hope to retreat over the single bridge uniting the left bank to the island of Lobau. The corps of Marshal Lannes fell back, and all along their line the Austrians advanced with renewed vigor. In and about AspernEssling the battle began again more furiously than ever. To the left of Essling, Rosenberg brought up fifty guns, and they began—roar and thunder, thunder and roar! Crash! crash! the roofs of the houses of Essling, along the street leading to the citadel, fell into, and beside the houses. Bricks, stones, and mortar lay in heaps, and walls fell in, and houses blazed, and timbers were hurled through the air, and smoke and dust were on every side. The soldiers of the 115th barricaded themselves with wagons, ploughs, beams and stones, and when the Hungarian grenadiers came charging up the street, they gave them a volley that sent them charging back again. A shell fell near Francois Legrand and burst, knocking Francois down. But Francois got up, covered with dirt, and waved his sword and cried, "Your Captain is not hurt! You may depend upon him! Aim straighter next time, Austrian fools!"

Again the Austrians charged and again were beaten back. A cannon-ball struck a whole file and knocked them on top of Captain Legrand, and under the pile of wounded, bleeding men, they heard François shouting, "Close up the ranks!" Pierre helped to drag him out and cried, "Captain, the hilt of your sabre is gone!" "No matter," said Francois, "the battle is not over yet."

Now the cannon thundered faster and faster. The balls came and rolled over three men at a time, and sent the grenadiers' caps spinning twenty feet in the

air, but as soon as one file was down, there came from Francois the stern command, "Close the ranks!" The file next Pierre was cut down, and something struck him on the arm. He dropped his He dropped his gun, thinking that his arm was cut off, for it had no feeling in it. And then he saw a piece of flesh sticking to his wrist, a piece of flesh of one of his brave comrades which had been dashed against him with such violence that it had adhered to his wrist! Andre Marceau came up and shook his arm, and the piece of flesh fell off. How glad Pierre was to find that his arm was only stunned, and that he could use his fingers! "Leave your gun and take your sabre," said Andre Marceau. "I have none," said Pierre, "a ball carried it away." So he took his gun in his left hand. Then a ball from an Austrian twelve-pounder crashed into the roof of the granary and sent the stones flying, and Charles Varterre ducked his head. "You must not duck your head!" shouted Francois Legrand, slapping him on the knapsack with his sabre. "I won't!" cried Charles, and up he stood. Again the Austrians came in solid column, spitting flame. "Forward!" cried Legrand. And over the debris in the street and the dead bodies of their comrades they rushed and met with a crash, and for a few moments there was shouting, swearing, sabring, bayoneting, and pandemonium supreme. Pierre received a cut from a bayonet over his left eye, as he parried the thrust of an Austrian grenadier. Then the Austrians fell back, and Pierre saw Francois Legrand surrounded by three of them, who had seized him and were shouting, "Surrender!" Pierre ran up and, pointing his gun with his left hand, he made it play see-saw with his right, and plunged his bayonet into the bellies of first one and then

another of the Austrian grenadiers. The third was thrown down by Francois, who ran his sword into his throat. Pierre was wet with sweat, and COVered with dirt and bits of mortar, and his face was red with blood from the cut in his forehead, and his bayonet and the barrel of his gun were smeared with blood and entrails. And so the fight went on. Again the Austrians charged; Pierre saw an Austrian captain leading, and, taking a cartridge, he made the sign of the cross for good luck, rammed it in his gun, fired, and hit the Austrian in the face. And so the fight went on.

Now the Austrians brought up more artillery. They must drive the French out of this little town of Essling; they must get to the bridge, and if they did, it would be all up with the French army, it would be all up with the Emperor Napoleon. It was well toward evening now. Essling was broken and battered from one end to the other; the houses were on fire, and there were barricades of stone, great timbers, dismantled guns, abandoned knapsacks and cartridgeboxes, dead horses, dead Austrians, dead Frenchmen, bloody corpses torn and mangled, bloody walls and smoking ruins everywhere. When for the sixth time the Austrians advanced, and the brave Boudet cried, "Charge!" there were few left to respond to his call; and at last they were driven back into the granary and surrounded. As they fell back, Francois Legrand saw an Austrian battalion coming up through one of the narrow streets amid the smoke and flame. If they could pass this street, they could pass the granary, they could penetrate Essling, they could reach the bridge, they could— "Forward!" shouted Francois, and the 3rd company of the 115th ran after him to the

head of the narrow street. They seized a wagon, threw it over, and when the Austrians were within range, gave them a volley. The Austrians returned their fire furiously, and they fired again, and the Austrians returned it, and they fired again, and as they were shot down, their comrades piled their dead bodies beside the wagon and fought behind them as from a rampart. Soldiers of the Boudet division, do you know the work cut out for you? It is this—conquer or die! Yes, they knew it, and as they saw the Austrian cannon preparing to fire, they said to one another, "That one is for me!" All right, I will get behind you. That is a good place. Keep quiet."

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So night settled down, but enveloped by smoke they fought by the light of burning houses, and, when they fired, the Austrians fell, and when the Austrians fired, they fell, and the wall of bodies grew higher and higher. And after a time there were left behind that wagon and that wall of bleeding corpses, only three— Francois Legrand, Pierre Pasquin, Andre Marceau— and they were black with dirt, and singed with fire, and red with blood from crown to heel. And alone against that host they loaded their muskets and cried, "For France!" and fired, and, when they fired, three Austrians fell. Ah! not since the days of the Eternal City, when the Spurius Lartius on his right and Herminius on his left, Horatius held the bridge against Lars Porsena, had the world seen braver work than this. And when some hours later General Mouton, at the head of the fusileers of the Imperial Guard, came charging into Essling, bringing relief, respite, and rescue amid the blazing houses, the falling timbers, and the crash of arms, still came from those three the all-conquering shout, "Vive 1'Empereur!"

CHAPTER XV

In The Island Of Lobau

What though the field be lost?

All is not lost; the unconquerable will
And courage never to submit or yield.

—Milton, Paradise Lost.

FOR thirty hours the battle had raged in and about Aspern-Essling, and then the Archduke Charles, despairing of driving the French into the river, and finding that he was running short of ammunition, gradually withdrew his forces and sullenly waited for day.

Near the bank of the small arm of the Danube, under a great fir-tree on the island of Lobau, the Emperor Napoleon paced to and fro, while at a little distance stood the Marshals Bessieres and Massena and the Prince of Neufchatel, wrapped in their cloaks. The night was dark, and across the narrow bridge that united the island to the left bank passed and repassed the ambulance corps, carrying the wounded. No word was spoken by those four. The Marshals stood in silence, and the Emperor walked in silence, occasionally striking his boots with his riding-whip, or opening his snuff-box and, without making use of it, snapping the lid mechanically again. What a day it had been! Thousands and tens of thousands of the best soldiers of France lay dead and dying in those villages of Aspern-Essling, sacrificed by stern necessity to save