“Give me iron in the men, and I shall not mind much about the iron in the ships,” said the American admiral Farragut, when some of his officers were discussing the changes that would be introduced into naval warfare by the new ironclad navies. And Farragut was right in holding that, whatever the ships might be made of, the most important thing was to have enough “iron in the men” who worked and fought them. We are sometimes too apt to think that the power of rival fleets can be estimated by setting off their weight of guns and thickness of armour in two parallel columns, and striking a balance, as if it were an account in a ledger. But all naval history goes to prove that, within certain wide limits, the power of navies depends chiefly upon an element that can only be tested by the stress of storm and battle—namely, the courage, the nerve, and the “grit” of their officers and men.

No more striking proof of this was ever given than that which is afforded by the sea-fight of Lissa, the only battle between ironclads that has yet taken place in European waters. In ships, in guns, in armour the Italian fleet was superior to the Austrian. On paper there could be no doubt on which side lay the power that would secure, in event of war, the command of the Adriatic. The war came, and its grim reality showed how fallacious was the comparison made beforehand. The object of the Italians in 1866 was to drive the Austrians out of Venetia, by attacking them there while they were occupied elsewhere by the struggle with Prussia. The Italian plan of campaign was to march against the Austrians in northern Italy, and, after defeating their land army, besiege Venice by sea and land. The fleet was to crush the Austrians at sea, in the early days of the war, so to be ready to co-operate in the operations against Venice. It all worked out beautifully on paper. But the plan was never reduced to practice. War was declared on June 20th, and four days later the Italian field army was defeated by the Austrians at Custozza.

Nearly a month before war was declared, Count Persano had been placed in command of the Italian fleet, and ordered to prepare it for active operations in the Adriatic, making Ancona his headquarters. On June 20th, the day of the declaration of war, eight ships (including two ironclads) were at Ancona. Persano with the main body of the fleet, consisting of ten wooden ships and nine ironclads, was still at the naval arsenal of Taranto. Admiral Tegethoff, the Austrian commander, was getting his fleet ready for sea at Fasana and Pola, at the head of the Adriatic. He had taken command on the 9th of May, and ever since had been hard at work fitting out his ships and training his crews. The only effective portion of the fleet was a squadron of seven ironclads, broadside ships, with thin armour, and no guns of really heavy calibre. At first, the Austrian Admiralty suggested that the fleet should consist only of these ironclads and a few light steamers to act as scouts and despatch-vessels. But there were lying in the dockyard at Pola and in the port of Trieste an old wooden screw line of battle-ship, the Kaiser, and six wooden frigates. Tegethoff asked for these to be added to his command. “Give me every ship you have,” he said: “you may depend on it I will find good use for them.” He was given a free hand, and he organised his fleet in three divisions. The first was composed of seven ironclads. The second, under his friend Commodore Petz, consisted of the seven wooden ships. The third was made up of gunboats, paddle-steamers, and other light craft. The crews were rapidly recruited among the fishing population of the Dalmatian coast, and the sailors of Trieste and Pola. So new were many of them to work on board a man-of-war that they were not even uniformed when the fleet sailed, and they still wore at Lissa the clothes in which they enlisted. But they were brave and hardy seamen to begin with, and Tegethoff had given them some weeks of training in which the crews were busy from morning to night at target practice, the captains of the guns being taught to lay a whole broadside so as to converge on a single mark; and there was also practice in manœuvring under steam, in which great stress was laid on the importance of rapid turning so as to avoid the enemy’s rams, and use the same weapon successfully against them. The result was that even the newly-enlisted men learned confidence in themselves and in the brave and skilful leader who commanded them.

As soon as war was declared, Tegethoff sent one of his steamers out with orders to reconnoitre the Italian coast from Ancona southwards as far as Bari. On June 23rd she returned to the Admiral’s headquarters at Fasana, and reported that there were only a few ships at Ancona, and no sign yet of the enemy’s main fleet coming up the coast. Tegethoff, on this, resolved to see if it was possible to make a rapid attack on Ancona, and on the 26th he put to sea with thirteen ships, including six of his ironclads. He arrived off Ancona next day, and saw for himself that in the meantime Persano had collected his entire force in the harbour. But the Italians showed no signs of coming out to meet him, and he had no intention of fighting both their forts and their ironclads at one and the same time. So he steamed back to Fasana.

