Adams's communication was pigeonholed, and remained in seclusion eight or nine months.

Meanwhile, and quite independently, something of the same sort was going on in France. A brilliant young mathematician, Urban Jean Joseph Leverrier, born in Normandy in 1811, held the post of astronomical professor at the École Polytechnique, founded by Napoleon. His first published papers directed attention to his wonderful powers; and the official head of astronomy in France, the famous Arago, suggested to him the unexplained perturbations of Uranus as a worthy object for his fresh and well-armed vigor. At once he set to work in a thorough and systematic way. He first considered whether the discrepancies could be due to errors in the tables or errors in the old observations. He discussed them with minute care, and came to the conclusion that they were not thus to be explained away. This part of the work he published in November, 1845.

He then set to work to consider the perturbations produced by Jupiter and Saturn to see whether they had been accurately allowed for, or whether some minute improvements could be made sufficient to destroy the irregularities. He introduced several fresh terms into these calculations, but none of them of sufficient importance to do more than partly explain the mysterious perturbations. He next examined the various hypotheses that had been suggested to account for them. Were they caused by a failure in the law of gravitation or by the presence of a resisting medium? Were they due to some large but unseen satellite or to a collision with some comet?

All these theories he examined and dismissed for various reasons. The perturbations were due to some continuous cause—for instance, some unknown planet. Could this planet be inside the orbit of Uranus? No, for then it would perturb Saturn and Jupiter also, and they were not perturbed by it. It must, therefore, be some planet outside the orbit of Uranus, and in all probability, according to Bode's empirical law, at nearly double the distance from the sun that Uranus is. Finally he proceeded to determine where this planet was, and what its orbit must be to produce the observed disturbances.

Not without failures and disheartening complications was this part of the process completed. This was, after all, the real tug of war. Many unknown quantities existed: its mass, its distance, its eccentricity, the obliquity of its orbit, its position—nothing was known, in fact, about the planet except the microscopic disturbance it caused in Uranus, several thousand million miles away from it. Without going into further detail, suffice it to say that in June, 1846, he published his last paper, and in it announced to the world his theory as to the situation of the planet.

Professor Airy received a copy of this paper before the end of the month, and was astonished to find that Leverrier's theoretical place for the planet was within 1° of the place Adams had assigned to it eight months before. So striking a coincidence seemed sufficient to justify a Herschelian sweep for a week or two. But a sweep for so distant a planet would be no easy matter. When seen through a large telescope it would still only look like a star, and it would require considerable labor and watching to sift it out from the other stars surrounding it. We know that Uranus had been seen twenty times, and thought to be a star, before its true nature was discovered by Herschel; and Uranus is only about half as far away as Neptune.

Neither at Paris nor at Greenwich was any optical search undertaken; but Professor Airy wrote to ask M. Leverrier the same old question that he had fruitlessly put to Adams: Did the new theory explain the errors of the radius vector or not? The reply of Leverrier was both prompt and satisfactory—these errors were explained, as well as all the others. The existence of the object was then for the first time officially believed in. The British Association met that year at Southampton, and Sir John Herschel was one of its sectional presidents. In his inaugural address, on September 10, 1846, he called attention to the researches of Leverrier and Adams in these memorable words:

"The past year has given to us the new [minor] planet Astræa; it has done more—it has given us the probable prospect of another. We see it as Columbus saw America from the shores of Spain. Its movements have been felt trembling along the far-reaching line of our analysis with a certainty hardly inferior to ocular demonstration."

It was nearly time to begin to look for it. So the astronomer-royal thought on reading Leverrier's paper. But as the national telescope at Greenwich was otherwise occupied, he wrote to Professor Challis, at Cambridge, to know whether he would permit a search to be made for it with the Northumberland equatorial, the large telescope at Cambridge University, presented to it by one of the Dukes of Northumberland.

Professor Challis said he would conduct the search himself, and shortly began a leisurely and dignified series of sweeps around the place designated by theory, cataloguing all the stars he observed, intending afterward to sort out his observations, compare one with another, and find out whether any one star had changed its position; because if it had it must be the planet. Thus, without giving an excessive time to the business, he accumulated a host of observations.

Professor Challis thus actually saw the planet twice—on August 4 and August 12, 1846—without knowing it. If he had had a map of the heavens containing telescopic stars down to the tenth magnitude, and if he had compared his observations with this map as they were made, the process would have been easy and the discovery quick. But he had no such map. Nevertheless one was in existence. It had just been completed in that country of enlightened method and industry—Germany. Doctor Bremiker had not indeed completed his great work—a chart of the whole zodiac down to stars of the tenth magnitude—but portions of it were completed, and the special region where the new planet was expected to appear happened to be among the portions finished. But in England this was not known.

Meanwhile Adams wrote to the astronomer-royal several additional communications, making improvements in his theory, and giving what he considered nearer and nearer approximations for the place of the planet. He also now answered quite satisfactorily, but too late, the question about the radius vector sent to him months before.

Leverrier was likewise engaged in improving this theory and in considering how best the optical search could be conducted. Actuated probably by the knowledge that in such matters as cataloguing and mapping Germany was then, as now, far ahead of all the other nations, he wrote in September (the same year that Sir John Herschel delivered his eloquent address at Southampton) to Berlin. Leverrier wrote to Doctor Galle, head of the observatory at Berlin, saying to him, clearly and decidedly, that the new planet was now in or close to such and such a position, and that if he would point his telescope to that part of the heavens he would see it; and moreover that he would be able to tell it from a star by its having a sensible magnitude, or disk, instead of being a mere point.

Galle got the letter on September 23, 1846. That same evening he pointed his telescope to the place Leverrier told him, and saw the planet. He recognized it first by its appearance. To his practised eye it did seem to have a small disk, and not quite the same aspect as an ordinary star. He then consulted Bremiker's great star-chart, the part just engraved and finished, and, sure enough, no such star was there. Undoubtedly it was the planet.

The news flashed over Europe at the maximum speed with which news could travel at that date (which was not very fast); and by October 1st Professor Challis and Mr. Adams heard it at Cambridge, and realized that in so far as there was competition in such a matter England was out of the race.

It was an unconscious race to all concerned, however. The French scientists knew nothing of the search in England. Adams's papers had never been published; and very annoyed the French were when a claim was set up in his behalf to a share in this magnificent discovery. As for Adams himself, we are told that by no word did he show resentment at the loss of the practical consummation of his discovery. His part in any controversy that arose was calm and dignified; but for a time his friends fought a public battle for his fame. It so happened that the public took a keener interest than it usually takes in scientific predictions; but the discussion has now settled down. All the world honors the bright genius and mathematical skill of John Couch Adams, and recognizes that he first solved the problem by calculation. All the world, too, perceives clearly the no less eminent mathematical talents of M. Leverrier, but it recognizes in him something more than the mere mathematician—the man of energy, decision, and character.

(1846) THE ACQUISITION OF CALIFORNIA, Henry B. Dawson

In the history of the United States, the acquisition of California, carrying with it that of New Mexico, was a peculiar and unusual event, and one of immense significance in the expansion and development of the Republic. Together with the annexation of Texas, it was the most important result of the Mexican War. The California country, formerly an indeterminate territory of vast extent, was settled by Spanish missionaries in the seventeenth century. Their settlements within the present limits of the State of California date from the first foundation of San Diego in 1769. In 1822 the entire region called California became a part of the Mexican Republic, and it remained a possession of Mexico until the time of the transfer described below.

At the beginning of 1846 the population of California included, with about two hundred thousand Indians, six thousand Mexicans and perhaps two hundred Americans. War against Mexico had been declared in May, 1845, and already General Taylor had won the battles of Palo Alto and Resaca de la Palma, and had compelled the surrender of Monterey. While these operations were leading the United States forces to the rapid accomplishment of their work in Mexico proper, other movements were undertaken, the execution and outcome of which form the subject of Mr. Dawson's narrative. In 1848 California and New Mexico were ceded to the United States.

Immediately after the opening of hostilities in the valley of the Rio Grande (March, 1846), among the expeditions which were organized by the Federal authorities was one to move against and take possession of California and New Mexico, two provinces in the northern part of the enemy's country. The command of this expedition had been vested in General Stephen W. Kearney, and the force under his command had rendezvoused at Fort Leavenworth; and the most energetic measures had been adopted to insure its early departure and its ultimate success.

Having completed all the arrangements, on June 26th the main body of this expedition had moved from the fort; and after a rapid but interesting march of eight hundred seventy-three miles, on August 18th it entered and took possession of Santa Fé, the capital of New Mexico, the Mexican forces, numbering four thousand, which had been collected to defend the town, having dispersed, without offering the least opposition, as it approached.

While these operations in New Mexico and on the western frontier of the United States were taking place, Brevet-Captain John C. Frémont, who had been engaged in explorations on the western slope of the Rocky Mountains, had also revolutionized the Province of California, and, to some extent at least, had anticipated the movements of the expedition commanded by General Kearney. The character of his mission being scientific and peaceful rather than warlike, he had not had an officer or soldier of the regular army in his company; and his whole force had consisted of sixty-two men employed by himself for security against the Indians and for procuring subsistence in the wilderness and desert country through which he had passed. For the purpose of obtaining game for his men and grass for his horses, in an uninhabited part of California, he had, during the winter of 1845-1846, solicited and obtained permission from the Mexican authorities to winter in the Valley of San Joaquin; but he had scarcely established himself before he received advices that the Mexican commander was preparing to attack him under the pretext that under the cover of a scientific mission he was exciting the American settlers in that vicinity to revolt.

In view of this threatened attack, and for the purpose of repelling it, Lieutenant Frémont immediately occupied a mountain which overlooked Monterey—although it was thirty miles from that city—and having intrenched it and raised the flag of the United States he waited the approach of the enemy. After remaining there until March 10, 1846, he retired to the northward, intending to march, by way of Oregon, to the United States; but about the middle of May, after he had quietly passed into Oregon, he had received information through Samuel Neal and Levi Sigler, two hunters who had been sent after him from Lassen's rancho, that the Mexican Governor of California was pursuing him, while the Indians, by whom he was surrounded, instigated by the enemy, had shown signs of hostility, and had killed or wounded five of his men.

Under these circumstances, on June 6, 1846, Lieutenant Frémont had resolved to turn on his pursuers with the little party under his command, and to seek safety, not merely in the overthrow of his pursuers, but in that of the entire Government of Mexico in the Province of California. Accordingly, on June 11th, Lieutenant Frémont, assisted by Captain Merritt and fourteen of the settlers, had attacked and captured an escort of horses destined for General Castro's troops—Lieutenant Arce, fourteen men, and two hundred horses remaining in his hands as the trophies of his victory. On the 15th the military post of Sonoma was surprised, and General Vallejo, Captain Vallejo, Colonel Greuxdon and several other officers, nine pieces of brass cannon, two hundred fifty stands of muskets, and other stores and arms were taken; and on the 25th the military commandant of the Province, who had moved toward the post with a heavy force to retake it, was attacked by Lieutenant Frémont and twenty men, and completely routed. Having thus cleared that part of the Province north of the Bay of San Francisco of the enemy, it is said that on July 5th Captain Frémont had assembled the American settlers at Sonoma, addressed them upon the dangers of their situation, and recommended a declaration of independence and war on Mexico as the only remedy; and that the hardy frontiersmen promptly accepted the proposal and raised the flag of independent California—a bear and a star on a red ground.

While these revolutionary movements were destroying the power of Mexico in the interior of the Province of California, and the expedition under General Kearney—ignorant of the fact that the work had been done already—was approaching its eastern borders for the same purpose, the naval force of the United States in the Pacific, under Commodore Sloat, had been assisting in the work of conquest. Having heard of the opening of hostilities on the Rio Grande, the Commodore—then at Mazatlan—hastened with the Savannah to Monterey in California, where he arrived on July 2d, and on the 7th he took possession of the town without opposition; the custom-house was seized, the American flag raised, and California declared to be "henceforward a part of the United States."

Within a few days intelligence of the action of Commodore Sloat was received by the revolutionary leaders at Sonoma; and a battalion of mounted riflemen which had been organized among them was immediately moved to Monterey, the flag of the United States was substituted for the "bear and star," and the authority of the Commodore was immediately recognized. This battalion of mounted riflemen on its arrival at Monterey, July 23, 1846, was mustered into the service of the United States by Commodore Stockton, who had succeeded Commodore Sloat in command of the squadron—Captain Frémont being appointed its commandant, and Lieutenant A. H. Gillespie, of the Marines, its second officer—and it was immediately despatched on the sloop-of-war Cyane to San Diego for the purpose of cutting off the retreat of General Castro, of the Mexican service, who had encamped and fortified his position near Ciudad de los Angeles, while the Commodore with his sailors—who landed from the Congress at San Pedro—moved against him in front. The expedition was eminently successful, as the Mexicans on the approach of the Commodore immediately evacuated their camp and fled in the greatest confusion—although most of the principal officers were subsequently captured—and, on August 13th, the Ciudad de los Angeles was occupied, again without opposition, by the American troops and seamen, and the conquest of California was apparently completed.

A short time afterward Commodore Stockton appointed Captain Frémont
Governor of the Territory into which, by the proclamation of Commodore
Sloat, the Province had been transformed; while Captain Gillespie was
left, with nineteen men, in possession of Los Angeles; Lieutenant
Talbot, of the Topographical Engineers, with nine men, was left at Santa
Barbara; and, with his squadron, Commodore Stockton proceeded to San
Francisco; while Governor Frémont, on September 8th, also moved to
Monterey.

The main body had no sooner left Los Angeles than the Californians—who before the departure of the Commodore and the Governor had held secret meetings for the purpose—rose in arms for the expulsion of the invaders of their country. Indeed an attempt appears to have been intended before the Governor left the city; but, by timely precautions, it had been prevented; although the purpose and determination still continued and were called into requisition at a more convenient season. The necessary preparations having been made for that purpose under the directions of José Antonio Carrillo, a professed conspirator of that vicinity, at an early hour on the morning of September 23d, the quarters of Captain Gillespie were attacked by Cerbulo Varela—a metamorphosed captain under Governor Frémont—at the head of sixty-five men, under cover of a thick fog. The morning was auspicious for such purposes, yet the Captain was not surprised; and the twenty-one rifles which he controlled were quickly brought to bear on the assailants, who retired soon afterward with three of their number killed and several wounded; and at daylight the remainder were driven from the town, with the loss of several taken prisoners, by a few men under Lieutenant Hensley, and Doctor Gilchrist, of the navy.

The insurgents who were thus expelled from the city formed a nucleus around which the disaffected gathered; and as the party gained strength day by day, it harassed the little garrison and killed one of its number. There was but little concert of action in its ranks, however; and as the rival aspirants to power struggled for authority, while the numbers rapidly increased, the efficiency of the insurgents was but slightly increased. At length, in a spirit of compromise, Captain Antonio Flores was urged to take the command of the party, and reluctantly accepted it; and he soon found himself at the head of six hundred men armed with lances, escopetas, and a brass six-pounder, light and well mounted.

In the mean time the little garrison had found an old honeycombed iron six-pounder, and had drilled out the spike, cleaned and mounted it, and by melting the lead pipes of a distillery had provided—unknown to the insurgents—thirty rounds of ball and grape for it. Two other pieces having been added to this, on the following day, the little garrison and its gallant commander resolved to die rather than surrender, notwithstanding the extreme efforts which had been made to strengthen its position, and the great fatigue which was incident thereto. To render his little party still more secure, however, on September 27th Captain Gillespie withdrew his command from his quarters in the city and occupied a height which commanded it, when he strengthened his position and prepared for an obstinate defence.

No sooner had this movement been effected than Captain Flores sent Don Eulogeo Celis to inquire "on what terms Captain Gillespie would surrender the city"; and that officer, after consulting with his subordinates, answered that if the enemy would consent that he should march out of the city with the honors of war, colors flying and drums beating; that he should take everything with him; that he should be furnished with means for transporting his baggage and provisions, at his own expense; and that the enemy should not come within a league of his party while on its line of march to San Pedro, he would accept those terms, and no others would be considered; and Captain Flores should be held responsible for any damage which might ensue, in case they were rejected. After some negotiations these terms were offered by Captain Flores and accepted by Captain Gillespie; and, on September 29th, the garrison began its march; reached San Pedro on the same evening, and on October 4th embarked on the Vandalia, after spiking its three old guns—an exploit which, when the circumstances under which Captain Gillespie's force, the strength of his opponent, and the temper of the people among whom he moved are taken into consideration, may well be ranked as one of the most brilliant feats of that remarkable campaign.

While these difficulties were surrounding Captain Gillespie at Los Angeles, Lieutenant Talbot, at Santa Barbara with his nine men, was not less dangerously situated; and when the former had made terms with the insurgents, Manuel Garpio with two hundred men moved against Lieutenant Talbot, surrounded the town, and demanded his surrender, offering two hours for his deliberation. As the men had resolved that they would not give up their arms, and as the barracks were untenable with so small a force, the Lieutenant resolved to abandon the town and push for the hills; and, strange to say, he marshalled his men and marched out of the town without opposition—"those who lay on the road retreated to the main force, which was on the lower side of the town."

Having reached the hills, he encamped, and remained there eight days, when the Californians endeavored to rout him out, but were repulsed with the loss of a horse. The insurgents then offered him his arms and freedom if he would engage to remain neutral in the anticipated hostilities, but "he sent word back that he preferred to fight." They next built fires about him and burned him out; but in doing so they did not capture or injure him, and he pushed through the mountains for Monterey; and after a month's travel, in which he endured unheard-of hardships and suffering, he reached that place in safety.

Intelligence of the insurrection having reached Commodore Stockton at San Francisco and Lieutenant-Colonel Frémont at Sacramento, both took immediate steps to check its progress and to punish the offenders. In conformity with the Commodore's orders Lieutenant-Colonel Fremont hastened to San Francisco, whence he embarked, with one hundred sixty men, on the ship Sterling, for Santa Barbara, to which port the frigate Savannah (Captain Mervine) had previously been ordered; while, on the same day, the Commodore in person sailed for the same port in the Congress.

The latter vessel reached San Pedro on October 6th, and at sunrise on the 7th Captain Mervine landed with his seamen and marines; and after being joined by Captain Gillespie and his brave-hearted little party, he found himself at the head of three hundred ten men, "as brave and as valiant as ever were led to battle upon any field." At eight o'clock the party commenced its march toward Los Angeles, Captain Gillespie being in advance, and when the column reached the hills of Palo Verde the insurgents showed themselves and opened a fire with their escopetas. The march was rapid; and the jolly tars, unused to such extended journeys, appear to have suffered from its effects; in consequence of which, although the enemy gradually fell back before the advancing column, between one and two o'clock, when near the Rancho de los Domingos, fourteen miles from San Pedro, it became necessary to halt and encamp for the night.

As may have been expected, the sailors and marines were ashore, and the strict discipline which "the deck" had inculcated appears to have been left on board the frigate. As a necessary consequence the camp displayed but little of the order which such a locality should have insured; and many and marvellous were the adventures of that night; while, on the other hand, the enemy profited by the delay, by the moral effect of the disorder with which the march had been conducted, and by the entire absence of any artillery.

On the following morning at daylight the column was again put in motion; and with Captain Gillespie's men in front, in still greater disorder than on the preceding day, it moved toward Los Angeles, twelve miles distant. It had marched only three miles, when, posted behind a small stream which intersected the line of march, the advance of the insurgents—seventy-six men, with a small fieldpiece, under José Antonio Carrillo—was discovered in front; and, as the column approached, a fire was opened on it, which was answered with a characteristic shout. The volunteers—Captain Gillespie's command—pressed forward; and by taking advantage of the neighboring shelter they drove the enemy and compelled him to abandon his fieldpiece; but before it could be reached and taken possession of, Captain Mervine gave orders to withdraw. With great indignation, therefore, the volunteers discontinued the action, and after picking up his killed and wounded—harassed by the enemy who pressed after the column, and covered by the volunteers and sixteen marines, under Captain Gillespie—Captain Mervine slowly and sadly fell back to San Pedro, where he arrived about dark on the same day, "Thirteen noble tars were buried on the island in front of San Pedro," the victims of this badly managed expedition.

On October 23d the Commodore reached San Pedro—Lieutenant-Colonel Frémont meanwhile having returned to Monterey—and on the 31st he sailed for San Diego, which had been invested by the insurgents and needed assistance. He reached that port a few days afterward; and, with the assistance of Captain Gillespie's command, the besiegers were repelled, and a fort was erected to protect the town from similar troubles in future.

Strenuous efforts were made to obtain horses for the use of the troops, with some degree of success; and Commodore Stockton sailed toward San Pedro again. During this temporary absence of the Commodore the insurgents appear (on November 18, 1846) to have moved against San Diego a second time, and were again driven back by Captain Gillespie and the volunteers and marines under his command; and on December 3d a messenger came into the town bearing a letter from General Kearney, apprising the Commodore of his approach, and expressing a wish that a communication might be opened with him that he might be informed of the state of affairs in California.

It appeared that after the General had taken Santa Fé (on October 1st) he had moved from that city with the regular cavalry which he had brought there. Soon afterward (October 7th) he had reduced his force to one hundred men—sending the remainder back to Santa Fé—and after an interesting march overland, on December 3, 1846, he had reached Warner's rancheria, the outpost of civilization in California. From there a letter had been despatched to San Diego by Mr. Stokes, an Englishman who lived in a neighboring rancheria; and on the 4th the command had moved fifteen miles nearer to the city.

On the receipt of General Kearney's letter, Commodore Stockton despatched Captain Gillespie to meet him, with a letter of welcome. The Captain was accompanied by Lieutenant Beale, Midshipman Duncan, ten seamen, Captain Gibson's company of riflemen (twenty-five men), and a fieldpiece; and on the 5th he reached the General's camp; when, having learned on his way that the insurgents were encamped at San Pasqual, nine miles from the camp, Lieutenant Hammond was sent out by General Kearney to reconnoitre the enemy's position.

At a very early hour on the 6th the troops were put in motion, Captain Johnston, with twelve dragoons, forming the advance-guard; the main body of the General's party, under Captain Moore, following next; after which moved Captain Gillespie, with Captain Gibson and his small company; and Lieutenant Davidson, with the General's howitzers brought up the rear. When the column had reached a hill which overlooked the valley of the San Pasqual, the insurgents' encampment, it was halted, and the General gave the final orders to his command: "One thrust of the sabre is worth a dozen cuts; and depend upon them more than upon the carbines and rifles." Without further delay the column advanced down the hill; and as soon as Captain Johnston had struck the plain with his twelve dragoons, having mistaken the purport of an order from the General, he uttered a yell, and, without waiting for the support of the main body, dashed on the heavy ranks of the enemy, falling a victim of his own indiscretion.

The main body hastened, by a flank movement down the hill, to support the charge of the advance, and received the enemy's fire from an Indian village on its right flank; but the enemy waited to do no further mischief, and fled from the charge of the advance before the line could be formed. Perceiving the defection of the enemy, Captain Moore, with a portion of his command, pursued the fugitives down the right of the valley, while Captain Gillespie, with his volunteers, did the same on the left side—the latter taking prisoner Pablo Beja, the insurgents' second officer. In this pursuit, however, the ranks of the Americans were greatly broken; and as the Mexicans far outnumbered them, they soon afterward made a stand, using their lances with good effect. Captain Moore fell, pierced in the breast by nine lances; the General was severely wounded, and his life was saved, from an attack on his rear, by a ball from Lieutenant Emory. Captain Gillespie was attacked by seven Californians, received three wounds, and saved himself with great difficulty; Captain Gibson received two wounds; Lieutenant Hammond received nine lance wounds in the breast, and many others were severely injured. For five minutes the enemy held the ground; when, the main body of the Americans having come up, he again turned and fled.

In this spirited affair about eighty Americans were engaged; while of the Californians there is said to have been one hundred sixty, under Andreas Pico. Of the former, Captains Moore and Johnston, Lieutenant Hammond, and sixteen men were killed; and General Kearney, Captains Gillespie and Gibson, Lieutenant Warner, and eleven men were wounded; while of the latter it is said twenty-eight were killed and wounded.

The dead were buried as soon as night closed in; the wounded were properly attended to by the single surgeon who was with the party; and ambulances were prepared for their conveyance to San Diego, thirty-nine miles distant; and on the morning of the 7th the order to march was given—the column taking the right-hand road over the hills, and leaving the River San Bernardo to the left—the enemy retiring as it advanced. A proper regard for the comfort of the wounded compelled the column to move slowly, and it was afternoon before it reached the San Bernardo rancheria (Mr. Snook's). After a short halt at that place the column moved down into the valley; and immediately afterward the hills on the rear of the column (around the rancheria) were covered with Californian horsemen, a portion of whom dashed at full speed past the Americans to occupy a hill which commanded the route of the latter, while the remainder of the party threatened the rear of the column. Thirty or forty of the enemy quickly occupied the hill referred to; and as the column came up six or eight Americans filed off to the left, and, under Lieutenant Emory, charged up the hill, when the Californians delivered their fire and fled, five of their number having been killed or wounded by the rifles of the assailants.

The wounded having been removed with great difficulty, the cattle having been lost, and the danger of losing the sick and the packs being great, the General determined to halt at that place and await the arrival of reinforcements, for which messengers had been sent to San Diego on the morning of the 6th. Accordingly the Americans occupied the high ground on which the action had been fought, bored holes for water, killed their fattest mules for meat, and awaited the arrival of their friends, until the morning of the 11th, when they were joined by one hundred seamen and eighty marines, under Lieutenant Gray, who had been sent out to meet them by Commodore Stockton; and, on the afternoon of the 12th, the combined parties entered the town in safety.

At this time commenced that memorable conflict between the two commanders—General Kearney and Commodore Stockton—respecting the chief command, which subsequently created so much trouble in the American ranks and throughout the country. Commodore Stockton appears, however, to have retained the authority; and, having organized a force sufficiently strong to warrant the undertaking, and General Kearney having accepted an invitation to accompany the expedition, on December 29th he marched from San Diego, with two officers and fifty-five privates (dragoons, two officers and forty-five seamen acting as artillerymen; eighteen officers and three hundred seventy-nine seamen and marines acting as infantry; six officers, and fifty-four privates), volunteers, and six pieces of artillery, against the main body of the insurgents, near Los Angeles. The command appears to have been given, at his own request, to General Kearney; and as the wagon train was heavily laden, the progress of the column was very slow—the expedition reaching the Rio San Gabriel on January 8, 1847—although the enemy had offered no opposition to its progress even in passes where a small force could have effectively kept it back. At this place, however, he had made a stand to dispute the passage of the river; and here the second action was fought between the Americans and the Californians.

The Rio San Gabriel, at the spot where this action was fought, is about one hundred yards wide, the current about knee-deep, flowing over a quicksand bottom. The left bank, by which the Americans approached, is level; that on the right is also level for a short distance back, but beyond this narrow plain a bank fifty feet in height commands the ford and the intervening flat, while both banks are fringed with a thick undergrowth. On this bank, directly in front of the ford, four pieces of artillery were posted, supported on either flank by strong bodies of cavalry, while on the slope of the hill and the flat in front were posted the sharpshooters.

Against this position the American column moved; the second division in front, with the first and third divisions on the right and left flanks; the cattle and the wagon train moved next; the volunteer riflemen and the fourth division brought up the rear. As the head of the column approached the bank of the river the enemy's sharpshooters opened a scattering fire; and the second division was ordered to deploy as skirmishers, cross the river, and drive the former from the thicket; while the first and third divisions covered the flanks of the train, and, with it, followed in the rear. When this line of skirmishers had reached the middle of the stream and was pressing forward toward the opposite bank, the enemy brought his artillery to bear, "and made the water fly with grape and round shot"; and the American fieldpieces were immediately dragged across the river and placed in counter-battery on the right bank in opposition to those of the enemy. The fire of the Americans appears to have caused considerable confusion in the ranks of the insurgents; and under its cover the wagon train and cattle, with their guard, passed the river, during which time the enemy attacked its rear and was repelled.

Having safely crossed the river the American column appears to have deployed under cover of the high ground—the Californian grape and round shot rattling over the heads of the men—and the enemy immediately charged on both its flanks simultaneously, dashing down the slope with great spirit. With great coolness the second division was thrown into squares, and after a round or two drove off the enemy from the left flank; the first division received a similar order, but as the assailants on the right hesitated and did not come down as far as their associates on the opposite flank, the order was countermanded, and the division was ordered to charge up the hill, where the enemy's main body was supposed to be posted. With great coolness this movement was executed and the heights were gained, but there was no enemy in sight. He had abandoned his position, and although he pitched his camp on the hills in view of the Americans, when morning came he had moved still farther back.

The strength of the Americans in this action (the action of the Rio San Gabriel) had been shown already; that of the Californians was about six hundred, with four pieces of artillery. The loss of the former was one man killed and nine men wounded; that of the enemy is not known.

On the following morning (January 9, 1847) the American column resumed its march over the Mesa—a wide plain which extends from the Rio San Gabriel to the Rio San Fernando—surrounded by reconnoitring parties from the enemy; and when about four miles from Los Angeles the enemy was discovered on the right of the line of march, awaiting its approach. When the column had come abreast of the enemy the latter opened fire from his artillery on its right flank, and soon afterward deployed his force, making a horseshoe in front of the American column, and opening with two pieces of artillery on its front while two nine-pounders continued their fire on the right.

After stopping about fifteen minutes to silence the enemy's nine-pounders the column again moved forward; when, by a movement similar to that employed on the Rio San Gabriel the day before, two charges were made simultaneously on its left flank and on its right and rear. Contrary to the positive instructions of the officers, in the former of these charges the enemy was met with a fire at long distance; yet, although he had not come within a hundred yards of the column, several of his men were knocked out of their saddles, and a round of grape, which was immediately sent after him, completely scattered his right wing. The charge on the right and the rear of the column fared little better; and the entire force of the insurgents was withdrawn.

The strength of both parties was probably as on the preceding day at the Rio San Gabriel; the loss of the Californians is not known; that of the Americans was Captain Gillespie, Lieutenant Rowan, and three men wounded. The troops encamped near the field of battle; and on the following morning (January 10, 1847), the enemy surrendered, when the city of Los Angeles was occupied by the Americans without further opposition.

"This was the last exertion made by the sons of California for the liberty and independence of their country," say the Mexican historians, "and its defence will always do them honor; since, without supplies, without means or instructions, they rushed into an unequal contest, in which they more than once taught the invaders what a people can do who fight in defence of their rights. The city of Los Angeles was occupied by the American forces on January 10th, and the loss of that rich, vast, and precious part of the Mexican territory was consummated."

(1847) THE FALL OF ABD-EL-KADER, Edgar Sanderson

This great Mahometan was an Arab chief whose heroic conduct as leader of the Arabs in their wars against the French in Algeria (1832-1847) gave him a place among the eminent patriot-soldiers and statesmen of the nineteenth century. In 1843 Marshal Soult declared that Abd-el-Kader was one of the three great men then living; the two others also being Mahometans. The final course and fall of this man, whose name means "Servant of the Mighty God," is itself an important concern of history, without regard to its effect upon the relations of empire. After the French, provoked by the conduct of Hasan, Dey of Algeria, had occupied Algiers, his capital, in 1830, a new government was set up in France, Louis Philippe ascending the throne in place of the expelled Charles X. At the time of this revolution in France the soldiers of Charles had already overrun a great part of Algeria; but they had not subdued the country, and their absolute dominion extended only a little beyond the capital itself. The French commander fortified his territory, but had to recruit his garrisons from among the natives. In 1833 Abd-el-Kader raised the standard of the Prophet, the Arabs rallied to his call, and for several years he carried on a stubborn war against the French, whom in 1835 he signally defeated.

In 1836 the Arab leader, now Sultan, again fought the invaders in several severe engagements on the Tafna River. In these affairs the advantage lay with the Arab. In June, 1836, General Bugeaud was sent to command the French forces, and he proved to be the strongest opponent that Abd-el-Kader had met. There was more fighting on the Tafna; it was indecisive, and in May, 1837, a treaty, known as the Treaty of the Tafna, was concluded, General Bugeaud having received instructions either to make peace with Abd-el-Kader or to subdue him.

The story of the Arab hero from this point in his career is told by Sanderson, the faithful commemorator of great nineteenth-century patriots, a high authority on modern Africa.

The famous Treaty of the Tafna, concluded between Abd-el-Kader and Bugeaud, was a triumph for the Arab Sultan. With the consent of all the great sheiks, the leaders of cavalry contingents, the venerable Marabouts, and the most distinguished warriors of the Province of Oran, the Sultan, not acknowledging the sovereignty of France, but ceding to her a limited portion of the Provinces of Oran and Algiers, reserved the free exercise of their religion for all Arabs dwelling on French territory. He undertook to supply the French army with a large quantity of corn and oxen and to confine the commerce of the Regency to French ports. In return he received the administration of the larger part of the Provinces of Oran and Algiers, and the whole of Tittery; the important right of buying powder, sulphur, and weapons in France; and freedom of trade between the Arabs and the French. In ceding the Province of Tittery, Bugeaud had violated the strict orders of the French Government, alleging in excuse to the Minister of War that any other arrangement was "impossible." The treaty, in fact, confined the French to a few towns on the seacoast, with small adjacent territories. All the fortresses and strongholds in the interior were left in the hands of Abd-el-Kader. He was the possessor of two-thirds of Algeria, and he appeared before the world as the friend and ally of France.

The treaty was held by the French Government to be a high stroke of policy, converting an enemy into an ally. The French people regarded it as a humiliating surrender of French territory to a rival power. It was the culminating point of Abd-el-Kader's career.

During the year 1839 the Sultan was engaged in the work of a statesman, legislator, administrator, and reformer, displaying wonderful activity, enterprise, vigor, and intellectual power as the founder of an empire which, for the happiness of Algeria, was to be too short-lived. After the Tafna Treaty he had received a magnificent present of arms from Louis Philippe, King of the French, and, as a man who had subdued, either by arms or by persuasive eloquence, the hardy, high-spirited Kabyles he stood high in the estimation of his Moslem fellow-rulers in Morocco and Egypt, Tripoli and Tunis, and of the ulemas, or bodies of learned doctors in divinity and law, at Alexandria and Mecca, who watched with joy, and with ardent expectation of yet higher things, the career of one who seemed destined to revive the pristine glories of Islam. The great Sultan, in order to consolidate his power both against the French and over the Arabs, constructed a number of forts on the limits of the Tell at Sebdou, on the west; at Saida, south of Tlemsen; at Tekedemt, south of Mascara; at Boghar, south of Miliana; to the south of Medea, and to the southeast of Algiers. Tekedemt, an old Roman town about sixty miles southeast of Oran, was designed to be the capital, as a great centre of commerce between the Tell and the Sahara.

The first stone of the new city and fortress had been laid by the Sultan in May, 1836; and as the place grew, a population of settlers from Mascara, Mostaganem, and other towns poured in. Large stores of warlike munitions were formed, and a factory, worked by mechanics from Paris on liberal wages, turned out eight new muskets a day. A mint of silver and copper coins was established. The defences carried twelve cannon and six mortars. A French observer, who was a prisoner at the time when the Sultan was personally directing the works at Tekedemt, describes his simple costume, like that of a laborer; his large tall hat, plaited with palm-leaves; his "incomparable grace" and "fascinating smile" as he saluted the man who was rather a guest than a captive.

The reforms of Abd-el-Kader included a regular police, schools, and local tribunals of justice. All the chief towns had factories conducted by Europeans, working in brass and iron, cotton and wool. The army contained the finest irregular cavalry in the world, amounting, with all the contingents from the tribes, to about sixty thousand men, only a third of whom, however, were ever assembled for any single military operation. His regular force comprised eight thousand infantry, two thousand cavalry, twenty field-guns, and two hundred forty artillerymen. His great ideal embraced the making the Arabs into one nation; the recall of the whole people to a strict observance of religious duties; the inspiring them with true patriotism; the calling forth of all their capabilities for war, for commerce, for agriculture, and for mental improvement; and the crowning of the whole by the impress of European civilization. In laying the foundation for this mighty work, he had already overcome vast difficulties by means of wonderful enterprise, activity, and vigor. His intellectual greatness had caused him to shine as a warrior, diplomatist, orator, and statesman. The Provinces of Oran and Tittery and the plains of the Northern Sahara had been won by his military prowess.

A still nobler triumph in the exhibition of moral power was beheld in his dealings with the region called Great Kabylia, the superb range of the Djurjura Mountains extending eastward from Algiers. The hardy Kabyles of that territory had remained unsubdued amid the changing governments which had risen and fallen around them. As independent little republics, bound together by the most exalted spirit of freedom, they had ever preserved their usages, customs, and laws. In September, 1839, Abd-el-Kader, attended by only fifty horsemen, suddenly appeared among them. Thousands gathered around his tent from the valleys and fastnesses. He addressed them in a stirring and argumentative harangue, pointing out union under his standard as the only safeguard against French conquest. With loud shouts they accepted his faithful caliph, Ben Salem, as their chief in war, and agreed to pay the regular imposts and to go forth to the Djehad. For thirty days the Sultan made a progress through the country, everywhere received with joy and enthusiasm as a venerated hadji and marabout, as a teacher of the law, as a man of pious life, as a renowned warrior and an eloquent preacher. We cannot dwell here on his educational and moral reforms, his earnest efforts to enforce the teaching of the Koran, which was his guide in his public and private life. His beneficent intentions were all to be frustrated by the ambition of a European nation which was to signally fail, not in the work of conquering Abd-el-Kader, but in turning her conquest to good account.

Hastily drawn treaties are a prolific source of war. The Treaty of the Tafna was a flagrant example of this class of diplomatic documents. There were two drafts: one in Arabic, with the Sultan's seal; the other in French, with Bugeaud's. The drafts were not carefully compared. The limits of territory assigned to each of the parties were not made clear. One instance of the lack of identity in the two forms of the instrument will suffice. The French form declared that Abd-el-Kader acknowledged the sovereignty of France. The Sultan had never dreamed of making an admission which, in its effect on the tribes, would have cost him his throne. What he had written, in Arabic, in the article which he subscribed, was, properly translated, "The Emir Abd-el-Kader acknowledges that there is a French Sultan, and that he is great."

A new Governor-General, Marshal Valée, had assumed his functions at Algiers in November, 1837. Disputes arose as to the territorial rights of the Sultan under the Tafna Treaty, and after vain negotiations and missions to and fro matters were brought to a head by Marshal Valée in the despatch of an expedition to march over some disputed ground as a demonstration of French power and an assertion of French rights. A column under the Duc d'Orléans started from Milah, in the Province of Constantine, lately conquered by the French, to march across the disputed territory and thence onward. A way was gained through a formidable pass called the "Iron Gates," in October, 1839, by a simple process. The defile was one which a few hundred men could have held against any force, but the Kabyle sheiks were shown passports bearing Abd-el-Kader's seal and authorizing the passage of French troops. The seal of the Sultan had been forged. On November 1st Valée and the French Prince made a triumphant entry into Algiers, after this despicable piece of treachery, and were saluted as the heroes of the "Iron Gates."

The news reached Abd-el-Kader at Tekedemt. He sprang on his horse, and in forty-eight hours, riding night and day, was at Medea, whence he despatched a reproachful and defiant letter to the French Governor. He called the tribesmen to arms, formally declared war, swept down on the plains, destroyed the French cantonments, agricultural establishments, and outposts; slew many colonists, burned the villages and drove panic-stricken fugitives headlong into the city of Algiers. The French Government then ostentatiously declared the adoption of a firm policy and announced Algeria to be "henceforth and forever a French province." Reënforcements were rapidly sent to Algiers, and the effective army of Valée was soon raised to thirty thousand men. The Sultan headed about the same number of cavalry, regular and irregular, and six thousand regular infantry. A fair trial of strength, Frenchman against Arab, was now to be made.

Concentrating his army at Blidah, at the foot of the lesser Atlas range, the French Marshal marched on Medea and Millana. The river Chiffa was passed on April 27, 1840. The Sultan's cavalry appeared in large numbers. By a feigned movement, Abd-el-Kader induced his enemy to enter the mountains by the gorges of the Monzaia, which he had spent months in fortifying. Every eminence useful for the purpose was cut into intrenchments. A redoubt with heavy batteries crowned the highest peak. Near this were placed his regular infantry, officered by French deserters. Arabs and Kabyles swarmed in all directions, and, crouching in nooks, were ready to open fire on the French army as it wound its way with steady march along the narrow causeway which hung midway on the mountain slopes.

