Rensselaer Republican, Volume 18, Number 2, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 17 September 1885 — HOW GREAT CAPTAINS DIE [ARTICLE]

HOW GREAT CAPTAINS DIE

Heroic and Enberotc Departures of Great Men Some Tragic Events in Unman History. NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. One of the first to come to mind in modern times is Napoleon Bonaparte, the most glorious conqueror among the French leaders. Thiers has given a vivid picture of the great Emperor’s last days: The year 1821 came at last, that year that was to terminate the ■wondrous career of Napoleon. At the commencement of January his health improved, but only for a few days. “It is a respite,” he said, “of a week or two, and then the disease will resume its course.” He then dictated a -few passages concerning Ca sar to Marchand. They were the last he wrote. February brought no other BEBBg*j than an" increased intensity of the symptoms. Not being able to digest food, the august invalid became weaker every day. He was tormented by intense thirst, and his pulse, once so slow, beat with feverish rapidity. —He wished for air, though he could not endure it when admitted. “I am no longer," he said, “that proud Napoleon whom the world has so often seen on horseback. The monarchs who prosecute me may set their minds at rest. I shall soon remove every cause of fear.” Napoleon’s faithful servants never left him. Montholon and Marcliand remained day and night by his bedside, an attention for which he showed himself profoundly grateful. It was at this time that his captors manifested an entirely unnecessary severity of espoinage or watchfulness. Sir Hudson Lowe, who was immediately responsible to the British government for the custody of Napoleon, insisted that he should be seen every day by some of his gilards. This was very offensive to the sick Emperor, but some of his suite managed to satisfy the British officers of Napoleon’s presence. The captors were exceedingly suspicions, and even when Napoleon was dying they believed he was keeping in seclusion to plan an escape. The great commander made every business preparation for his end. Meeting death with a smile as dignified as it was grateful, he said to Montholon: “It would be a great pity not to die, now that I have arranged all my affairs so well." The epd of April arrived, and

eyfrv moment increasedhis danger and -flnffering. He had no relief from the spasms, vomitings, fever, and burning thirst. “You will return to Europe,” he said to those who surrounded him; you will retnrn, bearing with you the reflection of my glory, with the honor of your own fidelity. You will be esteemed and happy. I go to meet <sleber, Desaix, Lauries, Massena, Bessieres, Durae, Key. They will come to me, they will experience once more the intoxication of human glory. We shall speak of what we have done. We shall talk of our profession with Frederick,Turenne, Conde, Casar, and Hannibal.” Then pausing, Napoleon added with a peculiar smile, “Unless there should be as great an objection in the upper sphere as there is here below to see a number of soldiers together.” On the 3d of May he became delirious, and amid his ravings these words were distinguished : “My son. The army. Desaix.” It would seem as though he had a last vision of the battle of Marengo recovered by Desaix, The agony continued during the day of the 4th. and the noble countenance of the hero was terribly distorted. The weather was terrible—it was the bad season in Helena. Sudden gusts of wind tore up some of the planted trees. Nearly every American schoolboy of a quarter of a centnry ago has declaimed:. Wild was the night, yet wiltar, night 1 Hung round the solid* r’s pillow, In liis bosom there a fiercer fight Than the fight on the wrathful biUuw.

On the sth of May there was no doubt that the last day of this extraordinary life had dawned. All his servants kneeling around his bed watched the last flickering of the vital flame. These were unfortunately attended with bitter suffering. The English officers, assembled outside, listened with respectful interest to the accounts the servants gave of his agony. Toward the decline of the day bis life and sufferings decreased together; the cold, extending from the extremities, became general, and Death seemed about to seize his glorious victim. The treather had become calm and serena About 6:20, when the sun was setting in waves of light, and the English cannon gave the signal for retiring, those around the bad perceived that the patient did “ not breathe, and cried opt that he was dead. They covered his hand with fejsses, and Marchand, who had brought tb St. Helena the cloak the first Consul had worn at Marengo, laid it over his body, leaving only the rioblet head

uncovered. The convulsions of the death agony, always so painful to witness, were succeeded by a majestic tranquility of expression. That face, wondrously restored to the slenderness of youth, and the figure, clad in the mantle of Marengo, seemed to present again to the witnesses of that touching scene, Gen. Bonaparte in the meridian of his glory.

FREDERICK THE GREAT.

