But the First Consul's real objects in concluding the peace of Amiens were purely personal and selfish. He wished to recover the lost French colonies, and to rebuild the ruined French navy. He needed peace to reorganize the control of France over her vassal states in Holland, Italy, and Switzerland, which she had bound to her chariot-wheels during the late wars. Most of all he required a space of leisure to prepare for that assumption of monarchical power which he had been plotting ever since his return from Egypt.

While England was thinking only of peace, and while thousands of English were embarking on the continental travel which had been denied them for nine years, Bonaparte was already beginning to show the cloven hoof. In the autumn of 1802 he annexed to France the continental half of the dominions of our old ally the King of Sardinia, and the Duchy of Parma. He sent 30,000 men into Switzerland to occupy the chief passes of the Alps. He ordered the vassal republics in Holland and North Italy to place prohibitive duties on English merchandise. These actions, though irritating, were not actual breaches of the peace, but things grew more serious when he made the impudent request that we should expel from our shores the exiled princes of the old royal house of France, and that our government should suppress certain newspapers which criticized his rule in France too sharply. These demands were of course refused; the First Consul then began to harp on the question of the evacuation of Malta. That island was still garrisoned by English troops, as its old masters, the Knights of St. John, were not yet in a position to resume their dominion there. When England refused to evacuate Malta at once, and ventured to remonstrate about the annexation of Piedmont and Parma, Bonaparte assumed a most offensive attitude. He summoned Lord Whitworth, our ambassador at Paris, into his presence, and in the midst of a large assembly at the Tuileries delivered an angry harangue to him, declaring that the English cabinet had no respect for honour or treaties, and was wishing to drive him to a new war. He did not wish to fight, he said, but if he once drew the sword, it should never be sheathed till England was crushed.

This insulting message roused even the feeble Addington to anger. With extreme reluctance and dismay, the cabinet began to contemplate the possibility of a renewed war with France. A royal message was laid before Parliament asking for increased votes for the army and navy, which had just been cut down on account of the peace. Bonaparte, on the other hand, began to move masses of troops towards the shores of the English Channel, and to order the building of many ships of war. Addington attempted further negotiations for staving off a collision, but met no response from the First Consul, who refused to listen to any offers till we should have evacuated Malta, and recognized the legality of his annexations in Italy and Switzerland. Nothing could be done to bring him to reason, and on May 12, 1803, our ambassador left Paris, and war was declared, only thirteen months after the signing of the peace of Amiens. Bonaparte had, perhaps, been intent on bullying the English cabinet, and had fancied that they would yield to his hectoring. He showed intense irritation when war was declared, and committed a flagrant breach of international law by seizing all the English tourists and travellers who were passing through France on business or pleasure, and imprisoning them as if they were prisoners of war. They were about 10,000 in number, and Bonaparte had the cruelty to keep them confined during the whole of the war. Another sign of his malice was that he kept accusing the English government of instigating assassins to murder him—there was, indeed, hardly a crime which he did not lay to the account of his enemies.

The second act of the great drama of the French war had now begun: the first had lasted nine years, this was to endure for eleven—from May, 1803, to March, 1814. The whole war is indeed one, if we regard it as the last struggle for commercial and maritime supremacy between England and her old rival, and compare it with the Seven Years' War and the war of American Independence.

But, on the other hand, the aspect of the strife was greatly changed by the fact that England had no longer the principles of the Revolution to fight, but was engaged in a struggle against an ambitious despot, a world-conqueror who had no parallel save Cæsar or Alexander the Great. The France of Bonaparte only resembled the France of Robespierre in the unscrupulous vigour of her assaults on her enemies. She was no longer professing to fight for a principle—the deliverance of oppressed peoples from the yoke of monarchy and the proclamation of Liberty, Equality, and Fraternity for all men. Though Bonaparte still made a parade of being a beneficent liberator, yet France was now fighting to make herself the tyrant-state of Europe, to win power and plunder, not to carry out the principles of the Revolution. In the long struggles that followed the declaration of war in 1803, Bonaparte at one time and another struck down every government in Europe that dared to stand against him, but England he could never subdue. From the moment when Sidney Smith turned him back from the walls of Acre, down to the moment when Wellington drove him a broken and defeated adventurer from the hillside of Waterloo, it was always England that stood between him and complete success. Hence it came that he honoured her with a venomous hatred such as he never bestowed on any other foe. It may be said with much truth that his whole career after 1803 was a crusade against England, and that all his actions were directed to secure her ruin, whether that ruin was to be brought about in the open strife of contending fleets, or in the slow but deadly working of laws aimed against English commerce and industries. When Bonaparte was meeting and beating the Austrian, the Prussian, or the Russian, he felt that he was fighting the hired soldiers of England; for every confederacy against him was cemented with English gold. The final object of all his continental wars was to crush us; his victories were all means to that end.

