Summary

Henry C. Watson The Camp-fires of Napoleon

General Macdonald marched forward to the charge. And such a charge had never before been witnessed upon the field of battle. Macdonald advanced, as it were, in the face of a volcano pouring forth a red tide of death. Whole squadrons were swept to the earth, but, led by a man without fear, the guards never even faltered; but on, on—still on—they advanced, like a decree of fate, which nothing could check. To sustain them, Bessieres charged with the cavalry of the old guard, but was hurled from his horse by a cannon-shot, which damped the enthusiasm of his troops, and rendered their onset weak.
Source: Gutenberg

Henry C. Watson The Camp-fires of Napoleon

The star that had arisen at Toulon, and shone resplendent over Lodi, Marengo, Jena, Wagram, Borodino, and a throng of other sanguinary fields—had sunk forever. It is painful to trace the career of fallen greatness. We will not follow the Emperor, shorn of his purple, to his prison at St. Helena, where a deadly climate did the work that the leaden storms of a hundred fights had refused to perform. We will not go to that bed of death, from which, while the elements were at terrible war, that stormy spirit was carried away. Leave Hannibal at Zama, and Napoleon at Waterloo.
Source: Gutenberg

Henry C. Watson The Camp-fires of Napoleon

Such a man! Where else in history shall we find such a man? Davoust, Mortier, Junot, Murat, and other celebrated officers of that army were brave—wonderful men, indeed—but Ney towered above them all, in a courage which was full of sublimity—a courage which found resource when others saw nothing left for them but a resignation to death.
That night the marshal slept beside the camp-fire of his beloved Emperor—the sweet sleep which grows from the consciousness of duty performed.
Source: Gutenberg

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