bled about him near
Montechiaro, proposed that they should ascend the hill which dominated
the plain. Even from its ridge no Austrians were to be seen. Again the
commander burst forth with petulant reproaches, and even talked of
retiring to the Adda. Whereupon, if we may trust the "Memoirs" of
General Landrieux, Augereau protested against retreat, and promised
success for a vigorous charge. "I wash my hands of it, and I am going
away," replied Bonaparte. "And who will command, if you go?" inquired
Augereau. "You," retorted Bonaparte, as he left the astonished circle.

However this may be, the first attack on Castiglione was certainly
left to this determined fighter; and the mingling of boldness and
guile which he showed on the following day regained for the French not
only the village, but also the castle, perched on a precipitous rock.
Yet the report of Colonel Graham, who was then at Marshal Wuermser's
headquarters, somewhat dulls the lustre of Augereau's exploit; for the
British officer asserts that the Austrian position had been taken up
quite by haphazard, and that fewer than 15,000 white-coats were
engaged in this first battle of Castiglione. Furthermore, the
narratives of this _melee_ written by Augereau himself and by two
other generals, Landrieux and Verdier, who were disaffected towards
Bonaparte, must naturally be received with much reserve. The effect of
Augereau's indomitable energy in restoring confidence to the soldiers
and victory to the French tricolour was, however, generously admitted
by the Emperor Napoleon; for, at a later time when complaints were
being made about Augereau, he generously exclaimed: "Ah, let us not
forget that he saved us at Castiglione."[59]

While Augereau was recovering this important position, confused
conflicts were raging a few miles further north at Lonato. Massena at
first was driven back by the onset of the Imperialists; but while they
were endeavouring to envelop the French, Bonaparte arrived, and in
conjunction with Massena pushed on a central attack such as often
wrested victory from the enemy. The white-coats retired in disorder,
some towards Gavardo, others towards the lake, hotly followed by the
French. In the pursuit towards Gavardo, Bonaparte's old friend,
Junot, distinguished himself by his dashing valour. He wounded a
colonel, slew six troopers, and, covered with wounds, was finally
overthrown into a ditch. Such is Bonaparte's own account. It is
gratifying to kn