In a contest between a single despot and a free state, the former has in many ways the advantage. He has no Parliament to criticize his actions, no public opinion before which he is bound to justify his every deed. He can work out his schemes in his own brain, and give them the unity that a single master-mind inspires. He can secure the implicit obedience of his lieutenants, because he alone can make or mar their career. On the other hand, the policy dictated by an English cabinet of a dozen men was prone to lack consistency and singleness of aim, and their plans and projects were divulged to Parliament, criticized by opponents, and trumpeted out to all Europe by the Press, before they were well set in hand. It was no light responsibility that the Addington ministry took upon themselves when they declared war on the unscrupulous First Consul.

The long struggle which followed may be divided into four epochs. In the first—1803-1805—Bonaparte strove to settle the national duel by an actual invasion of England, and lamentably failed. In the second—1805-1808—England fought by subsidizing foreign allies, while Bonaparte struck at his enemy by the "Continental System," a plan for starving English trade. In the third period—1808-1814—a new aspect was given to the struggle by the interference of England on land. Instead of relying on subsidies, we poured troops into Spain, and met the French face to face. At the same time the intolerable oppression which Bonaparte exercised over all the states of the continent, led to national risings against him, which finally, in 1814, wrought his downfall. The fourth period comprises only the "Hundred Days" of March-June, 1815, in which the tyrant tried to seize once more his old place and power, and suffered his final defeat at Waterloo.

In the first opening months of the war, Bonaparte set his mind on bringing the struggle to a rapid conclusion, by crossing the Channel and invading England. He despatched 120,000 veteran troops to the coast between Dunkirk and St. Valery, and fixed his own head-quarters at Boulogne, where the cliffs of Folkestone and Dover were actually in sight. "The Channel is but a ditch," he said, "and any one can cross it who has but the courage to try." A fog might enable his whole army to slip across unseen, or a fortunate gale might drive away the English fleet for the short twenty-four hours that he required. Hundreds, and afterwards thousands, of flat-bottomed boats were collected at Boulogne and the neighbouring ports, and fitted up, some as armed gunboats, some as transports. The troops were trained to embark with extraordinary speed, so that they might not lose a minute when the signal for sailing should be given. But from June, 1803, to September, 1805, they waited—and yet the signal was never given.

England faced the trial with wonderful courage. The nation was so wrathful at the wanton renewal of the war by Bonaparte, and at his arrogant threat of invasion, that it made efforts such as had never been dreamed of before. While the Addington ministry were doubting how best to meet the projected attack, the nation itself solved the problem by the great Volunteer Movement. Almost every able-bodied man in England and Scotland offered himself for service. By the autumn of 1803 there were 347,000 volunteers under arms, besides 120,000 regular troops and 78,000 militia. This was a marvellous effort for a kingdom which then only counted 15,000,000 souls. [54] The volunteers, it is true, were imperfectly trained, often insufficiently officered, and unprovided with a proper proportion of cavalry and artillery. But when we consider their numbers and enthusiasm, it is only fair to conclude that even if Bonaparte had thrown across his 120,000 or 150,000 men into Kent or Sussex, he would have been able to do little against such a vast superiority of numbers. Not contented with enrolling men for land service, the government displayed great energy in strengthening our first line of defence, the fleet. The dockyards were worked with such zeal and speed that 166 new vessels were added to the navy before the year was over. Blockading squadrons were hastily sent out to face all the French and Dutch naval ports, as they had done in the old war. Not the least of the signs of national enthusiasm was that, in obedience to the public voice, Pitt—whose name was now bound up with a vigorous war-policy—was recalled to the helm of state with the king's consent, while the weak Addington retired into the background.