Valée had divided his force into three columns, one of which was led by Lamoricière, a man to become famous in Algerian warfare. The Sultan was now to see the value of French infantry. To the astonishment of the Arabs, the enemy, leaving the road, came darting over the steeps. Ravines, woods, and rocks were all mastered in the rush. Slowly but surely they were reaching the intrenchments, when a thick veil came over the scene from the smoke of incessant fire. The mist rolled away before the breeze sweeping through the pass, and the combatants met and fought hand to hand. The Arabs and Kabyles clung desperately to their places of shelter, but the French clambered up, grasping at shrubs and branches, ever winning their way. Abd-el-Kader made a last stand in person at the great redoubt, while his regulars and masses of Kabyles gathered round him. The converging columns of the French came creeping on amid the roll of drums and the blare of trumpets. The Arabs, bewildered by foes attacking them both in front and rear, wavered, broke, and fled. Lamoricière and his Zouaves, Changarnier and the Second Light Infantry, burst over the intrenchments, and the tricolor waved on the summit of the Atlas.

Abd-el-Kader retreated on Miliana, while the conqueror, entering Medea, found it abandoned and half burned. The Sultan had made his last attempt to fight the French on the principles of European warfare. His caliphs and chiefs were ordered never again to meet the enemy in masses, but to harass them in hanging on their flanks and rear, cutting their communications, attacking baggage and transports, and waging a contest of feigned retreats, ambuscades, and sudden sallies in order to bewilder and weary the foe. Miliana was evacuated by Abd-el-Kader on Valée's approach, but the chance of Arab warfare came when the French entered the mountain passes. Unceasing attacks, day and night, caused severe loss to the lately victorious French, with the capture of baggage and the abandonment of all wounded men. The French garrisons in Medea and Miliana were soon reduced to want by blockade of the surrounding country, and by October, 1840, the garrison of Miliana had almost disappeared, from the effects of fever and famine. Out of fifteen hundred men, the half had perished; five hundred were in hospital and the remainder were haggard wretches who could hardly hold their muskets. Such was the warfare in the mountains of the Province of Tittery, and Abd-el-Kader by his swift movements kept the enemy ever on the alert, and often in trouble, from the frontiers of Morocco to those of Tunis.

The real and decisive struggle began early in 1841. The right man was at last found by the French to deal with the hitherto indomitable Sultan of Tittery and Oran. The Government at Paris had begun in some sort to understand the power of their formidable adversary, and a serious effort was to be made. On February 22, 1841, General Bugeaud assumed office as Governor-General of Algeria. He had now come, not in the mood and with the policy of the day when he concluded the Treaty of the Tafna, but as one whose task it was to crush every rival power in Algeria. For this end, eighty-five thousand men were placed under his command. Thomas Bugeaud was a man of great ability, and he has the credit of devising the only method by which such an antagonist as Abd-el-Kader, in such a country, could be subdued.

Against an adversary so mobile, so full of expedients and resource, mobility and incessantly offensive movements offered the only chance of success. The French Commander knew that it was no mere army, but a people in arms, that he was to encounter. His forces were at once organized in many small, compact columns, each composed of a few infantry battalions and two squadrons of horse, with a little transport train of mules and camels and two mountain howitzers. Picked men alone, acclimatized and used to toil, were employed, and they carried nothing but their muskets and ammunition, with a little food. These columns were placed under the command of such energetic leaders as Changarnier and Cavaignac, Canrobert and Pélissier, Bedeau and Lamoricière, St. Arnaud and the Duc d'Aumale.

The campaign opened with the revictualling of Medea and Miliana, with great losses to the French, as Abd-el-Kader disputed every inch of the ground. Bugeaud, personally operating in Oran, reached Tekedemt on May 25th, and found it deserted and in flames. Boghar, Saida, and other fortresses were successively destroyed. The enemies of the Sultan were paying a heavy price for success. At the end of 1841 Bugeaud, out of sixty thousand men in the field, had only four thousand fit for duty. The rest had perished or were invalided for the time, from the toil of marches, incessant fighting, and the heat of the climate. The French Government's proposals of peace, on certain terms, only confirmed Abd-el-Kader in his resolve to try the extremities of war.

Bugeaud's main object was to establish permanent centres of action in the very heart of the Arab confederation of tribes, and, by rapidly consecutive expeditions radiating from these centres, to give his troops the ubiquity of Abd-el-Kader's forces. The chief seat of the Sultan's power was the Province of Oran, and this was made the principal scene of operations. Mascara was held by Lamoricière, Tlemsen by Bedeau. Changarnier was in observation on the western frontier of the plain of Algiers; Tittery was menaced by D'Aumale. From Oran and Mostaganem three columns were sent forth against the tribes occupying the large expanse of territory lying between the Atlas Mountains and the Mediterranean, and the tribes extending toward the Sahara. The first force, headed by Bugeaud in person, marched along the valley of the Chéliff, and then joined the second column under Changarnier, coming from Blida. The third body, under Lamoricière, aimed at pushing Abd-el-Kader back to the south in order to separate him from the tribes assailed by Changarnier and Bugeaud.

The plan of campaign was formidable for the Arabs, but it was encountered by the Sultan with wonderful skill and daring in a struggle which involved some thrilling episodes, Lamoricière, in his efforts to overtake the foe, was constantly baffled. Hearing that Abd-el-Kader was before Mascara, he hurried thither by forced marches, only to find that his enemy had passed by his rear and was raiding a tribe friendly to the French. Pursuing in the new direction, the French leader was outmaneuvre by the Sultan's bold and rapid dash across the Chéliff, placing his Arabs between Bugeaud and the sea, and recovering his ascendency over the tribes in that region. Abd-el-Kader then swept in a razzia to the south of Miliana, and soon appeared in full force in the Sahara as the bewildered French pursuers returned to their cantonments in despair of reaching him. This is a sample of the evolutions by which genius made amends for inferiority of force. The ablest military combinations were rendered abortive by an enemy that was ever slipping between columns, flitting in the front, hovering on the flanks, assailing the rear, and, with perfect knowledge of the country, was sometimes in the mountains and again in the plains, ubiquitous, unattainable for serious conflict.

Abd-el-Kader, leaving his caliphs to maintain this exasperating species of warfare in the Province of Oran, made for the frontiers of Morocco. There many tribes had submitted under the influence of Bedeau's military and diplomatic skill. The Sultan's communications with the country whence he drew his weapons, clothing, and ammunition were seriously threatened. His appearance at once brought back the Kabyles of Nedrouma to their allegiance, and their example was followed by other tribes, with the result that his army was increased to the number of three thousand cavalry and five thousand infantry. Able now to confront the enemy, Abd-el-Kader during the months of March and April, 1842, had frequent encounters with Bedeau, The issue was yet indecisive when the Sultan was called away to Mascara to deal with Lamoricière, who had been gaining ground and winning over tribes, including even a large part of Abd-el-Kader's own people, the Hashems. Lamoricière, believing the Sultan to be still engaged with Bedeau, had marched toward the Sahara, and Abd-el-Kader, by a mingling of severe punishment and mild treatment, regained most of his old authority.

Lamoricière, on receiving the news of his presence, hastened back to find his recent work undone and to be assailed by the tribes who had so lately joined him. Fighting his way bravely on to an encounter with the great leader of the Arabs, the French general heard of him as in force at Tekedemt. When he reached that place he found that Abd-el-Kader had fallen on Changarnier toward Miliana. That general, knowing nothing of the Sultan's approach, found himself enveloped by a vast force of Arabs and Kabyles, regulars and irregulars, horse and foot, led on by Abd-el-Kader in person and charging furiously on all sides.

After two days and nights of incessant battle, in which men closed fiercely with pistols, swords, bayonets, and yataghans, the Sultan vanished with his force, leaving the French too exhausted and crippled by their losses for pursuit. Two days later tidings reached them that he was in the Metidja, ravaging the plain and carrying terror to the very gates of Algiers. Abd-el-Kader then bore away to the Atlas, ascended the mountains, penetrated beyond Tittery and reached the Sahara, everywhere inspiriting the tribes and raising fresh forces. After sweeping over three hundred leagues of ground he returned, in recruited strength and new energy, to press upon Lamoricière and his garrison at Mascara with all the rigors of a winter blockade.

In spite of his wonderful efforts, the Sultan could not but feel that he was struggling with adverse fortune. The enemy by the seizure of his fixed establishments had gained possession of a large part of his territory and of the strongholds that had contained his stores of war. His regular army had almost disappeared, and much of his credit among the Arabs had departed. The ketna, which was his ancestral abode, had been laid waste. He could not protect the families of his most faithful adherents from constant exposure, in spite of his vigilant activity, to the outrages of the detested infidels. In this position, he resolved to remove from the scene of warfare those whom it was impossible for him to desert with any regard to feelings of religion and humanity. He formed his famous smala, a new and remarkable organization consisting of a gathering of private families. To this moving asylum of refuge and safety the Arab tribes sent their treasure, their herds, their women and children, their sick and aged persons.

The smala was a great travelling capital, containing at first more than twenty thousand souls, following the Sultan's movements; sometimes in advance to the more cultivated regions, or in retreat to the Sahara, according to the fluctuations of the contest which he was so bravely waging. In the Sahara, the tents of the smala spread to the distant horizon. In the Tell, they filled the valley and rose up the slopes of the hills. All the arrangements were of military regularity. The different deiras, or households, with tents varying in number with their dwellers, were distributed into four great encampments. Each deira knew its appointed place. Each chief had his station marked and his special duties assigned. Four tribes were set apart to protect and guide the smala in its wanderings, and the guard was composed of regular troops. The existence of this organization, ever growing in extent, became a powerful check on the disaffection of the tribes. When the French leaders tempted them with fair promises, the warriors bethought them of the pledges: the women, the children, the flocks and herds, which were in the Sultan's hands. The genius of Abd-el-Kader had created a new and widely extended political engine.

When the French leaders had learned to appreciate the importance of the smala its capture or dispersal became a chief object with all officers from the generals of corps to the colonels in charge of detachments. The campaign of 1843 was opened by Lamoricière, who occupied Tekedemt. Abd-el-Kader with about fifteen hundred horsemen watched his movements from some neighboring woods. He knew that the French commander's object was the smala, and he remained in ambush for twenty days. He and his men lived on acorns; the horses were fed on leaves. One day a stray sheep was found. The Sultan would have none of it, and said, "Take it to my starving soldiers," as he turned to his meal of acorns. Twice was Lamoricière repulsed in his search, and then a traitor revealed the exact place of the smala encampment.

Lamoricière remained to occupy the attention of Abd-el-Kader, and the French column stationed at Medea was selected for the attack. The leadership was intrusted to the Duc d'Aumale, and on May 10, 1843, he started from Boghar with thirteen hundred infantry, six hundred horse, and two field-guns.

The indicated place of encampment was found empty, and the French column wandered about in uncertain fashion.

At break of day on May 16th the traitor made known the new spot of the smala's halt, and D'Aumale at once daringly advanced with his cavalry alone. The surprise created a panic among the people. The guard of five hundred regulars fired a volley and fled. A handful of the Hashem tribe bravely strove to stem the torrent, but they were swept away in the rout, and in an hour all was over. The smala was broken up amid scenes of terrible confusion and despair, including the extraordinary sight of a promiscuous mass of camels, dromedaries, horses, mules, oxen, and sheep careering and plunging on the plain. There was little bloodshed, but the French victors were in possession of hostages of the utmost value in the families of Abd-el-Ka-der's most influential chiefs. His own family had escaped. The booty taken was immense, comprising thousands of animals; the Sultan's valuable library of rare Arabic manuscripts; the military chest containing some millions of francs, and the chests of his caliphs and other high officers, filled with gold and silver coins and costly jewellery. The French soldiers baled out dollars and doubloons in their shakos, and helped themselves to diamonds and pearls.

This dreadful blow, when the news reached him in the woods where he watched near Lamoricière's command, almost overwhelmed, for a time, even the exalted and undaunted spirit of the Sultan. He spent some hours alone in his tent, in meditation and prayer. He came forth with a smile and addressed his chiefs, his officers, and men as they stood outside in groups, some downcast and silent, some bitterly cursing their foe and fate. He reminded them that the dear objects now lost had impeded the movements of the holy war against the infidels, and that those who had fallen were now in paradise. The next day he wrote to his caliphs, bidding them not to be discouraged; they would thenceforth be lighter and in better order for war. In fact at the time of the Duc d'Aumale's attack, the population of the smala amounted to not less than sixty thousand. Not more than three thousand prisoners were taken; the rest of the Arabs were dispersed in all directions. Some fell among Arab tribes who plundered them; others were overtaken by Lamoricière.

The blow was, on the whole, irreparable in its effects upon the influence of the Sultan. Every day brought tidings of the defection of some great tribe. The ranks of his enemies were swelled by large contingents of Arabs.

Worse things were in store for the brave man contending with ill-fortune. His ablest caliphs were removed by captivity or death in action; the distant provinces fell a prey to the foe. The Province of Oran became the scene of a desperate struggle. With a chosen and devoted band of five thousand men Abd-el-Kader made his presence felt at all points. Now he fell on recreant tribes; now he made head against the French columns. Ever in the van, leading on the charge, plunging into the thickest of the fight, by his example he encouraged and inspired his followers. His bravest warriors fell around him; his horses were slain under him; his burnoose was torn with bullets; but still he fought on. The world's record can show no more brilliant instance of almost superhuman heroism.

Once he was taken unawares. On September 23, 1843, he was encamped near Sidi Yusuf with a battalion of infantry and five hundred irregular horse. A spy made known his position to Lamoricière, who was at a distance of six leagues. The French General at once led out in person the Second Chasseurs d'Afrique. A night's march covered the intervening space and the spot was reached in the gray of dawn. The Sultan was aroused from sleep by cries of "The French! the French!" He had barely time to mount. He might have escaped, but he preferred the risk of death to the double stain of surprise and flight. His infantry seized their arms and fired a volley; his cavalry rallied at his voice. Then as the smoke slowly rolled away he dashed into the French chasseurs, dispersed them by the sudden shock, and after a few minutes' hard fighting drew off his whole force in perfect order.

The Beni-Amers, the men whose four thousand sabres had waved in exultation around the young leader of the Djehad; the men whose splendid courage had opened before him the path of glory and of empire, had gone over to the French. Abd-el-Kader resolved to attack them. Suddenly descending upon them he swept through their encampments, slew numbers, and carried off a great booty. A French battalion stationed among them vainly strove to arrest his progress. An Arab chief, one of his old followers, boldly singled him out, rode up, and fired at him point-blank. The ball missed, and Abd-el-Kader shot the traitor dead with his pistol.

The Sultan knew that all was lost unless he could obtain external aid. The smala was now reduced to his own deira, a bare thousand souls, wandering about in miserable fashion. After another desperate engagement with Lamoricière during which the Arab women cheered on the warriors, and Abd-el-Kader and his men fighting in the presence of their wives and children performed new prodigies of valor, he succeeded in safely establishing the noncombatants on the territory of Morocco.

Bugeaud, now become a marshal, wrote to his Government declaring that all serious warfare was finished. In the summer of 1844, the violation of Abderrahman's territory by French troops under Lamoricière and Bedeau led to some warfare, in which the Moroccan troops were twice defeated. The people of the country were strongly in favor of Abd-el-Kader; and when their Sultan, after a French bombardment of Tangiers and Mogador, made a treaty with France by which the Algerian hero was "placed beyond the pale of the law throughout the Empire of Morocco, as well as in Algeria," and was to be "pursued by main force by the Moroccans on their own territory," the Moorish population was filled with resentment. Letters reached Abd-el-Kader from Fez, the capital, dictated and signed by the first grandees in the State, both civil and military, and from the commercial classes, inviting him to ascend the throne of his ancestors. Had he been a mere adventurer or usurper he might have lived henceforth, and died, Emperor of Morocco, But his whole soul was patriotically bent on one object, the freedom and independence of Algeria. He disdained to wear a borrowed crown. As he afterward declared, "His religion forbade him to injure a sovereign chosen and appointed by God."

During the year 1844 the Sultan had made a rapid incursion into the Tell, everywhere appealing to the tribes; but he found the national spirit overawed by the presence of French detachments in all directions, and he returned to his deira in despondent spirit. He now received appeals from some of his devoted caliphs to undertake a fresh campaign, especially from the loyal and chivalrous Ben Salem, who dwelt in the gorges of the Djur jura Mountains. To him Abd-el-Kader replied, promising to come "as soon as affairs in the west were settled."

Months passed away and the Arab tribes who had submitted began to feel the pressure of French domination and to resent the supercilious conduct of French officials. In the spring of 1845 their former Sultan reappeared. He swept down into the valley of the Tafna and routed and cut to pieces a French detachment. In this action the lower part of his right ear was carried away by a musket-ball, the only wound which he ever received. Another detachment of six hundred men laid down their arms without firing a shot. Some stir was made among the Arabs by these successes, and the French commanders took alarm. Lamoricière, Cavaignac, and Bedeau wrote pressing letters for reinforcements, and urged the return of Bugeaud. The most formidable foe of Abd-el-Kader reached the scene of action in October, 1845, bringing fresh forces, and in a week he took the field at the head of a hundred twenty thousand men. This fact is the highest eulogy that can be accorded to the military prowess of a man who so long defied the power of France.

The end of the great career was rapidly coming. After another vain appeal to the Moorish ruler even Abd-el-Kader felt that all was lost. A French writer in the Biographie générale truly declares:

"The greatness of the man was strikingly displayed in the very hour of his downfall. Destitute of resources, surrounded by foes, at open enmity with the Emperor of Morocco, wandering like a hunted lion, with hardly any comrade but his horse, no shelter except his tent, Abd-el-Kader still inspired a terror which forced his enemies to keep a great army on foot in Algeria for protection against possible attacks at his hand."

In his deira, at this time, all was despondency and grief. His own brothers had abandoned him. Ben Salem, the faithful, long-tried, devoted friend and follower, was a voluntary prisoner in the French camp. Abd-el-Kader's whole force was fewer than two thousand men, but among these were twelve hundred horsemen, the flower of the Algerian cavalry. Most of them had been his inseparable comrades, partakers in all his hardships and dangers, throughout his career. During a short period of rest he summoned them daily around him and aroused new enthusiasm among the bronzed veterans by his eloquent words.

On December 9, 1847, the deira was stationed on Moorish territory, at Agueddin, on the left bank of the Melouia. It comprised in all about five thousand souls. The next day news arrived that a great Moorish host under the Sultan's two sons was only three hours' march away. On January 11th, Abd-el-Kader gathered his armed force, marched at dead of night and fell furiously on the first division of the Moors and Arabs. The slumbering foe awoke to see the thick darkness illumined by flashes of light from muskets. Seized with panic, the men rushed away in all directions, abandoning arms, tents, and baggage. In the mean time Abd-el-Kader and his men swept onward and attacked the second division, which was also defeated and dispersed. In half an hour the third division was reached. This force had time to prepare for defence, and the assailants withdrew before a steady fire of infantry and artillery to an adjacent hill. At midday five thousand Moorish cavalry moved out against Abd-el-Kader's little army. At charging distance he led on his men, swept through the foe, and by a skilful combination of assault and retreat regained his deira by the river Melouia, before sunset. The deira had nearly effected its passage across the river, with the baggage and the spoils taken from the enemy, when the Moorish army was seen cautiously advancing.

The situation was full of peril. The deira had never been so exposed. The ammunition was expended and the infantry was thus counted out of the fight. Abd-el-Kader could only depend on his "Old Guard"—his matchless cavalry. At length the Melouia was passed, and, although the foe was pressing on, he would not leave its bank until the noncombatants had gained a full hour in advance. Then the deira crossed another stream and reached a place of safety, for the time, on French territory. Not a life had been lost nor a beast of burden of all that crowd of men, women, children, and animals. Coolness, intrepidity, and skill had been their protectors. Of the fighting men, however, more than two hundred had been slain, and nearly all the rest were suffering from wounds.

Abd-el-Kader now turned toward the hills inhabited by a tribe which still, in part, adhered to him. His horsemen followed him in anxious silence, suffering and exhausted. The rain fell in torrents. Their chief was tormented by conflicting thoughts. A French camp was visible in the distance, three hours' march away, occupying a pass. He and his cavalry might yet escape by narrow defiles into the Sahara. But what of his aged mother, his wife and children, his helpless followers in the deira? All would become captives to the foe. He called his men around him and reminded them of the oath which, eight years before on the renewal of the war, they had taken at Medea that they would never forsake him in any danger or suffering. All declared themselves ready still to adhere to it. He set before them the peril of the people in the deira and suggested submission. All the warriors cried: "Perish women and children so long as you are safe and able to renew the battles of God. You are our head, our Sultan; fight or surrender, as you will, we will follow you wherever you choose to lead." After a few moments' pause Abd-el-Kader declared that the struggle was over. The tribes were tired of the war and there was nothing left but submission. He would ask the French for a safe-conduct for himself and his family, and for all who chose to follow him, to another Mussulman country. The universal answer was, "Sultan, let your will be done!"

The incessant rain rendered it impossible to write down any terms. Abd-el-Kader therefore affixed his seal to a piece of paper, and despatched it in charge of two horsemen to the French general as a sign of authorization on his part for demands to be verbally made. It was Lamoricière who received the two emissaries; and he sent a verbal reply, acceding to all proposals. Abd-el-Kader then sent a letter, and received in reply a written promise and stipulation that the Sultan and his family should be conducted to St. Jean d'Acre or Alexandria. The new Governor-General, the Duc d'Aumale, was close at hand, and on the evening of December 23, 1847, the fallen hero, attended by some of his chiefs and men, escorted by five hundred French cavalry, who showed great respect and sympathy for the captives, arrived at headquarters. Abd-el-Kader, attended by Lamoricière and Cavaignac, was presented to the son of Louis Philippe. The Prince pledged himself that Lamoricière's promise and stipulation should be strictly observed. He knew little that his father's throne was about to fall, and that the decision as to Abd-el-Kader's fate would, within a few weeks, rest in far different hands. The ex-Sultan then withdrew to his deira, which had now joined the French encampment.

On the next morning, December 24th, the Governor-General held a review. His honored prisoner and guest, riding a splendid black charger of the purest Arab breed, and surrounded by his chiefs, awaited his return from the field. When the Prince approached, Abd-el-Kader dismounted and offered his steed as a present in testimony of his gratitude, and expressed the hope that he might always bear his new master in safety and happiness. The Duc d'Aumale replied, "I accept it as a homage rendered to France, the protection of which country will henceforth be ever extended toward you, and as a sign that the past is forgotten."

On December 25th the Algerian hero embarked with his family and followers in a French frigate for Toulon. He had seen the last of his native land. Lamoricière accompanied him on board and supplemented his poor resources with a present of four thousand francs, receiving Abd-el-Kader's sword in return. The Moniteur of January 3, 1848, paid a high tribute to the genius and ascendency of the captive in these words: "The subjugation of Abd-el-Kader is an event of immense importance to France. It assures the tranquillity of our conquest. To-day France can, if necessary, transport to other quarters the hundred thousand men who hold the conquered populations under her yoke."

(1847) THE MEXICAN WAR, John Bonner

When President Polk began his Administration, the United States Government had become involved in two boundary disputes—one relating to Oregon, the other to Texas and Mexico. Out of the latter came the Mexican War, concerning the political causes and merits of which there were then and ever since have been wide differences of opinion among the American people. Polk's election by the Democrats in 1844 had turned mainly upon the question of annexing Texas. Just before he came into office the annexation was made.

Texas claimed as her western boundary the Rio Grande. Mexico held that the western limit was the Nueces. Between the two rivers there was a large area of disputed territory. The Texan claim was opposed by many American statesmen and publicists, and by some was denounced—as the annexation of Texas had been—as an aggressive move against Mexico. But the United States Government supported the cause of Texas. General Zachary Taylor, who had served in the War of 1812, and afterward in several Indian wars, took command of the army in Texas in 1845. In January, 1846, he was ordered to occupy positions on or near the left bank of the Rio Grande del Norte. This order and its execution have been held by some writers to constitute an act of war, but war was not formally declared by the United States till May 11th. Taylor, with a small force, had several slight encounters with Mexican troops, after which he won the battle of Palo Alto (May 8, 1846), near the southern extremity of Texas; and that of Resaca de la Palma (May 9th), also in Texas, four miles north of Matamoros, Mexico. He took possession of Matamoros May 18th. With six thousand men, against about ten thousand Mexicans under Ampudia, Taylor captured Monterey, Mexico (September 24th), and at Buena Vista, February 22-23, 1847, with five thousand troops, he defeated fifteen thousand Mexicans under Santa Anna, then President of Mexico and commander of her army.

The war was now transferred to the district between Vera Cruz and the City of Mexico, the capital, and was henceforth conducted for the United States by General Winfield Scott, whose previous military career had been much the same as General Taylor's. Scott had been made Major-General and Commander-in-Chief of the Army in 1841. His first operation in Mexico was the taking of Vera Cruz, the principal Mexican seaport, on the Gulf of Mexico. With the aid of a fleet he besieged the city in March, 1847, and on the 27th received its surrender. At Cerro Gordo (April 17th and 18th) he won an important victory that opened his way through the mountains toward his objective, the city of Mexico. Reënforcements gradually reached him, and by the first of August he was ready to move on the valley of Mexico with about eleven thousand men. From this stage to the fall of the capital, completing the conquest of the country, Bonner's account gives a graphic recital of events. The city was held by Americans from September 14, 1847, the day they entered it, until the signing of the Treaty of Guadalupe-Hidalgo (February 2, 1848), which ended the war.

With the energy that characterized Santa Anna throughout the Mexican War, he had prepared for a desperate defence. Civil strife had been silenced, funds raised, an army of twenty-five thousand men mustered, and every precaution taken which genius could suggest or science indicate. Nature had done much for him. Directly in front of the invading army lay the large lakes of Xochimilco and Chalco. These turned, vast marshes, intersected by ditches and for the most part impassable, surrounded the city on the east and the south—on which side Scott was advancing—for several miles. The only approaches were by causeways; and these Santa Anna had taken prodigious pains to guard. The national road to Vera Cruz—which Scott must have taken had he marched on the north side of the lakes—was commanded by a fort mounting fifty-one guns on an impregnable hill called El Peñon. Should he turn the southern side of the lakes, a field of lava, deemed almost impassable for troops, interposed a primary obstacle; and fortified positions at San Antonio, San Angel, and Churubusco, with an intrenched camp at Contreras, were likewise to be surmounted before the southern causeways could be reached. Beyond these there yet remained the formidable castle of Chapultepec and the strong enclosure of Molino del Rey, to be stormed before the city gates could be reached. Powerful batteries had been mounted at all these points, and ample garrisons detailed to serve them. The bone and muscle of Mexico were there.

Goaded by defeat, Santa Anna never showed so much vigor; ambition fired Valencia; patriotism stirred the soul of Alvarez; Canalizo, maddened by the odium into which he had fallen, was boiling to regain his soubriquet of the "Lion of Mexico." With a constancy equal to anything recorded of the Roman Senate, the Mexican Congress, on learning of the defeat at Cerro Gordo, had voted unanimously that anyone opening negotiations with the enemy should be deemed a traitor; and the citizens with one accord had ratified the vote. Within six months Mexico had lost two splendid armies in two pitched battles against the troops now advancing against the capital; but she never lost heart, and her spirit quailed not.

The engineers reporting that the fortress on El Peñon could not be carried without a loss of one-third the army, Scott decided to move by the south of the lakes; and Worth accordingly advanced, leading the van, as far as San Augustin, nine miles from the city of Mexico. There a large field of lava, known as the Pedregal, barred the way. On the one side, two miles from San Augustin, the fortified works at San Antonio commanded the passage between the field and the lake; on the other, the ground was so much broken that infantry alone could advance, and General Valencia occupied an intrenched camp, with a heavy battery, near the village of Contreras, three miles distant. Scott determined to attack on both sides, and sent forward General William J. Worth on the east, and General Gideon J. Pillow and General David E. Twiggs on the west. The latter advanced as fast as possible over the masses of lava on the morning of the 19th, and by 2 P.M. a couple of light batteries were placed in position and opened fire on the Mexican camp.

At the same time General Persifor Smith conceived the plan of turning Valencia's left, and hastened along the path through the Pedregal in the direction of a village called San Jeronimo. Colonel Riley followed. Pillow sent Cadwallader's brigade on the same line, and later in the day Morgan's regiment was likewise despatched toward that point. They drove in the Mexican pickets and skirmishers, dispersed a few parties of lancers, and occupied the village without loss. Seeing the movement, Santa Anna hastened to Valencia's support with twelve thousand men. He was discovered by Cadwallader just as the latter gained the village road; and appreciating the vast importance of preventing a junction between the two Mexican generals, that gallant officer did not hesitate to draw up his brigade in order of battle. So broken was the ground that Santa Anna could not see the amount of force opposed to him, and declined the combat. This was all Cadwallader wanted. Shields's brigade was advancing through the Pedregal, and the troops which had already crossed were rapidly moving to the rear of Valencia's camp. Night too was close at hand. When it fell, Smith's, Riley's, and Cadwallader's commands had gained the point they sought. Shields joined them at ten o'clock; and at midnight Captain Lee crossed the Pedregal, with a message from General Smith to General Scott, to say that he would begin the attack at daybreak next morning.

It rained all night and the men lay in the mud without fires. At three in the morning (August 20th) the word was passed to march. Such pitchy darkness covered the face of the plain that Smith ordered every man to touch his front file as he marched. Now and then a flash of lightning lighted the narrow ravine; occasionally a straggling moonbeam pierced the clouds and shed an uncertain glimmer on the heights; but these flitting guides served only to make the darkness seem darker. The soldiers groped their way, stumbling over stones and brushwood, and did not gain the rear of the camp till day broke. Then Riley bade his men look to the priming of their guns, and reload those which the rain had wet. With the first ray of daylight the firing had begun again between the Mexican camp and Ransom's corps stationed in front and Shields's brigade at San Jeronimo. Almost at the same moment Riley began to ascend the height in the rear. Before he reached the crest, his engineers, who had gone forward to reconnoitre, came running back to say that his advance had been detected, that two guns were being pointed against him, and a body of infantry were sallying from the camp, The news braced the men's nerves. They gained the ridge, and stood a tremendous volley from the Mexicans without flinching. Hanson of the Seventh—a gallant officer and an excellent man—was shot down with many others; but the Mexicans had done their worst.

With steady aim the volley was returned; and ere the smoke rose a cheer rang through the ravine, and Riley fell with a swoop on the intrenchments. With bayonet and butt of musket, the Second and Seventh drove the enemy from his guns, leaping into his camp and slaughtering all before them. Up rushed Smith's own brigade on the left, driving a party of Mexicans before them, and charging with the bayonet straight at Torrejon's cavalry, which was drawn up in order of battle. Defeat was marked on their faces. Valencia was nowhere to be found. Salas strove vainly to rouse his men to defend themselves with energy; Torrejon's horse, smitten with panic, broke and fled at the advance of our infantry. Riley hurled the Mexicans from their camp after a struggle of a quarter of an hour; and as they rushed down the ravine, their own cavalry rode over them, trampling down more men than the bayonet and ball had laid low. On the right, as they fled, Cadwallader's brigade poured in a destructive volley; and Shields, throwing his party across the road, obstructed their retreat and compelled the fugitives to yield themselves prisoners of war. The only fight of any moment had taken place within the camp. There, for a few minutes, the Mexicans had fought desperately; two of our regimental colors had been shot down, but finally Anglo-Saxon bone and sinew had triumphed. To the exquisite delight of the assailants, the first prize of victory was the guns O'Brien had abandoned at Buena Vista, which were regained by his own regiment. Twenty other guns and more than a thousand prisoners, including eighty-eight officers and four generals, were likewise captured, and about fifteen hundred Mexicans killed and wounded. The American loss in killed, wounded, and missing was about one hundred men.

Barely taking time to breathe his troops, Smith followed in pursuit toward the city. By ten o'clock in the morning he reached San Angel, which Santa Anna evacuated as he approached. The General-in-Chief and the generals of division had by this time relieved Smith of his command. Scott rode to the front, and in a few brief words told the men there was more work to be done that day. A loud cheer from the ranks was the reply. The whole force then advanced to Coyacan, within a mile of Churubusco, and prepared to assault the place.

Santa Anna considered it the key to the city, and awaited the attack in perfect confidence with thirty thousand men. The defences were simple. On the west, in the direction of Coyacan, stood the large stone convent of San Pablo, which, as well as the wall and breastworks in front, was filled with infantry, and which contained seven heavy guns. A breastwork connected San Pablo with the tête de pont over the Churubusco River, four hundred yards distant. This was the easternmost point of defence, and formed part of the San Antonio causeway leading to the city. It was a work constructed with the greatest skill—bastions, curtain, and wet ditch, everything was complete and perfect—four guns were mounted in embrasure and barbette, and as many men as the place would hold were stationed there. The reserves occupied the causeway behind Churubusco. Independently of his defences, Santa Anna's numbers—nearly five to one—should have insured the repulse of the assailants.

By eleven—hardly seven hours having elapsed since the Contreras camp had been stormed, five miles away—Twiggs and Pillow were in motion toward the San Antonio causeway. Nothing had been heard of Worth, who had been directed to move along the east side of the Pedregal on San Antonio, but it was taken for granted he had carried the point, and Scott wished to cut off the retreat of the garrison. Twiggs was advancing cautiously toward the convent when a heavy firing was heard in advance. Supposing that a reconnoitring party had been attacked, he hastily sent forward the First Artillery, under Dimmick, through a field of tall corn, to support them. No sooner had they separated from the main body than a terrific discharge of grape, canister, and musketry assailed them from the convent. In the teeth of the storm they advanced to within one hundred yards of that building, and a light battery under Taylor was brought up on their right, and opened on the convent.

More than an hour the gunners stood firm to their pieces under afire as terrible as troops ever endured; one-third of the command had fallen before they were withdrawn. Colonel Riley meanwhile, with the stormers of Contreras, had been despatched to assail San Pablo on the west, and, like Dimmick, was met by a murderous rain of shot. Whole heads of companies were mowed down at once. Thus Captain Smith fell, twice wounded, with every man beside him; and a single discharge from the Mexican guns swept down Lieutenant Easley and the division he led. It was the second time that day the gallant Second had served as targets for the Mexicans, but not a man fell back. General Smith ordered up the Third in support, and these, protecting themselves as best they could behind a few huts, kept up a steady fire on the convent. Sallies from the works were continually made, and as continually repelled, but not a step could the assailants make in advance.

By this time the battle was raging at three different points. Worth had marched on San Antonio that morning, found it evacuated, and given chase to the Mexicans with the Fifth and Sixth Infantry. The causeway leading from San Antonio to the tête de pont of Churubusco was thronged with flying horse and foot; our troops dashed headlong after them, never halting till the advance corps—the Sixth—were within short range of the Mexican batteries. A tremendous volley from the tête de pont in front, and the convent on the flank, then forced them to await the arrival of the rest of the division. This was the fire which Twiggs heard when he sent Dimmick against the convent.

Worth came up almost immediately; and directing the Sixth to advance as best they could along the causeway in the teeth of the tête de pont, despatched Garland's and Clarke's brigades through the fields on the right to attack it in flank. Every gun was instantly directed against the assailants; and though the day was bright and clear, the clouds of smoke actually darkened the air. Hoffman, waving his sword, cheered on the Sixth; but the shot tore and ripped up their ranks to such a degree that in a few minutes they had lost ninety-seven men. The brigades on the right suffered as severely. One hundred men fell within the space of an acre. Still they pressed on, till the Eighth (of Clarke's brigade) reached the ditch. In they plunged, Lieutenant Longstreet bearing the colors in advance; he scrambled out on the other side, dashed at the walls without ladders or scaling implements, and bayoneted the defenders as they took aim. At last, officers and men mixed pell-mell, some through the embrasures, some over the walls, rushed or leaped in and drove the garrison helter-skelter upon their reserves.

The tête de pont gained, its guns were turned on the convent, whence the Mexicans were still slaughtering our gallant Second and Third. Duncan's battery, too, hitherto in reserve, was brought up and opened with such rapidity that a bystander estimated the intervals between the reports at three seconds! Stunned by this novel attack, the garrison of San Pablo slackened fire. In an instant the Third, followed by Dimmick's artillery, dashed forward with the bayonet to storm the nearest bastion. With a run they carried it, the artillery bursting over the curtain; but at that moment a dozen white flags waved in their faces. The whole fortified position of Churubusco was taken.

Meantime, however, a conflict as deadly as either of these was raging behind the Mexican fortifications. Soon after the battle commenced, Scott sent Pierce's and Shields's brigades by the left, through the fields, to attack the enemy in the rear. On the causeway, opposed to them, were planted Santa Anna's reserves—four thousand foot and three thousand horse—in a measure protected by a dense growth of maguey. Shields advanced intrepidly with his force of sixteen hundred. The ground was marshy, and for a long distance—having vainly endeavored to outflank the enemy—his advance was exposed to their whole fire. Morgan, of the Fifteenth, fell wounded. The New York regiment suffered fearfully, and their leader, Colonel Burnett, was disabled. The Palmettos of South Carolina, and the Ninth under Ransom, were as severely cut up; and after a while all sought shelter in and about a large barn near the causeway. Shields, in an agony at the failure of his movement, cried imploringly for volunteers to follow him.

The appeal was instantly answered by Colonel Butler, of the Palmettos: "Every South Carolinian will follow you to the death!" The cry was contagious, and most of the New Yorkers took it up. Forming at angles to the causeway, Shields led these brave men, under an incessant hail of shot, against the village of Portales, where the Mexican reserves were posted. Not a trigger was pulled till they stood at a hundred fifty yards from the enemy. Then the little band poured in their volley, fatally answered by the Mexican host. Butler, already wounded, was shot through the head and died instantly. Calling to the Palmettos to avenge his death, Shields gives the word to charge. They charge—not four hundred in all—over the plain and down upon four thousand Mexicans securely posted under cover. At every step their ranks are thinned. Dickenson, who succeeded Butler in command of the Palmettos, seizes the colors as the bearer falls dead; the next moment he is down himself, mortally wounded, and Major Gladden snatches them from his hand.

Adams, Moragne, and nearly half the gallant band are prostrate. A very few minutes more and there will be no one left to bear the glorious flag.

But at this very moment a deafening roar is heard in the direction of the tête de pont. Round shot and grape, rifle-balls and canister, come crashing down the causeway into the Mexican ranks from their own battery. Worth is there, the gallant fellow, just in time. Down the road and over the ditch, through the field and hedge and swamp, in tumult and panic the Mexicans are flying from the bayonets of the Sixth and Garland's brigade. A shout, louder than the cannon's peal; Worth is on their heels with his men. Before Shields reaches the causeway he is by his side driving the Mexican horse into their infantry, and Ayres is galloping up with a captured Mexican gun. Captain Kearny, with a few dragoons, dashes past, rides straight into the flying host, scatters them right and left, sabres all he can reach, and halts before the gate of Mexico. Not till then does he perceive that he is alone with his little party, nearly all of whom are wounded; but, despite the hundreds of escopetas that are levelled at him, he gallops back in safety to headquarters.

The sun, which rose that morning on a proud army and a defiant metropolis, set at even on a shattered, haggard band, and a city full of woe-stricken wretches who did nothing all night but quake with terror, and cry, at every noise, "Aqui viene los Yanquies!" ("Here come the Yankees!") All along the causeway, and in the fields and swamps on either side, heaps of dead men and cattle intermingled with broken ammunition-carts, marked where the American shot had told. A gory track leading to the tête de pont, groups of dead in the fields on the west of Churubusco, over whose pale faces some stalks of tattered corn still waved; red blotches in the marsh next the causeway, where the rich blood of Carolina and New York soaked the earth, showed where the fire of the heavy Mexican guns and the countless escopetas of the infantry had been most murderous. Scott had lost, in that day's work, more than a thousand men in killed and wounded, seventy-nine of whom were officers. The Mexican loss, according to Santa Anna, was one-third of his army, equal probably to ten thousand men, one-fourth of whom were prisoners, the rest killed and wounded. As the sun went down the troops were recalled to headquarters; but all night long the battlefield swarmed with straggling parties seeking some lost comrade in the cold and rain, and surgeons hurrying from place to place and offering succor to the wounded.

