The Generals

Chapter 30

As dawn painted the sky pink two days later Napoleon and his staff departed Alexandria, leaving two thousand men behind to defend the city under the command of General Kléber, who was recovering from his wounds. The army was striking out towards the Nile, nearly fifty miles away, and then Napoleon would lead the advance along the banks of the great river to Cairo. Desaix and the main body of the army had set out two nights before - after joining their comrades at Alexandria - tramping into the moonlit desert to cover as many miles as possible before the sun rose and turned the arid landscape into a furnace.

The air was still cool and Napoleon felt comfortable as his staff and the guides followed in the tracks of the four divisions that had gone ahead. A wide swath of churned sand stretched out before them and Napoleon was keen to re-join his army even as he enjoyed the muffled sounds of their progress. He laughed and turned to Berthier.

‘I think the sun must have got to Desaix’s head.Those reports he sent to us yesterday about the harsh conditions can’t have been true.Why, at the rate we’re marching, we could reach the Nile by tomorrow night.’

Berthier shrugged.‘It’s early in the day, sir.You know what the heat is like at midday. Besides, the men are in the wrong kind of uniform for this climate, and with the loads they’re carrying, well, it’s going be a struggle.’

Napoleon shook his head. ‘You worry too much. You saw what our men could achieve in Italy. My God, they marched for days at a time, and then fought a battle at the end of it. And that was against a proper army - not the barbaric rabble that the Pasha will throw against us. This campaign will be over in a matter of weeks, Berthier, mark my words. Egypt is as good as ours.’

‘If you say so, General.’

‘I do. Now cheer up and enjoy the ride. You won’t see landscape like this in Europe.’

‘No,’ Berthier muttered. ‘Thank God.’

But as the sun climbed into the sky the temperature rose with it and soon the very air that he breathed seemed to scald Napoleon’s lungs. By mid-morning the blazing intensity of the sunlight reflected off the sand began to hurt his eyes so that he had to squint as the small column trudged on. Shortly after midday they came across the first signs of the difficulties that Desaix and his men had encountered on the march across the desert. A knapsack lay abandoned beside the track. Napoleon was outraged.

‘Half a day from Alexandria! That’s as far as the owner of that has got before he weakened. Have one of our men pick that up. When we find who it belongs to I’ll have him court-martialled on the spot.’

They had not marched more than another mile before they came across more discarded equipment: knapsacks, cooking pots, spare clothing, blanket rolls, even bayonets. Napoleon’s gaze swept over the detritus and he felt the first pangs of anxiety for the fate of his men. The column stopped to rest late in the afternoon and the officers and men took off their jackets and rigged them over the ends of ramrods and swords to provide some shelter from the glare of the sun. Napoleon gave orders that they should drink sparingly of their water since the nearest town marked on his map was still several hours’ march away. As dusk fell upon the desert the men struggled wearily back on to their feet and the officers mounted their horses, and the column continued its advance.

There was no conversation amongst the men. Their lips were too dry and their throats too parched to bear the weight of any words as they shuffled across the sand into the twilight. A short distance further on, in the gathering gloom, Napoleon spotted a shape lying across the track and he ordered the column to halt while he went forward with Berthier and ten of the guides. A naked man lay sprawled on his back, his eyes staring blankly into the heavens. His jaw gaped open, and as Napoleon leaned over the corpse he could see that something bloody had been stuffed into the man’s mouth. As he glanced down the torso he saw a raw, dark gash where the man’s genitalia had been cut off, and a wave of revulsion and nausea swelled up from the pit of his stomach.

‘What kind of man would do that?’

‘It’s probably the work of the Bedouin,’ Berthier replied quietly. ‘According to the reports they’ve been shadowing our forces. Now they’ve started picking off our stragglers, like this poor fellow.’

‘Savages,’ Napoleon hissed through clenched teeth as he stared at the body.

‘It’s another world here in the east, sir.They fight by different standards, different values.’ Berthier gazed down at the corpse with a sad expression.‘Shall I have the men take the body to one side and bury it?’

Napoleon was silent for a moment before he replied in a harsh tone. ‘No. Let them see it. Let them know what happens to stragglers, and maybe it’ll put some fire into their bellies. God knows, they’ll need it over the next few days.’ He straightened up and walked back to his horse. ‘We’re wasting time here. We need to get moving.’