While Bonaparte was drilling his army for rapid embarkation, and multiplying his gunboats, he utilized the time to stir up trouble for England in all parts of the world. He gave his approval to a wild scheme for an Irish rebellion, headed by the rash young revolutionary, Robert Emmet, whose only achievement was to cause a riot in Dublin, murder Lord Kilwarden, the Chief Justice of Ireland, and get himself promptly hung. A more dangerous blow was aimed at our empire in India. French military adventurers had been many and prosperous in the native courts of that country ever since the days of Dupleix, and the First Consul hoped by their aid to stir up the Nizam and the Mahratta powers against England. But he had to deal with the able and vigorous Lord Wellesley, the greatest Governor-General that India has known since Warren Hastings. Wellesley forced the Nizam to dismiss his French officers, and allied himself with the Peishwah, the nominal head of the Mahratta confederacy, against the other chiefs of that nation. In 1803 Lord Lake conquered Delhi and the Doab from the French mercenaries of Scindiah, the most powerful of these rulers, while Arthur Wellesley, the Governor-General's brother, was fighting further to the south against Scindiah himself and the Rajah of Berar. In the brilliant battles of Assaye and Argaum this young general beat the Mahratta hosts, though they were nine to one against him. The two hostile princes were forced to make peace, and cede to the East India Company their outlying dominions, Scindiah's fortresses in the north, which became the nucleus of our "North-Western Provinces," and the Rajah of Berar's province of Orissa, which was added to Bengal (1804).

In the winter of 1803-4, Bonaparte began to doubt the wisdom of attacking England with his flotilla of gunboats and transports only, and resolved to wait till he could concentrate in the Straits a fleet of line-of-battle ships, capable of beating off the English Channel squadron. While this plan was being worked out, he brought the internal affairs of France to a crisis. In the spring of 1804, an abortive royalist conspiracy against him was detected, and he took advantage of it to assume a higher and firmer position in the state than that of First Consul. Accordingly, his servile senate requested him to accept the title of Emperor. In May, 1804, he forced the Pope, who stood in mortal dread of annexation, to come up to Paris and preside at his coronation, a great and costly pageant, which marked the end of even the shadow of liberty in France. Bonaparte assumed the title of Napoleon I., thus making his own strange Christian name notable for the first time since history begins.

When his coronation festivities were over, Napoleon set his mind seriously to the task of concentrating a great fleet in the Channel, to cover the crossing of his army. In the autumn of 1804, the days of the old naval leagues against England in 1782 and 1797 were renewed, when the Emperor forced Spain to join him, demanding either a money contribution or an auxiliary fleet. The feeble Charles IV. chose to give the money, but the vessels which bore the treasure were seized by an English squadron, and Pitt promptly declared war on Spain. By utilizing the large Spanish fleet, Napoleon thought that he could gather together an armament strong enough to keep the Channel open for the crossing of the legions which lay at Boulogne. But, meanwhile, English blockading vessels were already watching Cartagena, Cadiz, and Ferrol, as well as Toulon and Brest, and a hard task lay before the Emperor, when he determined to concentrate the scattered naval forces of France and Spain.

While Napoleon was busy with this scheme, Pitt had been returning to his old policy of finding continental allies for England, and stirring them up against France. Austria and Russia had been greatly displeased by the same reckless annexations in 1803 which had driven England into war; but their grudges might not have grown into an anti-French coalition, if it had not been for the energy of Pitt's diplomacy and the large subsidies which he offered.

In the spring of 1805, things came to a head. On the one hand, the French Emperor's scheme for the invasion of England was ready; on the other, Pitt's continental allies were secretly arming. Napoleon's plan was complicated but ingenious; its strength lay in the fact that it was not easy for the English to judge what exactly would be his method, or to provide against it. He ordered the French Mediterranean fleet at Toulon to take advantage of the first rough weather, and to escape from its harbour, whenever the English blockading squadron, now headed by the ever-active and vigilant Nelson, should be blown out to sea. Then his chief admiral, Villeneuve, was to slip past Gibraltar, and to join the Spanish fleet at Cadiz, driving off the English ships which were watching that port. The united Franco-Spanish armament was then to sail right across the Atlantic, to the West Indies, as if to attack our colonies there. But the real object of this demonstration was to entice Nelson, who was certain to chase them when he found their route, far away from Europe. For when they had reached the West Indies, the allied fleet were to turn sharply back again, and steer across the Atlantic for Brest, where they would find another large French fleet, blockaded by Admiral Cornwallis and the English Channel squadron. Villeneuve, as the Emperor calculated, would be able to deliver the Brest fleet some weeks before Nelson could appear in Europe. He would then have seventy ships to oppose the thirty-five with which England guarded the Channel, and with such overwhelming superiority would be able to clear the Dover Straits, and convoy across the army which had been waiting so long at Boulogne.

