“Good fight, Green-bottle!” one of the larger Grenadiers shouted as he departed with a wave and a laugh.
“It was, you bastards!” Jean shouted back. He had a black eye but seemed pleased. “Honor satisfied, I think. Ha ha!” He laughed and waved, and then they ran as fast as they could to get away from any more trouble. Carabiniere Infantrie men tumbled along after them and the mob of laughing, singing and staggering men finally arrived back at the gates to their barracks: bruised, bloody, and very satisfied with the day.
Chapter 6
Supplies
Captain Joseph Clément and a young officer, Ensign Andre Du Pont from Gascony, sought out a restaurant frequented by officers. They were greeted by old comrades, both from their own brigade and from the garrison, and settled down at a small table to drink and discuss events. This was one of the first opportunities they had had to find out what had been going on in their absence.
Major Baudouin walked over to their table and joined them. Clément knew him from the assault on Cairo that had taken the city. Baudouin's green jacket and elaborate silver frogging indicated that he was a cavalryman from Général Lanusse’s Brigade.
“We have heard rumors that there were rebellions while we were away,” Clément said as he shook hands with the major. Once they were settled again, he sipped a glass of what he called Vin plus ordinaire. It was the best he was likely to find in Cairo so he couldn’t really complain, but he still winced at the arid taste it left in his mouth.
“Sometimes I think I would prefer to bite upon a cartridge than to drink this desert piss,” he muttered. “It tastes about the same.”
The major grinned but ignored the comment. “We’ve been more busy than you might think. While you were lazing about in the desert and lolling about in front of Acre, which I want to hear about, we’ve had our hands full. I’ll tell you something of our time while you were away,” he told them.
“Did Général Desaix manage to capture the Murad Bey and his horsemen?”
“Not yet, but there are so many rumors coming out of the south right now it is amazing,” Major Baudouin said reflectively. “The Savants” – he was referring to the engineers — “have apparently made some fascinating discoveries. Our Général is going to be busy as hell once he has had his time off with that lady of his in the palace.” He smirked.
“So tell us what happened when we left?” Clément ignored the major’s insinuation.
“In his infinite wisdom our illustrious leader took most of the money with him when you left, and Poussielgue, our chief financial advisor, was at his wit’s end, so he tried to raise taxes in this area. He wanted to place an early tax on the wheat harvest, which didn’t go down well, and if you consider that the French army was mostly absent it is perhaps not surprising that not just one but two uprisings took place. I’ll never understand those fellaheen. We actually pay them for the work they do, for God’s sake, but still they rise up and murder our people.” The major sounded bitter.
“Well, what did happen?” Clément demanded.
The major took a swig of his wine and wiped his huge mustache with the back of his hand.
“I was there for the first one, which was led by a man called Mustafa. He had been appointed Emir el-Hadj in place of Murad Bey, who is still running about in the south trying not to get caught by Desaix. Napoléon ordered him to report to Syria, but he hung back and eventually used the excuse that he wanted to go on a pilgrimage to Mecca!”
Ensign Andre snickered. “Some excuse!”
The major nodded slowly. “You’re right, he didn’t go to Mecca. As you know, rumors are rife anywhere in this horrible place. One of them was that Napoléon had been killed at Acre!”
His listeners looked startled.
“Oh yes indeed. That was the least of it. We never seemed to hear the truth from anywhere while you were gone. Even today most of the intelligence we receive from the South is suspect. You should hear what the rumors are saying about what the Savants are supposed to have discovered down there. They talk of huge palaces and temples! We’ll see. I cannot imagine these people building the kind of places being described.” His tone was acid. Clearly the major had a low opinion of the Egyptians.
“What then?” Clément asked. He waved over to the servants for more wine. Whatever its questionable taste, it gave him a buzz which was as much as he could ask for at present.
“It was a complete lie, of course, but it was enough, when spread around, to help him begin an insurgency. Mustafa got busy with the tribes people and won most of them over but fortunately for us, in this instance, the fellaheen stayed on the fence. We do pay them, which is more than the Turks ever did, so they didn’t want to lose that option I suppose.
“Mustafa couldn’t raise enough men to be a serious problem for us but he did go on the rampage and began to ambush our convoys to and from Alexandria, which finally became too much. I was with Général Lanusse when we eventually caught up with Mustafa and chased him off into the desert. Hardly a shot was fired, either! It should not surprise any of you that he was betrayed by the very sheikhs whom he had tried to bribe. These people simply cannot remain loyal to anyone for very long.” He shook his head in disgust.
“I hear we are running short of weapons everywhere,” Clément remarked. “Our own are almost worn out. I am worried about the condition of some of the muskets my men carry right now.”
“Our Savants are working on trying to manufacture replacements, but the concept of a ‘factory’ in these parts is unknown so they are not doing very well,” Major Baudouin responded.
“My contacts within the main bureau in Cairo tell me that our general wrote to the governor of the island of Reunion asking for muskets, swords and pistols.”
“Do they have factories there?”
