explosion followed explosion, and a perfect storm of grape-shot swept the thronged streets. The pavements were covered with the mangled and the dead. The columns wavered – the storm still continued; they turned – the storm still raged unabated; they fled in utter dismay in every direction; the storm still pursued them. Then Napoleon commanded his little division impetuously to follow the fugitives, and to continue the discharge, but with blank cartridges. As the thunder of these heavy guns reverberated along the streets, the insurgents dispersed through every available lane and alley, and in less than an hour the foe was nowhere to be found. Napoleon sent his division into every section and disarmed the inhabitants, that there could be no re-gathering. He then ordered the dead to be buried, and the wounded to be conveyed to the hospitals, and then, with his pale and marble brow as unmoved as if no event of any great importance had occurred, he returned to his head-quarters at the Tuileries.
"How could you," said a lady, "thus mercilessly fire upon your own countrymen?" "A soldier," he coolly replied, "is but a machine to obey orders. This is my seal, which I have impressed upon Paris." Subsequently Napoleon never ceased to regret the occurrence; and tried to forget, and to have others forget that he had ever deluged the streets of Paris with the blood of Frenchmen.
Thus Napoleon established the new government of France called the Directory, from the five Directors, who composed its executive. But a few months passed away before Napoleon, by moral power, without the shedding of a drop of blood, overthrew the constitution which his unpitying artillery had thus established. Immediately after the quelling of the sections, Napoleon was triumphantly received by the Convention. It was declared, by unanimous resolve, that his energy had saved the Republic. His friend Barras, became one of the Directors, and Napoleon was appointed Commander-in-chief of the Army of the Interior, and intrusted with the military defense and government of the metropolis. The defeat of the insurgents was the death-blow to all the hopes of the Royalists, and seemed to establish the Republic upon a permanent foundation. Napoleon manifested the natural clemency of his disposition very strongly in this hour of triumph. When the Convention would have executed Menou as a traitor, he pleaded his cause and obtained his acquittal. He urged, and successfully, that as the insurgents were now harmless, they should not be punished, but that a vail of oblivion should be thrown over all their deeds. The Convention, influenced not a little by the spirit of Napoleon, now honorably dissolved itself, by passing an act of general amnesty for all past offenses, and surrendering the government to the Directory.
The situation of Napoleon was now flattering in the extreme. He was but twenty-five years of age. The distinguished services he had rendered; the high rank he had attained, and the ample income at his disposal, gave him a very elevated position in the public view. The eminence he had now attained was not a sudden and accidental outbreak of celebrity. It was the result of long years of previous toil. He was now reaping the fruit of the seed which he had sown in his incessant application to study in the military school; in his continued devotion to literary and scientific pursuits, after he became an officer; in his energy, and fearlessness, and untiring assiduity at Toulon; in his days of wintry exposure, and nights of sleeplessness in fortifying the coast of France, and in his untiring toil among the fastnesses of the Alps. Never was reputation earned and celebrity attained by more Herculean labor. If Napoleon had extraordinary genius, as unquestionably he had, this genius stimulated him to extraordinary exertions.
Immediately upon the attainment of this high dignity and authority, with the ample pecuniary resources accompanying it, Napoleon hastened to Marseilles, to place his mother in a position of perfect comfort. And he continued to watch over her with most filial assiduity, proving himself an affectionate and dutiful son. From this hour the whole family, mother, brothers, and sisters were taken under his protection, and all their interests blended with his own.
The post which Napoleon now occupied was one of vast responsibility, demanding incessant care, and moral courage, and tact. The Royalists and the Jacobins were exceedingly exasperated. The government was not consolidated, and had obtained no command over the public mind. Paris was filled with tumult and disorder. The ravages of the revolution had thrown hundreds of thousands out of employment, and starvation was stalking through the streets of the metropolis. It became necessary for the government, almost without means or credit, to feed the famishing. Napoleon manifested great skill and humanity, combined with unflinching firmness in repressing disorders. It was not unfrequently necessary to appeal to the strong arm of military power to arrest the rising array of lawless passion. Often his apt and pithy speeches would promote good-nature and disperse the crowd. On one occasion a fish-woman of enormous rotundity of person, exhorted the mob, with most vehement volubility, not to disperse, exclaiming, "Never mind these coxcombs with epaulets upon their shoulders; they care not if we poor people all starve, if they can but feed well and grow fat." Napoleon, who was as thin and meagre as a shadow, turned to her and said, "Look at me, my good woman, and tell me which of us two is the fatter." The Amazon was completely disconcerted by this happy repartee; and the crowd in good-humor dispersed.
THE TREASON OF BENEDICT ARNOLD
[The engravings which illustrate this article, are from Lossing's Pictorial Field-Book of the Revolution, now in course of publication by Harper and Brothers.]
The defection of Arnold, and his attempt to betray the strong post of West Point and its dependencies into the power of the British army, was the ripened head of faction which had been festering in the Legislature and the Camp for more than three years. The stern and disinterested patriotism which marshaled a beleaguering army around Boston, and declared, in solemn council, the thirteen Anglo-American colonies to be free and independent states, had become diluted by the commingling of selfish ambition. Already Church, Duché, Galloway, Zubley, and other smaller traitors who, like Peter, were courageous when danger appeared remote, and boasted loudly of their love for the patriot cause, until the hour of its trial came, had denied their allegiance to the new faith by words or deeds, and gave countenance to multitudes of the weak, timid, and unprincipled, who openly espoused the cause of the king.
As the contest advanced, and the night of the Revolution grew darker, ambitious men became bolder; and, already, general officers and their minions had secretly plotted against the good Washington, and found abettors in Congress. Arnold, however, had nothing to do with these intrigues, for none made him a confidant, and he seldom confided in others. Yet it was not until his bolder act alarmed the whole people, and awakened them to vigilance and the keenest scrutiny of the conduct of their officers in the field, that the factious spirit was abashed. In his treason it culminated – it came to a head; in his failure it waned – it discharged its impurities, and healthier action ensued.
The time when Arnold's defection was discovered, in the autumn of 1780, was the gloomiest period of the war. Public credit had sunk to the lowest point of distrust. No prestige of a great achievement during the campaign, like that of the capture of Burgoyne, could secure loans abroad. The people of America were impoverished and discouraged. The whole business of the country was controlled by heartless speculators. The continental bills had so depreciated that seven hundred dollars in paper sold for one dollar in specie. The governmental machinery of the Confederation worked inefficiently. New York city, the Virginia sea board, and almost the whole of the Carolinas and Georgia were in possession of the enemy, and the French army under Rochambeau, whose advent gave such joy and hope to the patriots, was lying idle at Newport, unwilling to engage in a campaign till another spring. In this hour of its weakness and distress, Arnold sought the utter ruin of his country, for the wicked purpose of gratifying petty spite; for the base consideration of paltry, perishing gold!
Arnold was innately wicked and treacherous. The mother who bore him was an exemplar of piety and sweetness of character, and daily counseled her boy with words of heavenly wisdom. Yet, from earliest childhood he was wayward, disobedient, reckless, and profane. A stranger to physical fear, and always heedless of the consequences resulting from action, his hands were ever ready to do the bidding of a perverse nature or the impulses of circumstances. When the tocsin of Freedom was sounded at Lexington and Concord, his impetuous spirit was aroused, and his feelings