It would have been easy for Scott to march on the city that night, or next morning, and seize it before the Mexicans recovered from the shock of their defeat. Anxious to shorten the war, and assured that Santa Anna was desirous of negotiating; warned, moreover, by neutrals and others, that the hostile occupation of the capital would destroy the last chance of peaceable accommodation and rouse the Mexican spirit to resistance all over the country, the American general consented, too generously perhaps, to offer an armistice to his vanquished foe. It was eagerly accepted, and negotiations were commenced which lasted over a fortnight. In the mean time General Scott had the satisfaction of hanging several of the Irishmen who had deserted to the Mexicans, and, serving as the battalion of San Patricio, had shot down so many of their old comrades at Buena Vista and Churubusco. This act of justice was approved by the army and the nation. Early in September the treachery of the Mexicans became apparent. No progress had been made in the negotiations; and, in defiance of the armistice, an American wagon, proceeding to the city for provisions, had been attacked by the mob and one man killed and others wounded. Scott wrote to Santa Anna, demanding an apology, and threatening to terminate the armistice on the 7th if it were not tendered. The reply was insulting in the extreme; Santa Anna had repaired his losses and was ready for another fight.

On the evening of September 7th Worth and his officers were gathered in his quarters at Tacubaya. On a table lay a hastily sketched map showing the position of the fortified works at Molino del Rey, with the Casa Mata on one side and the castle of Chapultepec on the other. The Molino was occupied by the enemy; there was reason to believe it contained a foundry in full operation, and Worth had been directed to storm it next morning. Over that table bent Garland and Clarke, eager to repeat the glorious deeds of August 20th at the tête de pont of Churubusco; Duncan and Smith, already veterans; Wright, the leader of the forlorn hope, joyfully thinking of the morrow; famous Martin Scott, and dauntless Graham, little dreaming that a few hours would see their livid corpses stretched upon the plain; fierce old M'Intosh, covered with scars; Worth himself, his manly brow clouded, and his cheek paled by sickness and anxiety. Each officer had his place assigned to him in the conflict; and they parted to seek a few hours' rest.

At half-past two on the morning of the 8th the division was astir. 'Twas a bright starlight night whose silence was unbroken as the troops moved thoughtfully toward the battlefield. In front, on the right, about a mile from the encampment, the hewn-stone walls of the Molino del Rey—a range of buildings five hundred yards long, and well adapted for defence—were distinctly visible, with drowsy lights twinkling through the windows. A little farther off, on the left, stood the black pile of the Casa Mata, the arsenal, crenelled for musketry, and surrounded by a quadrangular field work. Beyond the Casa Mata lay a ravine, and from this a ditch and hedge ran, passing in front of both works, to the Tacubaya road. Far on the right the grim old castle of Chapultepec loomed up darkly against the sky. Sleep wrapped the whole Mexican line, and but few words were spoken in the American ranks as the troops took up their respective positions: Garland, with Dunn's battery and Huger's 24-pounders, on the right, against the Molino; Wright, at the head of the stormers, and followed by the light division under Captain Kirby Smith, in the centre; M'Intosh, with Duncan's battery, on the left, near the ravine looking toward the Casa Mata; and Cadwallader, with his brigade, in reserve.

Night still overhung the east when the Mexicans were roused from their slumbers by the roar of Huger's 24-pounders, and the crashing of the balls through the roof and walls of the Molino. A shout arose within their lines, spreading from the ravine to the castle; lights flashed in every direction, bugles sounded, the clank of arms rang from right to left, and every man girded himself for the fray. With the first ray of daylight Major Wright advanced with the forlorn hope down the slope. A few seconds elapsed; then a sheet of flame burst from the batteries, and round shot, canister, and grape hurtled through the air. "Charge!" shouted the leader, and down they went, with double-quick step, over the ditch and hedge, and into the line, sweeping everything before them. The Mexicans fell from their guns, but soon, seeing the smallness of the force opposed to them and reassured by the galling fire poured from the azoteas and Molino on the stormers, they rallied, charged furiously, and drove our men back into the plain. Here eleven out of the fourteen officers of Wright's party, and the bulk of his men, fell killed or wounded. All of the latter who could not fly were bayoneted where they lay by the Mexicans.

Captain Walker, of the Sixth, badly shot, was left for dead; he saw the enemy murdering every man who showed signs of life, but the agony of thirst was so insupportable that he could not resist raising his canteen to his lips. A dozen balls instantly tore up the ground around him; several Mexicans rushed at him with the bayonet, but at that moment the light division, under Kirby Smith, came charging over the ditch into the Mexican line and diverted their attention.

Garland meanwhile moved down rapidly on the right with Dunn's guns, which were drawn by hand, all the horses having been wounded and become unmanageable. These soon opened an enfilading fire on the Mexican battery; and some of the gunners flying, the light division charged, under a hot fire, and carried the guns for the second time. Their gallant leader was shot dead in the charge. But the enemy could afford to lose the battery. From the tops of the azoteas, from the Casa Mata and the Molino, a deadly shower of balls was rained crosswise upon the assailants. Part of the reserve was brought up; and Dunn's guns and the Mexican battery were served upon the buildings without much effect at first. Lieutenant-Colonel Graham led a party of the Eleventh against the latter; when within pistol-shot a terrific volley assailed him, wounding him in ten places. The gallant soldier quietly dismounted, pointed with his sword to the building, cried "Charge!" and sank dead on the field.

As fiercely raged the battle at the other wing where Duncan and M'Intosh had driven in the enemy's right toward the Casa Mata. M'Intosh started to storm that fort, and, in the teeth of a tremendous hail of musketry, advanced to the ditch, only twenty-five yards from the work. There a ball knocked him down; it was his luck to be shot or bayoneted in every battle. Martin Scott took the command, but as he ordered the men forward he rolled lifeless into the ditch. Major Waite, the next in rank, had hardly seen him fall before he too was disabled. By whole companies the men were mowed down by the Mexican shot; but they stood their ground. At length some one gave the word to fall back, and the remnants of the brigade obeyed. Many wounded were left on the ground; among others Lieutenant Burnell, shot in the leg, whom the Mexicans murdered when his comrades abandoned him. After the battle his body was found, and beside it his dog, moaning piteously and licking his dead master's face.

At the head of four thousand cavalry, Alvarez now menaced our left. Duncan watched them come, driving a cloud of dust before them, till they were within close range; then opening with his wonderful rapidity, he shattered whole platoons at a discharge. Worth sent him word to be sure to keep the lancers in check. "Tell General Worth," was his reply, "to make himself perfectly easy; I can whip twenty thousand of them." So far as Alvarez was concerned, he kept his word.

On the American right the fight had reached a crisis. Mixed confusedly together, men of all arms furiously attacked the Molino, firing into every aperture, climbing to the roof, and striving to batter in the doors and gates with their muskets. The garrison never slackened their terrible fire for an instant. At length Major Buchanan, of the Fourth, succeeded in bursting open the southern gate; and almost at the same moment Anderson and Ayres, of the artillery, forced their way into the buildings at the northwestern angle. Ayres leaped down alone into a crowd of Mexicans—he had done the same at Monterey—and fell covered with wounds. Our men rushed in on both sides, stabbing, firing, and felling the Mexicans with their muskets. From room to room and house to house a hand-to-hand encounter was kept up. Here a stalwart Mexican hurled down man after man as they advanced; there Buchanan and the Fourth levelled all before them. But the Mexicans never withstood the cold steel. One by one the defenders escaped by the rear toward Chapultepec, and those who remained hung out a white flag. Under Duncan's fire the Casa Mata had been evacuated, and the enemy was everywhere in full retreat. Twice he rallied and charged the Molino; but each time the artillery drove him back toward Chapultepec, and parties of the light infantry pursued him down the road. Before ten in the morning the whole field was won; and, having blown up the Casa Mata, Worth, by Scott's order, fell back to Tacubaya.

With gloomy face and averted eye the gallant soldier received the thanks of his chief for the exploits of the morning. His heart was with the brave men he had lost—nearly eight hundred out of less than thirty-five hundred and among them fifty-eight officers, many of whom were his dearest friends. All had fallen in advance of their men, with sword in hand and noble words on their lips. 'Twas a poor price for these to have stormed Molino del Rey, and cut down nearly a fifth of Santa Anna's fourteen thousand men. Sadly the General returned to his quarters.

The end was now close at hand. Reconnoissances were carefully made, and, the enemy's strength being gathered on the southern front of the city, General Scott determined to assail Chapultepec on the west. By the morning of the 12th the batteries were completed, and opened a brisk fire on the castle, without, however, doing any more serious damage than annoying the garrison and killing a few men. The fire was kept up all day; and at night preparations were made for the assault, which was ordered to be made next morning.

At daybreak on the 13th the cannonade began again, as well from the batteries planted against Chapultepec as from Steptoe's guns, which were served against the southern defences of the city in order to divert the attention of the enemy. At 8 A.M. the firing from the former ceased, and the attack commenced. Quitman advanced along the Tacubaya road, Pillow from the Molino del Rey, which he had occupied on the evening before. Between the Molino and the castle lay first an open space, then a grove thickly planted with trees; in the latter, Mexican sharpshooters had been posted, protected by an intrenchment on the border of the grove. Pillow sent Lieutenant-Colonel Johnston with a party of voltigeurs to turn this work by a flank movement; it was handsomely accomplished; and just as the voltigeurs broke through the redan, Pillow, with the main body, charged it in front and drove back the Mexicans. The grove gained, Pillow pressed forward to the front of the rock; for the Mexican shot from the castle batteries, crashing through the trees, seemed even more terrible than it really was, and the troops were becoming restless.

The Mexicans had retreated to a redoubt half way up the hill; the voltigeurs sprang up from rock to rock, firing as they advanced, and followed by Hooker, Chase, and others, with parties of infantry. In a very few minutes the redoubt was gained, the garrison driven up the hill, and the voltigeurs, Ninth, and Fifteenth were in hot pursuit after them. The firing from the castle was very severe. Colonel Ransom, of the Ninth, was killed, and Pillow himself was wounded. Still the troops pressed on till the crest of the hill was gained. There some moments were lost owing to the delay in the arrival of scaling-ladders, during which two of Quitman's regiments and Clarke's brigade reenforced the storming party. When the ladders came, numbers of men rushed forward with them, leaped into the ditch, and planted them for the assault.

Lieutenant Selden was the first man to mount. But the Mexicans collected all their energies for this last moment. A tremendous fire dashed the foremost of the stormers into the ditch, killing Lieutenants Rogers and Smith and clearing the ladders. Fresh men instantly manned them, and, after a brief struggle, Captain Howard, of the voltigeurs, gained a foothold on the parapet. M'Kenzie, of the forlorn hope, followed; and a crowd of voltigeurs and infantry, shouting and cheering, pressed after him, and swept down upon the garrison with the bayonet. Almost at the same moment, Johnston, of the voltigeurs, who had led a small party round to the gate of the castle, broke it open and effected an entrance in spite of a fierce fire from the southern walls. The two parties uniting, a deadly conflict ensued within the building.

Maddened by the recollection of the murder of their wounded comrades at Molino del Rey, the stormers at first showed no quarter. On every side the Mexicans were stabbed or shot down without mercy. Many flung themselves over the parapet and down the hillside and were dashed in pieces against the rocks. More fought like fiends, expending their breath in a malediction, and expiring in the act of aiming a treacherous blow as they lay on the ground. Streams of blood flowed through the doors of the college, and every room and passage was the theatre of some deadly struggle. At length the officers succeeded in putting an end to the carnage; and the remaining Mexicans having surrendered, the Stars and Stripes were hoisted over the castle of Chapultepec by Major Seymour.

Meanwhile Quitman had stormed the batteries on the causeway to the east of the castle, after a desperate struggle in which Major Twiggs, who commanded the stormers, was shot dead at the head of his men. The Mexicans fell back toward the city. General Scott, coming up at this moment, ordered a simultaneous advance to be made on the city, along the two roads leading from Chapultepec to the gates of San Cosme and Belen, respectively. Worth was to command that on San Cosme, Quitman that on Belen. Both were prepared for defence by barricades, behind which the enemy were posted in great numbers. Fortunately for the assailants an aqueduct, supported by arches of solid masonry, ran along the centre of each causeway. By keeping under cover of these arches, and springing rapidly from one to another, Smith's rifles and the South Carolina regiment were enabled to advance close to the first barricade on the Belen road, and pour in a destructive fire on the gunners. A flank discharge from Duncan's guns completed the work; the barricade was carried; and without a moment's rest Quitman advanced in the same manner on the garita San Belen, which was held by General Torres with a strong garrison.

It too was stormed, though under a fearful hail of grape and canister; and the rifles moved forward toward the citadel. But at this moment Santa Anna rode furiously down to the point of attack. Boiling with rage at the success of the invaders, he smote General Torres in the face, threw a host of infantry into the houses commanding the garita and the road, ordered the batteries in the citadel to open fire, planted fresh guns on the Paseo, and infused such spirit into the Mexicans that Quitman's advance was stopped at once. A terrific storm of shot, shell, and grape assailed the garita, where Captain Dunn had planted an 8-pounder. Twice the gunners were shot down, and fresh men sent to take their places. Then Dunn himself fell, and immediately afterward Lieutenant Benjamin and his first sergeant met the same fate. The riflemen in the arches repelled sallies; but Quitman's position was precarious, till night terminated the conflict.

Worth meanwhile had advanced in like manner along the San Cosme causeway, driving the Mexicans from barricade to barricade, till within two hundred fifty yards of the garita of San Cosme. There he encountered as severe a fire as that which stopped Quitman. But Scott had ordered him to take the garita, and take it he would. Throwing Garland's brigade out to the right and Clarke's to the left, he ordered them to break into the houses, burst through the walls, and bore their way to the flanks of the garita. The plan had succeeded perfectly at Monterey, nor did it fail here. Slowly but surely the sappers passed from house to house, until at sunset they reached the point desired. Then Worth ordered the attack. Lieutenant Hunt brought up a light gun at a gallop, and fired it through the embrasure of the enemy's battery, almost muzzle to muzzle; the infantry at the same moment opened a most deadly and unexpected fire from the roofs of the houses, and M'Kenzie, at the head of the stormers, dashed at the battery and carried it almost without loss. The Mexicans fled precipitately into the city.

At one that night two parties left the citadel and issued forth from the city. One was the remnant of the Mexican army, which slunk silently and noiselessly through the northern gate, and fled to Guadalupe-Hidalgo; the other was a body of officers who came under a white flag, to propose terms of capitulation.

The sun shone brightly on the morning of September 14th. Scores of neutral flags float from the windows on the Calle de Plateros, and in their shade beautiful women gaze curiously on the scene beneath. Gayly dressed groups throng the balconies, and at the street-corners dark-faced men scowl, mutter deep curses, and clutch their knives. The street resounds with the heavy tramp of infantry, the rattle of gun-carriages, and the clatter of horses' hoofs. "Los Yanquies!" is the cry, and every neck is stretched to obtain a glimpse of the six thousand bemired and begrimed soldiers who are marching proudly to the Grand Plaza. On him especially is every eye intently fixed, whose martial form is half concealed by a splendid staff and a squadron of dragoons, as he rides, with flashing eye and beating heart, to the National Palace of Mexico. But six months before, Winfield Scott had landed on the Mexican coast; since then he had stormed the two strongest places in the country, won four battles in the field against armies double, treble, and quadruple his own, and marched without reverse from Vera Cruz to the City of Mexico; losing fewer men, making fewer mistakes, and creating less devastation, in proportion to his victories, than any invading general of former times. Well might the Mexicans gaze upon his face!

(1847) FAMINE IN IRELAND, Sir Charles Gavan Duffy

From the fact that its immediate cause was the almost complete failure of the potato crop, due to the rot, the great Irish famine is known as the "potato famine." The crop that suffered so was that of 1845, and the famine began in the following year and reached its climax in 1847. It is estimated that by this calamity two hundred thousand persons perished. Many compensating features in connection with this appalling distress have been pointed out. Some writers friendly toward Ireland have declared that the famine proved one of the greatest blessings to the country; that it hastened free trade, better drainage of the island, and the passage of the Land Improvement Act; that it relieved the overcrowded labor market, led to more scientific farming, and in other ways produced changes that have been of lasting benefit. But though all this be true, the misfortune itself gave to modern history one of its most harrowing chapters.

The population of Ireland in 1845 is supposed to have been nearly nine millions. The manufactures were small, and the people depended on the potato crop, and had no other resource in time of scarcity. For several years the potato yield had been abundant, the country was comparatively prosperous, and the temperance movement led by Father Mathew promised a happier future. A great harvest was expected in 1845, but almost at a single stroke this expectation was blasted; for although the crop was large the greater part of it was destroyed in the ground, and the potatoes that were gathered "rotted in pit and storehouse." The farmers taxed all their means and energies to secure even a larger crop in 1846, but the blight of that year was even more fatal than the last. To pinching want was added discouragement, and the people sat in the shadow of a frightful catastrophe. In vain the British Government was called upon to give relief through Parliament, until, in the autumn of 1846, parliamentary authority was obtained to grant baronial loans. But these and every local endeavor to mitigate the suffering failed, and the destructive work of the famine continued, the number of victims increasing, to the end of that fatal year. The horrors of 1846 were more than equalled by those of the year that followed, and the woful picture presented by Sir Charles Gavan Duffy, the distinguished Irish patriot, statesman, and historian, is but too amply justified by the accepted records of the time.

The condition of Ireland at the opening of the year 1847 is one of the most painful chapters in the annals of mankind. An industrious and hospitable race were in the pangs of a devouring famine. Deaths of individuals, of husband and wife, of entire families, were becoming common. The potato-blight had spread from the Atlantic to the Caspian; but there was more suffering in one parish of Mayo than in all the rest of Europe. From Connaught, where distress was greatest, came batches of inquests with the horrible verdict "died of starvation." In some instances the victims were buried "wrapped in a coarse coverlet," a coffin being too costly a luxury. The living awaited death with a listlessness that was at once tragic and revolting. Women with dead children in their arms were seen begging for a coffin to bury them.

Béranger has touched a thousand hearts by the picture of Pauvre Jacques, who, when the tax-gatherer came in the King's name, was discovered dead on his miserable pallet. But at Skibbereen, in the fruitful County Cork whose seaports were thronged with vessels laden with corn, cattle, and butter for England, the rate collector told a more tragic tale. Some houses he found deserted; the owners had been carried to their graves. In one cabin there was no other occupant than three corpses; in a once prosperous home a woman and her children had lain dead and unburied for a week; in the fields a man was discovered so fearfully mangled by dogs that identification was impossible. The relief committee of the Society of Friends described the state of the town in language which it was hard to read with dry eyes. The people were dying of the unaccustomed food which mocked their prayer for daily bread, and were carried to the graveyard in a coffin from which the benevolent strangers who had come to their relief had to drop them, like dead dogs, that there might be a covering for the next corpse in its turn.

"This place is one mass of famine, disease, and death. The poor creatures, hitherto trying to exist on one meal a day, are now sinking under fever and bowel complaints, unable to come for their soup, which is not fit for them. Rice is what their whole cry is for, but we cannot manage this well, nor can we get the food carried to the houses, from dread of infection. I have got a coffin constructed with movable sides, to convey the bodies to the churchyard, in calico bags prepared, in which the remains are wrapped up. I have just sent it to bring the remains of a poor creature to the grave, who having been turned out of the only shelter she had, a miserable hut, perished the night before last in a quarry."

The people saw the harvest they had reared carried away to another country without an effort, for the most part, to retain it. The sole food of the distressed class was Indian-meal, which had paid freight and storage in England, and had been obtained in exchange for English manufactures. Under a recent law a peasant who accepted public relief forfeited his holding, and thousands were ejected under this cruel provision. But landowners were not content with one process alone; they closed on the people with ejectments, turned them out on the roads, and plucked down their rooftrees. In more than one county rents falling due in November for land that no longer yielded food to the cultivator, were enforced in January. In the southwest the peasantry had made some frantic efforts to clutch their harvest and to retaliate for their sufferings in blind vengeance, but the law carried a sharp sword. Eight counties, or parts of counties, were proclaimed, and a special commission, after a brief sitting in Clare and Limerick, left eleven peasants for the gallows. Chief Justice Blackburn took occasion to note that "The state of things in 1847 was exactly that described by an act passed in 1776." The disease was permanent, so were the symptoms. One well-head of Irish discontent was English prejudice, which refuses to listen to any complaint till it threatens to become dangerous.

It was a fearful time for men who loved their country, not only with deep affection, but with a wise and forecasting interest. A revolution of the worst type was in progress. Not the present alone, but the future, was being laid waste. The marvellous reform accomplished by Father Mathew, the self-reliance which had grown up in the era of monster meetings, and the moral teachings of Davis and his friends were being fast swallowed up by this calamity. The youth and manhood of the middle classes were scrambling for pauper places from the Board of Works, and the peasants were being transformed into mendicants by process of law. These calamities, related of a distant and savage tribe, would move a generous heart; but seeing them befall our own people, the children of the same mother, and foreseeing all the black, unfathomable misery they foreshadowed, it was hard to preserve the sober rule of reason.

The gentry, who were responsible in the first place for the protection of the people from whom they drew their income, insisted that the calamity was an imperial one and ought to be borne out of the exchequer of the empire. It was an equitable claim. If there was no irresistible title of brotherhood, at lowest the stronger nation had snatched away from the weaker the power of helping itself, and still drew away during this terrible era half a million pounds every month in the shape of absentee rents. The demand was put aside contemptuously. The claim of the Nationalists to reënter on the management of their own affairs, since it was plain England could not manage them successfully, was treated as sedition. We were proffered, instead of our own resources, which were ample—

"Alms from scornful hands, to hands in chains,
Bitterer to taste than death."

All the nations of the earth were appealed to and they gave generously; but the result was far from being proportionate to the need. During the year 1846 the contributions fell short of two thousand pounds a week. And it was not forgotten that after the great fire of London, when the citizens were in deep distress, the Irish contributed twenty thousand fat cattle for their relief, which at their present value would amount to a sum greater than England and Europe sent to the aid of Ireland in 1846.

To lie down and die, like cattle in a murrain, was base. No people are bound to starve while their soil produces food cultivated by their own hands. No other people in Europe would have submitted to such a fate. But the leader whom they were accustomed to follow had involved himself in a tangle of false doctrines by his unhappy "Peace Resolutions," and he exhorted them to endure all with patience and submission. His son had the amazing assurance to add that if they starved with complete resignation the repeal of the union was near at hand.

On the relief committees, doctors, clergymen, and country gentlemen bore the burden of the work, but a multitude of the gentry stood apart as if the transaction did not concern them. They were busy in transferring the harvest to England or clearing the population off their estates. The English officials in Ireland accused them of jobbing in public works, or quartering their relations and dependents on the Relief Fund, as overseers, and, in some extreme cases, of obtaining grants for their own families of money designed for the suffering poor on their estates. The benevolence of the minority could not counterbalance these odious offences, and deadly hatred was sown, which has since borne an abundant harvest.

The state of the country grew worse from day to day. It is difficult now to realize the condition of the western population in the autumn of 1847; but a witness of unexceptionable impartiality has painted it in permanent colors. A young Englishman representing the Society of Friends, who in that tragic time did work worthy of the Good Samaritan, reported what he saw in Mayo and Galway in language which for plain vigor rivals the narratives of Defoe. This is what he saw in Westport:

"The town of Westport was in itself a strange and fearful sight, like what we read of in beleaguered cities; its streets crowded with gaunt wanderers, sauntering to and fro with hopeless air and hunger-stricken look; a mob of starved, almost naked women around the poorhouse clamoring for soup tickets; our inn, the headquarters of the road-engineer and pay-clerks, beset by a crowd begging for work."

As he approached Galway, the rural population were found to be in a more miserable condition: "Some of the women and children that we saw on the road were abject cases of poverty and almost naked. The few rags they had on were with the greatest difficulty held together, and in a few weeks, as they are utterly unable to provide themselves with fresh clothes unless they be given them, they must become absolutely naked." And in another district: "As we went along our wonder was not that the people died, but that they lived; and I have no doubt whatever that in any other country the mortality would have been far greater; that many lives have been prolonged, perhaps saved, by the long apprenticeship to want in which the Irish peasant has been trained, and by that lovely, touching charity which prompts him to share his scanty meal with his starving neighbor."

The fishermen of the Cladagh, who were induced to send the Whig Attorney-General to Parliament a few months before, had to pledge the implements of their calling for a little daily bread. "Even the very nets and tackle of these poor fishermen, I heard, were pawned, and, unless they be assisted to redeem them, they will be unable to take advantage of the herring shoals, even when they approach their coast. In order to ascertain the truth of this statement, I went into two or three of the largest pawnshops, the owners of which fully confirmed it and said they had in pledge at least a thousand pounds' worth of such property and saw no likelihood of its being redeemed."

In a rural district which he revisited after an interval, he paints a scene which can scarcely be matched in the annals of a mediaeval plague: "One poor woman whose cabin I visited said, 'There will be nothing for us but to lie down and die.' I tried to give her hope of English aid, but alas! her prophecy has been too true. Out of a population of two hundred forty I found thirteen already dead from want. The survivors were like walking skeletons; the men gaunt and haggard, stamped with the livid mark of hunger; the children crying with pain; the women in some of the cabins too weak to stand. When there before I had seen cows at almost every cabin, and there were besides many sheep and pigs owned in the village. But now all the sheep were gone, all the cows, all the poultry killed, only one pig left; the very dogs which had barked at me before had disappeared; no potatoes; no oats."

The young man pointed the moral, which these horrible spectacles suggested, with laudable courage: "I would not now discuss the causes of this condition, nor attempt to apportion blame to its authors; but of this one fact there can be no question: that the result of our social system is that vast numbers of our fellow-countrymen—of the peasantry of one of the richest nations the world ever knew—have not leave to live. Surely such a social result as this is not only a national misfortune but a national sin crying loudly to every Christian citizen to do his utmost to remove it. No one of us can have a right to enjoy either riches or repose until to the extent of his ability he strive to wash himself of all share in the guilt of this fearful inequality, which will be a blot in the history of our country and make her a byword among the nations."

The weekly returns of the dead were like the bulletins of a fierce campaign. As the end of the year approached, villages and rural districts, which had been prosperous and populous a year before, were desolate. In some places the loss amounted to half the resident population. Even the poorhouses shut up, and paupers did not escape. More than one in six perished of the unaccustomed food. The people did not everywhere consent to die patiently. In Armagh and Down groups of men went from house to house in the rural districts and insisted on being fed. In Tipperary and Waterford corn stores and bakers' shops were sacked. In Donegal the people seized upon a flour-mill and pillaged it. In Limerick five thousand men assembled on Tory Hill and declared that they would not starve. A local clergyman restrained them by the promise of speedy relief. "If the Government did not act promptly, he himself would show them where food could be had." In a few cases crops were carried away from farms.

The offences which spring from suffering and fear were heard of in many districts, but they were encountered with instant resistance. There were thirty thousand men in red jackets, carefully fed, clothed, and lodged, ready to maintain the law. Four prisoners were convicted at the Galway assizes of stealing a filly, which they killed and ate to preserve their own lives. In Enniskillen two boys under twelve years of age were convicted of stealing one pint of Indian-meal cooked into "stirabout," and Chief Justice Blackburn vindicated the outraged law by transporting them for seven years. Other children committed larcenies that they might be sent to jail where there was still daily bread to be had. In Mayo the people were eating carrion wherever it could be procured, and the coroner could not keep pace with the inquests; for the law sometimes spent more to ascertain the cause of a pauper's death than would suffice to preserve his life.

The social disorganization was a spectacle as afflicting as the waste of life; it was the waste of whatever makes life worth possessing. All the institutions which civilize and elevate the people were disappearing, one after another. The churches were half empty; the temperance reading-rooms were shut up; the Mechanics' Institute no longer got support; only the jails and the poorhouses were crowded. A new generation, born in disease and reared in destitution, pitiless and imbecile, threatened to drag down the nation to hopeless slavery. Trade was paralyzed; no one bought anything which was not indispensable at the hour. The loss of the farmers in potatoes was estimated at more than twenty millions sterling; and with the potatoes the pigs, which fed on them, disappeared. The seed, procured at a high price in spring, again failed; time, money, and labor were lost, and another year of famine was certain. All who depended on the farmer had sunk with him; shopkeepers were beggared; tradesmen were starving; the priests living on voluntary offerings were sometimes in fearful distress when the people had no longer anything to offer.

The poor-rate was quite inadequate to support the burden thrown upon it by the suspension of public works, but there was another claim upon it which could not wait. When the elections were over and the Government majority secure, the Treasury called on the poor-law guardians to levy immediately a special rate for the repayment of a million and a quarter lent by the State in a previous year. They were warned that, if they refused, their boards would be dissolved and the rates levied by the authority of the Commissioners. The guardians in many districts declared that an additional rate could not be collected. All that could be got would be too little to support the distressed class. But the Treasury would listen to no excuse, and a dozen boards were dissolved and paid guardians put in their place. The Treasury had lent seven millions sterling in 1846; five millions of it had been spent in making roads which were not needed nor desired, and one million was diverted from the wages fund to purchase land for this experiment. The aid which the stronger country proposed to give to the weaker, from the Treasury to which both contributed, was the remission of one-third of this debt. A blunder in foreign policy, the escapade of an ambitious minister in India or Africa, has cost the British taxpayer more in a month than he spent to save millions of fellow-subjects beyond the Irish Sea.

When the increased mortality was pressed on the attention of the Government, Lord John Russell replied that the owners of property in Ireland ought to support the poor born on their estates. It was a perfectly just proposition if the ratepayers were empowered to determine the object and method of the expenditure; but prohibiting productive work, and forcing them to turn strong men into paupers and keep them sweltering in workhouses instead of laboring to reclaim the waste lands—this was not justice. The Times, commenting on the new policy, declared that Ireland was as well able to help herself as France or Belgium, and that the whole earth was doing duty for inhuman Irish landlords. An unanswerable case, if Ireland, like France and Belgium, had the power of collecting and applying her own revenue; otherwise not difficult to answer.

The people fled before the famine to England, America, and the British colonies. They carried with them the seed of disease and death. In England a bishop and more than twenty priests died of typhus, caught in attendance on the sick and dying. The English people clamored against such an infliction, which it cannot be denied would be altogether intolerable if these fugitives were not made exiles and paupers by English law. They were ordered home again, that they might be supported on the resources of their own country; for though we had no country for the purpose of self-government and self-protection, we were acknowledged to have a country when the necessity of bearing burdens arose.

More than a hundred thousand souls fled to the United States and Canada. The United States maintained sanitary regulations on shipboard which were effectual to a certain extent. But the emigration to Canada was left to the individual greed of shipowners, and the emigrant-ships rivalled the cabins of Mayo or the fever-sheds of Skibbereen. Crowded and filthy, carrying double the legal number of passengers, who were ill-fed and imperfectly clothed, and having no doctor on board, the holds, says an eyewitness, were like the Black Hole of Calcutta, and deaths occurred in myriads. The survivors, on their arrival in the new country, continued to die and to scatter death around them.

At Montreal, during nine weeks, eight hundred emigrants perished, and over nine hundred residents died of diseases caught from emigrants. During six months the deaths of the new arrivals exceeded three thousand. No preparations were made by the British Government for the reception or the employment of these helpless multitudes. The Times pronounced the neglect to be an eternal disgrace to the British name. Ships carrying German emigrants and English emigrants arrived in Canada at the same time in a perfectly healthy state. The Chief Secretary for Ireland was able to inform the House of Commons that of a hundred thousand Irishmen who fled to Canada in a year, six thousand one hundred perished on the voyage, four thousand one hundred on their arrival, five thousand two hundred in the hospitals, and one thousand nine hundred in the towns to which they repaired. The Emigrant Society of Montreal paints the result during the whole period of the famine in language not easily to be forgotten:

"From Grosse Island up to Port Sarnia, along the borders of our great river, on the shores of Lakes Ontario and Erie, wherever the tide of immigration has extended are to be found one unbroken chain of graves where repose fathers and mothers, sisters and brothers, in a commingled heap—no stone marking the spot. Twenty thousand and upward have gone down to their graves!"

This was the fate which was befalling our race at home and abroad as the year 1847 closed. There were not many of us who would not have given our lives cheerfully to arrest this ruin, if we could only see a possible way—but no way was visible.

(1848) MIGRATIONS OF THE MORMONS, Thomas L. Kane

Among the numerous religious bodies that have grown up in the United States, the sect of Mormons, officially called "The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints," is perhaps the most unique in its origin and organization, and the most singular in its history. The sect was founded in 1830 by Joseph Smith, of Vermont. He declared that he had discovered one of its authoritative writings, the Book of Mormon, at Cumorah, New York. This book, he said, was found by him buried in the earth at a place revealed to him by an angel. According to the Mormons, the book, written in mystic characters on golden plates, is a record of certain ancient people—-"the long-lost tribes of Israel," Smith declared—inhabiting North America. This book is said to have been abridged by the prophet Mormon, and translated by Smith. By anti-Mormons it is supposed to be based on a manuscript romance written by Solomon Spaulding.

The Mormon Church is governed by a hierarchy with two orders of priesthood, a president, two counsellors, twelve apostles, and elders and other officers. Peculiar as their polity appears, it has proved remarkably successful in the development of their church and community, notwithstanding stern hostility and widespread disapproval. They present an impressive example of shrewdness, thrift, and administrative skill, resulting in great material prosperity. Besides their separate books, they accept the Bible as authoritative, and many of their doctrines and rites resemble those common to the Christian sects. More than anything else, their teaching and their practice of polygamy have brought them into collision with "Gentiles" and with the United States Government.

The first Mormon settlement was at Kirtland, Ohio, the next was in Missouri. From those States they were expelled, and in 1840 they founded Nauvoo in Illinois. Their later experience, up to their permanent establishment in Utah, is recounted in the following narrative of the hardships endured and surmounted by this extraordinary people. But it should be added that the cause of the exodus was not, as is generally supposed, religious persecution. The leaders of the sect at Nauvoo had set up a bank without capital and passed thousands of its worthless notes upon the unsuspecting farmers and traders; and it was this and other crimes that exasperated the inhabitants of that region to the point of driving away the whole community of Mormons.

Once, while ascending the upper Mississippi in the autumn, when its waters were low, I was compelled to travel by land past the region of the rapids. My road lay through the "Half-Breed Tract," a fine section of Iowa, which the unsettled state of its land titles had appropriated as a sanctuary for coiners, horse thieves, and other outlaws. I had left my steamer at Keokuk, at the foot of the Lower Fall, to hire a carriage, and to contend for some fragments of a dirty meal with the swarming flies, the only scavengers of the locality. From this place to where the deep water of the river returns, my eye wearied to see everywhere sordid, vagabond, and idle settlers, and a country marred, without being improved, by their careless hands.

I was descending the last hillside upon my journey, when a landscape in delightful contrast broke upon my view. Half encircled by a bend of the river, a beautiful city lay glittering in the fresh morning sun; its bright new dwellings set in cool green gardens ranging up around a stately dome-shaped hill which was crowned by a noble marble edifice whose high tapering spire was radiant with white and gold. The city appeared to cover several miles; and beyond it, in the background, spread a fair rolling country, checkered by symmetrical lines of fruitful husbandry. The unmistakable evidences of industry, enterprise, and educated wealth, everywhere, made the scene one of singular and most striking beauty.

It was a natural impulse to visit this inviting region. I procured a skiff and rowing across the river landed at the principal wharf of the city. No one met me there. I looked, and saw no one: I heard no movement: though the stillness everywhere was such that I heard the flies buzz, and the ripples break against the shallows of the beach. I walked through the solitary streets. The town lay as in a dream, under some deadening spell of loneliness from which I almost feared to wake it. Plainly it had not slept long. There was no grass growing in the paved ways and rain had not washed away the prints of footsteps in the dust. Yet I went about unchecked. I went into empty ropewalks, workshops, and smithies. The spinner's wheel was idle; the carpenter had gone from his workbench and left his sash and casing unfinished. Fresh bark was in the tanner's vat, and the fresh chopped lightwood stood piled against the baker's oven. The blacksmith's shop was cold; but his coal-heap and ladling-pool and crooked water-horn were all there, as if he had just gone off for a holiday. No workpeople, anywhere, looked to know my errand. If I went into the gardens, clinking the wicket latch loudly after me, to pull the marigolds, heartsease, and lady's-slippers, and draw a drink with the water-sodden well-bucket and its noisy chain; or, knocking off with my stick the tall, heavy-headed dahlias and sunflowers, hunting among the beds for cucumbers and love-apples—no one called out to me from any opened window; no dog sprang forward to bark an alarm. I could have supposed the people hidden in the houses, but the doors were unfastened; and when at last I timidly entered, I found dead ashes cold upon the hearth, and had to tread on tiptoe, as if walking down the aisle of a country church, to avoid rousing irreverent echoes from the naked floors.

On the outskirts of the town was the city graveyard. But there was no record of plague there, nor did it in any wise differ much from other Protestant American cemeteries. Some of the mounds were not long sodded; some of the stones were newly set, their dates recent, and their black inscriptions glossy in the hardly dried lettering-ink. Beyond the graveyard, out in the fields, I saw, in one spot hard by where the fruited boughs of a young orchard had been torn down, the still smoldering embers of a barbecue fire that had been constructed of rails from the fencing around it. It was the latest sign of life there. Fields upon fields of heavy-headed grain lay rotting ungathered upon the ground. No one was at hand to take in their rich harvest. As far as the eye could reach, they stretched away—they, sleeping too in the hazy air of autumn.

Only two portions of the city seemed to suggest the import of this mysterious solitude. In the southern suburb the houses looking out upon the country showed, by their splintered woodwork and walls battered to the foundation, that they had lately been the mark of a destructive cannonade. And in and around the splendid temple, which had been the chief object of my admiration, armed men were barracked, surrounded by their stacks of musketry and pieces of heavy ordnance. These challenged me to render an account of myself, and to tell the reason why I had had the temerity to cross the water without a written permit from a leader of their band.

Though these men were generally more or less under the influence of ardent spirits, after I had explained myself as a passing stranger they seemed anxious to gain my good opinion. They told me the story of the "dead city": that it had been a notable manufacturing and commercial mart, sheltering over twenty thousand persons; that they had waged war with its inhabitants for several years, and had been finally successful only a few days before my visit, in an action fought in the ruined suburb; after which, they had driven them forth at the point of the sword. The defence, they said, had been obstinate, but gave way on the third day's bombardment.

They also conducted me inside the massive sculptured walls of the curious temple, in which they said the banished inhabitants were accustomed to celebrate the mystic rites of an unhallowed worship. They particularly pointed out to me certain features of the building, which, having been the peculiar objects of a former superstitious regard, they had as matter of duty sedulously defiled and defaced. The reputed sites of certain shrines they had thus particularly noticed, and various sheltered chambers, in one of which was a deep well constructed, they believed, with a dreadful design. Besides these, they led me to see a large and deeply chiselled marble vase, or basin, supported upon twelve oxen, also of marble and of life size, and of which they told some romantic stories. They said the deluded persons, most of whom were emigrants from a great distance, believed their deity countenanced their reception here of a baptism of regeneration as proxies for whomsoever they held in warm affection in the countries from which they had come: that here parents "went into the water" for their lost children, children for their parents, widows for their spouses, and young persons for their lovers: that thus the great vase came to be associated with all their most cherished memories, and was therefore the chief object of all others in the building, upon which they bestowed the greatest degree of their idolatrous affection. On this account, the victors had so diligently desecrated it as to render the apartment in which it was contained too noisome to abide in.

They permitted me also to ascend into the steeple to see where it had been struck by lightning on the Sabbath before; and to look out, east and south, on wasted farms—like those I had seen near the city—extending till they were lost in the distance. Close to the scar left by the thunderbolt were fragments of food, cruses of liquor and broken drinking-vessels, with a bass-drum and a steamboat signal-bell, of which, with pain, I learned the use.

It was after nightfall when I was ready to cross the river on my return. The wind had freshened since sunset and, the water beating roughly into my little boat, I headed higher up the stream than the point I had left in the morning, and landed where a faint glimmering light invited me to steer. Among the rushes—sheltered only by the darkness, without roof between them and the sky—I came upon a crowd of several hundred human creatures whom my movements roused from uneasy slumber.

Dreadful indeed was the suffering of these forsaken beings. Cowed and cramped by cold and sunburn alternating as each weary day and night dragged on, they were, almost all of them, the crippled victims of disease. They were there because they had no homes, nor hospital, nor poorhouse, nor friends to offer them any. They could not minister to the needs of their sick; they had no bread to quiet the fractious, hungry cries of their children. Mothers and babes, daughters and grandparents, all alike were clothed in tatters, lacking even sufficient covering for the fever-stricken sufferers.

