Over a hundred years ago down on the coast of Liberty county, Georgia had a city of some two or three thousand inhabitants. Situated on a high bluff amid the grand old oaks festooned with waving fringes of the Spanish moss, lay old Sunbury, now naught but a pile of decayed ruins. In the distance across the harbor, where men of war might lay at anchor, St. Catherine's rose blue and misty, and beyond was the great void of trackless ocean. Near by was a fort with its iron mounted war dogs and pacing sentries, while over all shone the bright warm sun of the semi-tropics. Here lived, loved and died the forefathers of many of Liberty's many citizens and many who ofttimes sedately paced the quaint old streets now be sleeping 'neath the waving trees of the little cemetery near by.

The town was the birthplace of many noted men, but none more so than one of the brothers Rudolph, whose name rung through the world as one of France's greatest marshals - Ney.

Born in Sunbury, of wealthy and aristocratic parents, he attended the Sunbury Institute of Dr. McQuire, where unto him were instilled the rudiments of the education which he afterwards went to France to complete.

A few years passed and young Rudolph again visited his American home, a Frenchman in everything but birth. His manners were those of the Parisian and the language of the French fell far more fluently from his lips, than that of his native land. Sunbury, quiet and isolated, after the gay life of the French capital, was too dull, and one day, as the sun was glimmering over the sound, young Rudolph left home to visit Florida, then the land of the Spaniard.

Months passed and no word was heard of him. The months passed into years and still the fate of the young man was unknown but soon an incident occurred which threw much light on the subject. A native of old Sunbury visited Paris at the time Napoleon was at the zenith of his power and glory, and chanced to be on the street one day when the emperor, accompanied by his magnificent train, passed. Among the follows, clad in all the panoply of war and rich materials of his high office, rode Ney, Napoleon's greatest marshal.

The gentleman from old Liberty recognized him as his old playmate, Rudolph, and, starting forward, exclaimed: “Why that's Rudolph!” As the familiar name and language struck the ear of Ney, he quickly turned his head, but rode on with a face as immovable as a statue.

Soon an aide presented himself to the Georgian and saluting announced that Marshal Ney wished to see the gentleman at his headquarters, and under the gurlance of the officer the gentleman soon found himself alone with the man before whom armies had trembled. Ney fixed on him a keen acrutinizing glance and in the language of the French said “Why did you call me Rudolph on the street today?” “Because you are he,” answered the American. A moment's thought and Ney asked “How do you know I am he?” “Why because I knew you as a boy in old Sunbury, in Georgia, where we used to play together and went to school to Dr. McQuire.”

“Yes,” said Ney, “I am Rudolph, but never let that name again pass your lips, for its price would be my head. To Napoleon I am a Frenchman, Rudolph never lived. Go and never breathe that name again.”

Time went by, and this same gentleman visited Paris again. It was at the second capitulation, and Ney, stripped of his glory and power, lay in prison. His sentence came and he was sentenced to die the death of a traitor by having his head severed at the block. When he head the verdict he asked that three requests might be granted him, and after due consideration they were allowed. They were: First, that as he had always been a soldier that he might die a soldier's death. Second, that he would not be shot in the face. Third, that as he had commanded the most famous armies of the world, so might he command the squad who were to execute him.

Two days afterwards, December 7, 1815 the gentleman from Sunbury was strolling in the Luxembourg when his attention was attracted by a rapidly approaching file of soldiers, carrying with them a prisoner. As they halted and the condemned took his place against the gray, blank wall, he raised his head, and the American recognized the playmate of his youth, Rudolph - to the French, Ney.

Ney drew himself proudly erect and glancing over the small crowd which had gathered, recognized his old Sunbury friend and gave him a smile of recognition. Then turning to the soldiers in a clear voice, in the English language, gave the command: “Ready, aim, fire.” The soldiers stirred not a muscle and then Ney gave the command in French, at which the rifles cracked. Marshal Ney-Rudolph was no more. The soldiers rapidly returned to the city and Ney lay on the frozen ground, face downward with one hand above his head, and his military cloak around him. So perished one of Georgia's sons, for he was one despite history's contradiction.

Source: The Atlanta Constitution, October 20, 1895, Page 10

Submitted by Bob Franks