In the first part of this great naval campaign, the Emperor's elaborate scheme worked well. Villeneuve slipped out of Toulon while Nelson's fleet was blown away by rough weather. He hurried away to Cadiz, liberated the Spaniards there, and was off to the West Indies before Nelson could find out what had become of him. Very tardily the great English admiral discovered his route, and hurried across the Atlantic in pursuit. In due pursuance of the scheme of Napoleon, Villeneuve turned back and steered for Brest, while his pursuer was seeking him off Barbados.

But here the good fortune of the French ended, and a combination of chance and skill saved England. So slow was the Franco-Spanish fleet, and so bad its seamanship, that Nelson gained many days upon them. He luckily chanced upon a ship that had seen them turn back, hastily shifted his own course to follow, and sent to England to warn the Lords of the Admiralty that Villeneuve might be expected off Brest. With most commendable haste, a squadron under Admiral Calder was organized, to encounter Villeneuve before he could reach Europe. It sailed out just in time to meet him as he got into the Bay of Biscay, and fought him off Cape Finisterre. Villeneuve was not a man of nerve, and though Calder's squadron was far inferior to his own, he turned aside after an indecisive battle. So Napoleon heard in August, 1805, to his disgust and wild anger, that the fleet which was to enable him to cross the Channel, had not appeared off Brest, but had dropped into Ferrol to refit after the fight with Calder.

Then to make things yet worse, Villeneuve sailed from Ferrol not for Brest, but for Cadiz, to strengthen himself yet further, with Spanish reinforcements. This delay enabled the eager Nelson to arrive in European waters, and at the critical moment he and Calder, with twenty-eight ships, lay outside Cadiz, while the thirty-five Franco-Spanish vessels were within its harbour. The Emperor's plan was therefore wrecked, and no chance remained of the longed-for fleet sailing up the Channel to meet the 150,000 men who sat idly waiting for it at Boulogne.

Seeing his scheme shattered, while at the same time rumours of the Austro-Russian coalition had reached him, Napoleon dropped his long-cherished invasion scheme. He suddenly turned his back on the sea, and, declaring war on his continental enemies before they were ready for him, came rushing across France toward Germany with incredible speed. But before he started he sent his unfortunate admiral at Cadiz a bitter letter, in which he taunted him with cowardice for having turned away from Brest, and ruined the plan for invading England. Stung to the heart by the imputation of want of courage, Villeneuve came out of Cadiz to fight Nelson, in order to show that he was not afraid, not in order to secure any useful end, for the time for that was over.

Off Cape Trafalgar twenty-seven English ships met the thirty-three allied vessels, and at the great battle of that name completely destroyed Villeneuve's fleet. Nelson's splendid naval tactics easily compensated for the disparity of numbers. Seeing the enemy lying before him in a long line, he formed his own ships into two columns and swooped down on the centre of the Franco-Spanish Armada. He cut the enemy in two, and destroyed their midmost ships ere the wings could come up. Of the thirty-three hostile vessels nineteen were taken and one burnt, but in the moment of success, the great admiral fell; he had led the attacking column in his own ship, the Victory, and, pushing into the thickest of the enemy, was laid low by a musket-ball ere the fight was half over. But he lived long enough to hear that the day was won, and died contented (October 21, 1805). In her grief for Nelson, England half forgot her joy at the most decisive naval triumph that we had ever gained, for Napoleon was driven to own himself impotent at sea, and the spirits of the French seamen were so broken that they never dared again to put out to sea, save in small numbers for secret and hurried cruises. For the future the Emperor determined to strike at English commerce by decrees and embargos, not to attack England herself by armed force.

But, for the moment, to put down Austria and Russia was his task. Already, before Trafalgar had been fought, he had crushed the vanguard of the Austrians at Ulm, where the imbecile General Mack laid down his arms with nearly 40,000 men, while the Russians were still miles away, toiling up from Poland. Vienna fell into his hands before the allies were able to join their forces. A month later they met the French on the snow-covered hillside of Austerlitz, a village some eighty miles north-east of the Austrian capital. Here Napoleon beat them with awful slaughter. Left with only the wreck of an army, the Emperor Francis II. asked for peace, and got it on humiliating terms. He had to cede his Italian dominions, as well as the Tyrol, the very cradle of the Hapsburg dynasty. Moreover, he gave up his old title of head of the "Holy Roman Empire"—the imperial style which had lasted since the days of Charlemagne, and had remained in the Austrian line for 350 years—and was constrained to take the new and humbler name of Emperor of Austria.

