But few troops were at the time in Cairo, for no apprehension of danger was cherished, and the French were scattered over Egypt, engaged in all plans of utility. At five o’clock on the morning of the 21st of October, Napoleon was awoke from sleep by the announcement that the city was in revolt, that mounted Bedouin Arabs were crowding in at the gates, that several officers and many soldiers were already assassinated. He ordered an aid immediately to take a number of the Guard, and quell the insurrection. But a few moments passed ere one of them returned covered with blood, and informed him that all the rest were slain. It was an hour of fearful peril. Calmly, fearlessly, mercilessly did Napoleon encounter it. Immediately mounting his horse, accompanied by a body of his faithful Guards, he proceeded to every threatened point. Instantly the presence of Napoleon was felt. A perfect storm of grape-shot, cannon-balls, and bomb-shells swept the streets with unintermitted and terrible destruction. Blood flowed in torrents. The insurgents, in dismay, fled to the most populous quarter of the city. Napoleon followed them with their doom, as calm as destiny. From the windows and the roofs the insurgents fought with desperation. The buildings were immediately enveloped in flames. They fled into the streets only to be hewn down with sabres and mown down with grape-shot. Multitudes, bleeding and breathless with consternation, sought refuge in the mosques. The mosques were battered down and set on fire, and the wretched inmates perished miserably. The calm yet terrible energy with which Napoleon annihilated “the murderers of the French,” sent a thrill of dismay through Egypt. A large body of Turks, who had surprised and assassinated a party of the French, intrenched themselves in a small village. Their doom was sealed. The next day a long line of asses, heavily laden with sacks, was seen entering the gates of Cairo. The mysterious procession proceeded to the public square. The sacks were opened, and the ghastly, gory heads of the assassins were rolled upon the pavements. The city gazed upon the spectacle with horror. “Such,” said Napoleon, sternly, “is the doom of murderers.” This language of energetic action was awfully eloquent. It was heard and heeded. It accomplished the purpose for which it was uttered. Neither Turk nor Arab ventured again to raise the dagger against Napoleon. Egypt felt the spell of the mighty conqueror, and stood still, while he gathered his strength to encounter England, and Russia, and Turkey in their combined power. What comment shall be made upon this horrible transaction. It was the stern necessity of diabolical war. “My soldiers,” said Napoleon, “are my children.” The lives of thirty thousand Frenchmen were in his keeping. Mercy to the barbaric and insurgent Turks would have been counted weakness, and the bones of Napoleon and of his army would soon have whitened the sands of the desert. War is a wholesale