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FROM THE PAINTING BY FRANÇOIS GÉRARD, IN THE COLLECTION OF THE COUNTESS HOCQUART DE TURTOT.
in the opposing line was made at once, and
ENGRAVED BY T. JOHNSON.
drew toward Znaim, Masséna, Davout, and Marmont following with the van of Napoleon's entire army. Several skirmishes took place between portions of the Austrian rear and various corps of the French van, in which the latter were decidedly checked. Marmont was obliged to assume the defensive under the walls of Znaim. The Austrian losses at the battle of Wagram were computed at 24,000, including 753 officers. Those of the
French were certainly not less, if we include seven thousand who were taken prisoners. They lost, moreover, twelve standards and eleven guns.
In the early hours of July 6, Charles had despatched an adjutant to Presburg with orders to the Archduke John to march at once and attack the enemy's rear. The accepted story is that the messenger found the bridges over the river March destroyed, and arrived six hours too late for his errand to be successful. There were many at the time who attributed criminal negligence to John, among them his own brother, the commander-in-chief. For a time, by means of court intrigue and persistent misrepresentation, the blame of procrastination was put, not on John, but on Charles, but eventually the former was found guilty and banished to Styria. Had the latter's plan succeeded, Napoleon would have had a different task, so difficult that the issue might well have been doubtful, if not disastrous. As it was, the victory was dearly bought, and the Austrians were not demoralized.
dotte's corps had displayed something very much like cowardice and mutiny at the last. The army still fought in the main like the perfect machine it was, but the individual men had lost their stern virtue. They believed that victory, plunder, and self-indulgence were the fair compensations of their toils. Ungirt and freed from the restraints of discipline, they gave signs that the petulance, timidity, and unruliness which had been manifested in Poland and Prussia were not diminished.
Their Emperor, if his vision had been unclouded, would have understood that endurance, suffering, and privations would make such men an untrustworthy dependence in the hour of need. How changed he was himself is clear from the fact that Bonaparte would never have rested until his foe was disorganized and overpowered, while Napoleon saw himself forced to treat with an opponent who, though beaten, was still undaunted and active. If he had been fighting for life, his position would have been morally strong; fighting as a world-conqueror, it was illogical; fighting as equal with equal to repel aggression, it was comprehensible. This last was the attitude into which he was forced by the campaign of Aspern, Essling, Wagram. Francis, whose power he had meant to crush, upon whom a few short weeks before he had heaped insult and abuse, had turned out a most dangerous foe. Technically conquered, it would not be well for the victor to try conclusions with him again in the still uncertain position of the Napoleonic power. Rather reap the field secured, the daunted conqueror reasoned, than risk devastation by grasping for more. This, and no other, is the explanation of that remarkable somersault in Napoleon's diplomacy which followed in the next few weeks. (To be continued.) William M. Sloane.
On the other hand, in the very hour of victory the French, who had halted to take breath, were thrown into a panic by the appearance of a few Austrian pickets from the Archduke John's army, now coming up, and thousands of the victorious soldiers fled in wild demoralization toward the Danube. John, whose appearance but a short time earlier would have turned his brother's defeat into victory, drew back his 13,000 men in good order to guard Hungary. As Napoleon himself had been in a dangerous condition of over-confidence before Aspern, so now his soldiery were clearly in the same plight. Selfconceit had made them unreliable. Berna
THE MORN'S MORN.
[N the morn's morn,» she cried,
«In the morn's morn, dear love,
Ah! the morn's morn!» she cried.
It was in the morn's morn
Little heart, too.
"T is the morn's night. They lie,
Each of them hushed to rest
Escaped from the world's wintry weather To the morn's morn of the sky.
MAS' CRAFFUD'S FREEDOM.
BY HARRY STILLWELL EDWARDS,
Author of «Two Runaways,» etc.
EE had surrendered, and a Federal general was in Macon with ten thousand cavalrymen. The Southern Confederacy had ceased to exist. Upon no one did these rapidly succeeding events fall with such crushing force and effect as upon that most estimable gentleman, Major Crawford Worthington, feudal lord of Woodhaven. To those who are acquainted with the major, personally or as a historical character, it is needless to state that, being at Woodhaven at the time to which this chapter relates, he occupied the familiar and well-beloved seat upon his back porch. For a lifetime, it may be said, with the exception of his college days, his patriotic efforts to reach Mexico in time to assist at the reduction of the country in '46, a few terms of imprisonment in the Georgia legislature, and his more recent Virginia campaign, he had virtually lived upon that particular porch, overlooking as it did his vast estate.
But pleasant as were his surroundings, they brought little comfort to Major Worthington. For three weeks his spirit had been greatly oppressed. Although a close observer of public affairs, the collapse of the Confederacy had found him altogether unprepareda statement not easily accepted by those who do not know the hopeful Southern spirit. When Lee surrendered he was, it is true, appalled, but only momentarily. He felt that the South could not fail; success was certain, though how, when, or in what way, he did not know: he was no analyst. Many possibilities flitted across his mind: Johnston would retreat to the mountains, Davis would reach Texas and reorganize the trans-Mississippi department, or England would interfere. Cotton would still be king.