While Bonaparte was just treading the threshold of his great career, another military genius was dying. A genius wonderful to contemplate, in some respects a nrghtiei; commander than Napoleon, and certainly in one respect, the most essential, entirely sur-i passing him—that is, ho was finally successful, reigned long, died on the throne, and by his masterful achievements laid the foundation of the splendid German Empire of to-day. The following description of his death by Carlyle is peculiarly interesting : Tuesday, August 16,'1786. —Contrary to all wont the king did not awaken till 11 o'clock. On first looking up he seemed in a confused state, but soon recovered himself, called in his Generals and Secretaries, wiio had been w aiting so long, and gave, with his oldprecision, the orders wanted —one to Bohdich, Commandant at Potsdam, about a review of the troops there the next day, an order minutely perfect in knowledge of the ground, in foresight of what and how the evolutions were to be, which was accordingly performed on the morrow- The Cabinet work he went through with the like precision of himself, giving on every point his three clerks their directions in a weak voice, yet the old power of spirit, dictate to them among other things an “instruetion” for some Embassador just leaving—“four quarto pages, which.” savs Herzbug, “would have done honor to the most experienced minister,” and in the evening he signed his missives as usual. This evening still—hut no even* ing more. We are now at the last scene of all, which ends this strange, eventful history, Wednesday morning. General, Adjutants, Secretaries, Commandant, were there at their old hours, but word came out, “Secretaries are to wait.” King is in a kind of sleep, of stertorous, ominous character, as if it were the death sleep; seems not to recollect himself when he does at intervals .open his eyes. This slumberous, half stupified condition lasted through the day. Toward evening the feverishness abated; the King fell into a soft sleep, with warm perspiration, but on awakening complained of cold, repeatedly of cold, demanding wrappage after wrappage, and, on examining feet and legs, one of the doctors made signs that they were, in ifact, cold up nearly to the knees. “What said he of the feet ?” murmured the King some time afterward, the doctor having stepped out of sight. “Much the same as before,” answered some attendant. The King shook his head incredulousy. He drank once, grasping the goblet with both hands, a draught of fennel water, his customary drink, and seemed relieved by it, his laljt reflection in this world. Toward 9in the evening there had come on a continual short cough and a rattling in the breast, breath more and more difficult. Why continue? Friedrich is making exit on the common terms; you may hear the curtain rattlingdown. For the most part he was unconscious, never more than half conscious. As the wall clock above his head struck 11, he asked, “What o’clock?” “Eleven,” answered they. “At 4,” murmured he, “I will rise.” One of his dogs sat on its stool near him; about midnight he noticed it shivering from cold. “Throw a quilt over it,” said or beckoned he. That, I think, was his last completely conscious utterance. Afterward, in a severe choking fit, getting at last rid of the phlegm, he said: “La moniagne est p assee, nous, irons, mieux.” We are qver the hill, we shall go better now.” Attendants, Heazberg, Salle, and one or two others, were in the outer room, none TrieJrlcTi’s but Strutski, hislxam-

merhussar, one of the three who are his sole valets and nur-es; a faithful and ingenious man, as they all seem to be, and excellently chosen for the object. Stiutzki, to save the King from hustling down, as he always did, into the corner of his chair, where, with neck and chest bent forward, breathing was impossible, at last took the King on his knee, kneeling on the ground with the other knee for the purpose, the King's right arm around Strutzki’s neck, Strutzki’s left arm around his back and supporting his other shoulder, in which posture the faithful creature for about two hours sat motionless till the end came. Within doors all was silent except his breathing; around it the dark earth silent, above it the silent stars. At. 2:20 the breathing paused, wavered, ceased. Friedrich’s life battle is fought out; instead of suffering and sore labor, here is now rest. Thursday morning, August 17, 1786, at the dark hour just named. On the 31st of May last this King has reigned forty-six years. “He has lived,” counts Bodenbeck, “78 years, (5 months, and 24 days." t ■ -

His death seems Very stern and lonely; a man of such affectionate feelnigs, too; “a man with more sensibility than other men!” But so had his whole life been, stern and lonely; such the severe law laid on hin^. OLIVER CROMWELL. It is Carlyle acrain who furnishes his own approachable delineation of the last scene in the earthly career of England's famous ‘ protector.” Truly it is a great,scene of wo Id history, this is olej Whitehall—Oliver Cromwe'l drawing nigh to his end. The exit of Oliver Cromwell and of English Puritanism’s great light, one of our few authentic solar luminaries, going down now amid the clouds df death. Like the setting of a great victorious summer sun, its course now finished. “So stirbt ein held," says Schiller. “So dies a hero!. Sight worthy to be worshipped!" He died, this hero Oliver, in resignation to God, as the brave have all done. “ W T e could not be more desirous that he should abide,” says the pious Harvey, “than he was content and willing to begone.” The struggle lasted amid hope and fear, for ten days. Some small miscellaneous traits, and a confused gleanings of last words, and then our poor history ends. . Among the ejaculations caught up at