The column shuffled forward again, and rippled warily round the body as the men stared at their dead comrade in fear and anger. He was only the first that they encountered that night. By the time the sky began to lighten, with promise of yet another day of unbearable heat, they had passed several more corpses. Some had been beheaded and all of them showed signs of torture and mutilation. The way ahead was strewn with abandoned equipment and Napoleon and his men began to nurse dreadful fears about the fate of the men who had marched before them.

Again, the searing heat and dazzling glare pinned them to the wasteland as they followed the tracks of Desaix and his divisions. Late in the morning there was a shout from the company of guides, as Napoleon’s bodyguard had come to be called, who were screening their advance. Napoleon rose up in his saddle to squint in the direction indicated. A mile away, on the crest of a dune, a small party of dark-robed figures mounted on camels was shadowing the column.

‘Looks like some of those Bedouin you mentioned.’

Berthier nodded as he stared at the distant riders. ‘I’ll pass the word back down the column. I don’t imagine there’ll be many stragglers today, sir.’

‘No . . .’

Despite Napoleon’s orders the men could not resist the thirst that tormented them and nearly every canteen was empty long before they stopped under the midday sun and rested until it had inched down towards the western horizon. Then they rose up and continued again, their shadows stretching before them thin and gaunt and obscured by the dusty haze kicked up by their heavy boots. The men were exhausted and marched at a monotonous pace, dazed expressions on their faces. Here and there a man passed a dry, tacky tongue over cracked lips and winced at the pain it produced. Napoleon and the other officers had spare canteens hanging from their saddles and drank from them as discreetly as possible. Even so, the eyes of the nearest men flickered towards them with an intensity born of desperation as their parched throats burned in agony.

They rested again shortly after midnight and sat huddled together against the cold night air. Away to the west a sand dune was dimly highlighted by the glow of a campfire and a dark silhouette kept watch over the intervening desert. Napoleon stared at the Bedouin for a long time, wondering at the hardiness of a people who could endure such a hostile environment.What kind of man would choose such a life? But if this wasteland was the kind of terrain over which the Egyptian campaign would be fought, then he would do well to recruit these desert warriors to his side.

At length, Napoleon stood up and gave the order for the column to prepare to march. ‘Tell them, one more day and then we’ll camp on the bank of the Nile.Then they can drink as much water as they want.’

As the men rose up stiffly and took their places in the marching column a rider suddenly crested the dune a short distance along the track and galloped towards Napoleon and his staff officers. He slewed his foaming horse to a halt and stretched out an arm towards Napoleon as he offered him a folded dispatch.

‘From General Desaix, sir. He begs you to read it at once.’

Napoleon hurriedly broke the seal, opened the sheet of paper out and scanned the hurriedly composed message, then looked up at the messenger. ‘Tell General Desaix we will reach him tomorrow night. Until then he is to do nothing but rest his troops. Understand?’

‘Yes, sir.’

As the messenger turned his horse back down the track and spurred it into a trot Napoleon gestured to Berthier. ‘Ride ahead with me.’

The two officers urged their mounts forward until they were well out of earshot of the others.Then Napoleon slowed the pace to a walk and spoke quietly.‘Desaix says his men are on the verge of mutiny.’

‘Mutiny?’

‘Quiet, you fool!’ Napoleon glanced round anxiously and then continued. ‘The men refuse to go on. Their representatives have demanded that the army retreats to Alexandria and abandons the campaign. Even worse, some of the senior officers are backing their demands.’

‘Who, sir?’

‘General Mireur, and two colonels.’

‘What will you do, sir?’

Napoleon shrugged.‘I’m not sure, yet. By rights I should have them shot. Them and all the other ringleaders. I must restore discipline at any cost. But I’ll need to handle the situation very carefully.’ He thought a moment longer and then nodded to himself as he made a decision. ‘Berthier, I’m going to ride on ahead. I’ll take a small escort and find Desaix. I’m leaving you in command. Make sure the column does not stop until it reaches the Nile. Clear?’

‘Yes, sir.’