During three weeks, however, he had done a world of thinking. Never in his life had he thought so continuously-nay, so successfully upon any subject, and the reaction had come.
the silver light of the moon. The manhood in him, so long unsummoned, so long concealed beneath that careless, easy-going, half-humorous, half-irritable quixotism, stirred under a new impulse. What it was he did not know, but he felt himself emerging from the depths, and a load lifting from his life. Light began to stream in upon him. The failure of the Confederacy not only seemed at that moment to be natural, but the only possible result. He did not realize it, but the same emancipation from exploded theory and sentimental fictions was going on from Maryland to Texas. Old gentlemen in white-oak rockers were drifting back into the Union from verandas all over the South. Wendell Phillips could no longer dare say, even in the extravagance of eloquence, that the North thought and the South dreamed. The South, which all along had thought through its politicians, was now thinking for itself.
Thus when the sound of a negro jubilee floated up from the distance it did not disturb him. He knew what was going on: a negro preacher with a smattering of political knowledge and an extensive command of disjointed but high-sounding phrases was haranguing the newly liberated slaves. He was telling them that freedom had come-that they had been «led up out of Egypt,» that they had «come out of the wilderness,» that their chains had been stricken from them, and that the Government had promised every one of them «forty acres and a mule.» They were free to select a mule each, and to mark off their land. Hence the jubilee of song and the cries of exultation; for was he not talking to children? But the older men sat with their hands against their heads, and thought. The clamor came mostly from the women and the rising generation.
As the tumult increased, the happy smile on the major's face changed slightly. It became sardonic. Isam, who was hurrying up the steps to the porch, saw it; for at that moment above a full pipe the major held a lighted match, and Isam knew the expression meant mischief. He was suffered to get inside the back door; then the usual impatient
The change came that night as he sat under call reached him:
The major checked a very natural exclamation when he recognized the innocent tones of the negro's conciliating voice.
Did he tell them I am free too?» Isam laughed silently.
«La, no, sah! Dey know you allus be'n free.»
Oh, they do, do they? Well, I don't; but I am free now.»
What you mean, Mas' Craffud? »
Free from the care of you lazy rascals. I've been pulling against it, and putting up money against it; but now I'm free at last, and I reckon I'll say, Thank God! before the year is out. Every man on this place must look out for himself and family hereafter; I don't want one of them. I am going to enjoy emancipation myself until I can look round.»
How dey goin' ter git somep'n' ter eat?» Isam's look was now an anxious one. The major chuckled secretly when he heard « dey » instead of we.»
That is their affair, sir. Now you can get a job almost anywhere, for plow hands will be
Who-me? No, sah; no, sah! I'm goin' ter stay right hyah, Mas' Craffud. Somebody got ter fetch water an' wood, an' wait on de table, an' run roun' for folks, des same as 'fo' freedom. Ain' no use ter talk ter me 'bout plowin'.>>
"Who's going to pay you? I would n't give a dollar a month for four of you.»
Hit 'u'd be er dollar more 'n I be'n er-gettin', an' I ain' ask no man ter raise de wages.» And with a laugh that only half disguised his genuine anxiety, Isam disappeared.
The turmoil and disorder continued to increase from day to day. The preachers and the women began to foment trouble. The problem was becoming a serious one, for crops were in a critical condition, and no contract existed between the freedmen and their late owner. Major Worthington thought out a remedy at last, and one morning he turned
his back upon Woodhaven, rode into Milledgeville, and boarded the Macon train. He was dressed in the uniform that he had first donned in 1861.
THE Federal general had found a residence suited to his taste, overlooking the beautiful city of Macon nestling in the Ocmulgee valley
one of the Roman or semi-Grecian dwellings that seem to be climbing the slopes in search of the breeze. He had lunched, and was enjoying his cigar upon the broad portico, and doubtless his reflections were pleasant. The truce between Grant and Lee had been declared while he was approaching Macon with the prospect of an ugly fight on his hands. The Confederates had official information of the truce, but he had none, so he simply came in and took possession of the city, with its vast depots and supplies, without losing a man or firing a gun.
His enjoyment of the beautiful prospect framed by the massive white columns of his headquarters was suddenly interrupted by the advent of a majestic figure clad in a gorgeous uniform the like of which he had never beheld. It might have been an admiral's or a Spanish ambassador's; a marshal of France would not have despised it. As the figure approached by way of the circular drive, in the rays of the noonday sun, and with the deepgreen magnolias for a background, the uniform came out in a blaze of glory.
The general rose and stood, as his visitor, sacrificing something of dignity and imposing aspect to the demands of environment, scaled the short flight of steps by aid of the handrail.
«I desire, sir,» said Major Worthington between his breaths, «to see General ———.» He saluted as he spoke; for while the gentleman addressed was very simply uniformed, he was evidently a man of rank, though just how high in position the major could not determine without his glasses, and glasses were an artistic impossibility to the regalia he wore.
"I am General -, sir,» was the reply as the salute was returned. Instantly the major lifted his hat and bowed profoundly.
«Sir,» he said, impulsively extending his chapeau, "your most obedient. I am Crawford Worthington, late major in the service. of the Confederate States of America. With old soldiers like yourself and me, general, the war is ended. I have the honor, sir, to offer you my hand.>>
The smile which was beginning to show itself upon the face of the man in blue instantly disappeared. He stepped forward,