These were the Mormons, famishing, in Lee County, Iowa, in the fourth week of the month of September, 1846. The deserted city was Nauvoo, Illinois. The Mormons were the owners of that city and the smiling country around it. And those who had stopped their ploughs, who had silenced their hammers, their axes, their shuttles and the wheels of their workshops; those who had put out their fires, who had eaten their food, spoiled their orchards, and trampled under foot their thousands of acres of unharvested grain—these were the keepers of their dwellings, the carousers in their temple, the noise of whose drunken rioting insulted the ears of the dying.

They were, all told, not more than six hundred forty persons who were thus lying on the river-flats. But the Mormons in Nauvoo and its environs had been numbered the year before at over twenty thousand. Where were they? They had last been seen, carrying in mournful trains their sick and wounded, halt and blind, to disappear behind the western horizon, pursuing the phantom of another home. Hardly anything else was known of them; and people asked with curiosity, "What had been their fate—what their fortunes?"

The party encountered by me at the river shore were the last of the Mormons that left the city. They had all of them engaged the year before that they would vacate their homes and seek some other place of refuge. It had been the condition of a truce between them and their assailants; and, as an earnest of their good faith, the chief elders, and some others of obnoxious standing, with their families, were to set out for the West in the spring of 1846. It had been stipulated in return that the rest of the Mormons might remain behind, in the peaceful enjoyment of their Illinois abode, until their leaders, with their exploring party, could, with all diligence, select for them a new place of settlement beyond the Rocky Mountains, in California, or elsewhere, and until they had opportunity to dispose to the best advantage of the property which they were then to leave.

Some renewed symptoms of hostile feeling had however determined the pioneer party to begin their work before the spring. It was of course anticipated that this would be a perilous service; but it was regarded as a matter of self-denying duty. The ardor and emulation of many, particularly the devout and the young, were stimulated by the difficulties it involved; and the ranks of the party were therefore filled up with volunteers from among the most effective and responsible members of the sect. They began their march in midwinter; and by the beginning of February nearly all of them were on the road, many of their wagons having crossed the Mississippi on the ice.

Under the most favoring circumstances, an expedition of this sort, undertaken at such a season of the year, could scarcely fail to be disastrous. But the pioneer company had to set out in haste, and were very imperfectly supplied with necessaries. The cold was intense. They moved in the teeth of keen-edged northwest winds, such as sweep down the Iowa peninsula from the icebound regions of the timber-shaded Slave Lake and Lake of the Woods. Along the scattered watercourses, where they broke the thick ice to give their cattle drink, the annual autumn fires had left but little firewood. To men, insufficiently furnished with tents and other appliances of shelter, wood was almost a necessary of life. After days of fatigue their nights were often passed in restless efforts to prevent themselves from freezing. Their stock of food also proved inadequate; and as their constitutions became more debilitated their suffering from cold increased. Afflicted with catarrhal affections, manacled by the fetters of dreadfully acute rheumatism, some contrived for a while to get over the shortening day's march and drag along some others. But the sign of an impaired circulation soon began to show itself in the liability of all to be dreadfully frost-bitten. The hardiest and strongest became helplessly crippled. About the same time the strength of their draught animals began to fail. The small supply of provender they could carry with them had given out. The winter-bleached prairie straw proved devoid of nourishment; and they could only keep them from starving by seeking for the "browse," as it is called, this being the green bark and tender buds and branches of the cottonwood and other stunted growths in the hollows.

To return to Nauvoo was apparently the only escape; but this would have been to give occasion for fresh mistrust and so to bring new trouble to those they had left there behind them. They resolved at least to hold their ground, and to advance as they might, were it only by limping through the deep snows a few slow miles a day. They found a sort of comfort in comparing themselves to the exiles of Siberia, and sought consolation in earnest prayers for the spring.

The spring came at last. It overtook them in the Sac and Fox country, still on the naked prairie, not yet half way over the trail they were following between the Mississippi and Missouri rivers. But it brought its own share of troubles with it. The months with which it opened proved nearly as trying as the worst of winter.

The snow and sleet and rain which fell, as it appeared to them, without intermission, made the road over the rich prairie soil as impassable as one vast bog of heavy black mud. Sometimes they would fasten the horses and oxen of four or five wagons to one, and attempt to get ahead in this way, taking turns; but at the close of a day of hard toil for themselves and their cattle, they would find themselves a quarter or a half a mile from the place they left in the morning. The heavy rains raised all the watercourses; the most trifling streams were impassable. Wood, fit for bridging, was often not to be had, and in such cases the only resource was to halt for the freshets to subside—a matter in the case of the headwaters of the Chariton, for instance, of over three weeks' delay.

These were dreary waitings upon Providence. The most spirited and sturdy murmured most at their forced inactivity. And even the women, whose heroic spirits had been proof against the severest cold, confessed their tempers fluctuated with the ceaseless variations of the barometer. They complained too that the health of their children suffered more. It was the fact that the damp winds of March and April brought with them more mortal sickness than the sharpest freezing weather.

The frequent burials discouraged and depressed the hardiest spirits; but the general hopefulness of human nature was well illustrated by the fact that even the most provident were found unfurnished with burial necessaries, and as a result they were often driven to the most melancholy makeshifts.

The usual expedient adopted was to cut a log of some eight or nine feet long, and slitting the bark longitudinally, strip it off in two half-cylinders. These, placed around the body of the deceased and bound firmly together with withs made of alburnum, formed a rough sort of tubular coffin, which surviving relatives and friends, with a little show of black crape, could follow to the hole or bit of ditch dug to receive it in the wet ground of the prairie. The name of the deceased, his age, the date of his death, and the surrounding landmarks were all registered with care. His party was then ready to move on. Such graves mark all the line of the first years of Mormon travel—dispiriting milestones to failing stragglers in the rear.

The hardships and trials which they had suffered developed a spirit of self-sacrifice among these indomitable people. Hale young men gave up their own food and shelter to the old and helpless, and worked their way back to parts of the frontier States, chiefly Missouri and Iowa where they were not recognized, and hired themselves out for wages, to purchase more. Others were sent there to exchange for meal and flour, or wheat and corn, the table-and bed-furniture and other remaining articles of personal property which a few had still retained.

In a kindred spirit of fraternity, others laid out great farms in the wilds and planted the grain saved for their own bread; that there might be harvests for those who should follow them. Two of these, in the Sac and Fox country and beyond it, Garden Grove and Mount Pisgah, included within their fences about two miles of land each, carefully planted with grain, with a hamlet of comfortable log cabins in the neighborhood of each.

Through all this the pioneers found comfort in the thought that their own suffering was the price of immunity from similar hardships their friends at home, in following their trail, would otherwise have had to pay. But the arrival of spring proved this a delusion. Before the warm weather had made the earth dry enough for easy travel, messengers came in from Nauvoo to overtake the party with fear-exaggerated tales of outrage, and to urge the chief men to hurry back to the city that they might give counsel and assistance there. The enemy had only waited until the emigrants were supposed to be gone on their road too far to return to interfere with them, and then renewed their aggressions.

The Mormons outside Nauvoo were indeed hard pressed, but inside the city they maintained themselves very well for two or three months longer. Strange to say, the chief part of this respite was devoted to completing the structure of their quaintly devised but beautiful temple. Since the dispersion of Jewry, probably, history affords us no parallel to the attachment of the Mormons for this edifice. Every architectural element, every most fantastic emblem it embodied, was associated, for them, with some cherished feature of their religion. Its erection had been enjoined upon them as a most sacred duty: they were proud of the honor it conferred upon their city, when it grew up in its splendor to become the chief object of the admiration of strangers upon the upper Mississippi. Besides, they had built it as a labor of love; they could count up to half a million the value of their tithings and freewill offerings laid upon it. Hardly a Mormon woman had not given up to it some trinket or pin-money; the poorest Mormon man had at least served the tenth part of his year on its walls; and the coarsest artisan could turn to it with something of the ennobling attachment an artist has for his own creation.

Therefore, though their enemies drove on them ruthlessly, they succeeded in parrying the last sword-thrust, till they had completed even the gilding of the angel and trumpet on the summit of its lofty spire. As a closing work, they placed on the entablature of the front, like a baptismal mark on the forehead, these words:

THE HOUSE OF THE LORD:

BUILT BY THE CHURCH OF JESUS CHRIST OF LATTER-DAY SAINTS.

HOLINESS TO THE LORD!

Then, at high noon, under the bright sunshine of May, the next after its completion, they consecrated it to divine service. There was a carefully studied ceremonial for the occasion. It was said the high elders of the sect travelled furtively from the camp of Israel in the wilderness, and, throwing off ingenious disguises, appeared in their own robes of office to give it splendor.

For that one day the temple stood resplendent in all its typical glories of sun, moon and stars, and other abounding figured and lettered signs, hieroglyphs, and symbols; but that day only. The sacred rites of consecration ended, the work of removing the sacrosancta proceeded with the rapidity of magic. It went on through the night, and when the morning of the next day dawned all the ornaments and furniture, everything that could provoke a sneer, had been carried off; and except some fixtures that would not bear removal, the building was dismantled.

This day saw the departure of the last of the elders, and the largest band that moved in one company together. The people of Iowa have told me that from morning to night they passed westward like an endless procession. They did not seem greatly out of heart, they said; but, at the top of every hill, before they disappeared, they were to be seen looking back, like banished Moors, on their abandoned homes and the distant temple and its glittering spire.

After this consecration, which was construed to indicate an insincerity on the part of the Mormons as to their stipulated departure, or at least a hope of return, their foes set upon them with renewed bitterness. As many fled as were at all prepared; but by the very fact of their so decreasing the already diminished forces of the city's defenders, they encouraged the enemy to greater boldness. It soon became apparent that nothing short of an immediate emigration could save the remnant.

From this time onward the energies of those already on the road were engrossed by the duty of providing for the fugitives who came crowding in after them. At a last general meeting of the sect in Nauvoo, there had been passed a unanimous resolution that they would sustain one another, whatever their circumstances, upon the march; and this, though made in view of no such appalling exigency, they now with one accord set themselves together to carry out.

The host again moved on. The tents which had gathered on the hill summits, like white birds hesitating to venture on the long flight over the river, were struck one after another, and the dwellers in them and their wagons and their cattle hastened down to cross it at a ferry in the valley, which they made by night and day. A little beyond the landing they formed their companies and made their preparations for the last and longest stage of their journey.

Though the season was late, when they first crossed the Missouri, some of them moved forward with great hopefulness, full of the notion of viewing and choosing their new homes that year. But the van had only reached Grand Island and the Pawnee villages, when they were overtaken by more ill news from Nauvoo. Before the summer closed, their enemies set upon the last remnant of those who were left behind in Illinois. They were a few lingerers, who could not be persuaded but there might yet be time for them to gather up their worldly goods before removing. Some weakly mothers and their infants, a few delicate young girls, and many cripples and bereaved and sick people—these had remained under shelter, according to the Mormon statement at least, by virtue of an express covenant in their behalf. If there was such a covenant, it was broken. A vindictive war was waged upon them, from which the weakest fled in scattered parties, leaving the rest to make a reluctant and almost ludicrously unavailing defence, till September 17th, when one thousand six hundred twenty-five troops entered Nauvoo and drove all forth who had not retreated before that time.

Like the wounded birds of a flock fired into toward nightfall, they came straggling on with faltering steps, many of them without bag or baggage, beast or barrow, all asking shelter or burial, and forcing a fresh repartition of the already divided rations of their friends. It was plain now that every energy must be taxed to prevent the entire expedition from perishing. Further emigration for the time was out of the question, and the whole people prepared themselves for encountering another winter on the prairie.

Happily for the main body, they found themselves at this juncture among Indians who were amicably disposed. The lands on both sides of the Missouri in particular were owned by the Pottawottomis and Omahas, two tribes whom unjust treatment by our United States Government had the effect of rendering most hospitable to strangers whom they regarded as persecuted like themselves.

They were pleased with the Mormons. They would have been pleased with any whites who would not cheat them, nor sell them whiskey, nor whip them for their poor gypsy habits, nor conduct themselves indecently toward their women, many of whom among the Pottawottomis—especially those of nearly unmixed French descent—are singularly comely, and some of them educated. But all Indians have something like a sentiment of reverence for the insane, and admire those who sacrifice, without apparent motive, their worldly welfare to the triumph of an idea. They understand the meaning of what they call a great vow, and think it the duty of the right-minded to lighten the votary's penance under it. To this feeling they united the sympathy of fellow-sufferers for those who could talk to them of their own Illinois, and tell the story of how they also had been ruthlessly expelled from it.

Their hospitality was sincere, almost delicate. Fanny le Clerc, the spoiled child of the great brave Pied Riche, interpreter of the nation, would have the paleface Miss Devine learn duets with her on the guitar; and the daughter of substantial Joseph la Framboise, the United States interpreter for the tribe (she died of the fever that summer) welcomed all the nicest young Mormon women to a party at her father's house, which was probably the best cabin in that village. They made the Mormons at home, there and elsewhere. Upon all their lands they formally gave them leave to remain as long as suited their own good pleasure.

The affair, of course, furnished material for a solemn council. Under the auspices of an officer of the United States their chiefs were summoned, in the form befitting great occasions, to meet in the yard of a Mr. P.A. Sarpy's log trading-house. They came in grand costume, moving in their fantastic attire with so much aplomb and genteel measure that the stranger found it difficult not to believe them high-born gentlemen, attending a fancy-dress ball. Their aristocratically thin legs, of which they displayed fully the usual Indian proportion, aided this illusion. There is something too at all times very mock-Indian in the theatrical French millinery tie of the Pottawottomi turban; while it is next to impossible for a sober white man, at first sight, to believe that the red, green, black, blue, and yellow cosmetics, with which he sees such grave personages so variously dotted, diapered, cancelled, and arabesqued are worn by them in any mood but one of the deepest and most desperate quizzing. From the time of their first squat upon the ground to the final breaking up of the council circle they sustained their characters with equal self-possession and address.

I will not take it upon myself to describe their order of ceremonies; indeed, I ought not, since I have never been able to view the habits and customs of our aborigines in any other light than that of a sorrowful subject of jest. Besides, in this instance, the powwow and the expected flow of turgid eloquence were both moderated probably by the conduct of the entire transaction on temperance principles. I therefore content myself with observing generally that the proceedings were such as in every way became the dignity of the parties interested, and the magnitude of the interests involved. When the red men had indulged to satiety in tobacco-smoke from their peace-pipes, and in what they love still better—their peculiar metaphoric rhodomontade, which, beginning with the celestial bodies, and coursing downward over the grandest sublunary objects, always managed to alight at last on their "Great Father," Polk, and the tenderness with which his affectionate red children regarded him. All the solemn funny fellows present, who played the part of chiefs, signed formal articles of convention with their unpronounceable names.

The renowned chief Pied Riche—he was surnamed Le Clerc on account of his remarkable scholarship—then rose and said: "My Mormon brethren, the Pottawottomi came, sad and tired, into this unhealthy Missouri bottom, not many years back, when he was taken from his beautiful country, beyond the Mississippi, which had abundant game and timber and clear water everywhere. Now you are driven away, the same, from your lodges and lands and the graves of your people. So we have both suffered. We must help one another, and the Great Spirit will help us both. You are now free to cut and use all the wood you may wish. You can make all your improvements, and live on any part of our actual land not occupied by us. Because one suffers, and does not deserve it, is no reason he shall suffer always: I say, we may live to see all right yet. However, if we do not, our children will. Bon jour!"

And thus ended the powwow. I give this speech as a morsel of real Indian. It was recited to me after the treaty by the Pottawottomi orator in French, which language he spoke with elegance. Bon jour ["good day">[ is the French, Indian, and English hail, and farewell of the Pottawottomis.

Upon the Pottawotomi lands, scattered through the border regions of Missouri and Iowa, in the Sac and Fox country, a few among the Ioways, among the Poncas, in a great company upon the banks of the l'Eau qui Coulée (or Running Water) River, and at the Omaha winter quarters, the Mormons sustained themselves through the heavy winter of 1846-1847. It was the severest of their trials. This winter was the turning-point of the Mormon fortunes. Those who lived through it were spared to witness the gradual return of better times; and they now liken it to the passing of a dreary night, since which they have watched the coming of a steadily brightening day.

In the spring of 1847, a body of one hundred forty-three picked men, with seventy wagons, drawn by their best horses, left the Omaha quarters, under the command of the members of the high council who had wintered there. They carried with them little but seed and farming implements, their aim being to plant spring crops at their ultimate destination. They relied on their rifles to give them food, but rarely left their road in search of game. They made long marches, and moved as rapidly as possible.

Against the season when ordinary emigration passes the Missouri, they were already through the South Pass, and after a couple of short days' travel beyond it entered upon the more arduous part of their journey, which now lay through the Rocky Mountains. They passed Fremont's Peak, Long's Peak, The Twins, and other summits, but had great difficulties to overcome in forcing their way over other mountains of the rugged Utah range, sometimes following the stony bed of torrents, the headwaters of some of the mightiest rivers of our continent, and sometimes literally cutting their road through heavy and ragged timber. They arrived at the grand basin of the Great Salt Lake, much exhausted, but without losing a man, and in time to plant for a partial autumn harvest. Another party started after these pioneers from the Omaha winter quarters, in the summer. They had five hundred sixty-six wagons, and carried large quantities of grain, which they were able to sow before it froze.

The same season these were joined by a part of the battalion and other members of the Church who came eastward from California and the Sandwich Islands. Together they fortified themselves strongly with sun-dried brick walls and blockhouses, and, living safely through the winter, were able to reap crops that yielded ample provision for the ensuing year.

In 1848, nearly all the remaining members of the Church left the Missouri country in a succession of powerful bands, invigorated and enriched by their abundant harvests there; and that year saw fully established their commonwealth of the "New Covenant," the future State of "Deseret." [Footnote: The Mormons repeatedly tried to secure the admission of Deseret into the Union as a State under that name—said to mean "virtue and industry.">[

When Utah was organized as a Territory (1850), the Mormon leader, Brigham Young, was made governor. In 1857 President Buchanan appointed a non-Mormon to succeed Young. This act led the Mormons to rebel, but after a display of military force by the Government they acknowledged allegiance. In 1896, polygamy having been prohibited by Congress, Utah was admitted to the Union. Since the settlement of the Mormons upon the Great Salt Lake there has been a large immigration into Utah. [The Mormons have spread beyond that State into Arizona, Idaho, Wyoming, and other parts of the West and Southwest—ED.]

(1848) THE REFORMS OF PIUS IX, Francis Bowen

In the long roll of pontiffs the name of Pius IX stands conspicuous among those of popes, who have greatly exerted their power for effect upon the papacy itself. But the influence of Pius IX was not less marked in Italian and European politics. An account of the reforms which he undertook and of the obstacles he had to confront, cannot fail to convey, directly or by implication, matters of much importance in modern history. That a pope who signalized the beginning of his official career by a series of liberal reforms should soon have been driven from his see by revolutionists is one of the historical paradoxes for which even the "philosophy of history" finds it difficult to account. But, as one writer tells us, "The revolutionary fever of 1848 spread too fast for a reforming pope, and his refusal to make war upon the Austrians finally cost him the affections of the Romans."

Pope Pius IX (Giovanni Maria Mastai Ferretti) who at the age of fifty-four brought the power of his papal throne to advance the cause of Young Italy—led by Mazzini and other patriots—was born at Sinigaglia May 13, 1792. He was descended from a noble family, and his early education was received at the College of Volterra. Throughout the years of his youth he suffered from infirm health, but before reaching thirty he gained much in strength, and in 1827 became Archbishop of Spoleto. In 1840 he was made cardinal by Pope Gregory XVI. Gregory died June 1, 1846, and after being two days in conclave the cardinals elected their colleague Ferretti to succeed him. The cardinals felt the advisability of choosing for pope a native of the Papal States, a man not too far advanced in years, and one "who would see the necessity of correcting abuses and making some reforms."

Francis Bowen, whose review of Pope Pius's career, from his entrance upon the papal office until his temporary withdrawal from Rome, is here presented, is a well-known authority in this as also in other fields of history, and his recital is based upon the best contemporary accounts.

When Pius IX was elected Pope his course did not long remain doubtful. He limited the expenses of the court at once, dispensed alms in abundance, set aside one day of each week for giving audiences, and commanded that political inquisitions should be stopped immediately. These few steps, taken before he had had time to consult with others, afford perhaps a better indication of the mild and kind character of the new pontiff than the grave political acts which were subsequently performed. These show us the man, the others reveal only the sovereign. Just one month after his election, a manifesto of amnesty for all political offenders was published at Rome, including the exiles, those awaiting trial, and those undergoing sentence. The only conditions imposed were that the individuals pardoned should give their word of honor never to abuse the indulgence, and would fulfil every duty of a good citizen.

The news of this act flew like the wind through the Papal States, and caused everywhere a burst of exultation and gratitude toward the new sovereign. It carried joy to thousands of households, bringing back to them the long-separated brother or parent, and it was a token of future peace and contentment. In the city, says Farini, [Footnote: Luigi Carlo Farini, who is freely quoted by Bowen, was an Italian historian and statesman. His principal work is Storia dello stato Romano dall' anno 1814 al 1830.—ED.] the hosannas were countless; each citizen embraced his neighbor like a brother; thousands of torches blazed in the evening; the multitude ran to the palace of the Pope, called for him, threw themselves prostrate on the earth before him, and received his blessing in devout silence. Many of the pardoned offenders were still more extravagant in their demonstrations of joy and thankfulness. Among them was Galletti, of Bologna, afterward one of the Pope's ministers, and most active in those measures which ended in the assassination of Rossi and in driving Pius into exile. He had been sentenced to imprisonment for life, and was kept in the castle of Sant' Angelo. When released, he threw himself at the Pope's feet, and swore, by his own heart's blood and that of his children, that he would be grateful and faithful. Some of the exiles, however, among whom was Mamiani, refused to subscribe the proposed engagement, simple as it was; but they returned after a time to their homes, merely promising allegiance. Every time that the Pope left his palace he was surrounded by a sort of triumphal procession. The whole length of the Corso was decorated when he passed through it, and hundreds of likenesses of him, and of panegyrical compositions, covered the walls. Foremost in getting up these popular celebrations was Angelo Brunetti, afterward so well known by his nickname of "Ciceruacchio." "He was a person of single mind, rustic in manners, proud and at the same time generous, as is common with Romans of the lower class." By his industry he had acquired considerable property, and by his liberal use of it had become a leader of the populace, whom he now fired with his own enthusiasm for Pius IX.

The Pope would have been more than man if his head had not been a little turned with all this adulation, which came to him from many foreign lands as well as from Italy. But his simple and modest character bore the trial well; he manifested no undue elation, and formed his plans tranquilly and without hurry for the improvement of his people. Cardinal Gizzi, well known as a friend to reform, and much attached to the Pope, was named Secretary of State; and he wrote letters to the presidents of the provinces, inviting them, the municipal magistrates, ecclesiastics, and all respectable citizens, to prepare and offer schemes for promoting popular education, and especially for the moral, religious, and industrial instruction of the children of the poor. Commissions were appointed to deliberate and advise upon many subjects of proposed reform. Great, indeed, was the need of change in the institutions of the Pontifical States; but the Government had a delicate part to play in amending them, and it wisely determined not to be precipitate in its measures. "Already the Liberals had conceived boundless desires, and the Retrogradists were haunted with unreasonable fears. The Government had, to-day, to moderate on the left, circulate despatches, wellnigh to scold men for hoping too much."

But the friends of change, says Farini, were for the most part measured in their wishes and cautious in their proceedings; for all prudent men were exerting themselves strenuously to keep the impatient in hand, with excellent effect.

We cannot follow in detail the Pope's measures down to March, 1848, till which period the movement may be considered as all his own, emanating from his free choice and not from the pressure of outward circumstances or from revolutions in foreign States. He did enough during these twenty months to establish his character as a wise, humane, and liberal sovereign, eager to promote the temporal and religious interests of his people, and prompt to give political power into their hands as fast as they showed themselves capable of using, and not abusing, it. He instituted a civic guard throughout his dominions, modelled on the French National Guard, and disbanded the Gregorian Centurions and volunteers. All his court was opposed to this measure as premature and dangerous; and even Cardinal Gizzi resigned his place in consequence of it. But the Pope persevered, and Cardinal Ferretti, still more inclined to liberalism, was appointed in his place.

He conceived the idea of an Italian customs league, after the model of the German one, and pressed it with so much earnestness that in November, 1847, it was instituted for the Roman, Tuscan, and Sardinian dominions, and every effort was made to render it acceptable to the other powers of Italy. He established a municipal government for the city of Rome, which had hitherto remained without one; and he created a Council of State for all his dominions, to consist chiefly of the laity, one person being chosen for each Province by the sovereign, out of a list of three, nominated by the provincial authorities. This Council was to sit in Rome, and aid the Government with its advice in putting the various departments in order, in constituting municipalities, and in other public concerns. He created, also, a Council of Ministers, which Farini calls the most important act of his reign, "As being that by which the executive power acquired an organization worthy of a civilized state, and altogether novel in that of Rome." There were to be nine departments, and, with the exception of the president of the Council and its secretary, the ministers need not be cardinals. All those first appointed, however, were cardinals or prelates.

A body of Uditori was attached to this Council, consisting of twelve ecclesiastics and twelve laymen, all appointed by the sovereign. The laws respecting the censorship of the press were much relaxed, and numerous political journals were established at Rome, which before had nothing that deserved the name of a newspaper. "Our infant journalism," says Farini, "had its infant passions and caprices; instead of meditating, it gambolled, and every day it smashed its toys of the day before, as children do; it instituted a school of declamation, not of political knowledge; it ran and plunged about, blindfold; it made boast of an independent spirit, and was a mean slave to out-of-doors influence."

These measures of reform, and the enthusiasm which they created, were not without effect on surrounding nations. Considering the place whence they came, and the sovereign who conducted them, they were adapted to have a vast influence. Rome, the "Eternal City," was regenerated, and a new life bounded through her old limbs; and the August head of the Catholic Church, the greatest religious potentate of the civilized world, the infallible, the object of veneration to half Christendom, and hitherto the most despotic and conservative sovereign in Europe, was now the daring innovator, the radical, the idol of the populace. Austria looked on with distrust and dismay, and tried to pick a quarrel and thus find a pretext for invasion by ordering its troops, who had as yet only garrisoned the fortress, to occupy the city of Ferrara and patrol its streets—a measure almost sure to lead to a collision with its citizens.

The Pope protested in a firm but temperate tone, and his indignant people would fain have hurried him into a war; but he bridled their impatience and the matter ended in a compromise. Tuscany caught the generous flame of freedom; and though there was not so much to be accomplished there, as the Government had long been mild and discreet, the good Archduke [Leopold II] professed the utmost admiration for Pius, and began to imitate his measures.

The King of Sardinia was moved to enthusiasm; during the difficulty with Austria about Ferrara he offered the Pope whatever succor of ships or men he might need, and an asylum in his dominions if he should be compelled to leave Rome. He did more; he relaxed the bonds of the press, improved the administration of justice, deprived the police of their discretionary power, enlarged and amended the Council of State, emancipated the communes, and allowed their officers to be chosen by popular vote. The character and example of Pius seemed likely to effect as great and as beneficial changes out of his dominions as within them. Those of the Italian sovereigns who were not willing to follow his lead of their own accord, were obliged to yield in dismay before the spirit which he had awakened in their subjects.

The silly Duke of Lucca, a fanatic, a prodigal, and a despot, after attempting in vain to cudgel his people into submission, fled in terror from their aroused wrath, and consented to the annexation of his dominions to Tuscany, whereby they shared in the reforms instituted by Leopold.

But in Sicily and Naples were developed the most striking results of the fire which had been kindled by a reforming pope. The cruel and imbecile Bourbon who reigned there became only more harsh and obstinate, while the other princes of Italy deemed it necessary to reform their institutions and conciliate their people. His subjects petitioned him, and shouted for Pius in the streets; but the soldiery were turned against them, and the King showed himself alike inaccessible to their caresses and their prayers. "One king only," said Thiers from the tribune, speaking of Italy, "he of Naples, presented the sword's point to the people who were flocking around him, and that people fell on it." The impulsive Sicilians fixed January 12, 1848, as the day beyond which their patience would not extend. The King made no concessions, the day came, and the island was revolutionized, the troops everywhere giving way before the excited populace. Within a fortnight the inhabitants of Naples followed their example; and before the fight began, the King's heart failed him, and he granted all that they asked. The Ministry was changed, a constitution was resolved upon, and its fundamental principles were announced on January 29th, while the Administration pledged themselves to publish it complete within twelve days. The King came out to meet the crowd, who were cheering him, and intimated his purpose to surpass the other sovereigns of Italy in the magnitude of his concessions. How sincere his promises were, the lapse of a few months fully showed; but at present everything wore a cheerful aspect.

The Pope had now reached the climax of his fortunes, the furthest limit of the good which he was permitted to accomplish by his own free will, and the sky began to be overcast. The enthusiasm of his people became unmanageable, and the volcanic force of another French revolution was soon to burst and to prostrate half the governments in Europe by the explosion. Constant excitement for twenty months had made Rome noisy and turbulent, and the populace had been gratified so often that they now expected everything to succumb to their wishes. Busy agitators were in the midst of them, intent upon prosecuting the plans of Mazzini and Young Italy, and turning reform into revolution. The people were mad for a declaration of war against Austria, though the military strength of the Roman States was grossly inadequate for such a conflict, and the head of the Catholic Church was naturally reluctant to come to extremities with a Catholic power which had long been the firmest support of the papacy. Then a cry was raised to exclude all ecclesiastics from office, or at least to admit so large a portion of the laity into the Administration that Rome would be secularized and lose its distinctive character as an appanage for the head of the Church. The people would not consider, or were reckless of the fact, that Pius was a devout Catholic as well as a liberal sovereign, and could not be expected to lend his aid to a project for stripping the papacy of all temporal power, if not for razing it to its foundations. The cries of expulsion and death to the Jesuits were also raised; and as that body, however obnoxious elsewhere, had given no offence at Rome, the Pope's sense of justice inclined him to protect them and to resist the clamor of the mob.

The news from Sicily and Naples caused a great popular demonstration at Rome, the aspect of which was so threatening that Pius issued a proclamation, on February 10th, announcing that he had taken measures for reorganizing and enlarging the army, and for augmenting the lay portion of the Council of Ministers; but appealing to his people in affecting terms, by the proofs already given of his solicitude in their behalf, that they should cease from agitation and not make demands which could not be granted consistently with his duty and their own well-being. This paper caused another effusion of popular gratitude; an immense multitude collected in the Piazza del Papolo, and, accompanied by the Civic Guard and bearing banners, they set out for the Pope's palace. When they came to the Quirinal Pius showed himself at the balcony and made signs that he wished to speak. "There was a profound silence, not broken even by the trickling of the fountains, which had been stopped some days before." The Pope said:

"'Before the benediction of God descends upon you, on the rest of my people, and, I say it again, on all Italy, I pray you to be of one mind, and to keep the faith which you have sworn to me, the Pontiff.'

"At these words the silence of deep feeling was broken by a sudden thunder of acclamation, 'Yes, I swear,' and Pius proceeded:

"'I warn you, however, against the raising of certain cries, that are not of the people, but of a few individuals, and against making any such requests to me as are incompatible with the sanctity of the Church; for these I cannot, I may not, and I will not grant. This being understood, with my whole soul, I bless you.'"

Deeds followed words; the Ministry was changed; five laymen were admitted into it, and it was intimated that a constitution would be granted resembling those in other States. Then came the news of the disasters at Paris, and everything was precipitated. On March 10th the Ministry was again changed, only three ecclesiastics being now admitted into it; and on the 14th the new constitution, or "Fundamental Statute," was proclaimed. It instituted a Legislature in two branches, the High Council and the Council of Deputies, the members of the former being appointed by the Pope, and those of the latter being chosen by popular vote in the ratio, as nearly as might be, of one to every thirty thousand souls. All citizens were voters who paid twelve crowns a year in direct taxes or had property amounting to three hundred crowns; to these were added all members of colleges and honorary graduates, and all persons holding office in the communes and municipalities. The Legislature was to be convoked every year, both Councils were to choose their own officers, and their sessions were to be public, except on extraordinary occasions when they might of their own accord prefer secrecy. Freedom of debate and vote was guaranteed, and the members of both Houses were protected from arrest, even for notoriously criminal acts, during the session, except by consent of the Council to which they belonged.

They were to have authority to make laws on all subjects, excepting ecclesiastical matters and the canons and discipline of the Church, but including the imposition of taxes; the Pope, however, like most monarchs, reserved to himself the right of negativing a law. All discussions, also, of the diplomatico-religious relations of the Holy See with foreign powers were forbidden. Money bills were to originate in the lower house, and direct taxes could be granted for only a year. The Deputies had a right to impeach ministers, who, if they were laymen, were to be tried by the High Council; if ecclesiastics, by the Sacred College. The unlimited right of petition to the lower house was assured and ministers were responsible for every ministerial act; they had the right of sitting and debating, but not of voting, in both Councils. A portion of the revenue of the State, for the support of the cardinals, the ecclesiastical congregations, and generally for the transaction of purely ecclesiastical business, was to be secured to the Pope, and to be borne on the estimates every year.

The judges were to be irremovable after they had held office for three years; and all persons were declared equal in the sight of the law. Extraordinary commissions or tribunals for the trial of offences were abolished. All property, whether of individuals or corporations, whether civil or ecclesiastical, was to be held subject to its equal part of the burdens of the State; and to all bills imposing taxes, the Pope would annex, of his own authority, a special waiver of the ecclesiastical exemption. The administrations of the Provinces and the communes were placed in the hands of their respective inhabitants. The Government (or political) censorship was abolished, but the ecclesiastical censorship was retained.

Such is a general outline of the Roman Constitution spontaneously granted to his subjects by Pius IX. Its merits, in all civil or political matters, are certainly equal, if not superior, to those of the English Constitution, from which in great part it was borrowed; its faults are precisely those which resulted necessarily from the Pope's double character, as temporal sovereign of the Roman States and as head of the Catholic Church throughout the world. It was not within the province or at the discretion of Pius to alter the tenure by which he held his throne, to change the fundamental principles of the Church or to abolish his ecclesiastical dominion. He granted to his subjects all that was in his power to grant as their temporal sovereign. His purely ecclesiastical relations and duties did not concern them, or concerned them only so far as they were members of the great body of Catholic believers in all lands. The College of Cardinals must choose the Pope, and must choose one of their own number; this is not a law of the Roman States, but a law of the Catholic Church. Pius could not abrogate it; and if he had been inclined to grant everything to his people by divesting himself of the last rag of his sovereignty, the only consequence would have been that the cardinals must have chosen another pope in his place, who might undo all that Pius had accomplished.

These are obvious and necessary considerations; and the Pope expressly recognizes them in the ordinance accompanying the grant of the constitution. "We intend," he says, "to maintain intact our authority in matters that by their nature are related to the Catholic religion and its rule of morals. And this is due from us as a guaranty to the whole of Christendom, that, in the States of the Church reorganized in this new form, nothing shall be derogated from the liberties and rights of the Church herself, and of the Holy See, nor any precedent be established for violating the sacredness of the religion which it is our duty and mission to preach to the whole world, as the only scheme of covenant between God and man, the only pledge of that heavenly benediction by which states subsist and nations flourish."

Now, it is worthy of note that neither this constitution nor any of the acts of Pius under it was ever complained of by any party among the Pope's subjects except in regard to these ecclesiastical reservations which were forced from him by the very nature of the office that he held. The constitutionalists, indeed the moderate reformers, the party of Balbo and Gioberti and D'Azeglio, which comprised most of the educated and reflecting persons in the State, seem to have been entirely satisfied with it as a whole, or as it was. So also were the unthinking populace, who received it with shouts of exultation, so long as they were not moved by the arts of a party who would not be satisfied with having a good pope, but were bent upon having no pope at all. This was the party of Mazzini, the revolutionists as distinguished from the reformers—not strong at first either in numbers or credit, as we have seen, but who made up for all deficiencies by their zeal and activity—who were determined to establish a republic, and who cared nothing for the embarrassments of the Pope's situation as head of the Church, of indeed for the Church itself. They complained—and with reason, too, upon their principles—of these ecclesiastical reservations; and they made out of them their chief weapon of attack upon the Pope's government, though they did not profit so much by the use of it as by the evident unwillingness of Pius to rush into a war with Austria for the purpose of giving the sovereignty of Lombardy to Charles Albert, a measure to which he was averse, because he thought such a conflict would be detrimental to the interests of the Church over which he presided.

The world's future judgment of Pius will depend upon its belief of the sincerity with which he acted in thus allowing nothing but his religious duties and his position as the head of the Church to limit his concessions of political privileges to his subjects. On this point, it is well to hear the opinion of Farini, who, as one of the Mamiani Ministry and as employed to mediate between them and the Pope, because much loved and trusted by him, seems peculiarly qualified to form one without undue bias on either side:

"Pius IX had applied himself to political reform, not so much for the reason that his conscience as an honorable man and a most pious sovereign enjoined it, as because his high view of the papal office prompted him to employ the temporal power for the benefit of his spiritual authority. A meek man and a benevolent prince, Pius IX was, as a pontiff, lofty even to sternness. With a soul not only devout, but mystical, he referred everything to God, and respected and venerated his own person as standing in God's place. He thought it his duty to guard with jealousy the temporal sovereignty of the Church, because he thought it essential to the safe-keeping and the apostleship of the faith.

"Aware of the numerous vices of that temporal government, and hostile to all vice and all its agents, he had sought, on mounting the throne, to effect those reforms which justice, public opinion, and the times required. He hoped to give lustre to the papacy by their means, and so to extend and to consolidate the faith. He hoped to acquire for the clergy that credit, which is a great part of the decorum of religion and an efficient cause of reverence and devotion in the people. His first efforts were successful in such a degree that no pontiff ever got greater praise.

"By this he was greatly stimulated and encouraged, and perhaps he gave in to the seduction of applause and the temptations of popularity more than is fitting for a man of decision or for a prudent prince. But when, after a little, Europe was shaken by universal revolution, the work he had commenced was, in his view, marred; he then retired within himself and took alarm.

"In his heart, the pontiff always came before the prince, the priest before the citizen; in the secret struggles of his mind, pontifical and priestly conference always outweighed the conscience of the prince and citizen. And as his conscience was a very timid one, it followed that his inward conflicts were frequent; that hesitation was a matter of course, and that he often took resolutions even about temporal affairs, more from religious intuition or impulse than from his judgment as a man. Added to this, his health was weak and susceptible of nervous excitement—the dregs of his old complaint. From this he suffered most when his mind was most troubled and uneasy; another cause of wavering and changefulness.

"Under the pressure of the extraordinary occurrences throughout Europe early in the spring of 1848, the Pope's new Ministry under the constitution proceeded vigorously and rapidly to give full development and efficiency to that instrument. They also expressed the wish for a firm union of the constitutional thrones of Italy with one another with a view to insuring her independence; and they ordered the papal banners to be decorated with pennons of the Italian tricolor. On March 21st the news of the revolution at Vienna, much magnified by report, arrived, and the excitement of the Roman populace knew no bounds.

"Every bell in the city pealed for joy; from palace and from hovel, from magazine and workshop, the townspeople poured in throngs into the streets and squares; some took to letting off firearms, some to strewing flowers; some hoisted flags on the towers, some decked with them their balconies; everybody was shouting 'Italia! Italia!' and cursing the Empire. In an access of fury, the Austrian arms were torn down, dashed to pieces, and befouled amid the applause of the crowd in spite of the dissuasion of the public functionaries and of prudent persons."

The hostility to the Jesuits now threatened to break out into violence; and for the double purpose of protecting them and appeasing the passions of the mob the Pope consented that the schools which they had superintended should be given into other hands, that their associations should be disbanded and they should be exiled.

"The Government perhaps had no choice, so swiftly and impetuously did the torrent of popular commotion roll. I will not affirm that the Pope and the Government ought to have exposed to the last hazard the security of the State for an ineffectual defence of the fraternity. What I wish to observe is that if there were among the Jesuits men stained with guilt, and mischievous plotters, they ought to have been watched and punished as bad citizens; but it was incompatible with propriety or justice to condemn and punish a religious association, as such, in a place where the Pope held both his own seat and the supreme authority of the Church. None but the Pope had the power to condemn the society as a whole, and no condemnation but his could be just or valid in the opinion and conscience of the Catholics, or produce the desired political effects." On the same day that the Jesuits were expelled, the Pope issued a noble proclamation, breathing the best spirit of religion. The following excerpt is a portion of it:

"Pius Papa IX to the People of the States of Italy—Health and Apostolic Benediction:

"The events which the last two months have witnessed, following and thronging one another in such rapid succession, are no work of man. Woe to him that does not discern the Lord's voice in this blast that agitates, uproots, and rends the cedar and the oak. Woe to the pride of man if he shall refer, these marvellous changes to any human merit or any human fault; if instead of adoring the hidden designs of Providence, whether manifested in the paths of his justice or of his mercy, or of that Providence in whose hands are all the ends of the earth. And we, who are endowed with speech in order to interpret the dumb eloquence of the works of God—we cannot be mute amid the longings, the fears, and the hopes which agitate the minds of our children.