“Probably not; it’s just an island port, but there are French ships that can run supplies from France, although it is a long way. If they want to bring them to us here, though, they have to run the gauntlet of the British, who now have ships in the Red Sea.” He looked glum. “We are very much on our own here since the British defeated our fleet at Abukir Lake.”
*****
Napoléon sought the arms of his mistress and femme fatale, Pauline Foures, in his residence, the palace of Elfi Bey. Their reunion was joyous and she, conscious that he was tired and preoccupied, did her best to distract him, and for a time succeeded.
For Napoléon it was a welcome respite from the unpleasant memories of the defeat at Acre and the subsequent march. His officers made sure he was undisturbed, so they strolled together in the large palace gardens with their peacocks and fountains. While she prattled on about her days alone in this inhospitable city, he allowed his thoughts to wander.
But he had little time to relax, as the affairs of state made heavy demands upon him. To all intents and purposes he was the ruler of Egypt: hence there was much to do.
His preoccupation was now on how he could extract himself from Egypt without causing an uproar or even a mutiny, and get back to France where he could deal with the insipid men who governed her. There was no news from Europe, and had not been for some time, and this worried him. Perhaps his absence had produced someone else to take his place?
After thinking it through, Napoléon made some preparations to cover his options on how best to leave the country. He sent a secret message to Admiral Ganteaume in Alexandria to have two frigates, La Muiron and La Carriere, to be in a permanent state of preparedness to sail. He was very careful not to let it out that he was considering this option.
He had other administrative issues to deal with, not least of them being the shortage of supplies of almost every kind. The British blockade by Sir Sidney Smith and his ships was beginning to bite, and even ammunition was running low.
It became so critical that the execution procedure of shooting those condemned in the recent uprisings came up for discussion. Dugua, the chief of police in the city, came to see him with a written request.
&n
bsp; “With the firing squads becoming more frequent at the Citadel, I suggest, mon Général, that we replace them with a machine for cutting off heads. This would save on our bullets and make much less noise.” Without naming it, Dugua was referring to the French guillotine of ill-repute.
The dawn firing squads could hardly win over the hearts and minds of the local population, which was still restive, although for the time being all major threats had been dispersed or eliminated.
Napoléon wrote in the margin of the written request, “Agreed.”
Dugua and Général Lanusse reported their activity to him during many subsequent meetings he had with his staff. He was not reassured to hear about the recent uprising instigated by a Libyan called Ahmed, who claimed he was invincible to the musket balls of the French. After he and his mob of tribesmen and fellaheen had massacred the garrison in Damanhur and set fire to the mosque where the survivors had taken refuge, Lanusse had been sent to deal with it.
Général Lanusse was a tough, experienced officer who knew that this insurgency threatened the entire occupation of Egypt. His brigade had arrived with unexpected swiftness and then, upon his orders, proceeded to slaughter the insurgents and, as a reprisal, burned the town to the ground, killing all its inhabitants.Lanusse stated in his report that:
“..we wreaked vengeance on the town and the inhabitants of Damanhur. Around 200 -300 of its inhabitants were killed as they fled; after that I abandoned this wretched town to the horrors of pillage and carnage. Damanhur no longer exists and between 1200 and 1500 of its inhabitants have been burnt or shot.”
There was no sign of Ahmed el-Mehdi, who either fled or was killed; he was never seen again. This left lower Egypt pacified until Napoléon finally returned with his army from Syria.
It was hardly the best way to keep the peace, but Napoléon and his generals were rapidly learning that in order to keep the unruly fellaheen and their Arab and Turkish leaders in check they had to be ruthless.
Napoléon nodded his approval as the report was completed. Adherence to the rule of law didn’t seem to have much effect in this strange country.
He and his officers were aware that there were odd contradictions at play: although the fellaheen all agreed that the French brought order and employment to the country and actually paid for the labor they required, something hitherto unheard of, they would nevertheless follow their religious and tribal leaders from one disastrous rebellion to another.
There was no forced labor; with hired labor several bridges were completed in good time, which served to impress the local population. It was noted, too, that the French stone-cutting tools were far superior to anything to be found in Egypt.
Général Desaix kept control of upper Egypt in this manner, keeping Murad Bey and his Mameluke cavalry off balance to the point where they had to subsist in the desert on the outskirts of the country, unable to be an effective force against the French.
Napoléon was soon to have other more pressing concerns to deal with.
Chapter 7
The Abukir peninsular
The three British ships of the line, with three frigates led by HMS Tigre and commanded by Sir Sidney Smith, crept through the calm water of the eastern Mediterranean with barely a whisper of wind to keep them in motion. Dawn was still four hours away and the sliver of moon appeared and disappeared as light clouds moved across its surface at irregular intervals. When it was not covered, the dim light of the moon barely illuminated the dark shadow of the British naval vessels as they sailed cautiously toward the coast of Egypt.
Their destination was the cape of Abukir, just to the north and east of Alexandria, where they were to support the Turkish army commanded by Mustafa Pasha when it landed. Their objective was to take the fort of Abukir from the French and establish a beachhead for the rest of the Turkish army.
The men on the quarter deck were tense and watchful. Sailors high in the cross trees and top sail yards were alert for the dark mass or white line of surf that would signal the mainland of Egypt to the south.
