When the conflict is at an end, and the awful silence of night descends upon the field where stark and stiff lie the mangled dead, among the broken weapons and spoils of the fight, the scene is fearfully impressive. There lie the cold forms of those, who in life were furious foes; but in death, side by side, united in their doom of darkness, they are all clay together. The bugle and the drum, which were sounded to signal the contest, are broken beside the mutilated and bloody bodies of those who played them at the head of the marching regiments. The captain, whose gallant “forward!” roused the spirits of his men, lies where he perished, in the van. The standard-bearer still clasps a portion of that dear symbol of his country, which numbers cut from his hands, and seems to have yielded his breath, while hugging that remnant to his heart. The grim veteran of a hundred fights, to whom death has been a jeer and a mockery, and the youth, with blooming cheek and eager eye, who left his mother’s cottage high in the hope of a glorious renown, are found cold and stiff together; the one with a smile of scorn curling his lip, the other with the keen agony, kindled by the rushing remembrance of the dear home lost forever, pictured in his countenance. The meek moon and the sentinel stars shining on this field of death, with a pallid light, add to its horrors, increasing the ghastly hue in the faces of the slain.

Such a scene was presented on the night of the 22nd of April, 1796, after the desperate battle of Mondovi. Near the town of that name, the dispirited army of Colli had been overtaken by two divisions of Bonaparte’s army, commanded by Serrurier and Massena. Serrurier had been repulsed, but the onset of Massena was irresistible, and the enemy were attacked on both flanks at once. The cavalry of the Piedmontese over powered and drove back that of the French, but the wonderful valor of Murat, the most glorious of cavalry officers, renewed the fortune of the day, and, shortly afterwards, Colli’s army was put to flight. During the retreat, the Piedmontese suffered dreadfully, losing the best of their troops, their cannons, baggage and appointments.

Wearied with the desperate conflict, the greater portion of the victorious army encamped in and about the town of Mondovi, a body of cavalry, alone pursuing and harassing the enemy. The description of the field of battle given above, will apply to this one, with the addition of a view of the towers and spires of Mondovi, and of numerous blazing fires in the vicinity, around which the exhausted troops had sunk to repose. Bonaparte had arrived; and, now, having gathered his principal officers at a ruined building, just outside of the town, which seemed to have been an old chapel, talked over with them the achievements of the day, and what was contemplated for the morrow. The ruin consisted of four broken walls, and was entirely roofless. It was several yards square, and the floor was strewn with fragments of sculpture which had once adorned the edifice. In the centre of the floor a fire was kindled, and camp-stools were ranged around it. At some distance from the ruin, guards were placed, with orders to keep the inquisitive beyond ear-shot. This place had evidently been selected by Bonaparte, in preference to the best mansion of Mondovi, to be secure from the treachery of Italians, who might have overheard and communicated to the enemy important information.

As usual, Bonaparte had the paper containing the lines of his movements before him, and with pencil and compasses in hand, he devised and marked alterations even while he talked. Among the officers gathered around the fire, were Massena, Berthier, Serrurier, Murat and Duroc.

Next to the commander-in-chief himself, Massena had the most remarkable personal appearance of any of the group. His massive features had a somewhat Jewish cast and their general expression was extremely heavy, or rather drowsy. The eyes were half-closed, and they did not sparkle like those of the rest, when Bonaparte spoke. Yet it was well known that, when excited by the storm of battle, their flash was terrible. The expression of the mouth, was always that of an inexorable will. The whole aspect of Andrew Massena was that of a man of great powers, difficult to rouse. Napoleon himself remarked that it was only in danger that appalled most men, that Massena acquired clearness and force of thought. His want of activity was his great defect as a commander.

Serrurier was a large man, with rough, prominent features, in which strong passions and dogged determinations were plainly expressed. His dress was torn and dusty; for although repulsed by the Piedmontese, he had fought like a lion on that desperate day.

The face of Duroc was manly and prepossessing. The slightly receding forehead, prominent nose, clear, bright eyes, and firm mouth, were illumined by a bland, but determined expression, indicative of the truly heroic spirit of this faithful friend of Napoleon. By the side of Michael Duroc, could be seen the stalwart form and noble countenance of Joachim Murat, the great leader of the cavalry, whose desperate charge had decided the battle in favor of the French. His gaudy costume was arranged with scrupulous nicety, and it bore no traces of the conflict. He sat toying with his long, dark curls during the conference.

“To-morrow, we will occupy Cherasco, which is within ten leagues of the Piedmontese capital,” said Bonaparte. “It has been a month of glory. Within that time, we have gained complete possession of the mountain passes and thus opened the road for our armies into Italy. We have gained three battles over forces far superior to our own; inflicted upon the enemy a loss of about twenty-five thousand men in killed, wounded, and prisoners, taken eighty pieces of cannon and twenty-one stand of colors; and almost annihilated the army of Sardinia. We can dictate a treaty at Turin.”

“The fight to-day was desperate enough, however,” said Murat, ever vain of his services. “The cavalry was beaten back by the Piedmontese, and General Stengel was among the slain.”

“A brave man lost to France,” interrupted Bonaparte.

“But I soon taught them that the French cavalry was not so easily beaten,” continued Murat. “That charge decided the day.”