intervals during the final days are the following: “I think lam the poorest wretch that lives, but I love God, or rather am beloved of “lam a conqueror, and more than a conqueror, through Christ that strengtheneth me!” So pass in the sick room, in the sick bed,' these last, uncertain days. “The godly persons had great assurances of a return to their prayers;” transcendent human wishes find in their own echo a kind of answer! They gave his highness also some assurance that his life would be lengthened. Hope was strong in many to the very end. For several days the conflict lasted, and then, when the morrow’s sun arose, Oliver was speechless; between 3 and 4 in the afternoon he lay dead. Friday, Septembers, 1858—“ The consternation and astonishment of all people,” writes Fauconberg, “are inexpressible; their hearts seem as if sunk within thega My poor wife—-I know not what to do with her. When seemingly quieted, she burst out again into a passion that tears her-very heart to pieces.” —Hush, poor, weeping Mary! Here is a life battle right nobly done. Seest thon not? Tlie is changed int;o calm At His command and will; So that the waves which raged before Now quiot are and still. Few words tell the story of the death ofqihim who saved Waterloo to the Bluish, but these few words are eminently suggestive, and show how insep-. arable is the professional warrior from his sword and its use. The account is painfully brief: His sovereign yisited him in his latest moments at his chateau in Silesia, to which he replied: “I know I shall die,” said the veteran. “I am not sorry for it, seeing that I am no longer of any use."

SIR CHARLES NAPIER. Sir Charles Napier, one of the preeminent fighting heroes of the English army, though not one of the towering leaders among armed men, still may be appropriately noticed in this connection. He bore the pall fit the burial of the Duke of Wellington, and this funeral was the prelude of his own, Qn the morning of August 29, 1853, he expired like a soldier, on a naked camp bedstead,the windows of the room open, and the fresh air of Heaven blowing on his manly face. Surrounded by his family, and a few of his neighbors, he died.' All his grieving servants were present, and at his feet stood two veterans of his regiment, gazing with a terrible emotion at a countenance then settling in death which they had first seen beaming in the light of battle. As the last breath escaped, Montague McMurdo snatched the old colors of

<*he Twenty-second Regiment, the colors that had been borne at Meanee, and Hyderabad, and waved them over the dying hero. Thus Charles Napier passed from this world. Am intrepid soldier in his life, he died amid trophies of battle, and his camp-bed was his bier. The colors of the Twenty-sec-ond gently waved over him, and between them and the grand picture of Meanee leaned forward above liis pale, heroic countenance, as if to claim his corps for that bloody field. JOAN OF ARC. The strangest military phenomenon of all history was Joan of Arc, and her cruelly pathetie'end has enshrined her in Jh.e choicest tragic romance «f Jhe ago. Those whom she had delivered repudiated and sacrificed her, and history has no parallel to this colossal ingratitude. In 1431 she was put to death. The frightful ceremony of burning her began with a sermon. One of the lights of the University of Paris preached upon the edifying text: “When one limb of the Church is sick the whole Church is sick.” This poor Church could only be cured by cutting off a limb. -He wound up with the formula: “Jeanne, go in peace; the Church can no longer defend thee.” There are conflicting stories concerning her recantations and confessions in presence of this dreadful ordeal, but she appears to have emerged into the final trial with unsullied luster^

Deserted by the Church, she put her whole trust m God. S^ eas^e( l for the cross. An Englishman handed her a cross, which he made out of a stick, She took it, rudely fashioned as it was, with no less devotion, kissed it, and placed it under her garments next her body. While she was embracing the crucifix which was afterward given her, the English began to think the performance exceedingly tedious. It was now noon; at last the soldiers grumbled, and the Captain called out: “What’s this, priest? Do you mean us to dine here?” Then.To'sing patience, and without waiting for the order from the bailiff, who alone had authority to dismiss her to death, they sent two constables to take her out of the hands of the priests. She was seized at the foot of the tribune by men-at-arms, who dragged her to the executioner with the words: “Do thy office— The fury of the soldiery filled all present with horror, and many there, even the judges, fled from the spot, that they might see no more. She was made fast under the infamous placard, "Heretic, relapser, apostate, idolator.”

and something worse, and then the executioner set fire to the pile. She saw this from above and uttered acrv; then, as the brother, who was exhorting her, paid no attention to the fire, forgetting herpelf in her fear for him, she insisted on his descending. No doubt hopes had been entertained that upon finding herself abandoned by the King, she would at last accuse and defame him. To the last she defended him. “Whether f 4 h r ave done well or ill, my King is faultless; it was not be who counselled me.” Meanwhile the flames rose. When they first seized her the unhappy girl shrieked for holy water—this must have been the cry of fear, but soon recovering, she called only on God, on her angels, and her saints. She bore witness to them: “Yes, my voices were from God; my voices have not deceived me.” Ten thousand men wept. few of the English alone laughed or endeavored to laugh. One of the mostfurions among them had sworn that he would throw a fagot on the pile. Just as he brought it she breathed her last. He was taken iIL His comrades led him' to a tavern . to recruit his spirits by drink, but he was beyond recovery. “I saw,” he ex* claimed in his frsntic despair, “I saw a dove fly pat of bes mouth with her last 'sigh." Others had > read in the flame* the word "Jesus,” j

which she had so often repeated. The executioner repaired in the evening to Brother Isambart, fulljof consternation, and confessed himself, but felt persuaded that God would never pardon him. One of the English King’s Secretaries said aloud, on returning from the dismal service, “We are lost; we have bnrnod a saint.”