The peasantry collected in thousands, and another battle ensued. The disciplined troops of the invader were unable to cope with the enthusiastic numbers that assailed them; their mercenary courage quailed before the noble ardour of the free mountaineers. Mount Isel was again the scene of the conflict; it ended in the total defeat of the French and Bavarians. Inspruck was evacuated, and General Lefevre retreated to Salzburg. Hofer became commander-in-chief of the Tyrol. The simplicity, the almost childish earnestness to act with justice that characterised his rule, in no way deteriorates from the real elevation of his character. He was an ignorant peasant, and his eyes did not look beyond the well-being of his native province and of his countrymen, who were also his personal friends. To this he was devoted, and no act of arbitrary power or of insolence, no shadow of such a thing, clouded his short-lived prosperity.
It was indeed brief. New armies poured into the devoted country, and the mountain passes were invaded at all points. For three months the peasants kept up their resistance, but the coming of winter forced them from their mountain fastnesses into the valleys below; food became scarce; their power of resisting the foe dwindled, faded, and became extinct—the Tyrol again became a province of Bavaria.
Napoleon, in his haughty contempt and insolent indignation at any opposition to his will, chose to regard the struggle of the Tyrolese for liberty as the lawless tumult of freebooters; he magnified the very few acts of barbarity of which the peasantry had been guilty (not to be compared in number to the atrocities perpetrated by their opponents) and had the baseness to set a price on the head of the peasant chiefs.
Hofer wavered several times. Now, conceiving that farther resistance could only injure his country, he issued a proclamation inviting his countrymen to lay down their arms; but finding they would not yield, he resolved not to desert his post, and told the peasantry that “he would fight with them and for them, as a father for his children.” Various feats of arms ensued, and the Tyrolese were often victorious—even while ultimate and absolute defeat could only be deferred a few days by their heroism. At last all was lost; the chiefs for the most part fled; some fell into the hands of the enemy; others, with more or less of peril and hardship, escaped to Austria.
Hofer refused to fly; he refused to surrender. He retired to his native valley of Passeyr. He concealed himself in an Alpine hut four leagues distant from his home, and almost inacessible amidst the snows. His wife and child accompanied him, and his friends supplied him as they could with food, and brought him messages even from the Emperor of Austria, entreating him to escape. He refused. A stubborn patriotism held him to his native mountains, and he declared he would never leave them. Nor would he disguise himself, nor cut off his beard, which, flowing to his waist, rendered him conspicuous. At the same time he probably believed, now the country was subdued and tranquil, that the French would soon cease to desire to possess themselves of him.
He was deceived. A cunning intriguing priest, of the name of Donay, had insinuated himself into his confidence, and now, for the sake of the price set upon his head, betrayed him to the French general. An officer was sent with sixteen hundred men to take him prisoner; two thousand more were ordered up the pass to be at hand—so fearful were they that the peasants would rise to the rescue.
The column began their march at midnight, on the 20th January, over ice and snow. At five in the morning they reached the hut in which Hofer and his family harboured. He heard the French officer inquire for him, and came to the door and at once delivered himself up. He was bound, and amidst the shouts of the French and the tears of the peasants, he was marched to Botzen. Here he was received by the French commandant, Baraguay d’Hilliers, who treated him with courtesy, and even with such kindness as may be afforded a prisoner. Hofer was greatly altered by his long retreat amidst the snows, and by frequent want of food. His hair had grown gray, but his spirit was untamed, and his countenance beamed with cheerfulness and serenity. He was separated from his family, and carried to the shores of the Lago di Garda. He was put in a boat at the little village of Simone, and on disembarking again was carried on to Mantua.
A court-martial was immediately summoned: but even the laws of war were dispensed with; for the sentence of death was not passed by this court; the telegraph declared it from Milan, ordering his execution within twenty-four hours. Until this moment he had apprehended no danger to his life; yet he received the sentence with unshaken firmness, and only requested the attendance of a confessor: this was complied with. On the following morning, he was taken from the prison. He passed by the barracks of the Porta Molina, where the Tyrolese prisoners were confined, who all wept, and implored his blessing. This Hofer gave them, entreating their pardon for being the cause of their misfortunes, and declaring his conviction that they would soon be delivered from the sway of Bavaria. On the broad bastion at a little distance from the Porta Ceresa, a halt was commanded. Hofer refused to be blind-folded—he refused to kneel. He said, “He was accustomed to stand upright before his Creator, and in that posture he would deliver his spirit up to Him.” He said a few words of farewell, expressing his undying love for his country; and pronounced the word “Fire!” with a firm voice.
The spot on which he fell is still considered sacred by his countrymen.
His funeral was conducted with solemnity by the French. But this was only an act of hypocrisy; such as instigated Berthier, then at Vienna, to declare that Hofer’s death would cause great pain to Napoleon, and that he would never have permitted it, had he been aware. Had Hofer suffered by sentence of the court-martial by which he was tried, there had been some colour to this assertion; but the telegraphic dispatch that commanded and hurried his execution, in spite of the milder dealings of the military tribunal, in fear lest the intercession of the Emperor of Austria would prevent it, could only emanate from an authority intimately conversant with, and blindly obedient to, Napoleon’s will.