"And first, it is our duty to make known to you that if our hearts had been moved at hearing how, in a part of Italy, the consolations of religion have preceded the perils of battle, and nobleness of mind has been displayed in works of charity, we nevertheless could not and cannot but greatly grieve over the injuries which, in other places, have been done to the ministers of that same religion—injuries, even if contrary to our duty we were silent concerning them, our silence could not hinder from impairing the efficacy of our benedictions.

"Neither can we refrain from telling you that to use victory well is a greater and more difficult achievement than to be victorious. If the present day recalls to you any other period of your history, let the children profit by the errors of their forefathers. Remember that all stability and all prosperity has its main earthly ground in concord; that it is God alone who maketh of one mind them that dwell in a house; that he grants this reward only to the humble and the meek, to those who respect his laws, in the liberty of his church, in the order of society, in charity toward all mankind."

* * * * *

Shortly afterward another measure, emanating entirely from the Pope, and opposed by the prejudices of the mob, showed that his humane and liberal disposition and enlightened understanding waited for no impulse from without, and for no hope of increased popularity, before doing justice to a long oppressed race. "The friends of social progress were highly gratified by the decision of Pius IX to raze in Rome the walls and gates which shut up the Jews in the Ghetto. He had already, at the commencement of his pontificate, softened some of the rigors with which they were afflicted, and had directed that they might spread beyond that ignominious precinct; nor, however great was the outcry about it among the mob, did he forego the idea of bettering the condition of the followers of the Mosaic law." He was disposed to give them civil rights; and if he did not think of extending his concessions even to political privileges, yet he would give this as the main reason for it, that, in a constitutional country, everyone who enjoys them may rise to the highest stages of power; whereas a pope could not have any save Catholic ministers. In the mean time he raised them out of the abjectness of their isolation, although the Roman vulgar censured him for it bitterly, most of all because it took effect in Holy Week. When it was known in the city that the walls and fastenings of the Ghetto were to be pulled down at night, by order of the Cardinal Vicar, Ciceruacchio hastened with his companions, or subjects, to share in the work; and they shared in it so largely that it seemed as though the thing were effected more as their boon than by the will of the Pope. Pius IX was vexed at this; whether because noise had been made about what he wanted done quietly, or because it was brought about in such a manner that it might seem the popular party had had more to say to it than the authority of the head of religion. Rome fully shared the enthusiasm which was awakened throughout Italy by the entrance of the Piedmontese troops into Lombardy, and by the announcement by Charles Albert that he had drawn the sword in the sacred cause of Italian independence. His proclamation, in the stilted phrase common to such state papers, declared that he relied upon "the assistance of that God who is visibly with us; of that God who has given Pius IX to Italy; of that God who, by such wondrous impulses, has placed her in a condition to act for herself." And if she acted for herself, if her deeds had been commensurate with her glorious words, the Austrian would never again have trodden any portion of the peninsula with the step of a master. But the zeal of the Italians for independence seemed all to evaporate in high-sounding manifestoes, and in a few excesses of the populace in the great cities. The inactivity of the Italian sovereigns may be explained by their imputed treachery or lukewarmness in the cause. But what prevented the people themselves from crowding the camp of Charles Albert with volunteers at a time when not a crowned head in Italy dared offer the least open opposition to such a movement? The King of Naples, sorely against his will, sent his regular army, consisting of about fourteen thousand men, to fight for the cause, and withdrew them in about six weeks, as soon as a base act of treachery had given him the victory at home. General Pepe, their commander, wished to disobey the order and move forward; but "nearly the whole army turned its back on the Po and on him, and moved backward in the direction of the Neapolitan Kingdom." Two hundred volunteers had previously set out from Naples for Upper Italy, under the guidance and at the expense of an enthusiastic woman, the Princess Belgioioso. "She had lived as an exile in France, and was at first enthusiastic for the Giovine Italia; she afterward became averse to it, and sided with Guizot, Duchâtel, and Mignet, her intimate friend. She was well versed—or mixed herself much—in literature, politics, the study of theology, and journalism; a woman that had some of the feelings and anxieties of men, together with all those of her own sex, and who was now travelling through Italy intent upon manly business, but after woman's fashion. Other volunteers afterward started, and a vessel set sail for Leghorn, which carried them, along with the Tenth Regiment of the line." The Sicilians at the same time determined to separate entirely from Naples and the rest of the peninsula; "and thus all the ability and spirit, the arms and wealth, of that powerful island were applied to the effort for insular independence, and drawn off from that for the independence of the nation." From Tuscany there went to this national war "about three thousand volunteers, and perhaps as many more regulars"—a number so small that Farini apologizes for it, and endeavors to prove that it ought "not to be imputed to any lukewarmness in the affection for Italy." The army from the Roman States, which the Pope had set on foot, but hoped to retain as a defensive force within the northern boundary of his dominions, numbered about sixteen thousand, of whom more than half were volunteers. The conduct of the people of Lombardy, who though the conflict raged on their own soil, and their own freedom was immediately at stake, wasted their strength in quarrelling with one another instead of succoring Charles Albert, has long been a topic of wonder and censure. In short, all Italy did not furnish for this sacred war, so long the object of her aspirations and her prayers, a body of volunteers one-fourth as large as the army which the King of Sardinia brought into the field, though it was probable that he was moved from the first only by the hope of personal aggrandizement. He invaded Lombardy with an army of fifty-five thousand men, expecting thereby to win, with the aid of the national enthusiasm, the sceptre of all Italy for himself and his descendants. A terrible disappointment awaited him; instead of glory, shame and defeat were his portion; and having abdicated his paternal throne in despair he died in exile, literally of a broken heart. Pius IX was hardly more fortunate; to him also this fatal war brought dishonor and exile, the loss of the affection of his subjects, and of the admiration of the civilized world. The reluctance of the Pope to engage, when unprovoked, in a war with Austria is no cause for wonder. He earnestly desired the welfare of his people and the independence of his native land; but all his desires were subject to the interests of the Church, of which he was the recognized head throughout Christendom. The republicans in his dominions, including Mazzini and his party, were aware of this reluctance, and determined to make use of it and of the passions of the people in order to get rid of him altogether. No opportunity was lost to compromise him in the war, both in his temporal and ecclesiastical character; and the misfortune of his twofold position did not allow him to resist these machinations with success. General Durando, the commander of the papal forces, issued a flaming proclamation to his army when they passed the Po, announcing to them that their swords were blessed by the venerable head of the Church, and that they should all wear the cross on their bosoms, as beseemed those who were engaged in a holy war. This act naturally gave great uneasiness to the Pope, and Farini censures it as an unwise attempt to obtain the sanctions of religion for merely political objects—the very conduct which the Liberal party had previously censured in their opponents. If Italian minds, he argues, "were not capable of warming with the simple fire of patriotism for the noble and even holy enterprise of liberating Italy from the stranger, it was vain to hope that hearts so frozen up in indifference could kindle with religious faith." In the mean time the Germans, who were speculating about the unity of their own stock and nation and were straining every nerve in that difficult enterprise, could not excuse the desire of independence in the Italians, and contended for the boasted rights of Austria and Germany over the lands and the coasts of Italy, with the people that inhabited them. When it became known in Germany that the pontifical troops were hastening to the legitimate defence of Italy it affected the public feeling generally, and the name of Pius IX was branded with censure, not by laymen only, but by some bishops and high ecclesiastics. Monsignor Viale, nuncio at Vienna, and Monsignor Sacconi, nuncio at Munich, were assiduous and eager in detailing the sinister reports touching Rome and the Pope, and colored them in such a way as to create an apprehension of schism, the most serious one that could rise for a pope—and that pope, too, Pius IX. He had before this been greatly troubled by the proclamation of General Durando; still he had hoped that the Italian League would be shortly concluded, and that, when he had furnished the quota of troops that might be due from him as a temporal sovereign, he would then have been able, in the capacity of pontiff, to use those good offices which he considered requisite to assure the consciences of Catholics.

Even the news of some reverses to the Italian arms in Lombardy failed to awaken a proper feeling among the inhabitants of Central and Southern Italy, and Farini thus censures the slothfulness and vanity of his countrymen: "Few gave credit or importance at the time to this and other sinister intelligence; the greater part of those who beheld the first marvellous smiles of fortune relied upon the star of Italy, and thought the Empire was dismembered. We Italians are too susceptible to the impulses of passion, and of heat in the imagination; with a small matter we are drunken and think to leap over the moon. Deadly intoxication, most deadly fault, that of undervaluing an enemy, which lets our enthusiasm too easily evaporate, and gives him every facility for showing that he is as gallant as we are, and more resolute; that he has much of perseverance and of discipline—qualities more effectual and valuable than simple courage. It comes to this; we must either send about their business the dreams of poets, and educate ourselves in severe and masculine virtues, or must yet remain long in a position to chant many more elegies, to assuage our sorrow, than hymns of triumph; we must either rest assured that with the tenacious, the disciplined, and the resolute only the tenacious, disciplined, and resolute can cope, and must therefore leave off despising the Austrians, and imitate them in their steadiness and their attention to the military spirit; or else we must be doomed to the disgrace of seeing them masters of our country. A stern truth; but the only one that an Italian freeman can utter to Italians free in mind. He who wants compliments and adulation may fling these warning words from him."

The Ministry at Rome, driven onward by the popular clamor, represented to the Pope in strong terms the necessity of sending orders to his army to take an active part in the war; for they had not yet commenced hostilities with the Austrians. A consistory of the cardinals was to be held on April 29th; and it was feared that Pius would take that occasion for declaring that he was averse to the war, thus pacifying the minds of the Catholics in Germany. The allocution of the Pope realized these fears, though it expressed only his wish to remain neutral, "and to embrace all kindreds, peoples, and nations with equal solicitude of paternal affection." But the Ministry resigned in consequence, and great disturbances arose in the city; the populace were not willing themselves to volunteer for the war, but they were determined that the Pope should not continue a man of peace. The Civic Guard was placed under arms, but it was soon found that the soldiers shared the feelings of the people, and no reliance could be placed upon them. Threats were uttered of assassinating the cardinals, and others cried out "to make short work—as they called it—with the government of the priests, those traitors to Italy, and to place Rome under popular sway." To avert bloodshed, the Pope consented to a compromise; he gave up the entire direction of his troops to Charles Albert, and published, of his own accord, and without the knowledge of his ministers, an affecting remonstrance to his people.

Pius also wrote an earnest letter to the Emperor of Austria, entreating him to put a stop to the war by acknowledging the independence of Venetia and Lombardy. "Let not the generous German nation take it ill," he said, "if we invite them to lay resentment aside, and to convert into the beneficial relations of friendly neighborhood a domination which could never be prosperous or noble while it depended solely on the sword." But the prayers of the Pope had now little influence either with the Emperor or with his own subjects; he had long ago forfeited the favor of the Absolutists by his political reforms, and he had now lost the love of his people by his reluctance to gratify their passion for sway.

Yet if he had basely yielded to their wishes, against his judgment and his conscience, he would have injured only the cause of the papacy in foreign lands, and the issue of the war would not have been changed. As it was, his troops were actively engaged in the contest till the time of their capture at Vicenza by the Austrians. The fatal blow was given to the hopes of Italy by the King of Naples withdrawing his troops at a critical moment, when their loss could not be replaced.

Their departure, and the consequent capture of the papal army under Durando at Vicenza, enabled the Austrians to turn their whole force against the Piedmontese, who were then defeated and driven back. The disgraceful capitulation at Milan followed, and the cause of United Italy was lost forever. Brilliant as its promise had been at the outset, the Revolution of 1848 terminated as pitifully as did those of 1820 and 1831; and for its disastrous issue the Italians have none to blame but themselves.

Misfortunes and defeat had their usual effect in inflaming the rage of parties. The personal influence of the Pope could no longer keep the passions of the citizens in check, and the clubs now governed Rome with absolute sway. The party of Mazzini, bent on trying the experiment of a republic at all hazards, began to show its head after a long period of inefficiency and discouragement, and every day acquired new adherents and stronger influence. One Ministry after another tried in vain to steer the ship of state on an even course, between the opposite perils of the domination of a mob and the rigorous enforcement of the laws. The Pope tried for some months the experiment of a popular administration, under Mamiani, of whom our author says, "He seemed to play the part of a tribune of the people more than of the Pope's minister." Still he was an honest man, opposed to violence, to tumult, and to all excesses, though he paid too much deference to the clubs, which were now as turbulent and mischievous as their Parisian prototypes. The acts of his Ministry were not numerous, Farini says, for the character of the times would not admit of dispassionate inquiries and solid reforms. In truth, the energies of Government were exhausted in a vain attempt to keep the peace in the city, which was now a constant scene of turbulence and disorder. Bologna also, having successfully repelled an unauthorized attack made upon it by the Austrians under Welden, had become a prey to the wildest confusion, owing to the continuance there of the irregular bands of armed men who had contributed to its defence. At the urgent request of the Bolognese Deputies, the Ministry determined to send thither one of their own number to aid in restoring order; and Farini was deputed for this purpose. The following is a portion of his account of what he saw there and what he accomplished:

"In the streets and open places of the city, for two days, the brigands had been slaughtering every man his enemy among the Government officers, some of them indeed disreputable and sorry fellows, others respectable. They killed with musket-shot, and if the fallen gave signs of life they reloaded their arms in the sight of the people and the soldiers and fired them afresh, or else put an end to their victims with their knives. They hunted men down like wild beasts, entered their houses, and dragged them forth to slaughter. One Bianchi, an inspector of police, was lying in bed, reduced to agony by consumption; they came in, set upon him and cut his throat in the presence of his wife and children; the corpse, a frightful spectacle, remained in the public streets. I saw it, saw death dealt about, and the abominable chase. Cardinal Amat, who had given notice of his arrival, came the day after; and the armed commons escorted him to the palace at the very time when the villains were perpetrating their murders.

"There were no longer any judges, or any officers of the police; those who had escaped death either had fled or had hidden themselves; the Civic Guard was disarmed, the citizens killed, the few soldiers of the line either mixed with the insurgents or were wholly without spirit; the carbineers and dragoons in hesitation, the volunteer legions and free corps a support to the rioters, not to the authority of Government. We sent to Rome for leave to declare Bologna in a state of siege; but the answer was that the Ministry having taken the opinion of the Council of State considered that order might be restored without recourse to this extreme measure.

"All our best exertions were made to draw to the side of Government the carbineers and dragoons, as also Bellezzi and the honest leaders of the people, but with little success. It was reported that Bellezzi himself had given leave to kill those whom they called the spies; one Masina came before us, proposing by way of compromise to banish those whose lives were threatened; armed men were in the very palace of government, and we ourselves at their mercy. Accident, however, effected at a stroke what we could have done only slowly and with difficulty. An assassin attempted the life of a carbineer; his companions, inflamed with anger, pursued him and caught him in a church. They then volunteered their most resolute efforts at repression. They were ordered to sally forth, arrest and disarm the ruffians. The dragoons seconded them; young Pepoli, commandant of the Civic Guard, mustered a few companies; Bianchetti and the respected citizens of the Committee of Public Safety drew close around us, and we hurried in the Swiss from Forli. The population began to regain its courage and to applaud the carbineers as they arrested the assassins; the Swiss entered amid cheers."

The disturbances at Bologna were quelled; but the bonds of law and order throughout the Papal States were now loosened, and it became evident that a more determined minister must be placed at the helm, or the experiment of the existing form of government must be abandoned in despair. A republic or a return to the old principles of despotism would then be inevitable. In this emergency the eyes of the Pope and of all prudent persons at Rome were turned to Rossi, who, since the fall of Louis Philippe's Government, from which he had been ambassador to the Roman States, had resided there as a private citizen, taking no active share in politics, but often consulted by both parties, owing to his high reputation for sagacity and firmness. Exiled on account of his liberal opinions by Gregory, he had laid the foundation of his fame at Paris, where he successively became professor, peer, and ambassador, and was highly esteemed by all parties as a writer and a statesman. Once before, Pius had solicited him to form a ministry; but he had declined, because conscious that the affections of the populace were not with him, and he judged that the minds even of the better portion of the citizens were not yet prepared for a resolute attempt to carry on a constitutional government by firm measures.

He suggested to the Pope that he was probably odious to the court on account of his previous employments and his writings; that some would perhaps look very coldly on a minister who had married a Protestant wife; and that the French Republic might be displeased if he should hold a high post at Rome. But in the middle of September the solicitations of the Pope and of many respectable persons in the State became so urgent that Rossi consented to serve; the opinion was universal that no other person possessed the requisite abilities, character, and experience to carry on the Government at this perilous crisis; and that, if he failed, all indeed was lost. He selected for his colleagues men of liberal politics, but temperate in their opinions. He announced his intention to carry into effect the Fundamental Statute, in all its parts, according to constitutional usage; to counteract and repress both parties opposed to that instrument; to abolish exemptions, restore the finances, and reorganize the army; to conclude a league with Piedmont and Tuscany, even if it should be impossible with Naples; and to fix the contingent of troops which the Pope was to supply, so that he need not in any way mingle in the war.

The turbulent and the presumptuous, "the magistrates accustomed to fatten upon abuses, the Sanfedists who made a livelihood of disorder, and the clergy, greedy of gold and honors, could ill bear that Pellegrino Rossi should have the authority of a minister." But those who knew the real condition of affairs, and that, unless the finances were improved and public discipline and order restored, all would go to wreck, counted it great gain that he should take charge of the debilitated State. "The dissatisfied were more numerous and noisy in the capital; the contented stronger in the Provinces, especially at Bologna, where an educated community wished for a liberal system, with a government strong in the strength of the law; where the recent terrible events had filled every mind with horror; and where Rossi, the proscribed of 1815, was dear to memory, and rooted in public esteem."

The Roman Legislature was to meet again in the middle of November, so that the new minister was chiefly occupied with maturing the measures which were to be laid before it for adoption. His public acts therefore were few; but they were enough to show that new wisdom and vigor directed the course of affairs. He obtained the Pope's consent that the clergy should make a new contribution of two millions of crowns to the State, on the strength of which he obtained a new loan and punctually paid the interest on the public debt. He invited General Zucchi home from Switzerland to take the command of the army, which rapidly improved in discipline under his energetic guidance. He distributed medals to those who had been wounded and to the families of the slain at Vicenza. He established two lines of telegraph, one to Ferrara by the way of Bologna, and another to Civita Vecchia. The negotiations with Sardinia and Tuscany for an Italian league were advanced nearly to completion. Chairs of political economy and commercial law were founded in the universities at Rome and Bologna. Toward the close of October the mob rose in Rome, on occasion of a squabble between a Jew and a Catholic, and threatened to sack the Ghetto and maltreat its inhabitants. Rossi hurried the Civic Guard and the carbineers to the spot, allayed the tumult, arrested and imprisoned some of its ringleaders, and published an energetic proclamation to warn the turbulent that the laws would be enforced.

"All these proceedings excited the anger of Rossi's enemies, the journalists, the captains of the people, and the Roman clubs." There was no opprobrium that was not heaped upon him, no charge that was not levelled at the Government. But these declamations seemed to have little effect on the body of the people. On the morning of November 15th, when the Legislature was to commence its session, though knots of persons were seen talking in the streets with excited countenances, there was no outbreak or popular tumult. Rossi had received many anonymous letters in which his life was threatened, but he scorned to take any notice of them. This morning one came which directly affirmed that he would be assassinated in the course of the day; and he threw it into the fire. The regulation of the police, now that the day of the session had arrived, belonged to the President of the Council of Deputies; and Rossi, punctilious in the observance of the constitution, refused to give them any orders.

Several of his friends came and remonstrated with him against such an exposure of his life. "To all this he answered that he had taken the measures which he thought suitable for keeping the seditious in order, and that he could not, on account of risk that he might personally run, forego repairing to the Council according to his duty; that perhaps these were idle menaces; but if anyone thirsted for his blood, he would have the means of shedding it elsewhere on some other day, even if, on that day, he should lose his opportunity. He would therefore go." He was elated by the confidence which the Pope had in him, and expected both trust and aid from the Parliament, to which he was so soon to explain his ideas and intentions.

"When the ordinary hour of the parliamentary sitting, which was about noon, arrived, the people began to gather in the square of the Cancellaria, and by degrees in the courtyard and then in the public galleries of the hall. Soon these were all full. A battalion of the Civic Guard was drawn up in the square; in the court and hall there was no guard greater than ordinary. There were, however, not a few individuals, armed with their daggers, in the dress of the volunteers returned from Vicenza, and wearing the medals with which the municipality of Rome had decorated them. They stood together and formed a line from the gate up to the staircase of the palace. Sullen visages were to be seen and ferocious imprecations heard among them. During the time when the Deputies were slowly assembling, and business could not commence because there was not yet a quorum present, a cry for help suddenly proceeded from the extremity of the public gallery, on which everyone turned thither a curious eye; but nothing more was heard or seen, and those who went to get some explanation of the circumstances returned without success.

"In the mean time Rossi's carriage entered the court of the palace. He sat on the right, and Righetti, Deputy Minister of Finance, on the left. A howl was raised in the court and yard, which echoed even into the hall of the Council. Rossi got out first, and moved briskly, as was his habit in walking, across the short space which leads from the centre of the court to the staircase on the left hand. Righetti, who descended after him, remained behind, because the persons were in the way who caused the outcry, and who, brandishing their cutlasses, had surrounded Rossi and were loading him with opprobrium. At this moment there was seen amid the throng the flash of a poniard, and then Rossi losing his feet and sinking to the ground. Alas! he was spouting blood from a broad gash in the neck. He was raised by Righetti, but could hardly hold himself up, and did not articulate a syllable; his eyes grew clouded, and his blood spurted forth in a copious jet. Some of those, whom I named as clad in military uniform, were above upon the stairs; they came down, and formed a ring about the unhappy man; and when they saw him shedding blood and half lifeless, they all turned and rejoined their companions. He was borne, amid his death-struggle, into the apartments of Cardinal Gazzoli, at the head of the stairs on the left side; and there, after a few moments, he breathed his last.

"In leaving the palace of the Cancellaria, one met some faces gleaming with a hellish joy, others pallid with alarm; many townspeople standing as if petrified; agitators, running this way and that, carbineers the same; one kind of men might be heard muttering imprecations on the assassin, but the generality faltered in broken and doubtful accents; some, horrible to relate, cursed the murdered man. Yes, I have still before my eyes the livid countenance of one who, as he saw me, shouted, 'So fare the betrayers of the people!' But the city was in the depths of gloom, as under the hand of calamity and the scourge of God; and wherever there were respectable persons, though of liberal and Italian principles, they were horror-struck, and called for the resolute exertions of the authorities."

When the terrible news came to the Pope, he was struck with horror and dismay, but yet strove to rally the other members of the Government around him and preserve the State from anarchy. But his efforts were miserably seconded; one person after another declined taking office or continuing in it; and even when the presidents of the two Councils were summoned, they had little advice to give. On the morrow the tidings came that a mob was on its way toward the Quirinal, some of the carbineers having fraternized with them, to enforce the appointment of a democratic ministry, and a declaration in favor of a constituent assembly for all Italy. Only a few Swiss, the ordinary guard of honor, were on duty; but they shut the gates of the palace, and nobly declared that their own bodies should be piled up behind them before the rioters should enter. Galletti, the former minister of police, acted as spokesman of the mob, and when admitted to an audience he stated their demands. The Pope indignantly declared that he would not yield to violence, but must deliberate in freedom. This answer only inspired the insurgents with fresh fury, so that they pressed forward to the gates, set one of them on fire, and, mounting upon the roofs of the neighboring houses, opened a fire upon the walls and windows of the Quirinal. The few Swiss fired in return; and then the cry ran through the city that the Pope's guards were butchering the people, and already there were many slain. Within the palace many advised Pius to yield, a few still spoke of resistance, and the foreign ministers, who were collected there, had no scheme to offer. "The scuffle continues; the worthy prelate, Monsignor Palma, falls dead by the window of his own apartment; balls reach the ante-chamber of the Pope." At last Pius turned to the diplomatic body who stood around him, and said: "There is no further hope in resistance. Already a prelate is slain in my very palace, shots are aimed at it, artillery levelled. To avoid fruitless bloodshed and increased enormities, we give way; but it is, as you see, only to force. Therefore we protest; let the courts, let your governments, know it. We give way to violence alone, and all we concede is null and void."

Galletti was then asked to propose his list of ministers, from which the Pope indignantly struck out the name of the Neapolitan Salicetti, but admitted without a word the names of Sterbini, Lunati, and Galletti. Their appointment was signed on the spot, and the news being told to the insurgents "they fired muskets in token of joy, and went off with hymns for Italy and cheers for the Italian Constituent Assembly and the democratic Ministry."

The next day the club desired that the Swiss should be deprived of their arms and dismissed from the Quirinal; the Pope complied. The club then asked that Galletti should be named general of the carbineers; and he was appointed. "Such was the poltroonery or such the depravity of consciences that no journal would or dared denounce the murder. But why do I speak of denouncing? The murder was honored with illuminations and festivities in numerous cities, and not in these States only, but beyond them, especially at Leghorn." The Councils met on the 18th and 20th, but not a word was said of the murder, and even a proposition for giving assurance to the Pope "of the devotion and unalterable affection of the Deputies" was voted down. Three of the Bolognese Deputies and a few others then indignantly resigned their seats, and assigned their reasons for this step in addresses to their constituents.

Early on the night of the 25th the Pope secretly left the Quirinal, entered a carriage prepared for him by the wife of the Bavarian ambassador, and went into exile from that city which, within two years and a half, had worshipped, scorned, and assailed him.

(1848) THE REVOLUTION OF FEBRUARY IN FRANCE, François P.G. Guizot and Mme. Guizot de Witt

This outbreak marked one of the many transitions in French history, leading to the establishment of the short-lived Second Republic, so soon to be followed by the coup d'état of Louis Napoleon and the setting up of the Second Empire. When France passed from the rule of the Bourbons, represented by Charles X, to that of the Orleanists, in the hands of Louis Philippe, the "Citizen King" (July, 1830), great hopes were entertained by the constitutional party that this renewal of the monarchy through the "July Revolution" would result in permanent benefits. At first the new King enjoyed great popularity. In some respects his government, compared with that of Charles X, was liberal, and one of its early acts was an extension of the suffrage by decreasing the amount of the property qualification for voters. The demand for still further enlargement of popular rights became emphatic. The people were divided mainly into three parties, and the difficulties confronting the King were formidable. The Conservatives, who had placed him in power, wished to prevent further changes in the State; the Moderates asked for new reforms, especially for a still more extended suffrage; the Radical party desired a republic.

The attitude of the Radicals caused Louis Philippe to halt in his progressive policy. More than once his life was attempted, and in consequence of such acts the liberty of the press and other privileges were restricted. The greater part of the French people wished to have the King intervene in behalf of Poland—which at that period was in a state of almost chronic insurrection—as he had aided the Belgians against Holland. In her Eastern policy France was defeated by the Quadruple Alliance, formed by England, Prussia, Austria, and Russia, and in consequence of this failure the King's prestige suffered. But the question of extending the suffrage was kept always before the people, and when the King refused to go further with that reform its advocates urged their demands more strongly than ever. Lamartine founded a journal in which he agitated for universal suffrage, and in this agitation many other newspapers joined. Even Thiers, the leading statesman of the Moderate party, asked for suffrage reform. Failing to control the Legislative Assembly, the reformers at last appealed to the people. The King, relying on his majority in the Assembly, was undisturbed by the popular ferment.

Guizot, whose account of the "February Revolution" is here given, was the chief minister of Louis Philippe; and however partisan the author's narrative may seem, it rests upon an intimate knowledge of the events recorded.

I come with profound repugnance and sorrow to those painful days by the faults and misfortunes of which France was launched into dangerous enterprises, such that men of the greatest foresight could not discern their end. Our country has paid very dearly for the fatal error which overthrew the throne of the King who had for eighteen years governed it with a wisdom, prudence, and moderation acknowledged even by his enemies when attacking him.

"The Cabinet of October 29, 1847, and its political friends, had a clearly defined idea and purpose. They aspired to bring to a close the French era of revolutions by establishing the free government which France had in 1789 promised herself as the consequence and political guarantee of the social revolution which she was completing." This policy, formerly the object of their youthful hopes, had become theirs, whether in power or in the opposition. "It was in fact both liberal and antirevolutionary—antirevolutionary both in home and foreign affairs, since it wished to maintain the peace of Europe abroad, and the constitutional monarchy at home; liberal, since it fully accepted and respected the essential conditions of free government; the decisive intervention of the country in its affairs, with a constant and well-sustained discussion, in public as well as in the Chambers, of the ideas and acts of the Government. In fact, this twofold object was attained from 1830 to 1848.

"Abroad, peace was maintained without any loss to the influence or reputation of France in Europe. At home, from 1830 to 1848, political liberty was great and powerful; from 1840 to 1848, in particular, it was displayed without any new legal limit being imposed. It was this policy that the opposition—all the oppositions, monarchical and dynastic as well as republican—blindly or knowingly attacked, and tried to change. It was to change it that they demanded electoral and parliamentary reforms. In principle, the Government had no absolute or permanent objections whatever to such reforms; the extension of the right of suffrage, and the incompatibility of certain functions with the office of Deputy, might and must be the natural and legitimate consequences of the upward movement of society and political liberty. They did not think the reforms necessary or well-timed, and were therefore justified in delaying them as much as possible, provided they should one day allow to be accomplished by others what they thought themselves still strong enough to refuse." "We have too much and too long maintained a good policy," said Guizot afterward.

A frequent and formidable sign that men's minds are secretly agitated is the anxiety by which they are seized with reference to intrigues and vices which they suppose around them. It would be a serious error to see always a symptom of moral improvement in the clamors against electoral or parliamentary corruption. Immediately after the ministerial success in the general elections of 1846, this precursory indication of storms appeared on the horizon. Guizot raised the question to its proper point of view. "Leave to countries which are not free," said he, "leave to absolute governments, that explanation of great results by small, feeble, or dishonorable human acts. In free countries, when great results are produced it is from great causes that they spring. A great fact has been shown in the elections just completed; the country has given its adhesion, its earnest and free adhesion, to the policy presented before it. Do not attribute this fact to several pretended electoral manoeuvres. You have no right to come to explain, or qualify by wretched suppositions, a grand idea of the country thus grandly and freely manifested." The rumors of electoral corruptions were soon followed by rumors of parliamentary corruptions; but the majority of the Chamber declared themselves "content" with the ministerial explanations. The "Contents" figured in the opposition attacks by the side of the "Pritchardists."

Several improper abuses of long standing existed in certain branches of the Administration; some posts in the Treasury had been the object of pecuniary transactions between those who held the posts and were resigning, and the candidates who presented themselves to replace them. A bill proposed on January 20, 1848, by Hébert, who had become keeper of the seals, formally forbade any such transaction, under assigned penalties. Several months previously (June, 1847) M. Teste, formerly Minister of Public Works, and then president of the Cour de Cassation, was seriously compromised in the scandalous trial of General Cubières and Pellapra. Convicted of having received a large sum of money in connection with the mining concession, he was brought before the Peers, and being led from question to question and from discussion to discussion, soon made a confession of his crime. He, as well as his accomplices, underwent the just penalty.

"It was, on the part of the Cabinet, one of those acts the merit of which is only perceived afterward, and in which the Government bears the weight of the evil at the moment when it is trying most sincerely and courageously to repress it. There were several deplorable incidents—the shocking murder of the Duchess of Praslin, some scandalous trials and violent deaths following hard one upon another, and aggravating the momentary depression and the excited state of the popular imagination. The air seemed infected with moral disorder and unlooked-for misfortunes, coming to join in party attacks and the false accusations which the Cabinet were subjected to. It was one of those unhealthy hurricanes often met in the lives of governments." It was certainly culpable on the part of the opposition to try to take advantage of this disturbed state of men's minds to gain the end they were pursuing. Seven times was parliamentary reform, and three times was electoral reform, refused by the Chambers, from February 20, 1841, to April 8, 1847; the question being then displaced, it changed its ground. The opposition made an appeal to popular passion; and parliamentary discussions were succeeded by the banquets.

From the close of the session of 1847 to the opening of that of 1848 they kept France in a state of constant fever—an artificial and deceptive fever in this sense, that it was not the natural and spontaneous result of the actual wishes and wants of the country; but true and serious in this sense, that the political parties who took the initiative in it found among some of the middle classes and the lower orders a prompt and keen adhesion to their proposals. The first banquet took place in Paris at the Château-Rouge Hôtel on July 9, 1847. Garnier-Pagès has himself told how the Royalist opposition and the Republican opposition concluded their alliance for that purpose. On leaving the house of Odilon Barrot, the Radical members of the meeting walked together for some time. On reaching that part of the Boulevard opposite the Foreign Office, at the moment they were about to separate, Pagnerre said: "Well, really, I did not expect for our proposals so speedy and complete success. Do those gentlemen see what that may lead to? For my part, I confess I do not see it clearly; but it is not for us Radicals to be alarmed about it."

"You see that tree," replied Garnier-Pagès; "engrave on its bark a mark in memory of this day, for what we have just decided upon is a revolution." Garnier-Pagès did not foresee that the Republic of 1848, as well as the monarchy of 1830, should in its turn speedily perish in that revolution, so long big with so many storms.

For six months banquets were renewed in most of the departments—at Colmar, Strasburg, St. Quentin, Lille, Avesnes, Cosne, Châlons, Mâcon, Lyons, Montpellier, Rouen, etc. In many parts there was a great display of feelings and intentions most hostile to royalty and the dynasty. On several occasions—at Lille, for example—the keenest members of the parliamentary opposition, Odilon Barrot and his friends, withdrew, soon after taking their places at table, because the others absolutely refused to dissemble their hostility to the Crown and the King. At other banquets, notably at Dijon, the ideas and passions of 1793 unblushingly reappeared. They defended Robespierre and the Reign of Terror. The "Red Republic" openly flaunted its colors and hopes. The attack upon monarchy and the dynasty ranged itself, it is true, behind the parliamentary opposition, but like Galatea running away:

"Et se cupit ante videri."

It had succeeded well enough in making itself seen. The Government could no longer shut their eyes. They had tolerated the banquets so long as they could believe, or seem to believe, that the parliamentary opposition directed, or at least ruled, the movement. When it became evident that the anarchical impulse was more and more gaining upon the parliamentary opposition, and that the latter was becoming the instrument instead of remaining the master, then only they forbade the banquets. It was their duty.

It was also their right, in the opinion of the most competent legal authorities, as well as according to the recent practice of other free governments, in presence of a situation full of certain danger. This right, however, was disputed by the opposition. The Government, pushing the principle of legality to its furthest limit, arranged with several leading men of the opposition for the purpose of enabling the question of right to be brought speedily and methodically before competent tribunals. Just before the opening of the new session, in order to close the campaign, a new and formal banquet was being prepared in Paris, to which all the Deputies and Peers who had taken part in any of the preceding banquets were to be invited. This manifestation was to take place in the Twelfth Arrondissement of Paris. It was therefore agreed between the opposition delegates and those of the ministerial majority that the Deputies invited should go to the place appointed for the meeting and take their places, so as to avoid any disturbance in the streets or the hall, and that on the police commissary declaring that there was an order against it the guests should protest and withdraw, to lay the question before the tribunals. The agreement thus concluded was communicated by Duchâtel to the council, which approved of it.

Meanwhile the Chamber met, the session was opened, and from the very first the Government could perceive a wavering in the majority. Even among those who blamed and feared the agitation out-of-doors, several believed in the urgent necessity of a concession to remove all pretext for clamors and intrigues. On the ministers being informed of it Guizot said: "Withdraw the question from the hands of those who now hold it, and let it be brought back to the Chamber. Let the majority take a step in the direction of the concessions indicated; however small it be, I am certain it will be understood, and that you will have a new Cabinet, which will do what you think necessary." It was in the same spirit that the Ministry, during the discussion on the address, rejected an amendment tending to impose upon them immediate engagements with reference to reform.

"The maintenance of the unity of the Conservative party," said Guizot, "the maintenance of conservative policy and power, will be the fixed idea and rule of conduct in the Cabinet. They will make sincere efforts to maintain or restore the unity of the Conservative party upon that question, in order that it may be the Conservative party itself in its entirety that undertakes and gives to the country its solution. If such an operation in the midst of the Conservative party is possible, it will take place. If that is not possible—if by the question of reforms the Conservative party cannot succeed in making a common arrangement and maintaining the power of the Conservative policy, the Cabinet will leave to others the sad task of presiding over the disorganization of the Conservative party and the ruin of its policy."

The question was not destined to be taken up again by the Chambers, having escaped from the weak hands that aspired to direct it. The courtesy of the Conservative reformers had no result except disquieting the Government, a sort of precursory sign of the tempest. Even the parliamentary opposition found themselves baffled in their prudent efforts. A manifesto published in the National newspaper organized a noisy demonstration in the streets, though forbidden in the banquet-hall, the National Guard being called to arms by the insurrection, and their services arranged beforehand. The convention was clearly violated, and the legal appeal to the tribunals therefore abandoned: the Revolution itself declared it would decide the question. In such a situation, sorrowfully admitted by those who had negotiated the evening before, the Government officially forbade the banquet. The evening papers announced that the Deputies of the opposition had given up the intention of being present, and therefore the proposed manifestation was deprived of all importance. The revolutionary leaders in their turn declared that the banquet would not take place.

Disappointment increasing their irritation, the parliamentary opposition, in a momentary resistance, employed the remainder of their strength. On February 22d fifty-two Deputies of the Left laid before the Chamber a bill of impeachment against the Ministry, on account of their home and foreign policy during the whole course of their Administration. "What would you have them do?" said to Guizot an old member of the opposition who had no share whatever in this act. "They have just rendered the banquet abortive by declaring they would not attend it, and felt compelled to do something to compensate for and to some extent redeem that refusal."

Weakness has a constraining power difficult to understand, which is not foreseen even by those who give way to it; and of this the history of the Revolution of 1848 offers an eloquent and melancholy example.

The King, as well as his ministers, still hoped that the crisis had passed, and that the disorder avoided on the occasion of the banquet should not reappear under any pretext. The display of military forces which had been agreed upon and prepared was ordered to be suspended; instructions to arrest the Republican leaders were issued slowly and in but few instances. Yet a secret agitation was indicated in several parts of the capital; there were numerous crowds; on the morning of the 23rd several corps-de-garde were attacked. As the fermentation increased, the streets were crowded with idle workmen; people collected in knots from curiosity, or stood at their doors. The storm was in the air, evident both to those who dreaded it and those who were preparing to make use of it.

Meanwhile the appeal of the revolutionary leaders to the National Guard had been listened to. Many of the Parisian shopkeepers took part in the "reform movement," without well understanding it, and marched under the orders of their dangerous allies. Several detachments of the Seventh, Third, Second, and Tenth Legions appeared in the streets, some in the Faubourg St. Antoine, others marching to the Palais Royal, or the office of the National in the Rue le Peletier, and others in the students' quarter shouting "Long live reform!" in every street. When General Jacqueminot, the Commander-in-Chief of the National Guard, ordered a general muster of the legions, a large number of the guards, respectable and law-abiding men, did not answer to the summons. They had no desire for a revolution or reform forced from the legal powers by insurrection, but they shrunk from entering upon a struggle with soldiers wearing their own uniform and influenced apparently by reasonable motives. They remained in their homes dejected and anxious.

The King was as dejected as the Parisian citizens, and still more anxious. For several months he had frequently fallen into very low spirits, which was attributed to his grief at the death of his only sister, Madame Adelaide of Orleans, whose life had been always intimately associated with his, and who had just expired (December, 1847). His most intimate friends urged him to charm away the crisis by changing his Ministry. He still resisted, but every hour less vigorously. The Cabinet was not even informed of his perplexities. "Concessions forced by violence from all the legal powers are not a means of safety," said Duchâtel; "one defeat would quickly bring a second. In the Revolution there was not much time between that of June 20th and August 10th, and to-day things advance more quickly than in those times. Events, like travellers, now go by steam."