Persano’s orders were “to clear the Adriatic of the enemy’s fleet by destroying it or blockading it in its harbours.” But though he had on his side superior numbers, heavier guns,[2] and thicker armour, he seemed very reluctant to begin. The fact is, he had not much confidence either in his own powers or in his officers and men. He remained at Ancona till July 8th, and only put out to sea on that day because he had received a telegram from the Government bidding him to look for the Austrian fleet, and blockade it if it was still at Pola. But even then all he did was to steam across to the Dalmatian coast and come back to Ancona on the 13th, after practising some fleet manœuvres. The appearance of his fleet off the island of Grossa was telegraphed to Tegethoff, who, however, refused to sail from Fasana till he knew clearly what were the plans and destination of the enemy.

Two days after the Italian fleet returned to Ancona its admiral received a peremptory message from his Government informing him that, after the great hopes that had been built upon the fleet, everyone was disappointed with his inactivity, and that if he did not do something at once he would be removed from the command. It was suggested that he should attempt to capture by a coup-de-main the fortified island of Lissa on the Dalmatian coast, and several battalions were placed at his disposal to act as a landing party in case he decided to adopt this plan.

Persano was thus driven to venture upon what has always been recognised as one of the most dangerous of naval operations. He was to escort a fleet of transports across the Adriatic, and co-operate with the troops embarked in them in an attack upon a maritime fortress, having all the time a hostile fleet watching for the opportunity to fall upon him, while he was engaged in the siege. True, the Austrian fleet was supposed to be inferior to that which he commanded; but, if this was so, the sound course for him was to blockade it in its harbours or crush it if it tried to come out. The enemy’s fleet ought to have been dealt with before anything else was attempted. If he was not strong enough to do this, he could not hope to reduce Lissa and keep Tegethoff at bay at the same time. But the fact is, he was not acting on any sound principle of naval war. He was merely trying to “do something” to satisfy public opinion; and there was just the chance that he might reduce Lissa before the Austrians arrived, or that Tegethoff might shrink from attacking him; or, if there was a battle, he might still hope that numbers and weight of metal would give Italy the victory over Austria.

Lissa is an island about thirty miles from the Dalmatian coast, and one hundred and thirty from Ancona. As the nearest of the Dalmatian Islands to Italy, it has always been a naval station of some importance when a war has been in progress in the Adriatic; and in our last war with France its waters were the scene of a brilliant frigate action in which our sailors defeated a much superior French force. In 1866 the chief harbour of Lissa, that of San Giorgio, and the neighbouring inlet of Porto Carober were protected by strong batteries. There were also batteries on the high rocks at Porto Comisa and at Manego. The signal station on Monte Hum, the highest point in the island (about 1,600 feet above the sea), commanded in clear weather a view of both sides of the Adriatic, and the island was connected by a submarine cable with the neighbouring island of Lesina and the Dalmatian coast. The garrison of Lissa consisted of 1,800 men, with eighty-eight guns, commanded by Colonel Urs de Margina.

On July 17th Persano steamed round the island, reconnoitred its defences, and decided on his plans for the attack. Next day Admiral Vacca, with three of the Italian ironclads and one wooden ship, attacked the batteries of Porto Comisa. The main body of the fleet closed in upon the harbour batteries of San Giorgio, in order to keep the garrison there as much occupied as possible while Admiral Albini, with another squadron, brought six large screw steamers crowded with troops into the bay at Porto Manego in order to effect a landing there. At Porto Comisa, Vacca found he could not elevate his guns sufficiently to do any serious damage to the high batteries, and he was driven off by their shells. At Porto Manego, a heavy surf on the beach and the fire of the Austrians from the shore made the landing impossible. At San Giorgio, Persano silenced the low-lying batteries at the harbour mouth, blowing up two of their magazines, but the inner batteries prevented his ships from entering the port. During the day one of his steamers had gone in to the neighbouring island of Lesina and cut the telegraph cable there. While the Italians were in possession of the telegraph station at Lesina, a message from Tegethoff came through. It was addressed to Colonel de Margina, and told him to hold out to the last, promising that the fleet would come to rescue him. Persano tried to persuade himself that this message was intended to fall into his hands, and was a piece of mere “bluff” on the part of his opponent.

On the following day he renewed the attack on Lissa, but again failed to force his way into the harbour, while an attempt to land troops at Porto Carober was repulsed with heavy loss. On this same day, July 19th, Tegethoff put to sea with every ship he could muster. His last order to his captains was to close with the enemy before Lissa, and once the battle began, to “Ram everything painted grey.” This was the colour of the Italian ships. He gave his own hulls a coat of black paint before they started, in order to make it easier to distinguish friends from foes in the coming mêlée.

