ear before, in brilliant spirits and full of hope.
This handful of brave men, the most of them weakened by fever, led by the
general-in-chief of the expedition, who was even then suffering from the
malady which caused his death, repulsed by unheard of efforts and heroic
valor the repeated attacks of the blacks.

During this combat, in which the determination, if not the number and
strength, was equal on both sides, Madame Leclerc, with her son, was
under the guard of a devoted friend who had subject to his orders only a
weak company of artillery, which still occupied the house where her
husband had fixed his residence, at the foot of the low hills which
bordered the coast. The general-in-chief, fearing lest this residence
might be surprised by a party of the enemy, and being unable to foresee
the issue of the struggle which he was maintaining on the heights of the
Cape, and against which the blacks made their most furious assaults, sent
an order to convey his wife and son on board the fleet. Pauline would
not consent to this. Always faithful to the pride with which her name
inspired her (but this time there was in her pride as much greatness as
nobility), she spoke to the ladies of the city who had taken refuge with
her, and begged them to go away, giving them a frightful picture of the
horrible treatment to which they would be exposed should the negroes
defeat the troops. "You can leave. You are not the sisters of
Bonaparte."

However, as the danger became more pressing every moment, General Leclerc
sent an aide-de-camp to his residence, and enjoined on him, in case
Pauline still persisted in her refusal, to use force, and convey her on
board against her will. The officer was obliged to execute this order to
the letter. Consequently Madame Leclerc was forcibly placed in an
arm-chair which was borne by four soldiers, while a grenadier marched by
her side, carrying in his arms the general's son. During this scene of
flight and terror the child, already worthy of its mother, played with
the plume of the soldier who was carrying him. Followed by
her cortege of trembling, tearful women, whose only source of strength
during this perilous passage was in her courage, she was thus conveyed to
the seashore. Just as they were going to place her in the sloop,
however, another aide-de-camp of her husband brought news of the defeat
of the blacks. "You see now," said she, returning to her residence, "I
was right in not wishing to em