The truth, however, was now becoming manifest, both in the King's mind as to the tendency of his ideas, and in the eyes of his ministers as to the determination now being formed in the palace. By the very statement of the question it was resolved upon. Guizot and Duchâtel thus expressed it to the King: "It is for your Majesty to decide. The Cabinet is ready either to defend to the last the King and conservative policy which we profess, or to accept without a murmur the King's determination to call other men to power. At present, more than ever, in order to continue the struggle successfully, the Cabinet has need of the King's decided support. As soon as the public should learn, as they inevitably must, that the King hesitates, the Cabinet would lose all moral influence and be unable to accomplish their task." The King seemed still in perplexity, and said he should prefer to abdicate. "You cannot say that, my dear," replied the Queen, who was present at the interview with the Dukes of Nemours and Montpensier; "you belong to France, and not to yourself."

"That is true," said the King, as Louis XVI had formerly said to Malesherbes; "I am more unfortunate than the ministers, I cannot resign." The ministers then in King Louis Philippe's Cabinet had not resigned. The King, having made his decision, said, "It is with the keenest regret that I separate myself from you, but necessity and the safety of the monarchy demand this sacrifice. My will gives way; much time will be needed to regain the ground I am about to lose." There were tears in many eyes. The King sent for Molé, and Guizot himself announced to the Chamber of Deputies the change of the Ministry.

There was much of astonishment and sorrow in the parliamentary majority, always strongly attached to the leaders they had so long followed in spite of occasional vagaries and good-natured weakness. The imminence of a great danger engrossed their minds, together with the consciousness of a great defeat. The anxiety of the Chambers was reechoed in the Tuileries; and for the last time the ministers assembled there, anxious at that last moment of their power to maintain order, now everywhere threatened. Count Molé was laboriously occupied in the formation of a cabinet. "To think that this resolution was formed in a quarter of an hour!" exclaimed the King when engaged with Jayr in some administrative details.

The excitement was great in the palace, but still greater in the streets, being skilfully kept up by several insurrectionist leaders, and spontaneously arising among the reckless portion of the populace, who are easily influenced by revolutionary clamors. Increased by those assembling from curiosity or idleness, the crowds in the squares and boulevards assumed alarming proportions. All at once, opposite the Foreign Office, there was heard, about nine o'clock in the evening, one of those fatal explosions, whether accidental or premeditated, which history often records as the origin of great popular risings.

The soldiers, who till then had remained motionless and patient, thought they were attacked, and fired in their turn. Several persons fell, some dead, others wounded, and some were knocked down and trodden under foot. The greatest disorder, caused both by alarm and indignation, broke out in the whole neighborhood. Then was the moment of action for the keen and determined insurgents. A cart which happened to be there was immediately loaded with the corpses and drawn through the streets, from one newspaper office to another, in the most populous quarters, with shouts of "Vengeance! To arms! Down with Guizot! The head of Guizot!" By daybreak Paris was covered with barricades.

Molé having failed in his efforts to form a Cabinet, the King sent for Thiers. For the last time he claimed the devotion of his old ministers. "I must have immediately a military chief—an experienced chief," he said. "I have sent for Bugeaud, but I wish M. Thiers to find him appointed. Will you grant me this further service?" Duchâtel, and General Trézel, on the previous evening still Minister of War, signed without hesitation Marshal Bugeaud's appointment as Commander-in-Chief of the National Guard and the Army. It was three o'clock in the morning. "It is somewhat late to set to work," said the Marshal; "but I have never been beaten, and shall not make a beginning to-morrow. Let me act, and fire the cannon; there will be some bloodshed, but to-morrow evening the strength will be on the side of law, and the factious will have had their account settled."

The day had not yet dawned when the Marshal was reviewing his forces. He found them demoralized, having for sixty hours remained motionless before the mob, with their feet in the mud, and their knapsacks on their backs, allowing the rioters to attack the Municipal Guard, burn the sentry-boxes, cut down the trees, break the street-lamps, and harangue the soldiers. They were moreover badly supplied with provisions and ammunition. The energetic language of their new commander, and the precise orders which he gave for the march of the columns, inspired the soldiers with fresh life and courage. The movements indicated had already begun to be executed, and the troops were taking position; but the crowds again filled the streets, and at several points the soldiers were prevented from marching. One of the generals at the head of a column sent to tell Bugeaud that he was face to face with an enormous body of men, badly armed, who made no attack upon him, but only shouted, "Long live reform! Long live the army! Down with Guizot!" "Order them to disperse," replied the Marshal; "if they do not obey, use force, and act with resolution."

There was no fighting on either side. The staff were besieged by the entreaties of a crowd of respectable men, who in terror and consternation conjured Bugeaud to withdraw the troops because they excited the anger of the populace, and leave to the National Guard the duty of appeasing the insurrection. The danger of such counsel was obvious, and the Marshal paid no attention to it, till Thiers and Odilon Barrot, who had just accepted office, came to the staff with the same advice, and it therefore became an order. The Marshal at first refused the ministers as he had done the citizens, and then the same order was sent by the King. "I must have a government," the Marshal had recently said; and, as he was now without the government, which thus relaxed the resistance agreed upon, he in his turn gave way. His instructions for retreat were thus given to his officers: "By order of the King and ministers, you will fall back upon the Tuileries. Make your retreat with an imposing attitude, and if you are attacked, turn round, take the offensive, and act according to my instructions given this morning."

Meanwhile the formation of the Ministry was posted up everywhere. A mixed crowd carried Odilon Barrot in triumph to the Home Office, which Guizot and Duchâtel had just left. Those round him shouted, "Long live the father of the people!" but most of the notices posted up were torn. At the moment when the new ministers were about to leave Bugeaud's staff on horseback in order to pass through the city, Horace Vernet, the artist, arrived out of breath. "Don't let M. Thiers go," said he to the Marshal. "I have just passed through the mob, and they are so furious against him that I am certain they would cut him in pieces!" Odilon Barrot presented himself alone to the crowd, but was powerless to calm the fury he had assisted in unchaining. "Thiers is no longer possible, and I am scarcely so," said he on his return to the staff. The King on one occasion showed himself in the court of the Tuileries, when reviewing several battalions of the National Guard. There were some shouts of "Long live the King!" but the most numerous were "Long live reform! Down with Guizot!"

"You have the reform; and M. Guizot is no longer a minister!" said the King; and on the shouts being again repeated, he returned to the palace. The palace also was thronged with a confused crowd, animated by various feelings and agitated by evident fears or secret hopes. Some urged the King to abdicate in favor of the Comte de Paris; others vigorously opposed such a relinquishment of power in presence of the insurrection. The great mind of Queen Marie-Amélie was displayed in all the simplicity of its heroism. "Mount on horseback, sire," said she, "and I shall give you my blessing." She had recently urged the King to change his Cabinet; a very kind message, intrusted for Guizot to one of his most intimate friends, at the same time proved her regret.

The King sat at his writing-table, agitated and perplexed. He had begun to write his abdication, when Marshal Bugeaud entered, having just learned what was taking place in the Tuileries, and excited by the sound of some shooting which had already begun. "It is too late, sire," said he; "your abdication would complete the demoralization of the troops. Your Majesty can hear the shooting. There is nothing left but to fight." The Queen seconded this advice, and Piscatory and several others were of the same opinion. The King rose without finishing his writing, and then other voices were raised to insist upon the King's promise. He sat down again, wrote and signed his abdication. By this time the troops had received orders to fall back, and Marshal Gérard took the place of Bugeaud as commandant-general. The columns were marched toward the barracks, and there was no detachment around the Palais-Bourbon, where the same disorder reigned, and the same efforts were made in vain.

The Duchesse d'Orléans presented herself before the Chamber of Deputies as soon as the abdication of the King was known. The Duc de Nemours accompanied her, leading the Comte de Paris by the hand; and the Duc de Chartres, who was weak and ill, was wrapped up in a mantle and leaned on Ary Scheffer's arm. Before joining the Princess at the gate of the Chamber the Duc de Nemours had, with his brother the Duc de Montpensier, seen the King, their father, take his melancholy departure, to escape the insurrection, against which he could not make up his mind to use force.

The Duchesse d'Orléans already knew that depriving the King of the crown was not giving it to her son. Her natural courage, however, and her maternal affection induced her to make every effort to secure the throne for the prince of nine years whom the nation had already intrusted to her keeping. She had seen the Tuileries invaded before leaving that hall where her husband's portrait by Ingres seemed to preside over her son's destinies. "It is here one ought to die," she said, when Dupin and Grammont came to conduct her to the Chamber. Odilon Barret had gone to bring her, and succeeded in finding her in the Palais-Bourbon. The crowd showed sympathy for her, and made room respectfully, though she and her small retinue had difficulty in getting within the palace, every passage being crowded. The Duchess stood near the tribune holding her two boys close to her. After Dupin announced the King's abdication, Barrot, after presenting the legal instrument, asked the Chamber to proclaim at once the young King and the regency of Madame la Duchesse d'Orléans.

Shouts of protest were heard on several benches. "It is too late!" exclaimed Lamartine, as he went to the tribune, eager to urge this difficulty, reject the regency, and demand a provisional government so that the bloodshed might be stopped. Some others were already mentioning the word "Republic." The crowd were gradually pouring into the Chamber from the corriders, and Sauzet, the President, requested strangers to withdraw, and made a special appeal to the Duchess herself. "Sir, this is a royal sitting!" she replied; and when her friends urged her, "If I leave this Chamber, my son will no more return to it." A few minutes before her arrival, Thiers had entered the Chamber in the greatest agitation. "The tide is rising, rising, rising!" he said to those who crowded round him, and then disappeared. Several voices were heard together in confusion; among the speakers were La Rochejacquelein, Ledru-Rollin, Marie, and Berryer.

The Duchess had been conducted to a gallery, on account of the threats of the insurgent battalions, who burst open the doors after General Gourgaud had in vain tried to stop them. Armand Marrast, one of the editors of the National, after looking at the invaders, said: "These are the sham public; I shall call the real!" A few minutes afterward shots were heard in the court of the palace; the posts in the hands of the National Guard opened before the triumphant mob, who, after sacking the Tuileries, hurried up against the expiring remnants of the monarchy. The Duchesse d'Orléans had already twice offered to speak, but her voice was drowned in the tumult. The newcomers, stained with blood and blackened with gunpowder, with dishevelled hair and bare arms, climbed on the benches, stairs, and galleries; and in every part were shouts of "Down with the regency! Long live the Republic! Turn out the 'Contents'!" Sauzet put on his hat, but a workman knocked it off, and then the President disappeared.

Several of the Deputies rushed to the gallery, where the Duchess was still exposed to the looks and threats of the insurgents. "There is nothing more to be done here, madam," they urged: "we must go to the President's house, to form a new chamber." She took the arm of Jules de Lasteyrie; and on her sons being separated from her in the narrow passages, she showed the greatest anxiety, crying, "My boys! my boys!" At one time the Comte de Paris was seized by a workman in a blouse; but one of the National Guard took him out of his hands, and the child was passed from one to another till he rejoined his mother. No one knew what had become of the Duc de Chartres; but he was brought to the Invalides, where the Princess went for refuge; and in the evening, after nightfall, the mother and sons withdrew from Paris, and soon after from France. "To-morrow, or ten years hence," said the Duchesse d'Orléans as she left the Invalides, "a word, a sign will bring me back." Afterward in exile she frequently said, "When the thought crosses my mind that I may never again see France, I feel my heart breaking."

Wanderers and fugitives across their kingdom, after kneeling for the last time beside the tomb of their children at Dreux, and asking the hospitality of some friends who were still faithful, and without a single attempt to recover the crown they had lost, King Louis Philippe and Queen Marie-Amélie at last reached the seacoast, and set sail toward England, that safe and well-known refuge of unfortunate princes.

Thunderstruck like them, and at their wits' end, the most faithful of their servants and partisans waited for some sign authorizing them to protest against the unparalleled surprise to which France had been subjected. The fugitive King made no protest. His sons quietly followed him into exile. Those who were serving France abroad learned at the same time the news of their fall and the rise of a new power, and thought it their duty to bow to the national will, resolving that not a single drop of French blood should be shed in their cause.

(1848) REVOLUTIONARY MOVEMENTS IN GERMANY, C. Edmund Maurice

Popular demonstrations in various parts of Germany in the great revolutionary year 1848 were no doubt partly due to the outbreaks in France and elsewhere, but it is also apparent that discontent at home had been long turning the people toward revolt. The agitation that began in March—the month following the "February Revolution" and the declaration of a republic in France—was the work of a patriotic party that cherished not only aspirations for extending popular rights in the several States, but also a prophetic desire for German unity.

The Congress of Vienna (1815) attempted to adjust the balance of power in Europe. Some sort of union for the States was imperatively required by the general situation, but there was fear of making Germany too strong. The Congress created the German Confederation, constituted by a union of independent States, under the hegemony or political headship of Austria. This confederation (bund) lacked strength in the Central Government, and although it reduced the number of States from more than three hundred to thirty-nine, it still perpetuated elements of unwieldiness and discord. At the head of the Austrian Government, as chief minister of the Emperor Ferdinand I, was Metternich, who for many years had been the great reactionary leader of Europe. He was compelled now to face conditions such as, in his long and varied career of statecraft and diplomacy, he never had confronted. Ferdinand himself, always a weak ruler, succumbed to the revolution provoked by his minister, whose downfall was followed by the Emperor's abdication (December 2, 1848) in favor of his nephew, Francis Joseph, the present ruler of Austria.

The most interesting of the German struggles of 1848 was that in Saxony. Robert Blum [Footnote: Blum, born at Cologne in 1807, was a writer and an agitator, leader of the Liberal party in Saxony. He was executed in November, 1848.—ED.] was present at a ball in Leipsic when the news arrived of the French revolution. He at once hastened to consult his friends; and they agreed to act through the Town Council of Leipsic, and sketched out the demands that they desired should be laid before the King. These were: "A reorganization of the constitution of the German Bund in the spirit and in accordance with the needs of the times, for which the way is to be prepared by the unfettering of the press, and the summoning of representatives of all German peoples to the Assembly of the Bund." The Town Council adopted this address on March 1st, and sent a deputation with it to Dresden; and, on the 3d, the people gathered to meet the deputation on its return. The following is the account given by the son of Robert Blum:

"By anonymous placards on the wall the population of Leipsic was summoned on the evening of March 3d to meet at the railway station the deputation returning from Dresden. Since the space was too narrow in this place, the innumerable mass marched to the market-place, which, as well as the neighboring streets, they completely filled. In perfect silence the thousands awaited here the arrival of the deputation, which, at last, toward nine o'clock, arrived and was greeted with unceasing applause. Town Councillor Seeburg spoke first of the deep emotion of the King; after him spoke Biedermann. But the crowd uproariously demanded Robert Blum.

"At last Blum appeared on the balcony of the Town Council House. His voice alone controlled the whole market-place, and was even heard in the neighboring streets. He too sought, by trying to quiet them, to turn them away from the subject of the address and of the King's answer. But the people broke uproariously into his speech with the demand, 'The answer! The answer!' It could no longer be concealed that the petitions of the town had received harsh rejection. Then came a loud and passionate murmur. The masses had firmly hoped that the deputation would bring with them from Dresden the news of the dismissal of the hated ministers.

"But Blum continued his speech, and they renewed their attention to him. 'In constitutional countries,' said he, 'it is not the King, but the ministers who are responsible. They, too, bear the responsibility of the rejection of the Leipsic proposals. The people must press for their removal.' He added that he would bring forward in the next meeting of the town representatives the proposal that the King should dismiss the Ministry, 'which does not possess the confidence of the people.' Amid shouts of exultation and applause, the appeased assembly dispersed."

Blum was as successful with his colleagues as with the crowd; and the Town Council now demanded from the King the dismissal of his ministers, the meeting of the Assembly, and freedom of the press. The King tried to resist the last of these three proposals, pleading his duty to the Bund. But even the Bundestag had felt the spirit of the times, and on March 1st had passed a resolution giving leave to every government to abolish the censorship of the press. The King seemed to yield, and promised to fulfil all that was wished; but the reactionary party in Dresden had become alarmed at the action of the men of Leipsic; and so, on March 11th, when the men of Leipsic supposed that all was granted, General von Carlowitz entered their city at the head of a strong force, and demanded that the Town Council should abstain from exciting speeches; that the Elocution Union should give up all political discussion; that the processions of people should cease; and above all, that the march from Leipsic to Dresden, which was believed to be then intended, should be given up.

These demands were met by Blum with an indignant protest. "Five men," said he, "who manage the army cannot understand that, though their bullets may kill men, they cannot make a single hole in the idea that rules the world." The town councillors of Leipsic were equally firm. Carlowitz abandoned his attempt as hopeless; and on March 13th the King summoned a Liberal Ministry which abolished press censorship, granted publicity of legal proceedings, trial by jury, and a wider basis for the Saxon Parliament, and promised to assist in the reform of the Bund.

In the mean time the success of the French revolution had awakened new hopes in Vienna. Soon after the arrival of the news, a placard appeared on one of the city gates bearing the words: "In a month Prince Metternich will be overthrown! Long live Constitutional Austria!" Metternich himself was greatly alarmed, and began to listen to proposals for extending the power of the Lower Austrian Estates. Yet he still hoped by talking over and discussing these matters to delay the execution of reforms till a more favorable turn in affairs should render them either harmless or unnecessary.

But great as was the alarm caused by the South German risings, and great as were the hopes which they kindled in the Viennese, the word that was to give definiteness and importance to the impulses that were stirring in Vienna could not come from Bavaria or Saxony. Much as they might wish to connect themselves with a German movement, the Viennese could not get rid of the fact that they were, for the present, bound up with a different political system. Nor was it wholly clear that the German movement was as yet completely successful. The King of Prussia seemed to be meditating a reactionary policy and had even threatened to despatch troops to put down the Saxon Liberals; and the King of Hanover also was disposed to resist the movement for a German Parliament. It was from a country more closely bound up with the Viennese Government, and yet enjoying traditions of more deeply rooted liberty, that the utterance was to come which was eventually to rouse the Viennese to action.

The readiness of the nobles to accept the purely verbal concession offered by Metternich in the matter of the "Administrators" had shown Kossuth [Footnote: Louis Kossuth, the famous leader of the Hungarian insurrection of 1848, was at this time about forty-six years of age. The sovereignty of Hungary had been in the hands of the Hapsburgs since 1687.—ED.] that there could be no further peace. But he still knew how and when to strike the blow; and it was not by armed insurrection so much as by the declaration of a policy that he shook the rule of Metternich. On March 3d a Conservative member of the Presburg Assembly brought forward a motion for inquiry into the Austrian bank-notes. Kossuth answered that the confusion in the affairs of Austrian commerce produced an evil effect on Hungarian finances; and he showed the need of an independent Finance Ministry for Hungary. Then he went on to point out that this same confusion extended to other parts of the monarchy.

"The actual cause of the breaking up of peace in the monarchy, and of all the evils which may possibly follow from it, lies in the system of government." He admitted that it was hard for those who had been brought up under this system to consent to its destruction. "But," he went on, "the people lasts forever, and we wish also that the country of the people should last forever. Forever too should last the splendor of that dynasty whose representatives we reckon as our rulers. In a few days the men of the past will descend into their graves; but for that scion of the House of Hapsburg who excites such great hopes, for the Archduke Francis Joseph, who at his first coming forward earned the love of the nation—for him there waits the inheritance of a splendid throne which derives its strength from freedom. Toward a dynasty which bases itself on the freedoms of its people's enthusiasm will always be roused; for it is only the freeman who can be faithful from his heart; for a bureaucracy there can be no enthusiasm."

He then urged that the future of the dynasty depended on the hearty union between the nations which lived under it. "This union," he said, "can be brought about only by respecting the nationalities, and by that bond of constitutionalism which can produce a kindred feeling. The bureau and the bayonet are miserable bonds." He then went on to apologize for not examining the difficulties between Hungary and Croatia. The solution of the difficulties of the empire would, he held, solve the Croatian question too. If it did not, he promised to consider that question with sympathy, and examine it in all its details. He concluded by proposing an address to the Emperor which should point out that it was the want of constitutional life in the whole empire which hindered the progress of Hungary; and that, while an independent government and a separate responsible ministry were absolutely essential to Hungary, it was also necessary that the Emperor should surround his throne, in all matters of the Government, with such constitutional arrangements as were indispensably demanded by the needs of the time.

This utterance has been called the "Baptismal Speech of the Revolution." Coming as it did directly after the news of the French revolution, it gave a definiteness to the growing demands for freedom; but it did more than this. Metternich had cherished a growing hope that the demand for constitutional government in Vienna might be gradually used to crush out the independent position of Hungary, by absorbing the Hungarians in a common Austrian parliament; and he had looked upon a Croatian question as a means for still further weakening the power of the Hungarian Diet. Kossuth's speech struck a blow at these hopes by declaring that freedom for any part of the empire could be obtained only by working for the freedom of the whole; he swept aside for the moment those national and provincial jealousies which were the great strength of the Austrian despotism, and appealed to all the Liberals of the empire to unite against the system which was oppressing them all. Had Kossuth remained true to the faith which he proclaimed in this speech, it is within the limits of probability that the whole Revolution of 1848-1849 might have had a different result.

The Hungarian chancellor, Mailath, was so alarmed at Kossuth's speech that he hindered the setting out of the deputation which was to have presented the address to the Emperor. But he could not prevent the speech from producing its effect. Although Presburg was only six hours' journey from Vienna, the route had been made so difficult that the news of anything done in the Hungarian Diet had hitherto reached Vienna in a roundabout manner, and had sometimes been a week on its way.

The news of this speech, however, arrived on the very next day; and Kossuth's friend Pulszky immediately translated it into German and circulated it among the Viennese. A rumor of its contents had spread before the actual speech. It was said that Kossuth had declared war against the system of government, and that he had said state bankruptcy was inevitable. But as the news became more definite the minds of the Viennese fixed upon two points—the denunciation of the men of the past, and the demand for a constitution for Austria. So alarmed did the Government become at the effect of this speech that they undertook to answer it in an official paper.

The writer of this answer called attention to the terrible scenes which he said were being enacted in Paris, which proved according to him that the only safety for the governed was in rallying round the government. This utterance naturally excited only contempt and disgust; and the ever-arriving news of new constitutions granted in Germany swelled the enthusiasm which had been roused by Kossuth's speech.

The movement still centred in the professors of the University. On March 1st Doctor Loehner had proposed, at one of the meetings of the Reading and Debating Society, that negotiations should be opened with the Estates, and that they should be urged to declare their Assembly permanent, the country in danger, and Metternich a public enemy. This proposal marked a definite step in constitutional progress. The Estates of Lower Austria, which met in Vienna, had indeed from time to time expressed their opinions on certain public grievances; but these opinions had been generally disregarded by Francis and Metternich; and, though the latter had of late talked of enlarging the powers of the Estates, he had evidently intended such words partly as mere talk in order to delay any efficient action, and partly as a bid against the concessions which had been made by the King of Prussia. That the leaders of a popular movement should suggest an appeal to the Estates of Lower Austria was therefore an unexpected sign of a desire to find any legal centre for action, however weak in power, and however aristocratic that centre might be.

Doctor Loehner's proposal, however, does not seem to have been generally adopted; and, instead of the suggested appeal to the Estates, a programme of eleven points was circulated by the debating society. When we consider that the revolution broke out in less than a fortnight after this petition, we cannot but be struck with the extreme moderation of the demands now made. Most of the eleven points were concerned with proposals for the removal either of forms of corruption, or of restraints on personal liberty, and they were directed chiefly against those interferences with the life and teaching of the universities which were causing so much bitterness in Vienna. Such demands for constitutional reforms as were contained in this programme were certainly not of an alarming character. The petitioners asked that the right of election to the Assembly of Estates should be extended to citizens and peasants; that the deliberative powers of the Estates should be enlarged; and that the whole empire should be represented in an assembly, for which, however, the petitioners asked only a consultative power. Perhaps the three demands in this petition which would have excited the widest sympathy were those in favor of the universal arming of the people, the universal right of petition, and the abolition of the censorship.

The expression of desire for reform now became much more general and even some members of the Estates prepared an appeal to their colleagues against the bureaucratic system. But the character and tone of the utterances of these new reformers somewhat weakened the effect which had been produced by the bolder complaints of the earlier leaders of the movement, for while the students of the University and some of their professors still showed a desire for bold and independent action, the merchants caught eagerly at the sympathy of the Archduke Francis Charles, while the booksellers addressed to the Emperor a petition in which servility passes into blasphemy.

These signs of weakness were no doubt observed by the Government; and it was not wonderful that, under these circumstances, Metternich and Kolowrat should have been able to persuade themselves that they could still play with the Viennese, and put them off with promises which need never be fulfilled. Archduke Louis alone seems to have foreseen the coming storm, but was unable to persuade his colleagues to make military preparations to meet it. In the mean time the movement among the students was assuming more decided proportions; and their demands related as usual to the great questions of freedom of speech, freedom of the press, and freedom of teaching; and to these were added the demand for popular representation, the justifications for which they drew from Kossuth's speech of March 3d.

But, while Hungary supplied the model of constitutional government, the hope for a wider national life connected itself more and more with the idea of a united Germany. Two days after the delivery of Kossuth's speech an impulse had been given to this latter feeling by the meeting at Heidelberg of the leading supporters of German unity; and they had elected a committee of seven to prepare the way for a constituent assembly at Frankfort. Of these seven, two came from Baden, one from Wurtemberg, one from Hesse-Darmstadt, one from Prussia, one from Bavaria, and one from Frankfort. Thus it will be seen that South Germany still kept the lead in the movement for German unity; and the president of the committee was that Izstein, of Baden, who had been known to Germany chiefly by his ill-timed expulsion from Berlin. But, though this distribution of power augured ill for the relations between the leaders of the German movement and the King of Prussia, the meeting at Heidelberg was not prepared to adopt the complete programme of the Baden leaders, nor to commit itself to that Republican movement which would probably have repelled the North German Liberals.

The chief leader of the more moderate party in the meeting was Heinrich von Gagern, the representative of Hesse-Darmstadt.

Gagern was the son of a former minister of the Grand Duke of Nassau, who had left that State to take service in Austria, and who had acted with the Archduke John in planning a popular rising in the Tyrol in 1813. Heinrich had been trained at a military school in Munich. He had steadily opposed the policy of Metternich, had done his best to induce the universities to co-operate in a common German movement, and had tried to secure internal liberties for Hesse-Darmstadt, while he had urged his countrymen to look for the model of a free constitution rather to England and Hungary than to France. During the constitutional movement of 1848 he had become Prime Minister of Hesse-Darmstadt; and he seems to have had considerable power of winning popular confidence. Although he was not able to commit the meeting to a definitely monarchical policy, he had influence enough to counteract the attempts of Struve and Hecker to carry a proposal for the proclamation of a republic; and his influence increased during the later phases of the movement.

It was obvious that, in the state of Viennese feeling, a movement in favor of German unity, at once so determined and so moderate in its character, would give new impulse to the hopes for freedom already excited by Kossuth's speech; and the action of the reformers now became more vigorous because the students rather than the professors were guiding the movement. Some of the latter, and particularly Professor Hye, were beginning to be alarmed, and were attempting to hold their pupils in check. This roused the distrust and suspicion of the students; and it was with great difficulty that Professors Hye and Endlicher could prevail on the younger leaders of the movement to abstain from action until the professors had laid before the Emperor the desire of the university for the removal of Metternich. This deputation waited on the Emperor on March 12th, but it proved of little avail; and when the professors returned with the answer that the Emperor would consider their wishes, the students received them with laughter and resolved to take the matter into their own hands. The next day was to be the opening of the Assembly of the Estates of Lower Austria; and the students of Vienna resolved to march from the University to the Landhaus.

In the great hall of the University, now hidden away in an obscure part of Vienna but still retaining traces of the paintings which then decorated it, the students gathered in large numbers on March 13th. Various rumors of a discouraging kind had been circulated; this and that leading citizen were mentioned as having been arrested; nay, it was even said that members of the Estates had themselves been seized, and that the sitting of the Assembly would not be allowed to take place. To these rumors were added the warnings of the professors.

Fuester, who had recently preached on the duty of devotion to the cause of the country, now endeavored, by praises of the Emperor, to check the desire of the students for immediate action; but he was shouted down.

Hye then appealed to them to wait a few days, in hopes of a further answer from the Emperor. They answered with a shout that they would not wait an hour; and then they raised the cry of "Landhaus!" Breaking loose from all further restraint they set out on their march, and as they went numbers gathered round them. The people of Vienna had already been appealed to, by a placard on St. Stephen's Church, to free the good Emperor Ferdinand from his enemies; and the placard further declared that he who wished for the rise of Austria must wish for the fall of the present ministers of state.

The appeal produced its effect; and the crowd grew dense as the students marched into the narrow Herren Gasse. They passed under the archway which led into the courtyard of the Landhaus; there, in front of the very building where the Assembly was sitting, they came to a dead halt; and, with the strange hesitation which sometimes comes over crowds, no man seemed to know what was next to be done. Suddenly in the pause which followed, the words "Meine Herren" were heard from a corner of the crowd. It was evident that some one was trying to address them; and the students nearest to the speaker hoisted him upon their shoulders. Then the crowd saw a quiet-looking man, with a round, strong head, short-cropped hair, and a thick beard. Each man eagerly asked his neighbor who this could be; and, as the speech proceeded, the news went round that this was Doctor Fischhof, a man who had been very little known beyond medical circles and hitherto looked upon as quite outside political movements. Such was the speaker who now uttered what is still remembered as the "first free word" in Vienna.

He began by dwelling on the importance of the day and on the need of "encouraging the men who sit there," pointing to the Landhaus, "by our appeal to them, of strengthening them by our adherence, and leading them to the desired end by our coöperation in action. He," exclaimed Fischhof, "who has no courage on such a day as this is only fit for the nursery." He then proceeded to dwell at some length on the need for freedom of the press and trial by jury. Then, catching, as it were, the note of Kossuth's speech of March 3d, he went on to speak of the greatness which Austria might attain by combining together "the idealist Germans, the steady, industrious, and persevering Slavs, the knightly and enthusiastic Magyars, the clever and sharp-sighted Italians." Finally he called upon them to demand freedom of the press, freedom of religion, freedom of teaching and learning, a responsible ministry, representation of the people, arming of the people, and connection with Germany.

In the mean time the Estates were sitting within. They had gathered in unusually large numbers, being persuaded by their President that they were bound to resist the stream of opinion. Representatives as they were of the privileged classes, they had little sympathy with the movement that was going on in Vienna. Nor does it appear that there was anyone among them who was disposed to play the part of a Confalonieri or Szechenyi, much less of a Mirabeau or a Lafayette. Many of them had heard rumors of the coming deputation; but Montecuccoli, their President, refused to begin the proceedings before the regular hour. While they were still debating this point they heard the rush of the crowd outside; then the sudden silence, and then Fischhof's voice. Several members were seized with a panic and desired to adjourn. Again Montecuccoli refused to yield, and one of their Liberal members urged them to take courage from the fact of this deputation to make stronger demands on the Government.

But before the Assembly could decide to act the crowd outside had taken sterner measures. The speakers who immediately followed Fischhof had made little impression; then another doctor, named Goldmark, sprang up and urged the people to break into the Landhaus. So, before the leaders of the Estates had decided what action to take, the doors were suddenly burst open, and Fischhof entered at the head of the crowd. He announced that he had come to encourage the Estates in their deliberations, and to ask them to sanction the demands embodied in the petition of the people. Montecuccoli assured the deputation that the Emperor had already promised to summon the Provincial Assemblies to Vienna, and that, for their part, the Estates of Lower Austria were in favor of progress. "But," he added, "they must have room and opportunity to deliberate." Fischhof assented to this suggestion, and persuaded his followers to withdraw to the courtyard. But those who had remained behind had been seized with a fear of treachery, and a cry arose that Fischhof had been arrested. Thereupon Fischhof showed himself, with Montecuccoli, on the balcony; and the President promised that the Estates would send a deputation of their own to the Emperor to express to him the wishes of the people. He therefore invited the crowd to choose twelve men, to be present at the deliberations of the Estates during the drawing up of the petition. While the election of these twelve was still going on, a Hungarian student appeared with the German translation of Kossuth's speech. The Hungarian's voice being too weak to make itself heard, he handed the speech to a Tyrolese student, who read it to the crowd. The allusion to the need of a constitution was received with loud applause, and so also was the expression of the hopes for good from the Archduke Francis Joseph.

But however much the reading of the speech had encouraged the hopes of the crowd, it had also given time for the Estates to decide on a course without waiting for the twelve representatives of the people; and, before the crowd had heard the end of Kossuth's speech the reading was interrupted by a message from the Estates announcing the contents of their proposed petition. The petition had shrunk to the meagre demand that a report on the condition of the state bank should be laid before the Estates, and that a committee should be chosen from Provincial Assemblies to consider timely reforms and to take a share in legislation.

The feeble character of the proposed compromise roused a storm of scorn and rage; and a Moravian student tore the message of the Estates into pieces. The conclusion of Kossuth's speech roused the people to still further excitement; and, with cries for a free constitution, for union with Germany, and against alliance with Russia, the crowd once more broke into the Assembly.

One of the leading students then demanded of Montecuccoli whether this was the whole of the petition they intended to send to the Emperor. Montecuccoli answered that the Estates had been so disturbed in their deliberations that they had not been able to come to a final decision. But he declared that they desired to lay before the Emperor all the wishes of the people.

Again the leaders of the crowd repeated, in slightly altered form, the demands originally formulated by Fischhof. At last, after considerable discussion, Montecuccoli was preparing to start for the Castle at the head of the Estates when a regiment of soldiers arrived, but they were unable to make their way through the crowd, and were even pressed back out of the Herren Gasse.

The desire now arose for better protection for the people; and a deputation tried to persuade the burgomaster of Vienna to call out the City Guard. Czapka, the burgomaster, was, however, a mere tool of the Government; and he declared that the Archduke Albert, as Commander-in-Chief of the Army, had alone the power of calling out the guard. The Archduke Albert was, perhaps next to Louis, the most unpopular of the royal house. He indignantly refused to listen to any demands of the people, and, hastening to the spot, rallied the soldiers and led them to the open space at the corner of the Herren Gasse, which is known as the "Freyung." The inner circle of Vienna was at this time surrounded with walls, outside of which were the large suburbs in which chiefly workmen lived.

The students seem already to have gained some sympathy with the workmen; and for the previous two years the discontent caused by the sufferings of the poorer classes had been taking a more directly political turn. Several of the workmen had pressed in with the students in the morning into the inner town, and some big men, with rough darned coats and dirty caps over their ears, were seen clenching their fists for the fight. The news quickly spread to the suburbs that the soldiers were about to attack the people. Seizing long poles and any iron tools which came to hand, the workmen rushed forward to the gates of the inner town. In one district they found the town gates closed against them, and cannon placed on the bastion near; but in others the authorities were unprepared; and the workmen burst into the inner town, tearing down stones and plaster to throw at the soldiers.

In the mean time the representatives of the Estates had reached the Castle, and were trying to persuade the authorities to yield to the demands of the people. Metternich persisted in believing that the whole affair was moved by foreign influence, and particularly by Italians and Swiss; and he desired that the soldiers should gather in the Castle, and that Prince Windischgraetz should be appointed commandant of the city. Alfred Windischgraetz was a Bohemian nobleman who had previously been known chiefly for his strong aristocratic feeling, which he was said to have embodied in the expression "Human beings begin at barons." But he had been marked out by Metternich as a man of vigor and decision who might be trusted to act in an emergency.

Latour, who had been the previous commandant of the Castle in Vienna, showed signs of hesitation at this crisis; and this gave Metternich the excuse for dismissing Latour and appointing Windischgraetz in his place. To this arrangement all the ruling council consented; but, when Archduke Louis and Metternich proposed to make Windischgraetz military dictator of the city, and to allow him to bring out cannon for firing on the people, great opposition arose. The Archduke John was perhaps one of the few councillors who really sympathized with Liberal ideas; but several of the Archdukes, and particularly Francis Charles, heartily desired the fall of Metternich; and Kolowrat shared their wish. This combined opposition of sincere reformers and jealous courtiers hindered Metternich's policy; and it was decided that the City Guard should first be called out, and that the dictatorship of Windischgraetz should be kept in reserve as a last resource.

In the mean time the struggle on the streets was raging fiercely. Archduke Albert had found to his cost that the insurrection was not, as he had supposed, the work of a few discontented men. The students fought gallantly; but a still fiercer element was contributed to the insurrection by the workmen who had come in from the suburbs. One workman was wounded in his head, his arm, and his foot; but he continued to encourage his friends, and cried out that he cared nothing for life; either he would die that day, or else "the high gentlemen should be overthrown." Another who had had no food since the morning entreated for a little refreshment that he might be able to fight the better; and he quickly returned to the struggle. In those suburbs from which the workmen had not been able to break into the inner town, the insurrection threatened to assume the form of an attack on the employers. Machines were destroyed, and the houses of those employers who had lowered wages were set on fire.

It was this aspect of the insurrection which encouraged the nobles to believe that, by calling out the guard, they would induce the richer citizens to take arms against the workmen; and this policy was carried still further when, on the application of the rector of the University, the students also were allowed the privilege of bearing arms. But the ruse entirely failed; the people recognized the City Guard as their friends, and refused to attack them; and the rumor soon spread that the police had fired on the City Guard. It was now evident that the citizen soldiers were on the side of the people; and the richer citizens sent a deputation to entreat that Metternich should be dismissed.

But the Archduke Maximilian was resolved that, as the first expedient proposed by the Council had failed, he would now apply some of those more violent remedies which had been postponed at first. He therefore ordered that the cannon should be brought down from the Castle to the Michaelerplatz. From this point the cannon would have commanded, on the one side the Herren Gasse, where the crowd had gathered in the morning, and in front the Kohlmarkt, which led to the wide street of Amgraben. Had the cannon been fired then and there, the course of the insurrection must, in one way or other, have been changed. That change might have been as Maximilian hoped, the complete collapse of the insurrection; or, as Latour held, the cannon might have swept away the last vestige of loyalty to the Emperor, and the republic might have been instantly proclaimed. But in any case the result must have been most disastrous to the cause both of order and liberty; for the passions which had already been roused, especially among the workmen, could hardly have failed to produce one of those savage struggles which may overthrow one tyranny, but which usually end in the establishment of another. Fortunately, however, the Archduke Maximilian seems to have had no official authority in this matter; and, when he gave the order to fire, the master-gunner, a Bohemian named Pollett, declared that he would not obey the order, unless it was given by the commander of the forces or the commander of the town. The Archduke then appealed to the subordinates to fire, in spite of this opposition; but Pollett placed himself in front of the cannon and exclaimed: "The cannon are under my command; until there comes an order from my commander, and until necessity obliges it, let no one fire on friendly unarmed citizens. Only over my body shall you fire." The Archduke retired in despair.

In the mean time the deputation of citizens had reached the Castle. At first the officials were disposed to treat them angrily, and even tried to detain them by force; but the news of the concession of arms to the students, the urgent pressure of Archduke John, and the accounts of the growing fury of the people finally decided Metternich to yield; and, advancing into the room where the civic deputation was assembled, he declared that as they had said his resignation would bring peace to Austria he now resigned his office, and wished good luck to the new government. Many of the royal family and of the other members of the Council flattered themselves that they had got rid of a formidable enemy without making any definite concession to the people. Windischgraetz alone protested against the abandonment of Metternich by the rulers of Austria.

Metternich had hoped to retire quietly to his own villa, but it had been already burned in the insurrection; and he soon found that it was safer to fly from Vienna and eventually to take refuge in England. He had, however, one consolation in all his misfortunes. In the memoir written four years later he expressed his certainty that he at least had done no wrong, and that if he had to begin his career again, he would follow the same course he took before, and would not deviate from it for an instant.

When, at half-past eight in the evening of March 13th, men went through the streets of Vienna, crying out "Metternich is fallen!" it seemed as if the march of the students and the petition of Fischhof had produced in one day all the results desired. But neither the suspicions of the people nor the violent intentions of the princes were at an end. The archdukes still talked of making Windischgraetz dictator of Vienna. The workmen still raged in the suburbs; and the students refused to leave the University for fear an attack should be made upon it. But in spite of the violence of the workmen the leaders of the richer citizens were more and more determined to make common cause with reformers. Indeed both they and the students hoped to check the violence of the riots, while they prevented any reactionary movement. The Emperor also was on the side of concession. He refused to let the people be fired on, and announced on the 14th the freedom of the press. But unfortunately he was seized with one of his epileptic fits; and the intriguers, who were already consolidating themselves into the secret council known as the "Camarilla," published the news of Windischgraetz's dictatorship, and resolved to place Vienna under a state of siege while the Emperor was incapable of giving directions.

