But as they ascended, the horizon broadened around them. Soon, like an

immense blue cloth framed in golden-hued sand on one side and hills of

tawny verdure on the other, they discovered the Lake of Tiberias, joined

to the Dead Sea by the Jordan, which stretches across the bare plain

like a yellow ribbon sparkling in the sun. Their eyes were riveted in

that direction by the sight of the whole army of the Pasha of Damascus,

which was following the eastern bank of the lake and crossing Jacob's

Bridge. The entire advance-guard had already disappeared between the

lake and the mountain of Tiberias. It was evidently on its way to the

village.

It was impossible for the young men to compute, even approximately, the

number of this vast concourse. The cavalry alone, marching in the

fantastic fashion which the Orientals affect, covered miles of ground.

Although the young men were twelve miles away, they could catch the

gleam of the weapons, and to them flashes of gold seemed to dart up

through the clouds of dust from under the horses' feet.

It was about three o'clock in the afternoon. There was no time to lose.

The Sheik of Aher and Azib, by resting an hour or two near the river

Kishon, could reach Bonaparte's camp about daybreak or a little before,

and give him warning.

As for Roland, he undertook to go to Nazareth and put Junot on his

guard, intending to remain and fight with him there, where he could have

more liberty of action.

The three young men descended the mountain rapidly. They separated at

its foot, the two Arabs striking directly across the plain of Esdrelon,

and Roland spurring straight for Nazareth, whose white houses, lying

like a nest of doves amid the sombre verdure of the mountains, he had

seen from the summit of Mount Tabor.

The traveller who has visited Nazareth will remember what abominable

roads lead to it. They are bordered with precipices, now on the right,

now on the left, and the beautiful flowers which grow wherever there is

earth to hold their roots, add to the attractions of the desert, but do

not lessen its dangers. There are white lilies, yellow narcissi, blue

crocuses, and roses whose freshness and sweetness are beyond

description.

Does not the Hebrew word "nezer," which is the root of Nazareth, mean

flower?

Owing to the winding road, Roland caught several glimpses of Nazareth

before he finally arrived there. When he was within ten minutes of the

place he met a detachment of the grenadiers of the nineteenth brigade

and making himself known, he inquired whether the general was in

Nazareth or its environs.

The general was in Nazareth and had visited its outposts not an hour

ago. Roland was obliged to let his horse walk. The noble animal had made

thirty-five or forty miles without any rest other than that at

breakfast; but as Roland was now sure of finding the general he had no

need to force him.

He found a squad of dragoons at the first house in the village,

commanded by one of his friends, Major Desnoyers. He left his horse in

charge of a soldier and inquired where he could find General Junot's

quarters.

It was then about half-past five in the evening. Desnoyers looked at the

sun, which was just about to set behind the mountains of Nablos, and

replied with a laugh: "This is the hour when the women of Nazareth go to

the springs for water. General Junot is probably on his way to the

spring."

Roland shrugged his shoulders. Evidently he thought that the general's

place was elsewhere, and that he had others to review besides the

beautiful daughters of Nazareth. Nevertheless he followed the directions

given him and soon reached the other end of the village.

The spring was situated some ten minutes' walk beyond the last house.

The avenue leading to it was lined on either side with immense

cactus-trees which formed a wall. Roland espied the general a short

distance from the spring, where he with his two aides-de-camp followed

with his eyes the women who were going and coming.

Junot recognized him at once as General Bonaparte's ordnance officer.

The commander-in-chief's partiality for Roland was well-known, and would

in itself have sufficed to win him smiles from every one; but his

courteous familiarity, and daring courage, which were proverbial in the

army, would have won him friends, even though he had possessed a much

smaller share of the general's favor.

Junot came to meet him with outstretched hand. Roland, a strict adherent

of the proprieties, saluted him as his superior officer; for he dreaded

above all that they should think that he attributed the

commander-in-chief's kindness to him to his own merit.

