The Generals

Chapter 29

Egypt, July 1798

The three-decker, L’Orient, loomed above the other ships of the fleet that lay at anchor off the coast of Egypt. Napoleon checked his pocket watch by the light of the brilliant moon, and swore. It was already three o’clock in the morning and barely five thousand of his men had been landed on the shore close to the village of Marabout. Alexandria lay less than ten miles to the east and Napoleon wanted to open his attack on the port at first light. Even though the order to begin landing had been given the previous afternoon, the men were thoroughly seasick and the rough waves and pounding surf had made loading the smaller craft a hazardous affair. Several men had been drowned and those that had made it to the shore were disorientated, drenched and already desperately thirsty.Their officers were scouring the shore for their men and trying to form them up ready to march on Alexandria. General Reynier had reported that only three hundred men from his division were assembled and waiting for orders.Worse news had followed. None of the horses or guns had been landed yet, and General Desaix and his soldiers had been landed on the wrong beach.

Napoleon saw an officer striding towards him and recognised Berthier in the pale light of the moon.

‘Sir, what units we have are formed up and ready to advance. What are your orders?’

‘We’ll attack,’ Napoleon replied at once. ‘After I’ve addressed them. Get a platform set up, and light some torches. I want our men to see me, not just some vague shadow. Arrange it at once.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Berthier saluted and turned away. Napoleon watched him for a moment and then stared back out to sea. Despite his present difficulties, it was hard to believe how lucky the expedition had been in recent weeks. The fleet had stopped en route to seize Malta.The Grand Master of the Knights of St John, who had so rashly declared war on France a few months earlier, had surrendered the formidable fortresses of Valletta after a brief exchange of fire. If the Knights had shown the same resolve against France as they had against the Turks then hundreds, perhaps thousands, of lives would have been lost. As it was, Napoleon had been able to liberate two hundred galley slaves, who even now were making their way through Egypt with proclamations written in Arabic promising the fellahin - the peasants - that Napoleon and his army were here to liberate them from their Turkish overlords. Better still, the vast fortune of the Knights had been seized and divided, the main portion being returned to France while Napoleon added the rest to his war chest.

The slow progress of the fleet that had caused Napoleon so much anxiety had saved it from destruction by the squadron of English warships under Lord Nelson that had been sent to intercept the French fleet. Nelson had overshot his target and arrived at Alexandria three days ahead of Napoleon, before turning north to search the sea in the direction of Cyprus, just hours before the French fleet arrived.

Clearly his lucky star was burning with its usual brilliance, Napoleon reflected with a smile. But good fortune had played its hand and now it was up to Napoleon to seize the initiative and take full advantage of the situation. He had briefly considered delaying the attack on Alexandria until his scattered force could be gathered in when morning came. However, any advantage he gained in numbers would be offset by the advance warning the Mameluke garrison would have of the approach of the French invaders. Regardless of the lack of any guns or cavalry, the attack would have to be launched as soon as possible.

Berthier formed the men up along three sides of a platform hastily constructed from some water barrels and the door from one of the hovels in Marabout. A torch flared at each corner and Napoleon clambered up, illuminated by the flickering glare. He paused a moment to catch his breath and then filled his lungs and began to address his men.

‘Soldiers! At first light you will be in sight of one of the wonders of the ancient world - the port of Alexandria. It is named after its founder, the greatest conqueror in history, Alexander the Great. Today we will take the first steps in following the route he took in conquering an empire that spanned the known world. But where the Greeks called a halt to their march we shall go on and claim an even greater empire for the glory of France!’

A cheer rose from the grey ranks facing him in the moonlight. He waited for it to subside before he continued. ‘Although we are here to fight an enemy, it is vital that you remember we are far from our homeland.We must win over the local people, or we will never be able to rest at night. So you will respect their religion.You will respect their customs. Any man caught looting or raping will be shot on the spot. We are here to liberate the people, not their chattels or their chastity!’ The men laughed good-naturedly and Napoleon nodded to himself. Despite the trials of the landing, their spirits were high and they would recover their fighting mettle the moment they closed on the enemy.

Napoleon snatched his hat off his head and thrust it aloft.‘For France! For liberty, equality and fraternity! And most of all, for victory!’

Once the cheers had died away Napoleon left orders that Desaix should be told to guard the beachhead as soon as he was located.Then he gave the order for the men to form a marching column and they set off, their boots shuffling quietly across the sand as they advanced on Alexandria.

