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.’
Chapter 31
‘Over there, sir.’ Berthier handed him the telescope and pointed to the south. It took a moment for Napoleon to steady the instrument and then slowly sweep the horizon as he sought the feature that his chief of staff had indicated. For a moment the circle of vision passed along the front of the enemy line: thousands of Mameluke cavalry, gorgeously arrayed for battle in their turbans and silk robes. Between them and the Nile the Pasha’s general, Murad Bey, had stationed his infantry, perhaps fifteen thousand of them as far as Napoleon could estimate. Their flank was covered by the fortified village of Embabeh, garrisoned by a few thousand more Mamelukes. And there, on the far bank of the river, drawn up before the outskirts of Cairo, stood a vast mass of peasants armed with swords, spears, and antique firearms. Although there had to be nearly a hundred thousand of them, they were on the wrong side of the river and would take no part in the coming battle. A handful of French gunboats, anchored fore and aft, maintained a steady fire on the far bank to discourage any attempts to cross the river.
Through the cloud of dust hanging over the enemy host Napoleon finally caught sight of the objects Berthier wished him to see. Shimmering in the afternoon heat were the neat geometric forms of the pyramids rising up beyond the village of Gizeh. Napoleon caught his breath as he grasped the true scale of the structures, then he lowered the telescope and returned it to Berthier.
‘Quite a vision. We’ll have plenty of time to explore ancient monuments when the day’s over.’ He gestured to the five French divisions drawn up on the rolling plain below them. A mile beyond the Mameluke cavalry was moving towards Desaix’s division on the right of the French line. ‘Until then we have other matters to attend to. I think the enemy are finally ready to begin their attack.’
The French had been deployed since mid-morning and had sat in the sun waiting for the battle to begin. The heat and thirst had taken their usual toll, and the men were keen to fight, if only to end the torment of being forced to wait in the dazzling glare.
With only a limited force of cavalry under his command Napoleon had been obliged to deploy his army in five great rectangular boxes. It still amused him that the army insisted on referring to the formations as ‘squares’. Each contained a division and an allocation of guns from the artillery reserve and they were arranged in a staggered line to minimise the danger that they might fire on each other in the confusion of an enemy attack. Provided his men could keep their formations intact they would be able to hold off the Mameluke cavalry. But if the enemy managed to break into one of the squares, then they would cut the Frenchmen to pieces.
Napoleon and Berthier mounted their horses and rode down the slope of the small hill towards the division in the centre of the line. The officers and sergeants had seen the dust rising around the dense mass of Mameluke horsemen and were already bellowing orders for their men to stand to and close up the formation. Napoleon reined in and called for a telescope. As he swung the glass to the right of the line he could not help swearing in astonishment at the speed with which the Mamelukes had moved to envelop the French right flank. Desaix’s and Reynier’s divisions were going to take the brunt of the enemy’s main assault and Napoleon could only hope that his g
enerals and their men would hold their ground.This was a battle unlike any they had fought back in Europe. There would be no assaults in columns behind a screen of skirmishers. The French were on the defensive and had to trust in firepower and good discipline.
The distant roar of cannon fire drew Napoleon’s eye back to the extreme right of the French line where a powerful battery had been established in a small village. Through the lens the battlefield was foreshortened into a swirl of figures and smoke in tightly compressed planes. Then Napoleon saw the barrels of his guns belch smoke and flame as they cut down swathes of the enemy cavalry closing on them. An instant later his view was obscured by the Mamelukes as they charged the French divisions and converged on the gaps between the French squares. There was a distant roar as Desaix’s men poured volley fire into the flank of the horsemen riding past the side of their square. Then Reynier’s men joined in, before the sound of musket fire became more general, a continuous roar and crackle. The Mamelukes added to the growing din as they drew their horse pistols and fired into the dense masses of blue-coated infantry.
Napoleon made his way across to the right hand side of the centre formation to better observe the attack.A torrent of enemy cavalry had swept into the gap between Reynier’s division and the centre of the French line and now charged home, seemingly straight at Napoleon and his staff officers.
‘Fix bayonets!’ the colonel of the right flank brigade bellowed out to his men and there was a metallic rasp and rattle down the line as his men drew out the long blades and slid the sockets over the ends of their muskets. When his men were still again the colonel shouted the order to advance their weapons and the long line of bayonets rippled down, towards the oncoming Mamelukes.
A cannon roared from the corner of the square and sent a blast of grapeshot scything through those at the head of the charge, bringing down several horses and their riders. Close to Napoleon a musket went off and he cupped a hand to his mouth and bellowed,‘Wait for the order! Don’t fire until they are within fifty paces!’
The sergeants relayed the order along the line and the men stood still in grim anticipation as they watched the approaching enemy, so close now that their wild cries could be heard above the drumming of hooves. From behind Napoleon there came a flat thud as a mortar was fired and the shell arced up and then plummeted down amid the enemy before exploding with a great flash and a roar. A pall of smoke and dust filled the air. For a moment the charge faltered and then the colonel of the brigade bellowed the order to open fire and a hail of musket balls added to the slaughter. Men and horses went down like skittles, and still they came on, desperate to get close enough to use their pistols on the French. Only a few managed it and hurriedly discharged their weapons. Most shots went high, or kicked into the sand at the feet of Napoleon’s soldiers.Then the Mamelukes wheeled their mounts away and spurred them out of range of the French weapons so that they could reload and charge again.