The news of this disaster to the coalition which had cost him so much trouble to knit together, and from which he had expected so much, broke Pitt's heart. He had been in ill-health ever since he took office in 1804, the constant stress of responsibility, while the invasion was impending, having shattered his nerves. He died on January 23, 1806, aged no more than forty-six. He had been prime minister for nearly half this short span of life, and had certainly done more for England in his tenure of office than any man who has ever occupied that position. The death of Pitt, and the public dismay at the break up of the coalition of 1805, led to a demand for a strong and united ministry that should combine all parties for the national defence. There was no man among the Tories great enough to take up Pitt's mantle, and Addington, the late prime minister, Lord Grenville and several other leaders of that party were ready to admit the long-exiled Whigs to a share in the administration. The king was discontented at having to receive his old foe, Charles James Fox, as a minister, but bowed to the force of public opinion. Thus came into being the short Fox-Grenville cabinet, which contemporary wits called the ministry of "All the Talents," on account of its broad and comprehensive character, for it included all shades of opinion, from Addington at the one end to Fox at the other.

Fox had always opposed war with France, and had maintained that if the late ministry had met Napoleon in an open and liberal spirit they might have secured an honourable peace. But when he himself was given the opportunity of testing the Corsican's real temper, he met with a bitter disappointment. Napoleon was too angry with England to think of any accommodation. He offered Fox terms which were absolutely insulting, considering that England had held her own and successfully kept off invasion. Fox died soon after, worn out by the hard work of office, to which he had been a stranger for twenty years (September, 1806).

After his decease and the failure of the peace negotiations, the Grenville Ministry had no great reason for existence; it was forced to continue the war-policy of Pitt, but met with no success in several small expeditions that it sent out to vex the French and Spaniards. In March, 1807, the ministers resigned, after a quarrel with the king on the same point which had wrecked Pitt in 1802—the question of Catholic Emancipation. The only good work which this short administration had done in its thirteen months of office was to abolish the slave-trade. On the resignation of the Whigs the Tories came back into power. Their nominal chief was now William Bentinck, Duke of Portland, an aged man, one of the Whigs who had been made Tories by the French Revolution. But the shrewd and ambitious Spencer Perceval, the new Chancellor of the Exchequer, was the real leader of the Tories. He was a narrow-minded man of moderate ability, whose only merit was that he clung to the policy of Pitt, and continued to hammer away at the French in spite of all checks and failures.

After Austerlitz, Napoleon assumed the position of tyrant of all Central Europe. He created his younger brother Lewis king of Holland, and drove out the Spanish Bourbons from Naples, in order to make his eldest brother Joseph king of the Two Sicilies. He formed the smaller German states into the "Confederation of the Rhine," of which he declared himself protector.

These high-handed doings were certain to provoke further fighting, for Russia, though defeated at Austerlitz, did not consider herself beaten, and the strong military state of Prussia was bound to resent the ascendency of the French in Germany. Frederic William III., the rather irresolute monarch who swayed that country, had been half inclined to help Austria in 1805. But he delayed till the campaign of Austerlitz was over, and then found that he must fight Napoleon alone. Relying on the strength of his army and the old traditions of Frederic the Great, he declared war on France in 1806, hastily patching up treaties of alliance with Russia and England.

Of all the disasters which befell the powers of the continent at Napoleon's hands, none was so sudden and crushing as that which Prussia suffered in 1806. Only a few weeks after the declaration of war, the Prussian monarchy was ruined. The Emperor's swiftness and power of concentration were never shown more brilliantly. After defeating the Prussians at Jena (October, 1806), he pursued them so furiously that he captured their whole army—more than 100,000 men—at Magdeburg, Lubeck, and Prenzlow. Nearly all the Prussian fortresses surrendered, and Frederic William escaped beyond the Vistula, with only 12,000 men, to join his Russian allies. After entering Berlin, Napoleon pushed on into Poland to meet the advancing forces of Czar Alexander. In the bitter cold of a Polish February, he fought the battle of Eylau with the Russians, and, for the first time in his life, failed to gain a decisive victory over these stubborn foes. But, in the following May, he finally settled the campaign by winning the bloody fight of Friedland, after which the Czar asked for peace.