On the evening of the 19th Persano was undecided what to do next day. He had been two days in action, and though his ships had received only slight injuries, his supply both of coal and ammunition was running short. Yet if he went back to Ancona without having obtained a decided success he would be deprived of his command. So he at last resolved to capture Lissa by a combined attack by land and sea. Early next day he signalled to his colleague Albini to prepare for the landing. It was a fine morning, with a good deal of white haze on the sea shutting off the distant view. Albini was getting the soldiers into the boats, and two of his frigates were standing in towards the creek of Carober to clear the way for the landing. A hospital ship had joined the fleet and was taking its wounded on board. The ironclads had assembled, and were getting up anchor for the attack on San Giorgio. It was eight o’clock: the attack was to begin at nine; but suddenly out of the haze to the north-westward appeared the frigate Esploratore, which had been scouting in the offing. She was steaming her fastest, and as she came nearer, Persano was able to read the signal she was flying. “Suspicious-looking ships are in sight.” He knew at once that he had to deal with the Austrian fleet.

Tegethoff’s fleet had been steaming all night in three lines, the ironclads leading, the wooden ships and gunboats following. The despatch-boat Stadion was out ahead, and at seven a.m., long before Persano knew what was coming, six of his ships were sighted by the keen eyes of the look-out at the masthead of the leading Austrian ship. She signalled to her consorts, “Six steamers in sight.” Then the haze closed down ahead, and Tegethoff slackened speed in hopes it would clear, for in such thick weather he did not care to venture into the narrow waters between Lissa and Lesina. He formed for battle, each of his lines throwing forward its centre so as to assume the shape of a flattened wedge. He led the first line in the Ferdinand Max, with three ironclads on either beam. The second line also consisted of seven ships, Petz in the Kaiser leading, with three frigates on each side. Thus the squadron moved towards Lissa under easy steam. The haze was breaking up: it was a hot summer day, and a little before ten o’clock the sky was bright, the air clear, and the sea smooth; and close ahead the Austrians saw the forts of Lissa with the imperial flag still waving over them, and in front of the harbour mouth the mass of wooden ships, transports, and small craft, interrupted in their preparations for the landing, and nearer still the Italian ironclads steaming out in one long line ready for battle.

Persano, regarding his wooden ships as useless, had decided to take only his ten ironclads with him, believing that they would be able to deal with the seven which Tegethoff was bringing against him. He formed his ironclads in three divisions, each of three ships, with the turret ship and ram Affondatore, then the most powerful vessel in the Adriatic,[3] on the starboard side of the central division. The Affondatore, with her ram and her heavy turret guns (two 300-pounders), was to come to the help of whichever of the three divisions was in need of succour. At the last moment he himself went on board of her—an unfortunate move, which led to much confusion during the battle, as his captains were mostly unaware that the Ré d’Italia, a large broadside ship, which had till then been flagship, no longer carried the Admiral.

When the haze cleared, the Italian fleet was steaming across the Austrian front. Tegethoff had already signalled to clear for action. He now signalled to open fire with the bow guns, and the distant shots from the leading Austrian ships were answered by the broadsides of Admiral Vacca’s division, which led that of Italy. But the range was fully two miles, and these “long bowls” did no harm. The fleets were wrapped in drifting clouds of smoke, and geysers of foam shot up here and there from the blue water in the space between. “Full steam ahead,” signalled Tegethoff. The fleets were closing, the Italians still keeping their broadsides to the advancing foe. The fire was closer, and now spars and ropes were cut away, boats and wooden fittings were knocked to splinters, and signalmen and others who had not yet got under cover were wounded or killed by bursting shells. “Ironclads will ram and sink the enemy,” signalled Tegethoff, the last order he gave till the battle was won. From this point he kept on the bridge of the Ferdinand Max, regardless of personal danger, and led his fleet by showing his consorts what a well-handled battle-ship could do. Two of his captains, Molb of the ironclad Drache, and Klint of the Novara, were killed as the fleets came to close quarters, Molb being struck down by the first Italian shot that fell on board his ship.

