r the
courage and devotion of his soldiers. But when to the fertile fields of
Lombardy, watered by its beautiful river, succeeded the rough ways of
the Levantine, and when the lofty summits of the St. Gothard, covered
with the eternal snows, rose before them, their enthusiasm was quenched,
their energy disappeared, and melancholy forebodings filled the hearts
of these savage children of the North.

Unexpected grumblings ran through the ranks; then suddenly the vanguard
stopped, and declared that it would go no farther. In vain Foedor, who
commanded a company, begged and entreated his own men to set an example
by continuing the march: they threw down their arms, and lay down
beside them. Just as they had given this proof of insubordination, fresh
murmurs, sounding like an approaching storm, rose from the rear of the
army: they were caused by the sight of Souvarow, who was riding from the
rear to the vanguard, and who arrived at the front accompanied by this
terrible proof of mutiny and insubordination. When he reached the head
of the column, the murmurings had developed into imprecations.

Then Souvarow addressed his soldiers with that savage eloquence to which
he owed the miracles he had effected with them, but cries of "Retreat!
Retreat!" drowned his voice. Then he chose out the most mutinous, and
had them thrashed until they were overcome by this shameful punishment:
But the thrashings had no more influence than the exhortation, and the
shouts continued. Souvarow saw that all was lost if he did not employ
some powerful and unexpected means of regaining the mutineers. He
advanced towards Foedor. "Captain," said he, "leave these fools
here, take eight non-commissioned officers and dig a grave." Foedor,
astonished, gazed at his general as though demanding an explanation of
this strange order. "Obey orders," said Souvarow.

Foedor obeyed, and the eight men set to work; and ten minutes later the
grave was dug, greatly to the astonishment of the whole army, which had
gathered in a semicircle on the rising slopes of the two hills which
bordered the road, standing as if on the steps of a huge amphitheatre.

Souvarow dismounted from his horse, broke his sword in two and threw it
into the grave, detached his epaulets one by one and threw them after
his sword, dragged off the decorations which covered his breast and cast
these after the sword and epaulets, and then, stripping himself naked,
he lay down in the grave himself, c