At the treaty of Tilsit Napoleon dictated his terms to Russia and Prussia. Alexander was left comparatively unmolested; he was not stripped of territory, but only compelled to promise aid to Napoleon's schemes against England. But Prussia was absolutely crushed; half her territory was taken from her—the eastern districts to form a new Polish state called the Grand Duchy of Warsaw, the western to make, along with Hanover and Hesse, a new "kingdom of Westphalia" for Napoleon's youngest brother Jerome. In addition, all the Prussian fortresses received French garrisons, and a fine of £26,000,000 was imposed on the mutilated kingdom (June, 1807).

Since Trafalgar the Emperor had been pondering over new schemes for ruining England. In a leisure moment during the Prussian campaign he devised the celebrated "Berlin Decrees." The English, as he thought, mainly lived upon the revenues that they earned by being the middlemen between Europe and the distant lands of Asia and America. Their carrying trade was the staple of their prosperity, and if he could destroy it England must go bankrupt. Accordingly, the Berlin Decrees declared a blockade against goods made or brought over by the English, in every country that France could influence. Now the idea of a naval blockade is familiar enough, but Napoleon's scheme contemplated its exact converse. He had resolved to station soldiers and custom-house officers round every mile of coast in Europe, to prevent English vessels from approaching the shore, and to see that not a pound's worth of English manufactures or colonial produce should be imported. The decrees declared the British Isles under blockade as regards the rest of Europe; no subject of France or of any vassal power was to trade with them. All Napoleon's unfortunate subject-allies, Prussia, Holland, Spain, and the powers of Italy were forced to assent to this strange edict, and the Czar of Russia was cajoled into accepting it. Napoleon thought that he had thereby struck a deadly blow at England, for every European state, save Sweden, Turkey, and Portugal, and the islands of Sicily and Sardinia, was at his beck and call. But he had not calculated on the greatness of the sacrifice which he was asking his allies to make. They were to give up, in order to please him, many of the comforts, even the necessities of life—West Indian sugar and coffee, the tea, pepper, and spices of the East, the cloth and linen of England, the muslin of Hindustan.

The English government boldly accepted the Emperor's challenge, and replied that if there was to be no English trade with the continent, there should not be any trade at all. By the "Orders in Council" of November, 1807, the whole coast-line of France and her allies was declared in a state of blockade, and the war-vessels of England were directed to seize as prizes all ships entering them, whether neutral or not, unless before sailing for the continent such vessels should have touched at an English port. Napoleon replied by the Milan Decrees (Dec. 17, 1807), which declared that any vessel belonging to a neutral power which had touched at any British port should be considered a lawful prize, and ordered all British merchandise found on the continent to be confiscated and burnt. Thus, between the Berlin Decrees and the Orders in Council, all the ports of Europe were formally closed. The one great neutral power, the United States of America, felt this blow bitterly, and bore a deep grudge against both parties in the strife.

From the very first the result of the "Continental System," as the Emperor's plan was named, was very different from what he had expected. The English manufactures and colonial wares, which he intended to exclude, contrived to creep, nevertheless, within the bounds of his empire. All along the coasts of Germany, France, Italy, and Spain, there sprang up an extraordinary development of smuggling. From Heligoland, the Channel Isles, Gibraltar, and Sicily, hundreds of vessels sailed by night to land their cargoes in secret. But if the merchandize arrived, it came by such hazardous and circuitous ways that its price was vastly increased. Napoleon did not succeed in ruining the commerce of England, but he succeeded in making Germans and Russians and Italians pay monstrous prices for their coffee or their sugar, and got their well-earned curses for it.

Napoleon's restless energy in carrying out his scheme for the isolation and financial ruin of England, led him into new troubles in another part of Europe, less than three months after he had ended his Polish campaign by the peace of Tilsit. The little kingdom of Portugal was, with Turkey, almost the last state in Europe which had not accepted the Continental System. Loth to lose their valuable commerce with England, the Portuguese tried evasion, and returned shifty answers when Napoleon bade their prince-regent accept the Berlin Decrees. Without waiting for further provocation the tyrant, who had now grown impatient of the slightest remonstrance against his fiat, declared that "the house of Braganza had ceased to reign," and sent an army under General Junot across Spain to occupy Lisbon. The prince-regent was forced to fly by sea, and the French overran the whole of his kingdom.