The news of Windischgraetz's accession to power so alarmed the people that they at once decided to march upon the Castle; but one of the leading citizens, named Arthaber, persuaded them to abandon their intention, and instead to send him and another friend to ask for a constitution from the Emperor. A struggle was evidently going on between Ferdinand and his courtiers. Whenever he was strong and able to hold his own, he was ready to make concessions. Whenever he was either ill or still suffering from the mental effects of his illness, the Government fell into the hands of Windischgraetz and the archdukes, and violent measures were proposed.

Thus, though Arthaber and his friends were received courteously and assured of the constitutional intentions of the Emperor, at eleven o'clock on the same night there appeared a public notice declaring Vienna in a state of siege. But even Windischgraetz seems to have been somewhat frightened by the undaunted attitude of the people; and when he found that his notice was torn down from the walls, and that a new insurrection was about to break out, he sent for Professor Hye and entreated him to preserve order. In the mean time the Emperor had to some extent recovered his senses; and he speedily issued a promise to summon the Estates of the German and Slavonic Provinces and the congregations of Lombardo-Venetia.

But the people had had enough of sham constitutions; and the Emperor's proclamation was torn down. This act, however, did not imply any personal hostility to Ferdinand; for the belief that the Austrian ministers were thwarting the good intentions of their master was as deeply rooted at this time in the minds of the Viennese as was a similar belief with regard to Pius IX and his cardinals in the minds of the Romans; and when the Emperor drove out on March 15th, he was received with loud cheers.

But as Ferdinand listened to these cheers he must have noticed that, louder than the "Es lebe der Kaiser" of his German subjects and the "Slawa" of the Bohemians, rose the sound of the Hungarian "Eljen." For mingling in the crowd with the ordinary inhabitants of Vienna was the Hungarian deputation, which had at last been permitted by the Count Palatine to leave Presburg, and which had arrived in Vienna to demand both freedoms that had been granted to the Germans and also a separate responsible ministry for Hungary. They arrived in the full glory of recent successes in the Presburg Diet; for, strengthened by the news of the Viennese rising, Kossuth had carried, in one day, many of the reforms for which his party had so long been contending. The last remnants of the dependent condition of the peasantry had been swept away; taxation had been made universal; and freedom of the press and universal military service had been promised. Szechenyi alone had ventured to raise a note of warning, and it had fallen unheeded.

In Vienna Kossuth was welcomed almost as cordially as in Presburg; for the German movement in Vienna had tended to produce in its supporters a willingness to lose the eastern half of the empire in order to obtain the union of the western half with Germany. So the notes of Arndt's "Deutsches Vaterland" were mingled with the cry of "Batthyanyi Lajos, Minister Praesident!" Before such a combination as this, Ferdinand had no desire, Windischgraetz no power, to maintain an obstinate resistance; and, on March 16th, Sedlnitzky, the hated head of the police, was dismissed from office. On the 18th a responsible ministry was appointed; and on the 22d Windischgraetz announced that national affairs would now be guided on the path of progress.

In the mean time that German movement from which the Viennese derived so much of their impulse had been gaining a new accession of force in the north of Germany. In Berlin the order of the Viennese movements had been to some extent reversed. There the artisans, instead of taking their tone from the students, had given the first impulse to reform. The King indeed had begun his concessions by granting freedom of the press on March 7th; but it seemed very unlikely that this concession would be accompanied by any securities that would make it a reality. The King even refused to fulfil his promise of summoning the Assembly; and it was in consequence of this refusal that the artisans presented to the Town Council of Berlin a petition for the redress of their special grievances. The same kind of misery which prevailed in Vienna had shown itself, though in less degree, in Berlin; and committees had been formed for the relief of the poor. The Town Council refused to present the petition of the workmen, and, in order to take the movement out of their hands, presented a petition of their own in favor of freedom of the press, trial by jury, representation of the German people in the Bundestag, and the summoning of all the Provincial Assemblies of the kingdom. This petition was rejected by the King; and thereupon, on March 13th, the people gathered in large numbers in the streets. General Pfuel fired on them; but instead of yielding, they threw up barricades, and a fierce struggle ensued.

On the 14th the cry for complete freedom of the press became louder and more prominent; and the insurgents were encouraged by the first news of the Vienna rising. The other parts of the kingdom now joined in the movement. On the 14th came deputations from the Rhine Province, who demanded in a threatening manner the extension of popular liberties. On the 16th came the more important news that Posen and Silesia were in revolt. Mieroslawsky, who had been one of the leaders of the Polish movement of 1846, had gained much popularity in Berlin; and he seemed fully disposed to combine the movement for the independence of Posen with that for the freedom of Prussia, much in the same way as Kossuth had combined the cause of Hungarian liberty with the demand for an Austrian constitution. In Silesia, no doubt, the terrible famine of the previous year, and the remains of feudal oppression, had sharpened the desire for liberty; and closely following on the news of these two revolts came clearer accounts of the Viennese rising and the happy tidings of the fall of Metternich.

The King of Prussia promised, on the arrival of this news, to summon the Assembly for April 2d; and two days later he appeared on the balcony of his palace and declared his desire to change Germany from an alliance of states into a federal state.

But the suspicions of the people had now been thoroughly aroused; and on March 18th, the very day on which the King made this declaration, fresh deputations came to demand liberties from him; and when he appealed to them to go home his request was not complied with. The threatening attitude of the soldiers, and the recollection of their violence on the preceding days, had convinced the people that until part at least of the military force was removed they could have no security for liberty.

The events of the day justified their belief; for, while some one was reading aloud to the people the account of the concessions recently made by the King, the soldiers suddenly fired upon them, and the crowd fled in every direction. They fled, however, soon to rally again; barricades were once more thrown up; the Poles of Posen flocked in to help their friends, and the black, red, and gold flag of Germany was displayed. Women joined the fight at the barricades; and on the 19th some of the riflemen whom the King had brought from Neuchâtel refused to fire upon the people. Then the King suddenly yielded, dismissed his ministers, and promised to withdraw the troops and allow the arming of the people.

The victory of the popular cause seemed now complete; but the bitterness which still remained in the hearts of the citizens was shown by a public funeral procession through Berlin in honor of those who had fallen in the struggle. The King stood bare-headed on the balcony as the procession passed the palace; and on March 21st he came forward in public waving the black, red, and gold flag of Germany.

(1848) THE REVOLT OF HUNGARY, Arminius Vambery

Deep interest throughout the civilized world was aroused by the unavailing struggle of Hungary, in 1848, for national independence. The name of Louis Kossuth, the Hungarian patriot and famous orator, became celebrated in many lands; and in the various countries where he sojourned as an exile from his own—especially in the United States (1851-1852) and in England—his eloquent appeals awakened profound sympathy for his people's cause. Vambery, however, regards Kossuth's compatriot, Count Stephen Szechenyi (born in 1791) as "the greatest Hungarian of the nineteenth century." He was descended from a distinguished family, which had given to its country many champions of liberty. The great aim of his life was to revive the drooping energies of the nation. As a youth he served in the army. Entering the famous Diet of 1825, in which, by right of birth, he took his seat in the Upper House, he distinguished himself by his liberal leadership, and as a writer and an advocate of public endowments accomplished much for the education of his people.

Up to the time at which Vambery, the celebrated historian of Hungary, begins the present narrative, the growth of the national spirit had been more and more evident each year since the end of the Napoleonic wars. For more than two centuries Hungary had been under the oppressive rule of Austria. Hungary had furnished soldiers to Austria in her struggle against Bonaparte, and the Austrian Emperor had repeatedly promised to redress Hungarian grievances; but after the fall of Napoleon these promises were repudiated. Hungary so emphatically showed her indignation that the Emperor was compelled to convoke the Diet in which Szechenyi distinguished himself. The subsequent career of this leader, the character and aims of Kossuth, and the insurrection they did so much to incite are powerfully described by Vambery, who writes not only as an author fully versed in his country's annals, but also as a patriot jealous of her liberties, proud of her heroic sons, and loyal to her fame.

For fifteen years, up to 1840, the popularity of Szechenyi extended over Hungary, and his name was cherished by every patriot in the land. About this time, however, the great statesman was destined to come into collision with a man who was his peer in genius and abilities. The two patriots were representatives of different methods, and in the contest produced by the shock of antagonistic tendencies Szechenyi was compelled to yield to Louis Kossuth, his younger rival. Although there was no material difference between their aims—for both wished to see their country great, free, constitutionally governed, prosperous, and advanced in civilization—yet in the ways and means employed by them to attain that aim they were diametrically opposed to each other.

Szechenyi, who descended from a family of ancient and aristocratic lineage, and presented himself to the nation with connections reaching up into the highest circles of the court, with the lustre of his ancient name, and with his immense fortune, wished to secure the happiness of his country by quite different methods from those adopted by Louis Kossuth, a child of the people, who, although he was a nobleman by birth, yet belonged to that poorer class of gentry who support themselves by their own exertions, and who, in Hungary, are destined to fulfil the mission of the citizen-classes of other countries. It is from this class of the gentry, for the most part, that are recruited the trades-people, the smaller landowners, professional men, writers, subordinate officials, lawyers, physicians, clergymen, teachers, and professors. By virtue of their nobility, it is true, they belonged to the privileged class of the country, and were not subjected to the humiliations of the oppressed peasantry, yet they had to earn a living by their own work, and were therefore not only accessible to, but were ready enthusiastically to receive, the lofty message of liberty and equality which the French Revolution of 1830 began to proclaim anew throughout Europe.

These doctrines formed a sharp contrast to the views of Count Stephen Szechenyi, views which, owing to the social position of the man who held them, were not devoid of a certain aristocratic tinge, and according to which the most important part in the regeneration of the Hungarian nation was assigned to the aristocracy. It was a part, however, which the Hungarian aristocracy was itself by no means disposed to assume. Among its younger members, indeed, could be found, here and there, enthusiastic men who were devotedly attached to the person of the lordly reformer, but the great majority of his class were hostilely arrayed against Szechenyi's aims, and, obstructing the granting of even the most inoffensive demands of the nation, supported the Viennese Government; which was rigidly opposed to political reforms and to any changes in the public institutions of the country. This attitude of the aristocracy compelled Szechenyi to avoid as much as possible all questions concerning constitutionality and liberty, and to confine the work of reform chiefly to the sphere of internal improvements.

The only way in which he could hope to obtain the support of the court of Vienna and of the majority of the Upper House for his politico-economical measures, was to remain as neutral as possible in politics. The idea which chiefly governed his actions was that the country should be first strengthened internally, and that afterward it would be easy for the nation to bring about the triumph of her national and political aspirations.

After 1840, however, the bulk of the nation, and especially the small gentry whose preponderating influence was making itself continually felt, were unwilling to follow Szechenyi in his one-sided policy. The reformatory work of Szechenyi during the preceding fifteen years had educated public opinion up to new and great ideas, but the leaders of that public opinion were now to be found in the House of Representatives in the persons of Francis Deak and Louis Kossuth. They wished to obtain for their country both political liberty and material prosperity. They knew the effect of political institutions upon the material well-being and civilization of a nation, and they no longer deemed it possible to attain these objects without a modern constitutional government.

Louis Kossuth, who was born in 1802, was the very incarnation of the great democratic ideas of his age. He was entirely a man of work and entered the legal profession, after he had completed his studies with great distinction, for the purpose of supporting himself by it. Kossuth was present at the Diet of 1832, when the Government, which conducted itself most brutally and arbitrarily toward the press, refused to allow the newspapers to print reports of the deliberations of the Diet in spite of the repeated urgings by the Deputies for such an authorization, and it was owing to his ingenuity that this prohibition was evaded. The censorship was exercised on printed matter only and did not extend to manuscripts. Kossuth wrote out the reports of the Diet himself, had numerous copies made of them in writing, and circulated them, for a slight fee, in every part of the country, where they were looked for with feverish expectation, and, owing to the spirit of opposition with which they were colored, were read with the greatest eagerness.

This manuscript newspaper produced quite a revolutionary movement among the people, frightening even the Austrian Government. The latter now attempted to silence Kossuth by gentle means, promising him high offices and a pension, but he refused the enticing offers and continued his work for the benefit of the nation. Foiled in the attempt to lure Kossuth from his duty, the Government resorted to violence, seized the lithographic apparatus by means of which Kossuth planned to multiply his manuscript newspaper, and gave directions to the postmasters to detain and open all those sealed packages which were supposed to contain the reports. But these arbitrary proceedings of the Government could not put an end to the circulation of the newspaper; the country gentlemen, by their own servants, continued to send each other single copies, and the matter was given up only when the Diet ceased to be in session.

Then Kossuth, at the urgent request of his friends and, one might say, of the whole country, started a new manuscript newspaper at Budapest, which reported the deliberations of the county assemblies. The effect produced by this new paper was fraught with even greater consequences than the first had created, for it was instrumental in bringing the counties into contact with one another, thus giving them an opportunity to combine against the Government. The latter, however, soon prohibited its publication, but the prohibition gave rise to a storm of indignation throughout the whole country. The counties in solid array addressed protests to the Government against the illegal act and in behalf of Kossuth, who continued to publish the paper in spite of the inhibition. The Government at last resorted to the most barefaced brutality. Kossuth, the brave champion of liberty, its eloquent pen and herald, was dragged to a damp and dark subterranean prison-cell in the castle of Buda, and detained there, while his father and mother and his family, who were looking to him solely for their support, were robbed of the aid of their natural protector.

Although at that period lawlessness was the order of the day, yet this last cruel and illegal act of the Government greatly exasperated the public mind, which was already in a ferment of excitement. But while the excited passions raged throughout the country, the Government, nothing loth, caused Kossuth to be prosecuted for high treason, and, having obtained his conviction, had him sentenced to an imprisonment of three years. Kossuth applied himself during his detention to serious studies, and acquired also, while in prison, the English language to such an extent that he was enabled to address in that language, during his exile, with great effect and impressiveness, large audiences both in England and in the United States of America. His imprisonment lasted two long years, after the lapse of which he obtained, in 1840, a pardon in consequence of the repeated and urgent representations of the Diet.

Kossuth returned to the scene of his former activity as the martyr of free speech and the victim to the cause of the nation. He very soon found a new field in which to labor. The Government perceived at last that violence was of little avail, and that those questions which were occupying the minds to such a degree could no longer be kept from being publicly discussed by the press. Kossuth now obtained permission to edit a political daily paper. Its publication was commenced under the title of Pesti Hirlap ("Newspaper of Pest") in 1841, and may be said to have created the political daily press of Hungary. It disseminated new ideas among the masses, stirred up the indifferent to feel an interest in the affairs of the country, and gave a purpose to the national aspirations. It proclaimed democratic reforms in every department; the abolition of the privileges of the nobility and of their exemption from taxation, equal rights and equal burdens for all the citizens of the State, and the extension of public instruction, and it endeavored to restore the Hungarian nationality to the place it was entitled to claim in the organism of the State.

The wealth of ideas thus daily communicated to the country appeared in the most attractive garb, for Kossuth possessed a masterly style, and his leaders and shorter articles showed off to advantage so many unexpected beauties of the Hungarian language that his readers were fairly enchanted and carried away by them. His articles were a happy compound of poetical elevation and oratorical power, gratifying common-sense and the imagination at the same time, appealing by their lucid exposition to the reader's intelligence, and exciting and warming his fancy by their fervor. Kossuth always rightly guessed what questions most interested the nation, and the daily press became, in his hands, a power in Hungary, electrifying the masses, who were always ready to give their unconditional support to his bold and far-reaching schemes.

The extraordinary influence obtained by Kossuth through his paper frightened Szechenyi, and, to even a greater degree, those whose prejudices were shocked or ancient privileges and interests were endangered by the democratic agitations for reform. Kossuth was attacked in books, pamphlets, and newspapers, but he came out victorious from all contests. In vain did Szechenyi himself, backed by his great authority in the land, assail him, declaring that he did not object to Kossuth's ideas, but that his manner and his tactics were reprehensible, and that the latter were sure to lead to a revolution. The great mass of the people felt instinctively that revolution had become a necessity and was unavoidable if Hungary was to pass from the old mediaeval order to the establishment of modern institutions and was to become a state where equality before the law should be the ruling standard. The masses were strengthened in this conviction by the unreasonable, short-sighted, and violent policy pursued by the Government of Vienna, which obstructed the slightest reforms in the ancient institutions and opposed every national aspiration, and under whose protecting wing the reactionary elements of the Upper House were constantly paralyzing the noblest and best efforts made by the Lower House for the public weal, while the same Government arbitrarily supported claims of the Catholic clergy, in flat contradiction to the rights and liberties of the various denominations inhabiting the country.

The Government, in its antipathy to the national movement, went even further. It secretly incited the other nationalities, especially the Croats, against the Hungarians, and thus planted the seeds from which sprang the subsequent great civil war. In observing the dangerous symptoms preceding the last-mentioned movement, and the bloody scenes and fights provoked at every election by the hirelings of the Government, in order to intimidate the adherents of reform, the friends of progress became more and more convinced that the period of moderation, such as preached by Szechenyi, had passed by, and must give way to that resolute policy, advocated by Kossuth, which recoiled from no consequences. Numerous magnates, all the chief leaders of the gentry boasting of enlightenment and patriotism, and imbued with European culture, rallied around Kossuth, until finally the public opinion of the country and the enthusiasm of which he was the centre caused him to be returned, in 1847, together with Count Louis Batthyanyi, as Deputy from the foremost county of the country, the county of Pest.

During the first months of the Diet of 1847-1848, which was to raise Hungary to the rank of those countries that proclaimed equal rights and possessed a responsible parliamentary government, it differed very little from the one preceding it. The opposition initiated great reforms, as before, but there was no one who believed that their realization was near at hand. Kossuth repeatedly addressed the House, and soon convinced his audience that he was as irresistible an orator as he had proved powerful as a writer. But there was nothing to indicate that the country was on the eve of a great transformation.

The revolution of February, 1848, which broke out in Paris, changed, as if by magic, the relative positions of Austria and Hungary. Metternich's system of government, which was opposed to granting liberty to the people, collapsed at once. The storm of popular indignation swept it away like a house built of cards. At the first news of the occurrences in Paris, Kossuth asked in the Lower House for the creation of a responsible ministry. The motion was favorably received, but in the Upper House it was rejected, the Government not being yet alive to the real state of affairs, and still hoping by a system of negation to frustrate the wishes of the people. But very soon the revolution reared its head in Vienna itself, and the wishes of the Hungarian people, uttered at Budapest, received thereby a new and powerful advocate.

At that time the Hungarian Diet still met at Presburg, but the two sister-cities of Buda and Pest formed the real capital of the country and were the centre of commerce, industry, science, and literature. Michael Vorosmarty, the poet laureate of the nation, lived in Pest, and there the twin stars of literature, Alexander Petofi and Maurice Jokai, shone on the national horizon. Jokai, who is still living (1886) and enjoys a world-wide fame as a novelist, and Petofi, the eminent poet, who was destined to become the Tyrtaeus of his nation, were then both young men, full of enthusiasm and intrepid energy, and teeming with great ideas.

About these two gathered the other writers and youth of the University, and all of them, helping one another, contrived, on hearing the news of the sudden revolutions in Paris and Vienna, to enact in Budapest the bloodless revolution of March 15, 1848, which obtained the liberty of the press for the nation, and at the same time, in a solemn manifesto, gave expression to the wishes of the Hungarians in the matter of reform. The only act of violence these revolutionary heroes were guilty of was the entering of a printing establishment, whose proprietor, afraid of the Government, had refused to print the admirable poem of Petofi entitled Talpra Magyar ("Up, Magyar"), and doing the printing there themselves. The first stanza of this poem, later the war-song of the national movement, runs, in a literal translation, thus:

"Arise, O Magyar! thy country calls.
Here is the time, now or never.
Shall we be slaves or free?
That is the question—choose!
We swear by the God of the Magyars,
We swear, to be slaves no longer!"

This soul-stirring poem was improvised by Petofi under the inspiration of the moment, and at the same establishment where it was first printed was also printed a proclamation which contained twelve articles setting forth the wishes of the people.

While the capital was resounding with the rejoicings and triumphant shouts of her exulting inhabitants, the proper department of the Government for the carrying through of these movements, the Diet, assembled at Presburg, lost no time, and set to work with great energy to reform the institutions of Hungary, constitutionally, and to put into the form of law the ideas of liberty, equality, and fraternity. The salutary legislation met now with no opposition, either from the Upper House or from the court at Vienna, and in a short time the Diet passed the celebrated acts of 1848, which, having received the royal sanction, were proclaimed as laws on April 11th, at Presburg, amid the wildest enthusiasm, in the presence of King Ferdinand V.

By these laws Hungary became a modern state, possessing a constitutional government. The Government was vested in a ministry responsible to the Parliament, all the inhabitants of the country were declared equal before the law, the privileges of the nobility were abolished, the soil was declared free, and the right of free worship accorded to all. The institution of national guards was introduced, the utmost liberty of the press was secured, Transylvania became a part of the mother-country—in a word, the national and political condition of the country was reorganized, in every particular, in harmony with the spirit, the demands, and aspirations of our age. At the same time the men placed at the head of the Government were such as possessed the fullest confidence of the people. The first ministry was composed of the most distinguished patriots. Count Louis Batthyanyi was the President; and acting in conjunction with him were Francis Deak, as Minister of Justice; Count Stephen Szechenyi, as Minister of Home Affairs; and Louis Kossuth, as Minister of Finance.

The great mass of the people hailed with boundless enthusiasm the new Government and the magnificent reforms. The transformation, however, had been so sudden and unexpected, and the old aristocratic world, with all its institutions and its ancient organization, had been swept away with such vehement precipitation that even under ordinary circumstances, in the absence of all opposition, the new ideas and tendencies could have hardly entered into the political life of the nation without causing some confusion and disorder. But, in addition to these natural drawbacks, the new order of things had to contend with certain national elements in the population, which, feeling themselves injured in their real or imaginary interests, were bent on mischief, hoping to be able to rob the nation, in the midst of the ensuing troubles, of the great political prize she had won. Certain circles of the court and classes of the people strove equally hard to surround with difficulties the practical introduction of the Constitution of 1848.

The court and the standing army, the party of the soldier class, feared that their commanding position would be impaired by the predominating influence of the people. The non-Hungarian portion of the inhabitants, choosing to ignore the fact that the new laws secured, without distinction of nationality, equal rights to every citizen of the State, were apprehensive lest the liberal constitution would benefit chiefly the Hungarian element of the nation. They, therefore, encouraged by the secret machinations of the Government of Vienna, took up arms, in order to drag the country, which was preparing to take possession of her new liberties, into a civil war. The Croatians, under the lead of Ban Jellachich, and the Wallachs and Serbs, led by other imperial officers, and yielding to their persuasions, rose in rebellion against Hungary, and began to persecute, plunder, and murder the Hungarians living among them.

Dreadful atrocities were committed in the southern and eastern portions of Hungary, hundreds and hundreds of families were massacred in cold blood, and entire villages and cities were deserted by their inhabitants, just as had previously happened at the approach of the Turks, and thousands were compelled to abandon their all to the rebels, in order to escape with their bare lives. In the course of a few weeks, the flames of rebellion had spread over a large part of the country, and the Hungarian element, instead of enjoying the liberties won for the whole nation after a bitter struggle of many decades, was under the sad necessity of resorting to armed force in order to reëstablish the internal peace. The Hungarians now had to prove on the battlefield and in bloody engagements that they were worthy of liberty and capable of defending it.

The Government, which, by virtue of the new laws, had meanwhile transferred its seat to Budapest, displayed extraordinary energy in the face of the sad difficulties besetting it. As it was impossible to rely upon the Austrian soldiers who were still in the country, it exerted itself to create and to organize a national army. A portion of the National Guard entered the national army under the name of honveds ("defenders of the country"), a name which became before long famous throughout the civilized world for the brilliant military achievements connected with it. The Hungarian soldiers garrisoning the Austrian principalities hastened home, braving the greatest dangers, partly accompanied by their officers and partly without them. The famous Hungarian hussars, especially, returned in great number to offer their services to their imperilled country. But all this proved insufficient, and as soon as the National Assembly, elected under the new constitution, met, Kossuth, who had been the life and soul of the Government during this trying and critical period, called upon the nation to raise large armies for the defence of the country.

The session of July 11th, during which Kossuth introduced in the House of Representatives his motions relating to the subject, presented a scene which beggars all description. Kossuth ascended the tribune pale and haggard with illness, but the long-continued applause that greeted him after the first few sentences soon gave him back his strength and his marvellous oratorical power. When he had concluded his speech and submitted to the House his request for two hundred thousand soldiers and the necessary money, a momentary pause of deep silence ensued. Suddenly Paul Nyary, the leader of the opposition, arose, and lifting his right arm toward heaven, exclaimed: "We grant it!" The House was in a fever of patriotic excitement; all the Deputies rose from their seats, shouting, "We grant it; we grant it!" Kossuth, with tears in his eyes, bowed to the representatives of the people and said, "You have risen like one man, and I bow down before the greatness of the nation."

These sacrifices on the part of the country had become a matter of urgent necessity. The Serb and Wallach insurrection assumed every day larger proportions, while the Croats, under the leadership of Jellachich, entered Hungarian territory with the fixed determination of depriving the nation of her constitutional liberties. But the Hungarian Government was already able to send an army against the Croatians, who were marching on Budapest, plundering and laying waste everything before them. They were surrounded by the Hungarian forces, and a part of their army, nine thousand men strong, was compelled to lay down its arms, while Jellachich, with his remaining forces, precipitately fled from the country. The young Hungarian army had thus proved itself equal to the task of repelling the attack of the Croats, but the recent events were nevertheless fraught with the gravest consequences.

The news of the Croatian invasion filled the Hungarians with deep anxiety, and the extraordinary excitement caused by it cast a permanent cloud over the soul of that great and noble man, Count Szechenyi. The mind of the great patriot who had initiated the national movement gave way under the strain of the frightful rumors coming from the Croatian frontier. He had been ailing for some time, and his nervousness increased so greatly under the pressure of the great events following one another in rapid succession, that when the news came that the enemy had invaded the country he thought Hungary was lost. His despair darkened his mind and he sought death in the waves of the Danube. His family removed him to a private asylum near Vienna, where he recovered his mental faculties, and even wrote several books. But he was never entirely cured of his hallucination, and, exasperated by the vexations he was subjected to by the Viennese Government, even in the asylum, the great patriot put an end to his own life on April 8, 1860, by a pistol-shot.

Jellachich's incursion had other important political consequences. The attack on Hungary had been made by Jellachich in the name of the Viennese Government, and the intimate connection between the domestic disorders and the court of Vienna became more and more apparent. This state of things rendered inevitable a struggle between Hungary and the unconstitutional action of the court. The Austrian forces were arming against Hungary on every side. Vienna, too, rose in rebellion against the court, and now the Hungarians hastened to assist the revolutionists in the Austrian capital. Unfortunately the young national army was not ripe yet for so great a military enterprise, and Prince Windischgraetz, having crushed the revolution in Vienna, invaded Hungary.

A last attempt was now made by the Hungarians to negotiate peace with the court, but it failed, Windischgraetz being so elated with his success that nothing short of unconditional submission on the part of the country would satisfy him. To accept such terms would have been both cowardly and suicidal, and the nation, therefore, driven to the sad alternative of war, determined rather to perish gloriously than pusillanimously to submit to be enslaved by the court. They followed the lead of Kossuth, who was now at the head of the Government, while Gorgei was the Commander-in-Chief of the Hungarian Army. The two names of Kossuth and Gorgei soon constituted the glory of the nation. While these two acted in harmony they achieved brilliant triumphs, but their personal antagonism greatly contributed, at a subsequent period, to the calamities of the country.

Windischgraetz took possession of Buda in January, 1849, thus compelling Kossuth to transfer the seat of Government to Debreczin, while Gorgei withdrew with his army to the northern part of Hungary; but the national army fought victoriously against the Serbs and Wallachs, and the situation of the Hungarians had, in the course of the winter, become more favorable all over the country. The genius of Kossuth brought again and again, as if by magic, fresh armies into the field, and he was indefatigable in organizing the defence of the country. Distinguished generals like Gorgei, Klapka, Damjanics, and Bem transformed the raw recruits, in a wonderfully short time, into properly disciplined troops, who were able to hold their own and bravely contend against the old and tried imperial forces whom they put to flight at every point.

The fortunes of war changed in favor of the Hungarians in the latter part of January, 1849. Klapka achieved the first triumph, which was followed by the brilliant victory won by one of Gorgei's divisions commanded by Guyon in the Battle of Branyiszko, and very soon the Hungarian armies acted on the offensive at all points. In the course of a few weeks they achieved, chiefly under Gorgei's leadership, great and complete victories over the enemy near Szolnok, Hatvan, Bicske, Waitzen, Isaszegh, Nagy Sarlo, and Komarom. Windischgraetz lost both the campaign and his office as commander-in-chief.

Toward the close of the spring of 1849, after besieged Komorn had been relieved by the Hungarians, and Bem had driven from Transylvania not only the Austrians, but the Russians who had come to their assistance, the country was almost freed from her enemies, and only two cities, Buda and Temesvar, remained in the hands of the Austrians. The glorious efforts made by the nation were attended at last by splendid successes, and the civilized world spoke with sympathy and respect of the Hungarian people, who had signally shown their ability to defend their liberties, constitution, and national existence.

It should have been the mission of diplomacy, at this conjuncture, to turn to advantage the recent military successes by negotiating an honorable peace with the humbled dynasty, as had been done before in the history of the country, after similar military achievements by the ancient national leaders, Bocskay and Bethlen. Gorgei, at the head of the army, was disposed to conclude peace. But the Hungarian Parliament sitting in Debreczin, led by Kossuth and under the influence of the recent victories, was determined to pursue a different course. The royal house at Hapsburg, whose dynasty had ruled over Hungary for three centuries, was declared to have forfeited its right to the throne by instigating and bringing upon the country the calamities of a great war. This act had a bad effect, especially on the army, tending also to heighten the personal antagonism between Kossuth and Gorgei. But its worst consequence was that it gave Russia a pretext for armed intervention. The Emperor Francis Joseph entered into an alliance with the Czar of Russia, the purpose of which was to reconquer seceded Hungary and ultimately to crush her liberty.

One more brilliant victory was achieved by the Hungarian arms before the fatal blow was aimed at the country. The fortress of Buda was taken after a gallant assault, in the course of which the Austrian commandant bombarded the defenceless city of Pest on the opposite bank of the Danube, and thus the capital, too, was restored to the country. Yet after this last glorious feat of war, good fortune deserted the national banners. The grand heroic epoch was hastening to its tragic end. Two hundred thousand Russians crossed the borders of Hungary, and were there reënforced by sixty thousand to seventy thousand Austrians, whom the Viennese Government had succeeded in collecting for a last great effort.

It was easy to foresee that the exhausted Hungarian army could not long resist the superior numbers opposed to them. For months they continued the gallant fight, and in one of these fierce engagements Petofi, the beloved poet of the nation, lost his life; but in the month of August the Russians had already succeeded in surrounding Gorgei's army. Gorgei, who was now invested with the supreme power, perceiving that all further effusion of blood was useless, surrendered, in the sight of the Russian army, the sword he had so gloriously worn in many a battle, near Vilagos, on August 13, 1849. The remaining Hungarian armies followed his example, and either capitulated or disbanded. The brave army of the honveds was no more, and the gallant struggle for liberty was put an end to by the Russian forces. Kossuth and many other Hungarians sought refuge in Turkey.

Above Komorn, the largest fortress in the country, alone the Hungarian colors were still floating. General Klapka, its commandant, bravely defended it, and continued to hold it for six weeks after the sad catastrophe of Vilagos. The brave defender, seeing at last that further resistance served no purpose, as the Hungarian army had ceased to exist, and the whole country had passed into the hands of the Austrians, capitulated upon the most honorable terms. This was the concluding act of the heroic struggle of the Hungarian people, the brave attitude of the garrison and their commander adding another bright page to the honorable record of the military achievements of 1848 and 1849.

As soon as the Imperialists had obtained possession of Komorn, their commander-in-chief, Baron Haynau, began to persecute the patriots, and to commit the most cruel atrocities against them. Those who had taken part in the national war were brought before a court-martial and summarily executed. The bloody work of the executioner began on October 6th. Count Louis Batthyanyi was shot at Pest, and thirteen gallant generals, belonging to Gorgei's army, met their deaths at Arad. Wholesale massacres were committed throughout the country, until at last the conscience of Europe rose up against these cruel butcheries, and the court itself removed the sanguinary Baron from the scene of his inhuman exploits. The best men in the country were thrown into prison, and thousands of families had to mourn for dear ones who had fallen victims to the implacable vindictiveness of the Austrian Government. Once more the gloom of oppression settled upon the unhappy country.

Many of the patriots had accompanied Kossuth to Turkey or found a refuge in other foreign countries, and for ten years a great number of distinguished Hungarians were compelled to taste the bitterness of exile. Kossuth himself went subsequently to England, and visited also the United States. In the latter country he was enthusiastically received by the great and free American people, who took delight in his lofty eloquence. During the Crimean War, and the War of 1859 in Italy, Kossuth and the Hungarian exiles were zealously laboring to free their country, by foreign aid, from the thraldom of oppression. At last, however, the Hungarian nation succeeded in reconquering, without any aid from abroad, by her own exertions, her national and political rights, and made her peace with the ruling dynasty. But the Hungarian exiles had their full share in the work of reconciliation, for it was owing to their exertions that the nations of Europe remembered that, in spite of Vilagos, Hungary still existed, and that again, at home, the people of Hungary were not permitted to lose their faith in a better and brighter future.

Kossuth, the Nestor of the struggle for liberty, lives at present [1886] in retirement in Turin, [Footnote: Kossuth died at Turin, Italy, March 20, 1894.—ED.] and, although separated from his people by diverging political theories, his countrymen will forever cherish in him the great genius who gave liberty to millions of the oppressed peasantry, and who inscribed indelibly on the pages of the national legislation the immortal principles of liberty and equality of rights.

(1848) DISCOVERY OF GOLD IN CALIFORNIA, John S. Hittell

Before the time of the great gold discovery of 1848, the metal had been found in California, but the mines from which it was taken were poor and yielded small returns for years of working. The discovery in 1848 influenced the whole world, giving new life to trade and industry everywhere. The first published report of gold in California appeared in Hakluyt's account of Sir Francis Drake's visit to the coast in 1579. The observations of Drake's men are supposed by some to have been made at a point not far from San Francisco. The Hakluyt statement, however, is disbelieved by many historians. The Spaniards and Mexicans who later visited the coast are known to have found gold at many places, and especially near the Colorado River, but they discovered no mines worth working. Reports of great mineral wealth in California were repeated up to the time of the American conquest, but they commanded little confidence among mining experts.

Although gold was found in what is now San Diego County in 1828, Alexander Forbes, the historian of California, wrote in 1835 that no minerals of particular importance had been discovered in Upper California, nor any ores of metals. About 1838 a gold placer was discovered in the ca±on of San Francisquito, forty-five miles northwest of Los Angeles, and this was the first California mine that produced any considerable amount of metal. It was worked for ten years and then abandoned for richer diggings in the Sacramento Valley. The average yield for the ten years was probably about six thousand dollars. After the return of the Wilkes exploring expedition of 1842, James D. Dana, its mineralogist, mentioned places in California at which he had observed or inferred the existence of gold. But his report led to no gold-hunting, and had only a scientific interest.

The great discovery of 1848, and its world-wide effects, are described in the following account by Hittell, which forms a part of Hubert H. Bancroft's voluminous History of the Pacific States.

As Edmund Hammond Hargraves is the hero of the Australian, so is James W. Marshall of the Californian, gold discovery. Before giving the account of his discovery, however, I will quote the following passage from a letter written on May 4, 1846, by Thomas O. Larkin, then United States consul at Monterey, California, to James Buchanan, Secretary of State:

"There is said to be black lead in the country of San Fernando, near San Pedro [now Los Angeles County]. By washing the sand in a plate, any person can obtain from one dollar to five dollars per day of gold that brings seventeen dollars per ounce in Boston; the gold has been gathered for two or three years, though but few have the patience to look for it. On the southeast end of the island of Catalina there is a silver mine from which silver has been extracted. There is no doubt but that gold, silver, quick-silver, copper, lead, sulphur, and coal mines are to be found all over California, and it is equally doubtful whether, under their present owners, they will ever be worked."

James W. Marshall, in a letter dated January 28, 1856, and addressed to Charles E. Pickett, gave the following account of the gold discovery: "Toward the end of August, 1847, Captain Sutter and I formed a copartnership to build and run a sawmill upon a site selected by myself (since known as Coloma). We employed P.L. Weimer and family to remove from the Fort (Sutter's Fort) to the mill-site, to cook and labor for us. Nearly the first work done was the building of a double log cabin, about half a mile from the mill-site. We commenced the mill about Christmas. Some of the mill-hands wanted a cabin near the mill. This was built, and I went to the Fort to superintend the construction of the mill-irons, leaving orders to cut a narrow ditch where the race was to be made. Upon my return, in January, 1848, I found the ditch cut as directed, and those who were working on the same were doing so at a great disadvantage, expending their labor upon the head of the race instead of the foot.

"I immediately changed the course of things, and upon the 19th of the same month of January discovered the gold near the lower end of the race, about two hundred yards below the mill. William Scott was the second man to see the metal. He was at work at a carpenter's bench near the mill. I showed the gold to him. Alexander Stephens, James Brown, Henry Bigler, and William Johnston were likewise working in front of the mill, framing the upper story. They were called up next, and, of course, saw the precious metal. P.L. Weimer and Charles Bennett were at the old double log cabin (where Hastings and Company afterward kept a store).

"In the mean time we put in some wheat and peas, nearly five acres, across the river. In February the Captain (Captain Sutter) came to the mountains for the first time. Then we consummated a treaty with the Indians, which had been previously negotiated. The tenor of this was that we were to pay them two hundred dollars yearly in goods, at Yerba Buena prices, for the joint possession and occupation of the land with them; they agreeing not to kill our stock, viz., horses, cattle, hogs, or sheep, nor burn the grass within the limits fixed by the treaty. At the same time Captain Sutter, myself, and Isaac Humphrey entered into a copartnership to dig gold. A short time afterward, P.L. Weimer moved away from the mill, and was away two or three months, when he returned. With all the events that subsequently occurred, you and the public are well informed."

This is the most precise and is generally considered to be the most correct account of the gold discovery. Other versions of the story have been published, however, and the following, from an article published in the Coloma Argus, in the latter part of the year 1855, is one of them. The statement was evidently derived from Weimer, who lives at Coloma:

"That James W. Marshall picked up the first piece of gold is beyond doubt. Peter L. Weimer, who resides in this place, states positively that Marshall picked up the gold in his presence; they both saw it and each spoke at the same time, 'What's that yellow stuff?' Marshall, being a step in advance, picked it up. This first piece of gold is now in the possession of Mrs. Weimer, and weighs six pennyweights eleven grains. The piece was given to her by Marshall himself. The dam was finished early in January, the frame for the mill also erected, and the flume and bulkhead completed. It was at this time that Marshall and Weimer adopted the plan of raising the gate during the night to wash out sand from the mill-race, closing it during the day, when work would be continued with shovels, etc.

"Early in February—the exact day is not remembered—in the morning, after shutting off the water, Marshall and Weimer walked down the race together to see what the water had accomplished during the night. Having gone about twenty yards below the mill, they both saw the piece of gold before mentioned, and Marshall picked it up. After an examination, the gold was taken to the cabin of Weimer, and Mrs. Weimer instructed to boil it in saleratus-water; but she, being engaged in making soap, pitched the piece into the soap-kettle, where it was boiled all day and all night. The following morning the strange piece of stuff was fished out of the soap, all the brighter for the boiling.

"Discussion now commenced, and all expressed the opinion that perhaps the yellow substance might be gold. Little was said on the subject; but everyone each morning searched in the race for more, and every day found several small scales. The Indians also picked up many small thin pieces, and carried them always to Mrs. Weimer. About three weeks after the first piece was obtained, Marshall took the fine gold, amounting to between two and three ounces, and went to San Francisco to have the strange metal tested. On his return he informed Weimer that the stuff was gold.

