Ney, “the bravest of the brave,” the commander of the rearguard of the grand army, had been given up as lost by most of his heroic brethren in arms. But Napoleon could not believe it. He knew that the chances were those of desperation, but he expected all things from the lion-hearted marshal. The Emperor had reached Orcha, on the Borysthenes, with ten thousand men. He found there abundance of provisions and his troops encamped by ample fires. But his anxiety for the fate of Ney rendered him very much dejected. He could not bring his mind to the idea of quitting the Borysthenes.

It appeared to him that this would be like a second abandonment of the unfortunate Ney, and a final casting off of his intrepid companion in arms. There, as at Liady and Dombrowna, he was calling every hour of the day and night, and sending to inquire if no tidings had been received of that marshal. But nothing was heard of him through the intervening Russian army; and four days this fatal silence had lasted, and yet the Emperor still continued to hope.

Being at length, on the 20th of November, compelled to quit Orcha, he left there Eugene, Mortier, and Davoust, and halted after a march of two leagues from that place, still inquiring for Ney, and still expecting him. The same feeling of grief pervaded the portion of the army remaining at Orcha. As soon as the most pressing wants allowed a moment’s rest, the thoughts and looks of every one were directed towards the Russian bank. They listened for any warlike sounds which might announce the arrival of Ney, or, rather, his last desperate struggle with the foe; but nothing was to be seen but parties of the enemy, who were already menacing the bridges of the Borysthenes. One of the three marshals now proposed to destroy them, but the others would not consent, as this would be separating themselves still more widely from their companion in arms, and acknowledging that they despaired of saving him, an idea which, from their unhappiness at the thought, they could not bear to entertain.

But with the fourth day all hope had vanished, and night only brought with it an agitated repose. They blamed themselves for Ney’s misfortune, forgetting that it was utterly impossible to have waited longer for him in the plains of Krasnoe, there to fight for another twenty-four hours, when they had scarcely strength and ammunition left for one.

Already, as is always the case in such painful losses, they began to seek for some soothing recollections. Davoust was the last who had quitted the unfortunate marshal, and Mortier and the viceroy were inquiring of him what were his last words. At the first reports of the cannonade of the enemy on the 15th, it would seem that Ney was anxious to evacuate Smolensk immediately, in the suite of the viceroy; but Davoust refused, pleading the orders of the emperor, and their obligation to destroy the ramparts of the town. The two chiefs became warm; and Davoust insisting to remain until the following day, Ney, who had been appointed to bring up the rear, was compelled to wait for him.

It is true that on the 16th, Davoust sent to warn him of his danger; but Ney, either from change of opinion, or from feelings of resentment against Davoust, returned for answer “that all the Cossacks in the universe should not prevent him from executing his instructions.”

After exhausting these recollections and all their conjectures, they had relapsed into a gloomy silence, when suddenly they heard the steps of horses, and then the joyful cry, “Marshal Ney is safe! here are some Polish cavalry come to announce his approach!” One of his officers now galloped in, and informed them that the marshal was advancing on the right bank of the Borysthenes, and had sent him to ask for assistance.

Night had just set in; and Davoust, Eugene, and Mortier were allowed only its short duration to revive and animate the soldiers, who had hitherto constantly bivouacked. For the first time since they left Moscow, these poor fellows had received a sufficient supply of provisions; and they were about to prepare them and to take their rest, warm and under cover. How was it possible, then to make them resume their arms, and turn them from their comfortable asylums during that night of rest, whose inexpressible sweets they had just begun to taste! Who could persuade them to interrupt it, to trace back their steps, and once more, in the midst of darkness, return into the frozen deserts of Russia?

Eugene and Mortier disputed the honor of making this effort, and the first carried it only in right of his superior rank. Shelter and the distribution of provisions had effected that which threats would have failed to do. The stragglers were rallied, and the viceroy again found himself at the head of four thousand men; all were ready to march at the idea of Ney’s danger; but it was their last effort.

They proceeded in the darkness, by unknown roads, and had marched two leagues at random, halting every few minutes to listen. Their anxiety instantly increased. Had they lost their way? Were they too late? Had their unfortunate comrades fallen? Was it the victorious Russian army they were about to meet? In this uncertainty Prince Eugene directed some cannon-shot to be fired. Immediately after, they fancied they heard signals of distress on that sea of snow: they were not mistaken; they proceeded from the third corps, which having lost all its artillery, could answer the cannon of the fourth only by some volleys of platoon firing.

The two corps were thus directed towards their meeting. Ney and Eugene were the first to recognise each other: they ran up, Eugene the most eagerly, and threw themselves into each other’s arms. Eugene wept, but Ney only let fall some angry words. The first was delighted, melted, and elevated at the sight of the chivalrous hero whom he had just had the happiness to save. The latter still heated from the combat, irritated at the dangers which the honor of the army had run in his person, and blaming Davoust, whom he wrongfully accused of having deserted him.

Some hours afterwards, when the latter sought to justify himself, he could draw nothing from Ney but a severe look and these words, “Monsieur le Marechal, I have no reproaches to make you: God is our witness and your judge!”

As soon as the two corps had fairly recognised each other, they could no longer be kept in their ranks. Soldiers, officers, generals, all rushed forward together. The soldiers of Eugene, eagerly grasping the hands of those of Ney, held them with a joyful mixture of astonishment and curiosity, and embraced them with the tenderest sympathy. They lavished upon them the refreshments which they had just received, and overwhelmed them with questions. Then they proceeded in company towards Orcha, all burning with impatience, Eugene’s soldiers to hear, and Ney’s to relate, their story. There they were soon gathered around the cheerful camp-fire, and resting from their toils.

The officers of Ney stated that on the 17th of November they had quitted Smolensk with twelve cannon, six thousand infantry, and three hundred cavalry, leaving there five thousand sick to the mercy of the enemy; and that, had it not been for the noise of Platoff’s artillery and the explosion of the mines, their marshal would never have been able to draw from the ruins of that city seven thousand unarmed stragglers who had taken shelter among them. They dwelt upon the attentions which their leader had shown to the wounded, and to the women and their children, proving upon this occasion that the bravest are also the most humane.

Ney’s officers continued to speak in the most enthusiastic terms of their marshal; for even his equals could not feel the slightest jealousy of him. He had, indeed, been too much regretted, and his preservation had excited emotions far too grateful to allow of any feelings of envy; besides, Ney had placed himself completely beyond its reach. As for himself, he had in all this heroism gone so little beyond his natural character, that, had it not been for the eclat of his glory in the eyes, the gestures, and the acclamations of every one, he would never have imagined that he had performed an extraordinary action.

And this was not an enthusiasm of surprise, for each of the few last days had had its remarkable men: that of the 16th, for instance, had Eugene, and that of the 17th, Mortier; but from this time forward Ney was universally proclaimed the hero of the retreat.

When Napoleon, who was two leagues farther on, heard that Ney had again made his appearance, he leaped and shouted for joy, exclaiming, “Then I have saved my eagles! I would have given three hundred millions from my exchequer sooner than have lost such a man.”

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.