astening from the latter place to join the
Garibaldians. At sight of this achievement, the bands, already much
demoralized, were thrown into confusion. Night came, and, favoring their
flight, changed it to a rout. Garibaldi himself, who had so often shouted,
"_Rome or death_"--stole away, under cover of the darkness, like the
meanest of the fugitives. His sons did in like manner. It was expected
that they would renew the battle next day, as Monte Rotondo, which they
still held, presented a convenient position for rallying. They did nothing
of the kind. On the very night which followed the engagement Garibaldi and
his sons recrossed the Italian frontier. "He always runs away" (_si salva
sempre_), said his followers, in the bitterness of their disappointment,
when so shamefully betrayed and abandoned. The French soldiers, on the
other hand, always inclined to raillery and punning, baptized the action
of the preceding day, calling it the battle of _Montre ton dos_. The
Garibaldians, who held the castle, as well as the rest of the banditti who
could not get away in time, surrendered, unconditionally, to General
Polhes. There was but little bloodshed on the side of the victors, thanks
to the rapidity with which the victory was won. The losses of the French
troops were not more than two killed, two officers and thirty-six privates
wounded. Of the Pontifical force there were twenty killed and one hundred
and twenty-three wounded. Several of these died of their wounds.

(M111) Among those noble victims who claim the gratitude of the Catholic
world, were names already dear to the church--such as Bernard de
Quatre-barbe, a nephew of the defender of Ancona; Rodolph de Maistre,
grandson of the immortal author of "The Pope;" and John de Muller, son of
the celebrated German controversialist. As if nothing that is glorious
should be wanting to the field of Mentana, it had also its martyrs of
charity. The Sisters of St. Vincent de Paul went and came among the
wounded and the dying, giving their aid alike to all, no matter what their
uniform. There was need of water. A Pontifical Zouave, Julius Watts
Russell, ran to find some for a Garibaldian who was at the point of death.
As he was gently raising the head of the moribund, in order that he might
drink, he was himself struck with a ball and fell dead on the body of him
whom he had endeavored to succour. On his person was found a small note,
in which he thus exhorted himself: "My soul, O,