“I am told,” said Bonaparte, “that the charge was indeed brilliant. But we expect such from Murat, and we hope that, hereafter, he may have the best opportunities of displaying his valor and horsemanship at the head of the cavalry of France. You have won a high promotion. General Serrurier, you were repulsed; but you afterwards bravely sustained your reputation, and contributed much to the victory. As for you, General Massena, high as were my expectations from your valor and skill, you have astonished me. France will yet regard you as a child of victory.”

Massena opened his eyes somewhat wider and nodded his thanks. “The troops,” he remarked, “are sadly worn with their rapid marches, and four days’ fighting. Besides, since they have been so severely treated for seizing upon what food and clothes they found along the line of march, they have suffered much for want of the common necessaries of life.”

“I know—I know,” replied Bonaparte; “I pity them, and hope that their wants may soon be relieved. But they must not become Goths and Vandals. What did you say was the loss of the enemy, to-day, Berthier?”

“It is estimated at about three thousand men,” replied the officer addressed—an elegant looking soldier, with a frank, intelligent countenance.

“Colli is then effectually crippled,” said Bonaparte.Bonaparte. “He will not dare to make a stand between us and Turin. I learn that Cherasco is an ill-defended place, but it has an important position at the confluence of the Stura and the Tanaro, and with the artillery taken from the enemy, we can soon render it defensible, should that be necessary. But at present, the prospect is that we shall in a few days conclude a peace with the king of Sardinia, and then we must pursue the Austrians, whom we shall drive beyond the Alps. But in the meantime, you, Murat, shall take some of our trophies to Paris, and proclaim the triumphs of France. A more fitting messenger of victory could not be found.” At this intelligence Murat’s eyes sparkled, and a smile lit up his dark features; for next to the storm of battle, this proud soldier loved to boast of victory. Next to being a lion upon the field of battle, he desired to be a lion in the saloons of Paris.

“General,” said Duroc, “you may remember that when we stood upon the heights of Monte Lemoto, and beheld that glorious picture of the plains of Piedmont and Italy, you exclaimed, ‘Hannibal crossed the Alps; as for us, we have gone round them!’ It seems to me, with deference, that if reinforcements are not speedily sent to our aid, you will find yourself in a position more nearly resembling that of Hannibal, when, although victorious in Italy, he was deserted by Carthage. The chief difference will be, however, that Hannibal, by fortunate circumstances, was enabled to maintain his army against all the forces of Rome. But we should soon be overwhelmed by superior numbers.”

“The government of France has neglected its duty,” replied Bonaparte, “but I cannot believe that it will desert us altogether. If so, however, I have no doubt, that we can provide for ourselves.”

“For myself,” said Serrurier, “I love France, but despise the present government. But for the bravery of the army, whose triumphs they have taken to themselves, the members of that government would not now hold their places.”

At these words, Bonaparte raised his head, and gave a steady, piercing glance at the frank, out-spoken soldier’s countenance, probably with the design of ascertaining the full depth of his meaning. But Serrurier returned glance for glance, and Bonaparte returned to the contemplation of his map. There was more in that young conqueror’s look than, perhaps, any of that martial group, suspected.

The chief incidents of the fight of the day having been communicated to Bonaparte by the various officers engaged in its terrible scenes, he proceeded to award commendation where it was due; and then gave the generals orders in regard to the movements of the next day. Despatches, hurriedly written, were sent to the generals of the divisions not engaged at Mondovi, and then the conference terminated. Most of the officers retired to their respective commands; but, accompanied by Duroc and Murat, the sleepless commander-in-chief rode over the field, to gain a more accurate knowledge of the terrible character of the battle—to observe where the fight had been thickest, what corps had suffered the greatest loss, and what had the been advantages and disadvantages of the ground. In many places, it was difficult for the horses to proceed without trampling upon the groups of ghastly dead; and the reckless Murat occasionally rode directly over the corpses, while talking to the commander-in-chief. A considerable number of women, from Mondovi, were seen among the bodies, collecting many little articles of value attached to the clothing of the dead warriors. At the approach of Bonaparte and his officers they scampered away, like so many frightened vultures, upon which Murat would give chase for a short distance to increase their alarm. After a complete survey of the field, Bonaparte and his aids returned to Mondavi. The only remark the young commander-in-chief was heard to make, was, “It was a hard-won victory—Mondovi ought to be decisive.” And it was decisive. At Cherasco, Sardinia submitted to the victor’s terms; and thus one of the bravest of the foes of France was crushed after a campaign of very brief duration, the glories of which are thus touched upon by Bonaparte in an eloquent and powerful proclamation to his soldiers.

“Soldiers! in a fortnight you have gained six victories, taken twenty-one pair of colors, fifty-live pieces of cannon, several fortresses, and conquered the richest part of Piedmont; you have made fifteen thousand prisoners, and killed or wounded more than ten thousand men; you had hitherto been fighting for barren rocks, rendered famous by your courage, but of no service to the country; you this day compete by your services with the army of Holland and of the Rhine. Destitute of every thing, you have supplied all your wants. You have gained battles without cannon, crossed rivers without bridges, made forced marches without shoes, bivouacked without brandy, and often without bread. Republican phalanxes, the soldiers of liberty alone, could have endured what you have endured. Thanks be to you for it, soldiers!”