Within minutes the ground in front of the square was scattered with the bodies of horses and riders, many writhing as their cries of agony split the air. Still the muskets roared out, cutting even more of the enemy down. Despite their desperate bravery the Mamelukes could not stand up to the withering fire from the French line, and at last they wheeled their mounts away from Napoleon’s formation and galloped across the rear of Reynier’s and Desaix’s divisions to fall upon the artillery battery on the far right of the line. As soon as the artillery crews saw the threat they abandoned their guns, clambered up on to the flat roofs of the village and fired down on the horsemen swirling between the houses.
Once he saw that the flank would hold off the enemy’s cavalry host, Napoleon turned to Berthier with a grin. ‘We seem to have got their attention on the right. Now’s the time to strike at Embabeh and close the trap.’
He wheeled his horse about and galloped back across the centre of the square. Followed by Berthier and a handful of mounted guides, he made his way through a narrow gap between two battalions of the brigade stationed on the left of the division. They made for the bank of the Nile where General Bon and his men were standing ready to assault Embabeh. Napoleon thrust his arm out towards the earthworks encircling the village.
‘Now’s the time, Bon! Send your men in.’
‘Yes, sir.’ General Bon passed the order on at once and a moment later the drums began to beat the advance. The French battalions rolled forward, their standards rippling out in brilliant colours as they caught the glare of the sun’s rays. To their right three small squares moved to cover the attack in case the Mameluke cavalry attempted to intervene. Napoleon urged his horse forward and joined Bon in the main assault column tramping towards the mud-brick ramparts of Embabeh. Behind the breastwork on top of the rampart Napoleon could see the turbaned heads of the defenders as they levelled their muskets and opened fire.The range was long and only an occasional shot whistled past close enough for Napoleon to hear. Even so, the dense mass of men marching forward was a hard target to miss and as they neared the walls the first men began to fall. Their comrades stepped over them and continued relentlessly towards the ramparts, now shrouded with gunpowder smoke, so that only the stabs of flame showed where the defenders stood.
Cannon fire echoed across the surface of the Nile as the gunboats shifted their aim from the other bank and started to bombard Embabeh, pounding the ramparts. The enemy fusillade slackened as the Mamelukes took cover and the French columns quickened their step as they approached the fortifications. Napoleon ducked instinctively as a roundshot from one of the gunboats whirred overhead.
‘Shit, that was close,’ Berthier muttered.
Napoleon nodded. ‘Hope those bastards on our boats don’t get carried away and forget to cease firing. Time to continue on foot, I think.’
He slipped down from his saddle and handed the reins to one of his staff officers. An infantry battalion was marching past and Napoleon exchanged a few cheerful greetings with them before falling into step with the captain of the rear company.
‘Mind if Berthier and I join you?’
The captain, a stocky youth, a few years younger than his general, flushed with pride as he saluted. ‘It would be an honour, sir.’
‘The honour is ours, Captain. Now, let’s see what your men can do.’
The last cannon fired from the gunboats just as the colours of the leading battalion reached the foot of the rampart. The grenadier company immediately scrambled up the steep slope, struggling to keep moving in the shifting sand that had been piled up against the ramparts to slow the attackers down. Now that the bombardment from the gunboats had ceased the Mamelukes returned to the ramparts and renewed their fire on the French troops. But it was already too late for them, as the skirmishers in front of the ramparts raised their muskets and fired at any turbaned heads that appeared above the parapet, either side of the assault column. As Napoleon watched, the grenadiers swarmed up the slope, and then hauled themselves over the breastwork to fall on the defenders beyond. The sound of musket fire was replaced with the harsh scrape and ring of bayonets and swords and the wild cries of men fighting for their lives.
The companies following the grenadiers began to climb up and feed into the fight spreading out along the wall.As Napoleon made his way forward with the last company of the battalion the churned sand gave way beneath his boots and he was breathing hard by the time he reached the ramparts. The bodies of Mamelukes and French soldiers were sprawled on either side. A short distance ahead lay the nearest houses of the village and the Mamelukes were streaming back from the walls into the narrow alleys between the mud-plastered buildings, pursued by French soldiers wildly shouting out their cries of triumph and jeers of contempt.
Suddenly, there was a loud boom and a cannon ball cut a bloody path through the soldiers who had just entered a street right in front of Napoleon. An instant later the ball struck the inside slope of the rampart a short distance from Napoleon and Berthier, flinging sand over them. Napoleon blinked and brushed the dirt away from his fa
ce before running to peer round the corner of the street into the heart of the village, where a cloud of smoke eddied around the monstrous muzzle of a vast gun. Already the Mamelukes were busy ramming another charge down the barrel while two men approached, struggling under the burden of a huge ball. A fearsome weapon indeed, thought Napoleon, but its very size was its biggest weakness. It could cover the street, but it was far too large to be manoeuvrable.
‘You!’ Napoleon beckoned to a corporal. ‘Find your company commander. Tell him I want him to work forward down a side street and take that gun. He’s to place a man here to warn others to keep clear. Understand?’
The corporal saluted and turned away to find his captain, just as the gun boomed out again, this time with greater elevation, so that the ball roared close overhead and Napoleon felt the wind of its passage before it ploughed through a group of men and blew out a section of the breastwork on the rampart.
‘Sweet Jesus . . .’ Berthier said softly as he looked up and saw the mutilated bodies and torn limbs that marked the place where the ball had struck.
Napoleon ignored him, and the carnage behind Berthier, and started forward until he reached the men assembling at the edge of the village a short distance along from the street covered by the gun.The young captain had drawn his sword and was issuing his orders to his men.
THE GENERALS Page 27