After several hours of slow movement the call came, and almost immediately the men on the quarterdeck could see a long dark line that indicated the coast of Egypt ahead. Sir Sidney Smith gave a nod of satisfaction. It had been seen in the right place, just off their starboard bow. Signal lanterns were lit and hoisted to inform the ships behind the Tigre that land was sighted. Now they had to make landfall just before the peninsula called Abukir, where the Turkish flotilla was destined to land and then capture the fort, providing a beachhead for the rest of the army and eventual full invasion of Egypt.
Sir Sidney Smith could not see very much of the fleet in this light but was keenly aware of the large number of ships, sloops, feluccas and other small craft which were all heading for the coast. In the case of his own ship, he was mindful of the fact that the charts were all extremely old and therefore unreliable. One thing was clear: the shallows extended several miles out to sea, and had very likely moved around with storms and tide. There was a real danger that the larger ships might run aground if they did not take great care, so the call of the leadsman from the bows was being listened for with great attention.
The lead was being used to take soundings and the depth called back quietly via relay to the quarter deck. The first streak of dawn had appeared in the eastern sky when the urgent call came from the bow. “Four fathoms only, we are on sand!”
The men on that watch instantly sprang into action and raced up the shrouds to the upper rigging as the officer called out the order for the ship to halt its forward motion and drop anchor. There was a splash near the bow and the rumble and hiss of the cable on its eyes as the anchor was let go. Another anchor had been manhandled to the after part of the ship and this too was lowered into the sea. The top sails, which were all that had carried them forward these last nautical miles, were hurriedly furled. Within a few tense minutes the ship was still; the ships in line behind inched forward to range themselves in a line parallel with the shoreline.
As the first streaks of dawn began to lighten the eastern sky, the long low black line of the coast, approximately two and a half miles away, began to reveal more detail. So far there appeared to have been no alarms raised on shore.
Sir Sidney Smith and Lieutenant Canes stared at the distant shore unhappily.
“It is a pity that we have not been able to get any closer,” Smith said.
“Aye, Sir, it is doubtful that the guns of the ship can support an assault on the peninsula from where we are at present. It’s almost two miles away! In the morning we might be able to gain a little more ground using the cables and boats, but that would be dangerous in this poor light.”
Sir Sidney nodded reluctant agreement. “In that case we should signal the other ships to lower boats in the morning and mount guns on their bows so that we can support the Turks in that manner,” he said.
“Aye Aye, Sir,” said Lt Canes.
Sir Sidney went below to get a couple of hours’ sleep and prepare for the day to come.
*****
As the ship HMS Tigre swung at anchor with the rise and fall of the sea, the night watch took their posts under the gimlet eyes of Lt Bowles; sentries were posted on both sides and lookouts stationed in the top masts.
Below decks the crew and officers took their ease. For most it was a welcome chance to get some sleep, as few doubted that they would have a busy day on the morrow. In the midshipmen’s berth, however, a couple of lanterns still burned and a game of cards was being played in the stifling space where they lived.
The game was Whist and the stakes were a farthing a point. Of the four midshipmen only two were playing, while the youngest, Mr Standforth, watched with keen interest. The fourth midshipman, Mr Brown, was on the first watch. Snores from the nearby surgeon’s assistant on the other side of the canvas wall was the only sound, other than the slap of cards on the flat surface of one of the Midshipmen’s trunks.
The two players, Duncan and Mr Tewksby, were focused upon
their game and paid Standforth no attention. Duncan was winning, and by some margin. Tewksby was a poor player and appeared to be a hopeless gambler. He had bragged once that his father had lost a thousand in a night at White’s of London. Duncan hardly saw a loss of that size to be a recommendation for good play, thus was determined to take what he could off the arrogant boy. When the he laid out his hand of tricks for the fourth time Mr Edward Tewksby finally had enough. He threw his cards onto the table and sat back on his own trunk with a curse. The cards flew all over the place and young Standforth, with a sharp exclamation, scrambled for the precious items. A new set of cards could cost a whole shilling.
“You should settle down, Tewky,” Graham told his opponent in a low voice. Card playing was strictly forbidden on board, so they didn’t want to draw any unnecessary attention to themselves at this very late hour. Even as he spoke the bell rung for the middle watch and the patter of distant feet was heard on the deck above as the watch carried out some order.
“I have no need to ‘settle down’, you Scottish oaf,” Tewksby snarled in his high-pitched voice.
“Scot I’m a damned Scot. When will you ever learn to say it properly, or do I have to teach you the hard way?” Graham said in a deceptively mild way, his dark blue eyes narrowed.
“There is no need to sound like you came from the gutter, although I am sure you did,” Tewksby told him with a sneer. “You have won my allowance and now you seek to teach me how to speak?”
“I’ll take a pair of your fancy silk stockings in lieu of teaching you English. That would be a forlorn hope in any case,” Graham offered. “This is a game where one has to be able to count. That’s my gain, and more’s the pity that you cannot.”
Midshipman Graham and the Battle of Abukir Page 6