The two lines of ironclads closed amid thick clouds of smoke. The Austrian ships broke into the gap between Vacca’s three ironclads and the rest of the Italian fleet, and Petz, with the wooden ships coming up on their right, co-operated with them in their attack on the Italian centre. In a moment all order was lost, and the battle became a mêlée. The Ferdinand Max twice rammed a grey ironclad without succeeding in sinking her, when suddenly up out of the smoke loomed the tall masts of the Ré d’Italia, which came up to the rescue of her consort. Tegethoff, thinking he was dealing with the Italian flagship, charged her full speed and struck her fairly amidships. This time he had succeeded: the ram crushed in her iron side, and the tall masts toppled over as the ironclad went down with her crew of 600 men. The Ferdinand Max had reversed her screw to clear the wreck, when another Italian vessel, the name of which could not be made out by the Austrians, came bearing down upon her, trying to ram. The Austrian flagship just avoided the collision, and the two ships grazed past each other almost touching. As she thus ranged up alongside, the Italian ship fired a broadside. What followed would be incredible, only for the clear evidence which supports the Austrian record. So close were the muzzles of the Italian guns to the side of the Austrian flagship that the smoke of the broadside poured in through the open portholes of the Ferdinand Max and made her gun-deck for the moment dark as night. But neither the ship nor the men were injured, for in their hurry and confusion the Italian gunners had fired a broadside of blank cartridge!

Admiral Ribotti, with the rearward division of the Italian fleet, as he came into the fight encountered only the wooden squadron of Commodore Petz. Ribotti ought to have sunk them one by one, but the Austrians evaded his attempts at ramming, and Petz in the Kaiser boldly drove the oaken bows of his battle-ship against the iron sides of his adversaries. He was not able to do them much damage. He hit the Ré di Portogallo, Ribotti’s own ship, one good blow, that left its mark on her armour, but in doing so his own ship was disabled. The bowsprit was carried away, the foremast fell across the funnel, and the wreck of mast and spars took fire. The Kaiser, her crew working hard at cutting away the débris and putting out the fire, steamed through the Italian fleet and stood in to the harbour of Lissa, exchanging shots with some of the Italian wooden vessels. Cheered by the garrison, she passed the harbour mouth and anchored under the guns of the forts, the first of the relieving squadron to arrive at San Giorgio.

Meanwhile the mêlée continued. While Tegethoff was in the thick of the fight, Persano made the great ram Affondatore nearly useless by persisting in keeping on the outskirts of the conflict. If he had ventured in with her it is very likely he would have been sunk by the better-handled Austrian ships. The Palestro, which had gone into action immediately astern of the Ré d’Italia, had been almost as severely handled as her leader. She had been rammed. Her steering gear and rudder had been knocked to pieces, and her gun-decks were on fire. She drew out of the fight, her commander getting his steam hose to work to drown the magazine. The Austrian ships were now clearing the Italian line, and steering for Lissa. The mêlée, which had lasted for rather more than half-an-hour, was over. The position of the two fleets was reversed. The Austrians with their left near Lissa, were forming up in line across the channel between that island and Lesina. Everyone of their ironclads was still in good condition, and even the disabled Kaiser, which had gone into the harbour with her foremast burning and her decks strewed with nearly two hundred killed and wounded, was again clearing for action. The Italian wooden ships were assembling off the western end of the island. To the northward the ironclads were scattered here and there, on the waters that had just been the scene of the fight. As the smoke cleared, Persano signalled to the nearest ship—“Where is the Ré d’Italia?” and got for answer, “Sunk to the bottom.” Close astern of the Affondatore lay the Palestro, the black smoke pouring from hatchway and porthole. Her crew believed that the magazine had been successfully drowned, and that they were getting the fire under. As they recognised Persano on the bridge of the Affondatore, they gave him a cheer. His own crew were answering it when there was a burst of flame and a volume of dense smoke from the Palestro, and an explosion louder than all the din of battle went echoing over sea and shore. It was the death-knell of 400 men, for the Palestro had blown up with all on board.

Admiral Vacca, thinking that Persano had gone down with the Ré d’Italia, had signalled to the fleet to re-form in line of battle. The same signal from the Affondatore showed him where his commander was. And the ironclads, now reduced from ten to eight, re-formed in line. It was noon on a blazing hot day, and for some time the two fleets watched each other across the sunny space of open water that divided them. Persano had still the advantage of numbers, and everyone expected that he would signal to renew the attack. But if he had very little confidence in his fleet before the battle, he was now reduced to a condition of something like despair. Even the wooden ships of the Austrian squadron had passed in safety through his line, while their ironclads had destroyed two of his ships and more than a thousand of his men. It must be added that he had now been three times in action, and his stock of both coals for his engines and ammunition for his guns must have run very low. In this state of affairs, he persuaded himself that he need not actually attack the Austrians; all that honour demanded of him was to give them the opportunity of renewing the trial of strength if they wished. So for another hour he remained in line of battle, just out of long range of his enemy’s guns.