But from the first moment of his interference in the Peninsula, it is probable that Napoleon had wider schemes than the mere conquest of Portugal. The crown of Spain was now worn by the imbecile and worthless old king Charles IV., who lived in constant strife with his cowardly and intriguing son and heir, the Infant Ferdinand. There was nothing to choose between them in the way of incompetence and effeteness. In 1807 this wretched pair were at the height of their domestic quarrels, and each was trying to curry favour with Napoleon. They were always carrying complaints about each other to him, and asking for his support. Then Napoleon, as if he were the recognized arbiter of kings, summoned the quarrelsome father and son to meet him at Bayonne on the French frontier, that he might settle their disputes. They came, each full of charges against his relative; but Napoleon, when he had them both safely under his hand, suddenly adopted a new tone, pronounced them both unfit to rule a great nation, and then declared that his own brother, Joseph Bonaparte (whom he had made ruler of Naples two years before), would be the best king for Spain. Accordingly, he forced the two Bourbons, half by threats, half by cajolery, to abdicate, and sent them into the interior of France. A few Spanish nobles who had accompanied them to Bayonne were induced to accept Joseph, and then Napoleon pretended that his brother was legally constituted King of Spain. There were many French troops in the Peninsula, who had been sent there under the pretence that they were to help Junot in conquering Portugal. At the concerted signal these regiments seized the neighbouring Spanish fortresses, and proclaimed Joseph king. After a rising of the populace of Madrid had been put down with much bloodshed by the French troops in the capital, it seemed as if Napoleon's piracy and kidnapping were to be crowned with success (June 15, 1808).

This, however, was in reality far from being the case. As a matter of fact he had now succeeded in involving himself in the most protracted and exhausting war in which he was ever engaged. He had roused by his treachery the most revengeful and fanatical people in Europe, and had now to conquer a barren and arid country, "where large armies starve and small armies get beaten." Spain sprang to arms on the news of the crime of Bayonne. The great towns everywhere proclaimed Ferdinand VII. king, and though the central government was destroyed, "juntas" or revolutionary committees were formed in every province and began to raise troops to resist King Joseph.

The news of the Spanish insurrection was received with joy in England, more especially because it was the first really national rising against the Emperor that had yet been seen. Even the Whigs were enthusiastic for aiding Spain. "Hitherto," said Sheridan, "Bonaparte has contended with princes without dignity, numbers without ardour, and peoples without patriotism; he has yet to learn what it is to combat a nation animated by one spirit against him." Misled by their sympathy into over-estimating the strength of Spain and the valour of her raw provincial levies, the English government, influenced mainly by Canning, a disciple of Pitt, who was now the most prominent among the younger Tory statesmen, determined to strike a bold blow by land against Napoleon. For the last three years the very considerable body of regular troops in England, set free from the task of watching the Boulogne army, had been frittered away on small expeditions against outlying parts of the French and Spanish dominions, and had suffered nothing but checks. Now the cabinet determined to send a really formidable army to the Peninsula. It was resolved to throw 20,000 men ashore in Portugal to assail Junot, who was cut off from the rest of the French armies by the revolt in Spain. To the Spaniards were sent subsidies of arms and money, but no troops.

Bonaparte's notion that Spain could be annexed by a proclamation, and held down by 80,000 men, was destined to receive a rude shock. Almost simultaneously, two disasters fell upon his armies. A corps had been sent southwards to conquer Andalusia, where the insurrection was at its strongest. Its leader, General Dupont, allowed himself to be surrounded by superior numbers of Spanish levies at Baylen, and after some grossly mismanaged fighting, laid down his arms with his whole force of 15,000 men (July 20, 1808).

Junot, in Portugal, suffered almost the same fate. The English began to land in Portugal a few days after the capitulation of Baylen. When their leading divisions were ashore, headed by Sir Arthur Wellesley, the victor of Assaye and Argaum, Junot marched against them to drive them into the sea. Finding Wellesley on the hillside of Vimiero, he attacked him recklessly (Aug. 21), for the French had not yet learnt to appreciate the worth of the British infantry. He received a crushing defeat, and his army would have been destroyed if Wellesley had been allowed to pursue him. But on the night of the battle, more troops arrived from England, and with them Sir Hew Dalrymple, who was in command of the whole expedition. The cautious veteran refused Wellesley permission to follow up the flying enemy, and Junot escaped to Lisbon. But the Frenchman had been so badly beaten, that by an agreement called the "Convention of Cintra" he gave up Lisbon and all Portugal in return for being granted a safe passage back to France. English public opinion was disappointed that Junot's whole army had not been captured, and Dalrymple and Wellesley were put on trial for not taking Lisbon by force. The former, the responsible person, was deprived of his command; the latter was acquitted and sent back to Portugal to repeat his triumph of Vimiero on larger fields of battle. Meanwhile, while he was being tried in England, Sir John Moore, an able and experienced general, received the command of the English army in the Peninsula.