They exchanged a salute and then Napoleon pointed back to the squadron of mounted scouts. ‘You . . . and you. Follow me!’

He urged his horse into a trot and headed along the track towards Desaix. For the rest of the night and into the first pale light of dawn Napoleon’s anger at the situation Desaix had allowed to flare up smouldered in his breast. Mutiny? So early in the campaign? It was unthinkable, Napoleon fumed. If only these men had one fraction of the endurance and courage of the Army of Italy this would never have happened. He spurred his horse on. As the three men rode across the sands they encountered ever more abandoned equipment and bodies, and finally, to Napoleon’s rage, a gun and limber, with two horses still attached to their traces. Each had been shot through the head. All the while, Napoleon was aware of a small band of Bedouin trailing them some distance off to their right. They made no attempt to close in on the French riders; they were just waiting patiently for a horse to go lame or for one of the men to fall far enough behind to be easily picked off.

As on previous days they stopped at noon to rest and water the horses as sparingly as possible. Then they moved on again. It was not until mid-afternoon that Napoleon finally sighted the main body of the army, camped outside the village of Damanhur, little more than a clutch of squalid hovels gathered around a handful of small wells. Desaix was still a day’s march from the Nile and Napoleon felt his dusty face flush with rage that the army had halted short of its goal. He galloped through the pickets surrounding Damanhur and headed into the centre of the village, noting the soldiers staring listlessly as they leaned against the walls of the mud-brick houses that lined the dirty streets. There was hardly any sign of the local people, just occasional faces peering out from windows and doorways with fearful expressions. In the heart of the village Napoleon found a small market area shaded by several palm trees. He reined in and jumped down from his horse, and strode towards a group of soldiers sitting round a small cooking fire as they fed the remains of a market stall into the flames.

One of the men, a sergeant, looked round and his eyes widened. ‘Christ! It’s Bonaparte . . . On your feet, lads!’

The soldiers rose wearily and shuffled to attention and Napoleon had to force himself not to rage at their slovenly and insolent manner.

‘Where’s General Desaix’s headquarters?’ he snapped.

The sergeant pointed to a side street leading off the square. ‘There’s a small mosque just down there, sir. It’s the big house opposite. Can’t miss it. Most of the officers in the army are there right now.’

‘Really? What’s going on, Sergeant?’

‘They’re debating whether or not to continue the advance. Least that’s the rumour that’s going round, sir.’

‘Then we’d better put an end to that rumour. There will be no retreat,’ Napoleon said firmly as he stared round at the group of soldiers. ‘We’re here to win this land for France. That is what we have been ordered to do and there will be no debate on the matter. Clear?’

The men nodded and saluted Napoleon as he turned and strode off in the direction the sergeant had indicated.The soldiers watched him for a moment, and then returned to tending their evening fire and began to mutter again.

When Napoleon found the building he strode past the astonished sentries outside and made for the sound of raised voices that echoed off the high walls of the interior. The officers were gathered in the courtyard garden and from the top of a covered well General Desaix was waving his hands to try to quiet them when Napoleon emerged from the entrance hall. As soon as he saw his commander Desaix froze and his hands sank slowly to his sides. Gradually the angry debate died away as the other officers became aware of Napoleon’s presence. When all was still Napoleon made his way through the crowd and nodded to Desaix to get down from the well. He climbed up and surveyed the officers with a hostile expression.

‘What is the meaning of this meeting, gentlemen?’

At first no one dared to answer him, and most avoided his gaze, until, at last, General Desaix cleared his throat.

‘Sir, the army cannot endure this godforsaken land. The heat and the lack of water are driving our soldiers mad. Nearly every well we have found has been fouled by the Bedouin. Some of our men have even been driven to take their own lives.And for what? There is nothing here but desert and a slow death. There is not even a proper enemy to fight. They flee into the distance the moment any of our lads turn on them, and then come back when it’s safe and wait to pick off any stragglers like a pack of vultures. The men have had enough. It’s the same with many of the officers.’

‘Which officers?’ Napoleon asked coldly. ‘You?’

The blood drained from Desaix’s face. ‘No. Not me. Never.’

‘Then who is it that wishes to defy me? Which of you fine men wants to take issue with your general?’