But Tegethoff had accomplished the task assigned to his fleet. He had relieved Lissa, by bringing the guns, the men, and the supplies of his fleet to the help of its brave little garrison. He had done this, too, not by slipping past the Italians in the morning fog, but by fighting his way through their most powerful squadron, making them pay dearly for their attempt to intercept him. Why should he renew the fight when there was nothing more to be gained for the moment?

Persano at last decided that he, too, had done enough for honour. He signalled to the fleet to steam away to the north-west, and shortly after altered his course for Ancona. He anchored there next day, and added to all his previous blunders the final folly of sending to his Government, and wiring all over Italy, the report that he had fought a pitched battle with the Austrians, and won a victory over them in the waters of Lissa. That night Florence (then the capital) was illuminated in honour of his “triumph.” Next day the facts began to be known. It was impossible to deny that the Austrian fleet was intact; that the Italians had lost two ships, and had been forced to raise the siege of Lissa. It was in vain that Persano argued that he was the victor because he had remained in possession of the waters in which the battle had been fought, and that he had for a whole hour dared the Austrians to come on again. There was the obvious reply that a naval battle is not fought for the possession of a stretch of open water; that Persano had tried to prevent the Austrians reaching Lissa, that they had gone there in spite of him; and that they would have been fools to come back in order to show twice over that they were not afraid to fight him. There was a wild outburst of indignation against the unfortunate admiral; there were riots at Florence, and a royal decree removed him from the command of the fleet. As if to add to the general collapse of the Italian navy, the Affondatore, supposed to be its most powerful ship, whether through injuries received at Lissa, or through mere defects in her structure, sank at her anchors in the harbour of Ancona.

On the side of Austria, there were rejoicings in which the name of Tegethoff was celebrated as that of an heroic sailor who had given his country the consolation of a naval victory at a time when her fortunes on land were at the lowest. He had won his great victory with comparatively little loss. The Kaiser was the only ship that suffered at all heavily. In some of the ironclads there were only a few wounded, and every one of the ships was in a position to continue the fight when the Italian fleet retired. The battle was the first that had been fought by ironclad fleets in European waters, and the impression it made upon naval experts was that the ram would be the chief weapon of future battles on the sea. Yet, though we have by no means clear or full accounts of what happened in the mêlée while the two fleets were passing through each other’s lines, it is certain that the number of attempts to ram made by the Austrians was out of all proportion to their two successful attacks. All the attempts of the Italians to ram ended in failure. It must be remembered that since Lissa a great change has come over naval tactics, through the development of the torpedo and the quick-firing gun, and it is now generally recognised by naval men that to attempt to ram an adversary till he is disabled by gunfire or otherwise is to invite failure and disaster. Tegethoff regarded the ram as his chief weapon. Nowadays it is looked upon as the means of giving the coup de grâce and completing a victory that is already half won.

The victor of Lissa was rightly honoured by his sovereign and his countrymen, while Admiral Persano was put on his trial on the charge of having lost the battle through cowardice and incompetence. He was acquitted of the charge of cowardice, but found guilty of having sacrificed his fleet through his incompetent conduct at Lissa, and he was deprived of all rank and dismissed from the navy. There is no doubt that although he alone was condemned, he was not the only officer of the Italian fleet who was responsible for the defeat of Lissa. Throughout there was a lamentable want of energy, pluck, and decision. Otherwise the Austrians would not have achieved their victory with so slight a loss. Albini’s conduct in looking on idly with his frigates while Petz on the Austrian side was leading his wooden squadron against Ribotti’s ironclads, is a good instance of this.

Indeed, the Battle of Lissa, considered in its details, shows that success on the sea, as well as on land, is primarily a question of brave and competent leadership. Good officers are the first condition of naval success; well-trained and disciplined crews the second; powerful ships are the third. Public opinion is often so ill informed as to put in the first place what really stands last; but none of these elements of naval power can be safely neglected by a maritime State, and one which claims the Empire of the Sea must spare no effort to possess all three, and to possess them in abundance.

It was noon of the 4th of June, 1859, before the French general, Trochu, at the head of his division, could move out in turn from Novara along the high road leading to Milan across the river Ticino. The Emperor, Napoleon III., was commanding in person the united French and Italian armies. He had gone on ahead, and was himself preceded by several divisions of the French troops. It was known, in a general way, that the Austrian enemy was not far distant to the south and eastward beyond the river. An attack was expected, but it was uncertain where it would be made.

Suddenly the noise of cannon was heard from the front, several miles away. It went on steadily increasing.

“What is the meaning of that?” inquired Trochu of an officer he met watering his horse by the roadside.

