is
little band into two squares, and advanced in such a manner as to compose,
with the square of Kleber, a triangle inclosing the Turks. Thus, with
unparalleled audacity, with six thousand men he undertook to surround
thirty thousand of as fierce and desperate soldiers as the world has ever
seen. Cautiously and silently the two squares hurried on to the relief of
their friends, giving no sign of approach, till they were just ready to
plunge upon the plains. Suddenly the loud report of a cannon upon the
hills startled with joyful surprise the weary heroes. They recognized
instantly the voice of Napoleon rushing to their rescue. One wild shout of
almost delirious joy burst from the ranks. "It is Bonaparte! It is
Bonaparte!" That name operated as a talisman upon every heart. Tears of
emotion dimmed the eyes of those scarred and bleeding veterans, as,
disdaining longer to act upon the defensive, they grasped their weapons
with nervous energy, and made a desperate onset upon their multitudinous
foes. The Turks were assailed by a murderous fire instantaneously
discharged from the three points of this triangle. Discouraged by the
indomitable resolution with which they had been repulsed, and bewildered
by the triple assault, they broke and fled. The mighty host, like ocean
waves, swept across the plain, when suddenly it was encountered by one of
the fresh squares, and in refluent surges rolled back in frightful
disorder. A scene of horror now ensued utterly unimaginable. The Turks
were cut off from retreat in every direction. The enormous mass of
infantry, horse, artillery, and baggage, was driven in upon itself, in
wild and horrible confusion. From the French squares there flashed one
incessant sheet of flame. Peal after peal, the artillery thundered in a
continuous roar. These thoroughly-drilled veterans fired with a rapidity
and a precision which seemed to the Turks supernatural. An incessant storm
of cannon-balls, grape-shot, and bullets pierced the motley mass, and the
bayonets of the French dripped with blood.

Murat was there, with his proud cavalry--Murat, whom Napoleon has described
as in battle probably the bravest man in the world. Of majestic frame,
dressed in the extreme of military ostentation, and mounted upon the most
powerful of Arabian chargers, he towered, proudly eminent, above all his
band. With the utmost enthusiasm he charged into the swollen tide of
turbaned heads and flashing scimitars. As his strong hor