"All hands now began to search for the 'root of all evil.' Shortly after, Captain Sutter came to Coloma, and he and Marshall assembled the Indians and bought of them a large tract of country about Coloma, in exchange for a lot of beads and a few cotton handkerchiefs. They, under color of this Indian title, required one-third of all the gold dug on their domain, and collected at this rate until the fall of 1848, when a mining party from Oregon declined paying 'tithes' as they called it.

"During February, 1848, Marshall and Weimer went down the river to Mormon Island, and there found scales of gold on the rocks. Some weeks later they sent Mr. Henderson, Sydney Willis and Mr. Fifield, Mormons, down there to dig, telling them that that place was better than Coloma. These were the first miners at Mormon Island."

Marshall was a man of an active, enthusiastic mind, and he at once attached great importance to his discovery. His ideas, however, were vague; he knew nothing about gold-mining; he did not know how to take advantage of what he had found. Only an experienced gold-miner could understand the importance of the discovery and make it of practical value to all the world. That gold-miner, fortunately, was near at hand; his name was Isaac Humphrey. He was residing in the town of San Francisco, in the month of February, when a Mr. Bennett, one of the party employed at Marshall's mill, went down to that place with some of the dust to have it tested; for it was still a matter of doubt whether this yellow metal really was gold. Bennett told his errand to a friend whom he met in San Francisco, and this friend introduced him to Humphrey, who had been a gold-miner in Georgia, and was therefore competent to pass an opinion.

Humphrey looked at the dust, pronounced it gold at the first glance, and expressed a belief that the diggings must be rich. He made inquiries about the place where the gold was found, and subsequent inquiries about the trustworthiness of Mr. Bennett, and on March 7th he was at the mill. He tried to induce several of his friends in San Francisco to go with him; they all thought his expedition a foolish one, and he had to go alone. He found that there was some talk about the gold, and persons would occasionally go about looking for pieces of it; but no one was engaged in mining, and the work of the mill was going on as usual. On the 8th he went out prospecting with a pan, and satisfied himself that the country in that vicinity was rich in gold. He then made a rocker and commenced the business of washing gold, and thus began the business of mining in California.

Others saw how he did it, followed his example, found that the work was profitable, and abandoned all other occupations. The news of their success spread; people flocked to the place, learned how to use the rocker, discovered new diggings, and in the course of a few months the country had been overturned by a social and industrial revolution.

Mr. Humphrey had not been at work more than three or four days before a Frenchman, called Baptiste, who had been a gold-miner in Mexico for many years, came to the mill, and he agreed with Humphrey that California was very rich in gold. He, too, went to work, and, being an excellent prospector, he was of great service in teaching the newcomers the principles of prospecting and mining for gold—principles not abstruse, yet not likely to suggest themselves at first thought to men entirely ignorant of the business. Baptiste had been employed by Captain Sutter to saw lumber with a whipsaw, and had been at work for two years at a place, since called Weber, about ten miles eastward from Coloma. When he saw the diggings at the latter place, he at once said there were rich mines where he had been sawing, and he expressed surprise that it had never occurred to him before, so experienced in gold-mining as he was; but he afterward said it had been so ordered by Providence, that the gold might not be discovered until California should be in the hands of the Americans.

About the middle of March, P.B. Reading, an American, now a prominent and wealthy citizen of the State, then the owner of a large ranch on the western bank of the Sacramento River, near where it issues from the mountains, came to Coloma, and after looking about at the diggings, said that if similarity in the appearance of the country could be taken as a guide there must be gold in the hills near his ranch; and he went off, declaring his intention to go back and make an examination of them. John Bidwell, another American, now a wealthy and influential citizen, then residing on his ranch on the bank of Feather River, came to Coloma about a week later, and he said there must be gold near his ranch, and he went off with expressions similar to those used by Reading. In a few weeks news came that Reading had found diggings near Clear Creek, at the head of the Sacramento Valley, and was at work there with his Indians; and not long after, it was reported that Bidwell was at work with his Indians on a rich bar of Feather River, since called "Bidwell's Bar."

Although Bennett had arrived at San Francisco in February with some of the dust, the editors of the town—for two papers were published in the place at the time—did not hear of the discovery till some weeks later. The first published notice of the gold appeared in the Californian (published in San Francisco) on March 15th, as follows: "In the newly made raceway of the sawmill recently erected by Captain Sutter, on the American Fork, gold has been found in considerable quantities. One person brought thirty dollars' worth to New Helvetia, gathered there in a short time. California, no doubt, is rich in mineral wealth; great chances here for scientific capitalists. Gold has been found in almost every part of the country."

Three days later the California Star, the rival paper, gave the following account of the discovery: "We were informed a few days since that a very valuable silver-mine was situated in the vicinity of this place, and, again, that its locality was known. Mines of quicksilver are being found all over the country. Gold has been discovered in the northern Sacramento districts, about forty miles above Sutter's Fort. Rich mines of copper are said to exist north of these bays."

Although these articles were written two months after the discovery, it is evident that the editors had heard only vague rumors, and attached little importance to them. The Star of March 25th says: "So great is the quantity of gold taken from the new mine recently found at New Helvetia that it has become an article of traffic in that vicinity."

None of the gold had been seen in San Francisco; but at Sutter's Fort men had begun to buy and sell with it.

The next number of the Star, bearing date April 1, 1848, contained an article several columns long, written by Doctor V.J. Fourgeaud, on the resources of California. He devoted about a column to the minerals, and in the course of his remarks said: "It would be utterly impossible at present to make a correct estimate of the mineral wealth of California. Popular attention has been but lately directed to it. But the discoveries that have already been made will warrant us in the assertion that California is one of the richest mineral countries in the world. Gold, silver, quicksilver, iron, copper, lead, sulphur, saltpetre, and other mines of great value have already been found. We saw a few days ago a beautiful specimen of gold from the mine newly discovered on the American Fork. From all accounts the mine is immensely rich, and already we learn the gold from it collected at random and without any trouble has become an article of trade at the upper settlements. This precious metal abounds in this country. We have heard of several other newly discovered mines of gold, but as these reports are not yet authenticated we shall pass over them. However, it is well known that there is a placer of gold a few miles from Los Angeles, and another on the San Joaquin."

It was not until more than three months after Marshall's discovery that the San Francisco papers stated that gold-mining had become a regular and profitable business in the new placers. The Californian of April 26th said: "From a gentleman just from the gold region we learn that many new discoveries of gold have very recently been made, and it is fully ascertained that a large extent of country abounds with that precious mineral. Seven men, with picks and spades, gathered one thousand six hundred dollars worth in fifteen days. Many persons are settling on the lands with the view of holding preëmptions, but as yet every person takes the right to gather all he can without any regard to claims. The largest piece yet found is worth six dollars."

The news spread, men came from all the settled parts of the territory, and as they came they went to work mining, and gradually they moved farther and farther from Coloma, and before the rainy reason had commenced (in December) miners were washing rich auriferous dirt all along the western slope of the Sierra Nevada, from the Feather to the Tuolumne River, a distance of one hundred fifty miles; and also over a space of about fifteen miles square, near the place now known as the town of Shasta, in the Coast Mountains, at the head of the Sacramento Valley. The whole country had been turned topsy-turvy; towns had been deserted, or left only to the women and children; fields had been left unreaped; herds of cattle went without anyone to care for them. But gold-mining, which had become the great interest of the country, was not neglected. The people learned rapidly and worked hard.

In the latter part of 1848 adventurers began to arrive from Oregon, the Sandwich Islands, and Mexico. The winter found the miners with very little preparation, but most of them were accustomed to a rough manner of life in the Western wilds, and they considered their large profits an abundant compensation for their privations and hardships. The weather was so mild in December and January that they could work almost as well as in the summer, and the rain gave them facilities for washing such as they could not have in the dry season.

In September, 1848, the first rumors of the gold discovery began to reach New York; in October they attracted attention; in November people looked with interest for new reports; in December the news gained general credence and a great excitement arose. Preparations were made for a migration to California by somebody in nearly every town in the United States. The great body of the emigrants went either across the plains with ox or mule teams or round Cape Horn in sailing-vessels. A few took passage in the steamer by way of Panama.

Not fewer than one hundred thousand men, representing in their nativity every State in the Union, went to California that year. Of these, twenty thousand crossed the continent by way of the South Pass; and nearly all of them started from the Missouri River between Independence and St. Joseph, in the month of May. They formed an army; in daytime their trains filled up the roads for miles, and at night their camp-fires glittered in every direction about the places blessed with grass and water. The excitement continued from 1850 to 1853; emigrants continued to come by land and sea, from Europe and America, and in the last named year from China also. In 1854 the migration fell off, and since that time until the completion of the Union Pacific Railroad California received the chief accessions to her white population by the Panama steamers.

The whole world felt a beneficent influence from the great gold yield of the Sacramento Basin. Labor rose in value, and industry was stimulated from St. Louis to Constantinople. The news, however, was not welcome to all classes. Many of the capitalists feared that gold would soon be so abundant as to be worthless, and European statesmen feared the power to be gained by the arrogant and turbulent democracy of the New World.

The author of a book entitled Notes on the Gold District, published in London in 1853, thus speaks of the fears excited in Europe on the first great influx of gold from the Californian mines: "Among the many extraordinary incidents connected with the Californian discoveries was the alarm communicated to many classes and which was not confined to individuals but invaded governments. The first announcement spread alarm; but as the cargoes of gold rose from one hundred thousand dollars to one million dollars, bankers and financiers began seriously to prepare for an expected crisis. In England and the United States the panic was confined to a few; but on the Continent of Europe every government, rich or poor, thought it needful to make provision against the threatened evils. An immediate alteration in prices was looked for; money was to become so abundant that all ordinary commodities were to rise, but more especially the proportion between gold and silver was to be disturbed, some thinking that the latter might become the dearer metal. The Governments of France, Holland, and Russia, in particular, turned their attention to the monetary question, and in 1850 the Government of Holland availed themselves of a law, which had not before been put in operation, to take immediate steps for selling off the gold in the Bank of Amsterdam, at what they supposed to be the highest prices, and to stock themselves with silver.

"Palladium, which is likewise a superior white metal, was held more firmly, and expectations were entertained that it would become available for plating. The stock, however, was small. The silver operation was carried on concurrent with a supply of bullion to Russia for a loan, a demand for silver in Austria, and for shipment to India, and it did really produce an effect on the silver market, which many mistook for the influence of Californian gold. The particular way in which the Netherlands operations were carried on was especially calculated to produce the greatest disturbance of prices. The ten-florin pieces were sent to Paris, coined there into Napoleons, and silver five-franc pieces drawn out in their place.

"At Paris the premium on gold in a few months fell from nearly 2 per cent. to a discount, and at Hamburg a like fall took place. In London, the great silver market, silver rose, between the autumn and the new year, from five shillings per ounce to five shillings one and five-eighths pence per ounce, and Mexican dollars from four shillings ten and one-half pence to four shillings eleven and five-eighths pence per ounce; nor did prices recover until toward the end of the year 1851, when the fall was as sudden as the rise."

In the spring of 1849 Reading crossed the Coast Range with a party of his Indians, and discovered rich diggings in the valley of the Trinity. In the summer of the same year Colonel Frémont discovered the mines on his ranch, in the valley of the Mariposa.

(1849) RISE AND FALL OF THE ROMAN REPUBLIC, Jessie White Mario

When "Young Italy," the association of republican agitators led by Giuseppe Mazzini, began its activities (about 1834), hatred of the Austrian government, which ruled in several of the Italian States, was kept alive through this determined organization. Aspirations for liberty and self-government were requickened. The endeavors of the reforming Pope, Pius IX (1846), to harmonize his policy with the aims of this party, in order to promote a confederation of the Italian States under papal supremacy, at first seemed to promise the dawn of a new era. Soon after the outbreak of the revolution of 1848 in France, revolt against the Austrian power began in various parts of Italy. The Austrian troops were driven out of Lombardy; Venice compelled the Austrian forces in her territory to surrender, and became a free republic; in a short time Italy appeared to have delivered herself from the rule of Austria; but almost immediately the foreign power began to regain its ascendency, and this, through the events here related, was fully recovered.

After the flight of Pius IX from Rome (November, 1848), Mazzini and his followers pursued their own course. A constituent assembly was summoned, and on February 5, 1849, it declared the temporal power of the Pope abolished. The Italian soldier who now becomes the chief figure of this movement has enjoyed a popular renown unsurpassed by that of any of his countrymen. Giuseppe Garibaldi, a sailor's son, was born in Nice, July 4, 1807. In youth he went to sea. In 1834 he took part with Mazzini in the Young Italy demonstrations, and for aiding in an attempt to seize Genoa he was condemned to death. Escaping to South America, he won distinction as a guerilla leader and a privateer in the service of the Rio Grande rebels against Brazil. After further military adventures in South America, he returned to Italy, and in 1847 offered his services to Pope Pius IX, but they were not accepted. In 1848 he received indifferent treatment at the hands of Charles Albert of Sardinia, who was besieging the Austrians in Mantua. After the failure of Charles Albert, Garibaldi collected his own followers and acted against the Austrians with such effect as to bring him into prominence in the ranks of Italian patriots. The following account of the siege and defence of Rome, which admiringly presents him to view, is from the author's supplement to Garibaldi's Autobiography, and is a valuable contribution to the history of the events in which he was so conspicuous.

Of the many sublime pages traced in the blood of Italian patriots, the sublimest in our eyes is that of the defence of Rome. No writer of genius has yet been inspired to narrate the heroic deeds enacted, the pain, privation, anguish, borne joyfully to save "that city of the Italian soul" from desecration by the foreigner. Mazzini's beloved disciple, Mameli, the soldier-poet, died with the flower of the student youth; the survivors, exiled, dispersed, heartbroken, or intent only on preparing for the next campaign, have left us but fugitive records, partial episodes, or dull military chronicles. Margaret Fuller Ossoli, competent by love and genius to be the historian and who had collected the materials day by day, lived the life of the combatants hour by hour, was wrecked with "Ossoli, Angelo" and her manuscript, in sight of her native shore.

From details that reached him Garibaldi always maintained that there was a priest among the wreckers who secured and destroyed the treasure! Guerrazzi's Siege of Rome is inferior to all his other writings. The entry of the Italian army into Rome by the breach in Porta Pia has cast the grand defence of 1849 into the background of rash attempts and futile failures. In these brief pages we give merely the outline of the drama in which Garibaldi was one of the leading actors. The men who desired a republic did not exist as a party in Rome previous to the flight of the Pope. But there existed a strong national anti-Austrian party, who, as they had worshipped Pio Nono (Pius IX) when he "blessed Italy" and the banners that the Romans bore upward to the "Holy War," now execrated him inasmuch as he had withdrawn his sanction to that war and had blessed the Croats and the Austrians who were butchering the Italians in the north. Convinced of the impossibility of favoring the independence and unity of Italy, and remaining at the same time the supreme head of the Universal Church, Pio Nono fled for protection to the King of Naples; there he declined to accept from the King of Piedmont his repeated offers of protection or mediation, and appealed to Austria alone to restore him pope-king absolute in Rome. Very soon afterward the Archduke of Tuscany revoked the Constituent Assembly which he had granted, and followed the saintly example of the Holy Father, so that Tuscany and Rome were alike left sheep without a shepherd.

In the Roman States an appeal was made to universal suffrage, and the people sent up deputies, known chiefly for their honesty and bravery, to decide on the form of government, to assist Piedmont in her second war against Austria. When the Constituent Assembly met to decide on the form of government, Mamiani warned them that only two rulers were possible in Rome—the Pope or Cola di Rienzi; the Papacy or the Republic.

Garibaldi, who had organized his legion at Rieti, was elected member of the Constituent Assembly, and on February 7th put in his appearance and in language more soldierlike than parliamentary urged the immediate proclamation of the republic. But the debate was carried on with all due respect for the "rights of the minority."

Finally, on February 9th, of the one hundred fifty-four Deputies present, all but five voted for the downfall of the temporal power of the Pope, all but eleven for the proclamation of the republic. These, with the exception of General Garibaldi and General Ferrari, were all Romans. G. Filopanti, who undertook to explain the state of affairs to the Roman people, won shouts of applause by his concluding words, "We are no longer mere Romans, but Italians."

This sentence sums up the sentiments of all: of Garibaldi, who, after recording his vote, returned to his troops at Rieti and drew up an admirable plan for attacking the Austrians bent on subjugating the Roman Provinces and for carrying revolution into the Kingdom of Naples; of Mazzini, who, so far from having imposed on the Romans a republic by the force of his tyrannical will, was—during its proclamation—in Tuscany, striving to induce Guerrazzi and his fellow-triumvirs to unite with Rome and organize a strong army for the renewal of the Lombard War.

True, the Romans, mindful of all they owed to the great apostle of Italian unity and independence, proclaimed him Roman citizen on February 12th, and on the 25th of the same month the Roman people, with nine thousand votes, elected him member of the Constituent Assembly; but it was not until March 5th that he entered Rome, when, in one of his most splendid speeches, rising above parties and politics, he called upon the "Rome of the People" to send up combatants against Austria, the only enemy that then menaced Italy.

Suiting the action to the word, he induced the Assembly to nominate a commission for the thorough organization of the army; and ten thousand men had quitted Rome and were marching up to the frontier to place themselves at the orders of Piedmont, when, alas! their march was arrested by the news of the total defeat at Novara, of the abdication of Charles Albert and the reinauguration of Austrian rule in Lombardy. Genoa, whose generous inhabitants arose in protest against the disastrous but inevitable treaty of peace, was bombarded and reduced to submission by La Marmora; and now, while to Rome and to Venice flocked all the volunteers who preferred death to submission, the new Holy Alliance of Continental Europe took for its watchword: "The restoration of the Pope; the extinction of the two Republics of Venice and of Rome."

Austria crossed the Po and occupied Ferrara, marching thence on Bologna; the Neapolitan troops from the south marched upward to the Roman frontier; even Spain sent her contingent to Fiumicino. But only when it was known that the French Republic had voted an expedition, with the specious object of guaranteeing the independence of the supreme Pontiff, did the Romans and their rulers realize that the existence of Rome and her newborn liberties was seriously menaced. Garibaldi wrote from Rieti, in April, an enthusiastic letter worth recording here:

"BROTHER MAZZINI: I feel that I must write you one line with my own hand. May Providence sustain you in your brilliant but arduous career [Mazzini had just been elected, with Armellini and Saffi, Triumvir of Rome], and may you be enabled to carry out all the noble designs in your mind for the welfare of our country. Remember that Rieti is full of your brethren in the faith, and that immutably yours is

"JOSEPH GARIBALDI."

At the same time he sent a plan, proposing to march along the Via Emilia, to collect arms and volunteers, proclaim the levy in mass, and with a division stationed in the Bolognese territory, operate in the duchies, unite Tuscan, Ligurian, and Piedmontese forces, and once more assail the Austrians. But the news of Piedmont defeated, Genoa bombarded and vanquished, convinced him that it would be difficult to re-arouse the disheartened population of Northern Italy. Hence he next proposed to cross the Neapolitan frontier, fling himself upon the royal troops, and seize the Abruzzi. A sensible project this, to take the offensive against the Pope's defenders. But before the Triumvirate could come to a definite decision, it was known that the French troops, by a disgraceful stratagem, had landed and taken possession of Civita Vecchia, General Oudinot entwining the French flag with the Roman tricolor and assuring the Romans that they only came to secure perfect freedom for the people to effect a reconciliation with Pius IX.

But the people had no desire for such reconciliation; the Assembly decreed that Rome should have no garrison but the National Roman Guard: that if the Republic were invaded by force, the invaders by force should be repelled. A commission of barricades established, the people flocked to erect and remained to man them. The National Guard summoned by Mazzini all answered, "Present," and served enthusiastically throughout the siege; all the troops dispersed in the Provinces were summoned to the capital, and Garibaldi and his volunteers marched into the city amid the acclamations of the populace, too thankful to welcome them to demur at the strange appearance they presented.

Now that Garibaldi's military and naval genius is fully recognized, and the extraordinary fascination he exercised over officers and men, the enthusiasm with which he filled whole populations whom others failed to stir, are undisputed, many historians and critics have expressed their astonishment that he was not made at once commander-in-chief of the Roman forces, and have blamed the Triumvirate for having failed to recognize in the hero of Montevideo the good genius of Rome. Such critics must be simply ignorant of the actual condition of Rome and her Government. There existed, in the first place, the regular Roman army, which would have served under none save regular generals; then there was the Lombard battalion under Manara, whose members, after fifteen months of regular campaigning, were thoroughly drilled and disciplined, who insisted on retaining the cross of Savoy on their belts, and, until their prowess made them the idols of the Romans, were nicknamed the "corps of aristocrats."

Little did they imagine, when they kept aloof from the legion, that before three months were over their young hero chief would resign his command of them to assume the delicate post of head of Garibaldi's staff. Carlo Pisacane—educated in the military college of the Nunziatella, who had served as captain in the foreign legion in Algiers, destined later to become the pioneer of Garibaldi and his "Thousand" and to lose his life in the attempt—while recognizing Garibaldi's prowess and talents as a guerilla chief, in his military history of 1849, severely criticises his tactics, and blames his sending up "a handful of boys against masses of the enemy" and censures, unhesitatingly, "his indiscipline at Velletri." One of the Deputies of the Roman Constituent wrote to the Triumvirate begging them to "Send Garibaldi with his motley crew to a terrible spot, called For del Diavolo, between Civita Vecchia and Rome; on no account to allow them to enter the city, as they are quite too disorderly."

Now, they had committed no "disorders" save that of carrying off the mules and horses of the convents; but when we think of the wild, free, peril-scorning life led in the backwoods of America, of how they recognized no law save their commander's orders, how little used he had been to receive command from any, it will be easily understood how this wild, tanned, quaintly dressed band filled the inhabitants of the towns through which they passed with terror and dismay. Garibaldi's violent tirades against priests and priestcraft; the liberation of a gang of miscreants arrested by order of the Roman Government, had not prepossessed men of order and of discipline in his favor; and although personal contact dispelled all unfavorable prepossessions, one sees how impossible it was for Mazzini to place him in the position which he would himself have assigned to him.

Garibaldi altered in nothing his South American modes of warfare. He and his staff, in red shirts and ponchos, with hats of every form and color, no distinctions of rank or military accoutrements, rode on their American saddles, which when unrolled served each as a small tent. When their troops halted and the soldiers piled their arms, the General and all his staff attended each to the wants of his own horse, then to securing provisions for their men. When these were not at hand, the officers, springing on their barebacked horses, lasso on wrists, dashed full speed along the Campagna, till oxen, sheep, pigs, kids, or poultry in sufficient quantities were secured and paid for; then, dividing their spoil among the companies, officers and men fell to killing, quartering, and roasting before huge fires in the open air.

Garibaldi, when no battle was raging or danger near—if in the city, selected some lofty belfry-tower; if in the country, climbed the loftiest peak; and, with brief minutes of repose under his saddle-tent, literally lived on horseback, posting his own pickets, making his own observations, sometimes passing hours in perfect silence, scanning the most distant and minute objects through his telescope. Ever a man of the fewest words, a look, a gesture, a brief sentence sufficed to convey his orders to his officers. When his trumpet signalled departure, the lassos served to catch the horses grazing in the fields, the men fell into order and marched, none knowing nor caring whither, save to follow their chief. Councils of war he never held; he ordered, and was implicitly obeyed. To his original legion were added some of the finest and bravest of the Lombard volunteers, who had learned his worth "after the armistice"; while boys from ten to fourteen, who were his pride and delight, formed his "band of hope."

To-day for an act of courage a man would be raised from the ranks, and, sword in hand, command his company; but woe to him if he failed in shouldering a musket or brandishing a bayonet at need. To onlookers this legion, composed at first of but one thousand men, seemed a wild, unruly set; but this was not the case. Drunkenness and insubordination were unknown among the ranks. Woe to a soldier who wronged a civilian. Three were shot for petty theft during the brief Roman campaign. Still, while Garibaldi felt within himself his own superiority to those around, Mazzini, who also felt it, might as well have proposed an Indian chief to command the Roman Army as this man, whom, in later years, no soldier in Europe but would have been proud to call dux.

Again, it must not be forgotten that the grounds on which France explained her interference was the imposition by "foreigners" of a republic on the Roman people, desirous only to receive the Pope with open arms; that Austria, Piedmont, and the Ultramontane faction in England represented the Roman States as handed over to the demagogues, to the riffraff of European revolutionists. Hence the absolute necessity that presented itself to the minds of the Triumvirs for filling the civil and military offices as far as possible with citizens of Rome or the Roman States. Unfortunately, no capable Roman commander-in-chief existed. Rosselli was chosen as the least incapable; but throughout, Garibaldi was regarded as the soul, the genius of the defence.

A very short time had sufficed for Mazzini and the Romans to come to so perfect an understanding that no exercise of authority, no police force, was necessary to keep order in the city, as the French, English, and American residents, and as the respective consuls repeatedly affirmed in public and in private letters. Oudinot too had warning from his own consul, from his own friends within the city, of all the preparations, of the resolute determination of the inhabitants, of the known valor of many of the combatants in past campaigns; yet to all such remonstrances he answered with French impertinence, "Les Italiens ne se battent pas," and clearly he had imbued his officers with this belief. At dawn on April 30th, starting from Castel di Guido, leaving their knapsacks at Magnianella, the officers in white gloves and sheathed swords advanced on Rome, taking the road to Porta Cavallaggieri, sending sharpshooters through the woodlands on the right, the Chasseurs de Vincennes on the heights to the left. Avezzana, war minister, from the top of the cupola of San Pietro in Montori, on seeing the first sentinel advance, gave the signal for the ringing of the tocsin, which brought the entire populace to the walls, the Roman matrons clustering there to encourage their husbands, sons, and brothers to the fight.

When the army arrived within a hundred seventy yards from the wall, the artillerymen from the bastions of San Marto fired their first salute, to which the Chasseurs de Vincennes responded so well that the Roman Narducci, Major Pallini, and several of his men fell mortally wounded at their guns. Finding themselves under a cross-fire from the walls and from the Vatican, the enemy placed a counter-battery, which did deadly mischief to the besieged, who lost at once six officers, numerous soldiers, and had a cannon dismounted to boot. Not the slightest confusion occurred; women and boys carried off the wounded; fresh soldiers took the place of the fallen; compelling Oudinot to summon both his brigades and plant two other pieces of cannon. But he now had to cope with an enemy whom Frenchmen in Montevideo envied and calumniated; who to himself and his followers was as yet an unknown quantity.

Garibaldi, who had had but two days to organize his men and take up position, had at once perceived the importance of the scattered buildings outside the gates, and occupied them all—villas, woods, and the walls surrounding them. As the enemy fell back from the first assault, he flung his men upon them as stones from a sling. At the head of the first company was Captain Montaldi, who in a short time was crippled with nineteen bullets, yet still fought on his knees with his broken sword; and only when the French retreated did his men carry him dead from the field. As fought his company, so fought all under the eyes of Garibaldi, who directed the fight from Villa Pamphilli. Then summoning his reserve, himself heading the students who had never seen fire but who had given each to the other the consign, "If I attempt to run away, shoot me through the head," he led them into the open field, and there gave them their first lesson to the cry of, "To the bayonet! to the bayonet!"—a lesson oft repeated since, a cry never after raised in vain. Numbers of his best officers and soldiers fell, but never a halt or panic made a pause in that eventful charge, until in full open fight the French were compelled to retreat, leaving Garibaldi absolute master of the field.

Numbers of the French were killed and wounded, others hid themselves in the woods and vineyards round; a general retreat ensued, while a portion continued the fire to protect it. The guns had to be carried off by hand, as four horses had been killed; and at this retreat up to Castel di Guido, General Oudinot was forced to assist in person. Summing up his losses, he found that he had left four hundred dead upon the field; five hundred thirty wounded, and two hundred sixty prisoners. He had, besides, the glory of depriving the Roman Republic of two hundred fourteen killed and wounded, twenty-five officers among them, and of carrying off one prisoner, Ugo Bassi, the chaplain, who had remained behind to assist a dying man, his only weapon being the cross, of which the French were the knightly protectors.

Garibaldi's first thought was naturally to pursue the fugitives to Castel di Guido, to Pali, and Civita Vecchia; "To drive them," in his own forcible language, "back to their ships or into the sea." For this he demanded strong reënforcements of fresh troops. But the Government of Rome—believing that it sufficed for Republican France to know that Republican Rome did not desire the return of the Pope; that it was not governed by a faction—was resolved unanimously to resist all invasion; decided against pursuit; sent back the French prisoners to the French camp; accorded Oudinot's demand for an armistice, and entered into negotiations with the French plenipotentiary, Ferdinand de Lesseps, for the evacuation of the Roman territory.

The refusal was never forgotten, never forgiven by Garibaldi, and has always been a "burning question" between the exclusive partisans of Mazzini and Garibaldi, in whose eyes to scotch and not to kill the snake was the essence of unwisdom. It is also maintained by many Garibaldians that an out-and-out victory could not have been concealed from the French Assembly as the President and his accomplices did manage to conceal the affair of April 30th, and that had the people and the army in France known what a humiliation had been inflicted on their comrades they would have insisted on the recall of Oudinot, and that thus the President's own position would have been endangered. On the other hand, Mazzini's partisans say, granting—what remains unproven—that Garibaldi could have succeeded in driving every Frenchman back to his ships or into the sea, there can be no doubt that Louis Napoleon, bent on restoring the Pope and thus gaining the clergy to his side, would have sent reënforcements upon reënforcements, until Rome should be vanquished.

The disputants must agree to differ on this point, though all surely must allow that it was necessary that the small forces at the disposal of the Republic should be husbanded for the repulse of others besides France, who claimed to be defenders of the Pope—Austria, the King of Naples, and even Spain! And, in fact, a Neapolitan army, with the King at their head, had crossed the Roman frontier, and had taken up positions at Albano and Frascati, whence Garibaldi was sent to oust them, the Lombard brigade being added to his legion. This Neapolitan king-hunt formed one of the characteristic episodes of the Roman campaign. Garibaldi usually lodged his men in convents, to the terror and horror of their inmates, sending them thence to reconnoitre the enemy's positions, and harass them by deeds of daredevil courage.

The King was indeed at Albano, whence from Palestrina Garibaldi marched to the attack; which would probably have been successful had he not been suddenly summoned back to Rome, as the movements of the French were by no means reassuring. However, a fresh truce being proclaimed, General Rosselli, with Garibaldi under his orders, was sent out again in full force against the Neapolitans. Not a wise arrangement this, as the volunteers and the regulars—unless at different posts within the city—had not yet united in harmonious action. Garibaldi, sent by Rosselli merely to explore the enemy's movements, finding that they were retreating from Albano, gave battle to a strong column about two miles from Velletri without giving time to Rosselli to come up with the main body.

So the Neapolitans got into Velletri, barricaded themselves there, and, escaping during the night by the southern gate, recrossed the Neapolitan frontier, the King foremost in the van. Rosselli and the regulars complained loudly that this disobedience to orders had prevented them from making the King of Naples prisoner, the Garibaldians maintaining on their side that this would have been effected had the regulars thought less about their rations and come to the rescue when first they heard the distant shots. Messengers sent by the generals to the Triumvirate bore the complaints of each. Rosselli was recalled, and Garibaldi left with full liberty of action. But when the French Government disavowed their envoy-extraordinary—the patriotic, able, straightforward De Lesseps—instructing Oudinot to enter Rome by fair means or by foul, sending enormous reënforcements, promising to follow up with the entire French army if necessary, what could they do but recall Garibaldi with all possible despatch? Was it not a proof of their confidence in him? Moreover, on Garibaldi's return to Rome, Mazzini made a last effort to induce him to unburden his mind, at least to himself, by asking him in writing to tell him frankly what were his wishes. Here is the laconic answer, characteristic of the writer; frank and unabashed as the round, clear handwriting of the original, from which we copy:

"ROME, June 2d, 1849.

"MAZZINI: Since you ask me what I wish, I will tell you. Here I cannot avail anything for the good of the Republic, save in two ways: as dictator with unlimited plenary powers, or as a simple soldier. Choose!

"Unchangingly yours,

"GIUSEPPE GARIBALDI."

Again, Garibaldi disapproved the conduct of Mazzini and the Triumvirate because they refused to allow any acts of violence against religion or the professors of religion. They had abolished the Inquisition, and used the edifice to house the people driven from their homes by the siege; had invited and aided monks and nuns to return to their homes and to lead the life of citizens. But they had not allowed the confessionals to be burned in the public market-place. A wretch named Zambianchi, who ill-treated some inoffending priests, was severely punished "for thus dishonoring the Republic and humanity." Moreover, the Easter ceremonies were celebrated as usual; the Triumvirate and the Assembly stood among the people in the church and in the square to receive the blessing from the outer balcony of St. Peter's.

All this gave umbrage to Garibaldi, but no hypocrisy and much wisdom inspired these acts. In the first place, the Triumvirate, and especially Mazzini, the most religious man we have ever known, were well aware that, while the temporal power of the papacy might be destroyed by fire and sword, the spiritual power of the Roman Catholic hierarchy could be extinguished only in the name of a moral law recognized and accepted as being higher and more authoritative than any other intermediary between God and the people—they knew that ideas can be vanquished only by ideas. Again, as the responsible heads of the Roman Republic, the Triumvirs were wisely careful not to offend the hearts and consciences of Catholics abroad. Finally, the very fact that, with four armies at their gates, life, its feasts and fasts, its workdays and holidays, could go on as usual, was one highly calculated to strengthen the Romans' faith in and affection for the new Government. No crimes were committed; the people came to the Triumvirs as children to their fathers, and—for Italians a very remarkable thing—they not only paid down current taxes, but they paid up arrears.

From Garibaldi's brief account, it would almost seem that the Triumvirate and the Assembly surrendered Rome before absolute necessity constrained them so to do. He does not tell us how, when the French had actually entered Rome by the breach, he alone of all the civil and military commanders refused to head the troops to attack the invaders in possession. He gave his own reasons, very wise ones it seems to us, in writing many years later, but in his Memoirs he seems to have forgotten them. The terrible tidings that the seventh bastion and the curtain uniting it to the sixth had fallen into the hands of the French spread through the city. The Triumvirate had the tocsins rung. All the houses were opened at that sound; in the twinkling of an eye all the inhabitants were in the streets. General Rosselli and the Minister of War, all the officers of the staff, Mazzini himself, came to the Janiculum.

"The people in arms massed around us," writes Garibaldi in a short record of the siege of Rome, "clamored to drive the French off the walls. General Rosselli and the Minister of War consented. I opposed the attempt. I feared the confusion into which our troops would have been thrown by those new combatants and their irregular movements, the panic that would be likely by night to seize on troops unaccustomed to fire, and which actually had assailed our bravest ones on the night of the 16th. I insisted on waiting for the daylight."

He here narrates the daring but unsuccessful attempt of the Lombard students, who flung themselves on the assailants, and who had gained the terrace of Casa Barberini, and continues: "But at daylight I had counted the forces with which we had to contend. I realized that another June 3d would bereave me of half of the youths left to me, whom I loved as my sons. I had not the least hope of dislodging the French from their positions, hence only a useless butchery could have ensued. Rome was doomed, but after a marvellous and a splendid defence. The fall of Rome, after such a siege, was the triumph of democracy in Europe. The idea of preserving four or five thousand devoted combatants who knew me, who would answer at any time to my call, prevailed. I ordered the retreat, promising that at five in the evening they should again advance; but I resolved that no assault should be made."

From this and other writings of Garibaldi it is clear that from the night of June 21st he considered any further attempt to prevent the French from entering Rome as worse than useless—that hence he refused to lead the remnants of his army "to butchery" on the breach. How, then, was it possible for Mazzini to have retarded the catastrophe indefinitely, and reserved to Rome "the glory of falling last," i.e., after Venice and Hungary?

Mazzini, beside himself with grief that the armed people had not been allowed to rush on to the bastions and drive the French from the walls, wrote a reproachful letter to Manara, then chief of Garibaldi's staff, and this patriot here seems to have kept the peace, as on the 25th we find a friendly letter from Garibaldi to the Triumvirate in which he proposes to leave Manara in Rome, and to conduct, himself, a considerable number of his men out of Rome to take up position between the French and Civita Vecchia, to harass them in the rear. And on the same day, evidently after a meeting and the acceptance by Mazzini of Garibaldi's project, the latter writes:

"June 26th, 8 P.M.

"MAZZINI: I propose, therefore (dunque), to go out to-morrow evening. Send me to-morrow morning the chief who is to assume the command here. Order the general-in-chief to prepare one hundred fifty mounted dragoons, who, with the fifty lancers, will make up two hundred horse. I shall take eight hundred of the legion, and to-morrow shall send them to change their shirts [i.e., doff their 'red' for 'gray']. Answer at once, and keep the plan a profound secret."

The attempt was not made, probably because it was impossible to march out secretly from any gate, and Manara writes from Villa Spada, 1 P.M. on the same day:

"CITIZEN TRIUMVIR: I have received your letter. I am somewhat better and at my post. I have spoken with Pisacane [chief of Rosselli's staff]; we are perfectly agreed. Both animated by the same spirit, it is impossible for petty jealousies to come between us. Be assured of this. I have begged General Garibaldi to return to San Pancrazio, so as not to deprive that post at this moment of his legion and his efficacious power. He promises me that before dawn all will be here. Everything is quiet.

"MANARA."

This was Manara's last letter to Mazzini; at that same Villa Spada the yearned-for bullet pierced his heroic heart. Manara died as the barbarians entered Rome.

And here, to all appearances, is Garibaldi's last letter written in Rome to Mazzini:

"We have retaken our positions outside San Pancrazio. Let General
Rosselli send me orders; this is now no time for change. Yours,

"G. GARIBALDI."

No time for anything but one last desperate onslaught at the point of the bayonet, Garibaldi in the foremost ranks with sword unsheathed, while Medici from Villa Savorelli renewed the wonders of the Vascello. Twice the assailants were driven back to their second lines; thrice they returned in overpowering numbers; but, gaining the gate, they were received with volleys of musketry from the barricades at the ingress to Villa Spada and Savorelli. There fell the flower of the Lombards; boys of the "band of hope"; Garibaldi's giant negro, faithful, brave Anghiar; six hundred added to the three thousand four hundred corpses on which the soldiers of La Grande Nation reconstructed the throne of the supreme Pontiff, and guarded it with their bayonets until the sword of their self-chosen master fell from his trembling hands at Sedan.

(1849) LIVINGSTONE'S AFRICAN DISCOVERIES, David Livinstone and Thomas Hughes

Although Africa, the second largest grand division of the earth, has figured in history from ancient times, still it has been rightly named, and until recently was called with good reason, the "Dark Continent." But though it has been thus designated, as the least known of the world's grand divisions, the progress of discovery and settlement is rapidly dispelling the ignorance and mystery to which the designation was due. The ancient seats of African civilization were confined to the northern parts of the continent. The Phoenicians are said to have circumnavigated Africa as early as the seventh century before Christ. In the middle of the fifteenth century of the present era the Portuguese explored much of the coastline, and in 1497 Vasco da Gama doubled the Cape of Good Hope. But no modern explorations of the interior are known to have been made until the latter part of the eighteenth century. Since James Bruce, the Scottish traveller, explored the Nile Valley in 1768, more than thirty others have distinguished themselves by their discoveries on the African continent.

None of Livingstone's predecessors equalled the achievements of this Scottish missionary and explorer, who combined with his zeal in the cause of religion and humanity a spirit of investigation and adventure that made him also the servant of science, the "advance-agent" of discovery, settlement, and civilization. These are at last bringing the "Dark Continent" into the light of a new day that begins to dawn in the remotest corners of the earth.

David Livingstone was born near Glasgow, Scotland, March 19, 1813, and he died in Central Africa April 30, 1873. After he had been admitted to the medical profession and had studied theology, he decided to join Robert Moffat, the celebrated missionary, in Africa. Livingstone arrived at Cape Town in 1840, and soon moved toward the interior. He spent sixteen years in Africa, engaged in medical and missionary labors and in making his famous and most useful explorations of the country. His own account of the beginnings of his work, taken from his Missionary Travels, shows the sincere and simple spirit of the man, and his natural powers of observation and description are seen in his own story of his first important discovery, that of Lake Ngami. The narrative of Thomas Hughes, the well-known English author, whose favorite subjects were manly men and their characteristic deeds, follows the explorer on the first of his famous journeys in the Zambesi Basin.