“At first we thought it was a fight,” was the answer; “but it is only General Lebœuf trying his cannon.”

“Cannon would not thunder like that under trial,” replied Trochu. “Those guns are loaded with something heavier than powder.”

He hastened the march of his troops with not a little anxiety. Soon another officer, in the sky-blue uniform which marked the personal staff of the Emperor, dashed up.

“Ah, General, what a fearful surprise! The Emperor has been attacked by the Austrians when he least expected them. We are all but beaten.”

“Where is MacMahon?” asked the General.

“MacMahon had orders to march forward, no matter what happened, to the church-tower of Magenta.”

“Then nothing is yet lost. MacMahon is not a Cæsar, but he is stubborn. If he has been told to march on the tower of Magenta, he will reach it in spite of all. And then it is we who shall have outflanked the Austrian army.”

Several hours passed before the guns of MacMahon made themselves heard. It was late at night before the Emperor learned what MacMahon and his men had been doing. Generals and soldiers, wearied out with the afternoon’s bloody fighting by the river, could not believe that a great victory had been won in the evening without them over by Magenta. In the morning, when they looked for the battle to be renewed, they found that the enemy was indeed drawing off, sullen and beaten.

Even afterwards, when each movement of the hostile troops was known and could be followed on the map, great authorities in practical warfare, like the Prussian general, von Moltke, criticised the winning of the battle. MacMahon at Magenta is an instance of a battle won contrary to rule.

I.—The Preparations of Battle.

The enmity between Austrians and Italians was of old date. It belonged to the great popular movement in favour of a common government for all of the Italian race and language. Until now the whole of Italy had been divided up piecemeal among many rulers. To the north-west Victor Emanuel had his kingdom of Sardinia, or Piedmont. He represented the Italian hopes in this war with Austria which held possession of the rich provinces of Lombardy and Venice to the east of his dominions. Toward the south were the petty duchies of Parma and Modena, the grand-duchy of Tuscany, the States of the Church, and the kingdom of Naples, or the Two Sicilies. All these were at one with Austria in striving to keep things as they had been so long; but their people were ripe for the revolution which was bound to come. Magenta was the first decisive victory won, after an invasion of the Austrian territory, in the name of United Italy.

The war had been long preparing. In 1849 the Austrians crushed for a time the Italian uprising by a victory over the Sardinians here at Novara. For many years nothing could be done but by way of diplomacy. This was the work of Cavour, the Minister of King Victor Emanuel. From 1852 he had been persuading the governments of Europe that there was an Italian question which would soon have to be settled.

Louis Napoleon, who was now Emperor in France, had himself been a revolutionist in Italy when he was only a needy adventurer. That was in 1831, when he took part in an insurrection in the Papal States. He then became a carbonaro, or member of one of those secret societies in which the chief obligation was to forward the cause of Italian unity. For a long time after he became emperor he shrank from precipitating the war to which his oath obliged him. The explosion of a bomb under his carriage in Paris by Orsini, the son of the man who had stood sponsor for him in the revolutionary society, reminded him that the carbonari were relentless in their vengeance on traitors to their cause. In July, 1858, it was made known that the Emperor of the French had entered into close alliance with the King of Sardinia.

Austria, seeing that war was inevitable, preferred that it should come sooner rather than later. On the 19th of April, 1859, she summoned Sardinia to put her army on a peace footing within three days. Cavour refused, and on the 29th the Austrian commander Gyulaï invaded the Sardinian territory.

Napoleon III. now announced that the acts of Austria constituted a declaration of war on France, the ally of Sardinia. At once he set about organising his army for the Italian campaign. On the 4th of May his troops were entering the valley of the Po, along which lay the open way to Lombardy. On the 10th the Emperor himself left Paris for the seat of war, to command the allied armies in person.

The news of Napoleon’s coming was enough to send Gyulaï back from the threatening movement which he had already made on Turin, the capital of Sardinia. Napoleon had not yet his artillery, but the Austrian commander did not know the essential weakness and confusion of the forces that were coming to meet him. Until the battle of Magenta, when consistent and energetic measures were already too late, the Austrian movements were a strange alternation of forward marches leading to no decisive action, and of hasty and fatiguing retreats when no enemy pursued.