Even though the distance was not great it was tiring ground to march over, and even the men of Napoleon’s personal bodyguard began to mutter and grumble as the sand gave and shifted under their boots.At least the brilliant illumination in the star-scattered heavens made it possible to see clearly for some distance and there was none of the usual night march anxiety of an ambush or a sudden engagement. As dawn streaked the eastern sky with pastel pink and orange hues Napoleon caught his first glimpse of Alexandria from the crest of a dune. The image of the great city of Alexander that he had carried in his head since childhood bore little resemblance to the present reality. A grey wall stretched round the perimeter of what was no more than a minor town by European standards. Beyond the wall he could see a sprawl of flat and domed roofs and dun-coloured buildings. A large triangular fort lay to one side of the track that led up to the western gate, and as the head of the French column descended the far slope of the dune a dull thud made Napoleon look up to see a puff of smoke roll lazily along the nearest wall of the fort. A moment later a column of sand leaped up from the ground a short distance from the head of the column.

‘Berthier!’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Halt the men. Then find General Menou. Tell him to take a brigade and storm that fort.’

Berthier saluted and a moment later the officers and sergeants were bellowing their orders up and down the line. While the other soldiers waited, three battalions marched forward and deployed across the track in front of the fort.The gun on the wall continued firing steadily, scoring one hit on the attackers that swept away a file of six men. Menou immediately sent forward a screen of skirmishers to fire at any of the enemy that dared to show their heads above the parapet. Under cover of their comrades’ fire the assault columns quick-marched across the packed sand and scrambled up the crumbling mud walls. From his position Napoleon could see the glint of bayonets and curved swords twinkling in the sunshine as Menou’s soldiers fell upon the defenders. It was soon over and the green flag with a yellow crescent that had fluttered above the ramparts was hauled down and a moment later the tricolour rose in its place.

Napoleon nodded with satisfaction, then gave the order for the column to move forward. They marched past the fort and exchanged cheers with the men on the walls. Menou left a handful of men behind to guard the prisoners and then rejoined the tail of the column as it passed the fort and continued down the track towards Alexandria. By the time they had reached the town the sun had risen high enough to make the air stifling.The men were wearing the same uniforms that they had worn in Europe and were weighed down by five days’ issue of rations and sixty rounds for each musket. Most had already emptied their canteens and their dry throats were further irritated by the dust kicked up by the marching column.

Napoleon and Berthier climbed up on to a pile of ancient masonry to observe the town’s defences while the men deployed for the attack. Closer to the walls they could now see that the stonework was old and small sections around the main gates had fallen down. Napoleon pointed them out with his riding crop.

‘We’ll attack through those.’

Berthier unrolled the map of the town that he had obtained from a French merchant. ‘Ah, yes, the Pompey and Rosetta gates. According to our source, once we’re through those, there are no other defences in the town, sir.’

‘Good. Then let’s not waste any more time. Kléber can attack the Pompey gate, while Bon takes the Rosetta. Give the orders.’

As the French battalions tramped foward, kicking up yet more dust that billowed around and above them, at times obscuring Napoleon’s view of the assault, the enemy began to fire from the walls and bastions, tiny flickers of flame and puffs of smoke indicating their positions. The sunlight beat upon the parched landscape and after a while Napoleon sat down on a small pile of pottery fragments to watch the proceedings. As he squinted into the dusty haze about the gates he irritably swiped at the potsherds with his riding crop. Eventually he could stand it no longer and scrambled down and strode towards the nearest gate, his staff hurrying to catch up with him. Berthier trotted forward and fell into step alongside his general.

‘Excuse me, sir, but where are we going?’

‘Where the fighting is,’ Napoleon grumbled.‘Can’t see a thing from back there.’

‘Is that wise, sir? After what nearly happened at Arcola?’

Napoleon drew up abruptly. ‘Berthier, never question my actions again.’

‘Sir, with respect, you are the commander of an army sent to fight far away from France. If you die, unnecessarily, then you place all these men in danger.’

‘And what if I die necessarily?’ Napoleon shook his head. ‘War is dangerous, Berthier. Would it really be safer for me to stay so far back from the fighting that I could not see the battle? How could I respond in time to the moves of the enemy? I have to go forward, understand?’

Berthier nodded. ‘Very well, sir. But please be careful.’