The news of Baylen and Vimiero had roused Napoleon to fury, which grew still greater when he heard that his brother Joseph had evacuated Madrid and fallen back behind the Ebro. He determined to march in person against Spain with the "Grande Armée," nearly 250,000 veterans, the victors of Austerlitz and Jena. Proclaiming that he was "about to carry his victorious eagles to the Pillars of Hercules, and drive the British leopard into the sea," he hurried over the Pyrenees, and fell upon the raw Spanish levies who had now advanced to the line of the Ebro. With a few crushing blows, he scattered them to right and left, and entered Madrid (Dec. 4, 1808). All northern and central Spain were overrun, and Napoleon might have accomplished his boast, and advanced to Cadiz and Lisbon, but for the daring diversion made by Sir John Moore and his 25,000 English. When that able officer heard that the Emperor had passed southward and taken Madrid, he fell upon his line of communication, and threatened to cut off his connection with France. He knew that this act would bring overwhelming numbers against him, but he also knew that it would save Southern Spain for a space. When Napoleon learnt that Moore was in his rear, he hurriedly left Madrid and directed 100,000 men to chase the much-daring general. But Moore, satisfied to have drawn off the French, continually retreated before them in the most skilful manner, always offering battle to the French van, and retreating when their main body appeared. He thus drew Napoleon up into the extreme north-western corner of Spain, among the rugged hills of Galicia. While engaged in this pursuit the Emperor received unwelcome news which drew him hastily back to Paris.

The English government had not been idle during the autumn of 1808, and had formed a new coalition with Austria, who in three years had begun to recover the disaster of Austerlitz, and to chafe against Napoleon's dictatorial ways and the inconveniences of the Continental System. Seeing the Emperor entangled in the Spanish war, Austria thought the opportunity of attacking him too good to be missed, and was preparing to send her armies into South Germany while Napoleon was chasing Moore into Galicia. The Emperor was forced to leave the greater part of his army in Spain, and to hurry off to the Danube with his guards and picked troops. Marshal Soult, whom he sent in pursuit of Moore, followed him as far as the sea, where an English fleet was waiting at Corunna to pick up the way-worn and jaded troops. To secure a safe embarkation, Moore turned sharply on the head of Soult's army, and drove it back at the battle of Corunna (Jan. 16, 1809). He fell in the moment of victory, but his efforts had not been in vain: his troops sailed away in safety, and the French invasion of Spain had been checked for four months by his bold stroke.

The English cabinet had resolved not to abandon Spain and Portugal; when Moore's regiments returned to England many of them were sent back to Lisbon, and placed under Wellesley, the victor of Vimiero, whose trial had ended in a triumphant acquittal. In April, 1809, began that wonderful series of campaigns which was to last till March, 1814, and to bear the English standard in triumph from the Tagus to the Garonne. Fettered by timid instructions from the home government, linked to rash and jealous allies, and starting with no more than 20,000 British troops, Wellesley was bidden to hold his own in the Peninsula, where more than 200,000 French troops were still encamped. He showed the rarest combination of prudence and daring, and brought his almost impossible task to a successful end, in spite of the tiresome stupidity of his Spanish confederates, and the inefficient support which the home government gave him. At any moment, during the first three years of his command, a single defeat would have caused the cabinet to recall him and withdraw his army from the Peninsula, but the defeat never came, and Wellesley at last won the confidence he merited, and was given adequate means to carry out his mighty schemes. The story of the war is the best proof of his abilities. A calm, stern, silent man, with an aquiline nose, clear grey eyes, and a slight, erect figure, he inspired implicit confidence, if his taciturnity and hatred of display or emotion prevented him from winning the love and enthusiasm of his troops as many lesser generals have done. "The sight of his long nose among us on a battle morning," wrote one of his veterans, "was worth 10,000 men of reinforcements any day."