General Gyulaï’s mind in the matter is now known. He was continually urged from Vienna, and afterwards from Verona, in Italy, where the Austrian Emperor had placed himself to direct the campaign, to push forward with his numerous, well-drilled, and well-equipped troops, and take the offensive. He himself was beset with fears that the enemy might pass him by and take Lombardy unprotected. He was not reassured when a division of his army in the north had succeeded in driving the free bands of Garibaldi to the very edge of the neutral Swiss territory. He gradually drew back to the region where the river Ticino, in its lower course, separated Lombardy from Sardinia. There he gave all his attention to concentrating his forces around the strong defensive positions which he had already prepared. But all this gave time to the French army to perfect its order and equipment, and to concentrate its own strength in line with the Sardinian troops.

Such was the general situation of things on the 1st of June, when Napoleon was directing the main body of the allied troops along the great highway leading to Milan, the capital of Lombardy, only twenty miles beyond the Ticino. On that day Gyulaï again retreated with all his forces, leaving the astonished French Emperor free to enter Novara. Napoleon could not believe that the Austrians would long delay their attack. On both sides the service of scouts was so ill-organised that neither commander had any clear idea of the other’s strength and position.

On the 2nd of June Napoleon sent forward two divisions of MacMahon’s corps to see what was awaiting them along the Ticino. General Camou reached the river, with his light infantry, at Porto di Turbigo, six miles to the north-east of Novara. He found no one facing him from the Austrian side but the single Customs officer, who was still faithful to the post which he had occupied in time of peace. From the yellow and black flagstaff beside him floated the double-headed eagle of Austria. Camou ordered first one, and then a second cannon-shot to be fired. The functionary disappeared open-mouthed. General Lebœuf, who was in command of the artillery, dashed up, pale with indignation.

“General,” he cried to Camou, “what are you firing at? It is lucky there is no one in front of you. Do you wish to bring the enemy down on us?”

In this campaign of blunders fortune steadily favoured the French and Italian armies. Unmolested by any sharpshooters that might have been hidden in the marshy thickets across the river, the bridge of pontoons was completed, boat by boat, and at half-past six in the evening a division of the light infantry was safely established on the enemy’s ground.

General Espinasse, with his division, had gone forward along the high road to Milan as far as the stone bridge of San Martino. This was expected to be a strong defensive position of the Austrians. To his surprise he found that it too had been abandoned, after an ineffectual attempt to blow it up. The only two arches that had been seriously injured were repaired that same afternoon, and another way lay open into the enemy’s country.

It now seemed evident that the Austrians would make their stand along the Naviglio Grande—the broad and deep canal which here follows the general course of the Ticino, at from one to three miles’ distance toward Milan. The indecision of the French Emperor was still great. He could not determine on any general advance of the allied armies further to the east, fearing always that the invisible enemy might be turning back to attack him from the south.

At three o’clock in the morning of the 3rd of June, the light infantry reached a bridge over the canal. It was untouched, and the Austrians were not there to defend it. Two companies of the French troops at once installed themselves in houses on the bank, and, by mattresses at the windows and otherwise, prepared a defence against any sudden attack. The remainder of the battalion crossed the bridge and disposed itself behind the stone walls of the gardens and the haystacks which were near at hand. In this way an enemy would be covered by the fire from each bank. MacMahon’s entire corps, comprising the divisions of Generals Espinasse and Lamotterouge, besides the light infantry of Camou, had been ordered to cross the river and canal by the bridges which had thus been secured. While the greater part were still at the pontoons, MacMahon and Camou, with a large body of troops, pushed on beyond the canal to Turbigo, a village farther north. The corps thus took the position, which it kept through all the subsequent fighting, of left wing (farthest to the north and east) of the long, scattered line of the allied armies.

General Mellinet, with the Grenadiers of the Imperial Guard, was substituted for Espinasse at the bridge of San Martino to the south. The Austrian division of Clam-Gallas, which was occupying Magenta, faced all these troops approaching it from the north and west.

The Turcos, whom MacMahon had brought with his other soldiers from their posts in Algiers, soon dislodged the few Austrian companies that were on guard at Turbigo. Seeing the way clear, MacMahon, with Camou and a small escort, rode forward to the hamlet of Robecchetto, where the two generals climbed the church-tower with the hope of ascertaining the position of the enemy. Instead, they saw a large number of the Austrian troops charging down on them. They had barely time to get to their horses and ride away, with the Austrians behind them in hot pursuit. The Algerian sharpshooters came to the rescue, and soon a serious battle was raging around Turbigo.