‘That I can promise with a clear conscience.’ Napoleon grinned. ‘Come on!’

They passed through the Pompey gate and at once Napoleon smelt the thick heavy odour of excrement and decay, a far more pungent and unpleasant stench than even the poorest quarters of Paris had to endure. Just inside the walls they came across the first bodies: two Frenchmen sprawled across the corpse of a well-muscled man in a turban and a flowing tunic. He had four pistols jammed into a wide band of cloth around his waist. In his hand was the scimitar with which he had cut down his two foes. Beside him lay a purse, split open, and a few silver coins still lay on the soiled street where the first wave of French troops had not had time to sweep them all up.

‘One of their Mamelukes, I think.’ Napoleon knelt down beside the body and gently took the blade from the dead man’s hand. The Mamelukes were an elite cast of warriors who were well rewarded by their Turkish masters.The hilt was finely crafted and set with precious stones arranged around a dazzling ruby.

‘Good God,’ muttered Berthier. ‘Is that what I think it is? I’ve never seen such a fine gem.’

Napoleon smiled as he rose and handed him the scimitar. ‘Here. If this is the kind of wealth their soldiers are carrying around then there’ll be rich pickings for France, and for us. Come on.’

They hurried down a narrow, filthy street, following the crackle of musket fire, and soon caught up with one of the attacking columns which had emerged into a large market place. The men had taken cover behind abandoned and upended stalls and carts and were exchanging shots with scores of the enemy defending the walls of a mosque. High up, in the tower, a robed figure shouted encouragement to his brethren, occasionally breaking off to wave his fists at the French troops and scream some kind of abuse at the invaders. Napoleon strode across to the nearest officer, a young captain, and grabbed his arm. ‘What the hell is going on here? Why aren’t you advancing?’

‘Sir, it’s General Kléber. He’s been wounded.’

‘Kléber? Where is he?’

The captain pointed across the market to a group of men huddled in the entrance to a large house.

‘Right.’ Napoleon nodded. ‘Get your men forward, Captain. Tell them to concentrate their fire on that man in the tower. I want him shot down, then you take the mosque. Clear?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Then get on with it.’

He left the captain and ran over to the house he had indicated. A small party of soldiers stood guard at the entrance and they stiffened to attention as their commander swept past them.

‘Kléber?’ Napoleon called out.

‘Over here, sir!’

Napoleon turned and saw a surgeon gesturing to him as he crouched over a body stretched out on the tiled floor. Kléber stirred weakly as Napoleon squatted down beside him. He had been shot in the thigh and shoulder and his white shirt and trousers were stained with blood. His eyes flickered for a moment as he tried to speak, and then he passed out.

‘Will he live?’ Napoleon asked.

‘Yes, sir. If I can stop him losing any more blood.’

‘Carry on then.’

As Napoleon and Berthier emerged from the building a loud cheer echoed across the market square, and looking up Napoleon saw the body of the muezzin draped over the parapet of the minaret. The defenders of the mosque stopped firing when they became aware of their leader’s death and one by one they began to throw down their arms and wait to be taken prisoner.

‘Good.’ Napoleon nodded with satisfaction. ‘Seems we killed the right man. Let’s hope that’s how things work here.’ For a moment, seeing Berthier’s shocked look, he chided himself for such cold-blooded musing, then he shook the feeling off and began to issue his orders for the capture of the rest of Alexandria.

By noon the last pockets of resistance had been mopped up and Napoleon surveyed the town from the tower of the mosque. He had tipped the body of the muezzin unceremoniously over the edge of the parapet and it had tumbled on to the roof below, lying on the whitewashed curve like a broken doll. Napoleon stepped over the pool of blood and gazed round the horizon. To the north, the sea sparkled like a sheet of tiny diamonds, cool and inviting. He could even see the masts of Admiral Brueys’s fleet lying peacefully at anchor ten miles away, and hoped that the last elements of the expeditionary force had finally reached shore.To the south and east sand and dunes stretched away into the shimmering distance. In that direction, he knew, lay Cairo, and the Turkish overlord of Egypt - Pasha Abu Bakr. Even now news must have reached him that a French army had landed, and the Pasha would be gathering a host to overwhelm the French general and his men. Napoleon smiled. At least he would not have to hunt too far to find his enemy. If the maps he had were accurate Cairo was only a hundred miles away. An easy five days’ march if his good fortune held.