No one replied and Napoleon snorted with derision. ‘You cowards! You are officers in name only. It’s no wonder that your men are mutinous dogs. Not when they are commanded by such curs as you.’

One of the senior officers pushed himself forward. ‘Since no other will speak, then let me!’

‘Very well, General Mireur. Say your piece.’

Mireur stepped towards the well and looked up at his commander.‘The situation is as bad as Desaix said. If we continue any further into the desert our army will be little more than an armed rabble in a few days. I am no coward, sir. I would follow you anywhere.’

‘Anywhere but here.’

Mireur nodded warily. ‘This is no place for civilised men. There is nothing here of value to France, sir. We owe it to France to save our men further suffering so that they may fight another day.’

‘That’s your judgement, is it, Mireur?’ Napoleon sneered. ‘What the hell do you know, you fool? This land is everything to France. We take Egypt and we drive a wedge between England and her trade. Better still we open the way to India. Better minds than yours have considered the value of this campaign and decided what the army must achieve here, and how they must do it. And yet you would stop here, barely a day’s march from the Nile and an open route to Cairo. On the very cusp of victory you would let your courage fail you and stand there and whine like a child.You disgust me, Mireur.You offend the very idea of French manhood.You and every man like you.’

Mireur opened his mouth to respond but could not think of anything to say that would make his situation look less contemptible. He lowered his head in shame and Napoleon turned to the others, drew a deep breath and continued in a calmer tone.‘I know that most of you share my contempt for the cowards who would run back to France with their tails between their legs at the first sign of discomfort. Some of you might doubt that we can conquer Egypt. But what cause have you to doubt? Have I not won battles against greater odds and in more difficult circumstances? Those of you who were with me at Rivoli - have you forgotten the cold and the snow and the ice we endured that day? You endured hardship then - why not now? Would you return to your families, to your country, and tell them you had to retreat because you were thirsty? They will laugh in your faces. They will spit with contempt, and you would deserve it.’ Napoleon paused to let his words sink in and then his voice hardened. ‘Enough of this! This meeting is over.You will return to your units, and you will prepare them to march the moment the rest of my column has come up.Tell your men they will slake their thirst in the Nile tomorrow night. After that we will march on Cairo and make it ours.Anyone who refuses to carry out their orders will be shot. Is that clear?’

The assembled officers mumbled their assent and Napoleon turned to the hapless General Mireur. ‘Is that clear to you?’

‘Y-yes, sir.’

‘Then get out of my sight and re-join your units.’

As soon as word of Napoleon’s dressing down filtered through the ranks the men returned to their duties shamefaced and keen to prove themselves. Even before Berthier and the others arrived the army had formed up and started its march due east towards the Nile. At first they marched in the same fatigued manner, but as the night wore on so their resolve stiffened and there was no more abandoning of equipment or comrades. At last, as the dawn broke over the desert, a mounted patrol sped down the long column of troops snaking across the dunes. They reported to Napoleon that they had seen the village of Rahmaniya on the bank of the Nile, an hour’s march away. Word of this swept through the ranks and now they marched forward as eagerly as if they were on a parade ground.

Then, as the column passed over a tall dune, Napoleon saw a glittering ribbon of water ahead of them. The irrigated crops of small farmers stretched on either side. The soldiers broke ranks and ran the last steps down the bank and into the cooling, refreshing waters of the Nile, sinking to their knees as they drank from the river again and again.

Napoleon watched them with an amused expression for a while, until his attention was drawn by a squadron of cavalry galloping downriver from the direction of Cairo. As they reined in and the sergeant gave the word to dismount and tend to their precious horses, his officer approached Napoleon and saluted.

‘Sir, I beg to report we’ve found the enemy.’

‘Where?’

‘A day’s ride to the south. We found a rocky outcrop and climbed to the top for a better view . . .’ His voice faltered.

‘Go on.’

‘Sir, there must tens of thousands of them. More men than I have ever seen. Mamelukes, Arabs, peasants, as if they were on a crusade, sir.’

‘Hardly a crusade.’ Napoleon smiled. ‘But we’ll give them a battle all the same. Send word to every unit in the army, Berthier, we march to battle.’