At the same time a column of 4,000 men, preceded by a battalion of Tyrolese sharpshooters, was directed against the bridge over the canal, which the French troops had occupied in the early morning. The Austrian commander now foresaw the results of the negligence which allowed the allied troops to cross both river and canal above the positions on which he relied for defence. It was too late. Before the Austrian attack could dislodge the French infantry, who answered their fire from each end of the bridge, MacMahon had gained the day at Turbigo, and his cannon sounded nearer and nearer. The enemy, fearing to be cut off from their main body, hastily retreated. It was seven o’clock in the evening. The combat of Turbigo, which was the prelude of the morrow’s work, had been fought and won. Napoleon, who came up during the fray, gave the name to one of the broad, new streets he was opening in Paris.

The Emperor returned to Novara for the night, and made out the necessary orders for a general movement forward of the allied armies on the following day. These orders were changed next morning in several of their details. As they were based on no precise knowledge of the enemy’s position and movements, they were again upset by the fighting and surprises of the midday.

II.—The Ride of the Commandant.

At six o’clock in the morning of the 4th of June, Napoleon despatched Commandant Schmitz of his staff with his final orders.

“Go first to the King. Inform him of my march forward, and tell him to begin moving his men, following Camou over the left side of the river.” This was for Victor Emanuel, who was in command of 22,000 men, one-half of the Italian regiments of the allied armies. He was but a short distance to the west of the pontoon bridges which had been thrown across the Ticino at Porto di Turbigo.

“Go on next to the Ticino. I have ordered two of the bridges to be brought down to San Martino, to hasten what will be the long crossing of our own troops.” The Emperor referred to the main portion of his army, made up of the 41,000 men of Canrobert and Niel, who were still back of Novara, and of 40,000 more belonging to the corps of Baraguey d’Hilliers and the second Italian division. The latter were so many miles in the rear that they could be of no use in any battle to be fought that day.

“Then find MacMahon, who must be already beyond Turbigo. Ask him what he counts on doing if he has the enemy in his front. Inform him of the march and position of the Guard, which he has at his right.” This was General Mellinet’s division, which had been detached from Camou and was already across the river at San Martino. With the remainder of the Guard under Camou, and the entire divisions of Espinasse and Lamotterouge, this brought to 32,000 the number of men sharing in MacMahon’s offensive movement on Magenta.

“I shall be at Trecate” (halfway from Novara to the bridge of San Martino), continued the Emperor, “at noon precisely. Make the entire round, and be exact in reporting to me at that hour.”

The line of march thus formed left MacMahon in command of the left wing of the army. This was already in great part across both river and canal, and was to be followed closely by King Victor Emanuel with his Italian regiments as a reserve. The Emperor was commanding in person the centre and right—that is, the long line of troops which was to advance, division after division, along the high road of Milan. He had to expect a sharp fight in forcing the strong defensive positions held by the enemy where the road crosses the canal, before reaching Magenta. The movement of MacMahon’s corps on Magenta from the other side was designed by him to divide the Austrian forces during this attack.

In the absence of all precise information, Napoleon still believed that the bulk of the Austrian army was disposed in a long line parallel to his own, and several miles to the south. To avoid a possible general attack all along the line, he had arranged the march of his troops so that division trod on the heels of division from far beyond Novara. He hoped, by forcing back the right wing of the Austrian army, which alone he supposed to be defending the approaches to Magenta, to be able to pass by the main body of the enemy and march on Milan. At least, this is the only way of explaining the Emperor’s orders for this 4th day of June. As a line of battle his forward movement was preposterous, straddling a river and canal, which were not easy of passage, and without any defensive positions to support him in case a concentrated attack should be made in the meantime.

General Gyulaï did not know the advantages of his position. The line of battle which he opposed to the French advance admitted of a quick concentration of his troops which might, by the mere force of numbers, have crushed the corps of MacMahon and the Guard before the divisions of Novara could have marched up to their aid. Around Magenta the troops of Clam-Gallas faced MacMahon to the north, and the high road from San Martino to the west. There was a strong body of cavalry at Corbetta close at hand. The divisions of Liechtenstein were at Ponte Vecchio (the Old Bridge) and Robecco, along the canal below where the road crosses it. These, which formed the right and centre of the line of the Austrian army as it was actually engaged in battle, numbered 36,000 men. The left was in the immediate neighbourhood, with Zobel not two miles to the south and the rest just beyond at Abbiategrosso, 28,000 in all. At Vigevano across the Ticino there were 24,000 more, quite as near as the central divisions of the French. The remaining 25,000 men of the Austrian army, like the extreme rear of the allies, were too far away to be counted on for this day’s work.

As it was, between ignorance and indecision, the battle was to be fought with about equal forces on either side. It was to be an instance of an adage often in the mouths of military men—“Victory belongs to him who makes the fewest blunders.”