"Do you bring us good news, my dear Roland?" asked Junot.

"Yes, general; since I come to announce to you the presence of the

enemy," replied Roland.

"Faith!" said Junot, "next to the sight of these beautiful girls, who

carry their jugs as if they were each a veritable Princess Nausica, I

know of nothing that would be more agreeable to me than a glimpse of the

enemy. Look, Roland; see what a haughty air the wenches have. Would you

not say they were so many antique goddesses? And when shall we look for

the enemy?"

"As soon as you please, general, since they are not more than fifteen or

eighteen miles from here."

"Do you know what they answer when you tell them that they are

beautiful? 'The Virgin Mary wills it so.' This is really the first time

since we came to Syria that I have seen really beautiful women. Have you

seen them--the enemy, I mean?"

"With my own eyes, general."

"Where were they coming from? Where are they going? What do they want of

us?"

"They are coming from Damascus, and I presume they want to defeat us.

They are going to Saint-Jean-d'Acre, if I am not mistaken, to raise the

siege."

"Only that? Oh, we will cut them off! Are you going to stay with us, or

return to Bonaparte?"

"I shall stay with you, general. I have a great longing to try a turn

with the rascals. We are dying of boredom at the siege. Except for the

two or three sorties which Djezzar has had the stupidity to make we have

had nothing to vary the monotony."

"Well," said Junot, "I can promise you that you will find some variety

by to-morrow. By the way, I forgot to ask you how many there were?"

"Ah, general, I will reply to you as an Arab would. As well try to count

the sands of the sea! There must be at least twenty-five or thirty

thousand of them."

Junot scratched his head.

"The devil!" he said, "there is not much to be done with the few men I

have with me."

"How many have you?" asked Roland.

"Just a hundred men more than the three hundred Spartans. But we can do

what they did, and that will not be so bad. However, to-morrow morning

will be time enough to think of all that. Would you like to see the

curiosities of the town, or would you like some supper?"

"Well," said Roland, "it is true that we are in Nazareth, and that

interesting relics should not be scarce; but I will not conceal from

you, general, that my stomach is just at present more impatient than my

eyes. I breakfasted this morning near the Kishon off some hardtack and

some dates; and I confess that I am both hungry and thirsty."

"If you will give me the pleasure of supping with me we will try to

appease your appetite. As for your thirst, you will never find a better

opportunity to quench it." Then, addressing a young girl, he said in

Arabic: "Water! Thy brother is thirsty." And he pointed to Roland.

She drew near, tall and stern, her tunic with its long flowing sleeves

leaving her arms bare. She tipped the jug which she was carrying on her

right shoulder until it was on a level with her left hand. Then with a

most graceful motion she offered the water to Roland.

Roland drank deeply, not because the girl was beautiful but because the

water was fresh.

"Has my brother drank sufficiently?" asked the girl.

"Yes," replied Roland in the same language, "and thy brother thanks

thee."

The young girl bowed, replaced her jug on her right shoulder, and

continued on her way to the village.

"Do you know that you speak Arabic very fluently?" asked Junot,

laughing.

"Was I not wounded and a prisoner for a month with those rogues," asked

Roland, "at the time of the insurrection of Cairo? I had to learn a

little Arabic in spite of myself. And since the commander-in-chief has

found out that I can chatter a little in the language of the Prophet, he

is determined to use me as his interpreter on all occasions."

"Upon my word," said Junot, "if I thought I could learn Arabic as well

as you have in a month, I would pay the same price, and get myself

wounded and taken prisoner to-morrow."

"Well, general," said Roland, with that harsh, nervous laugh peculiar to

him, "if I might offer my advice to you it would be to learn some other

language and in a different manner. Let us go to supper, general."

And Roland started for the village without another glance at the

beautiful Nazarenes whom Junot and his aides paused again and again to

look upon.

CHAPTER IX

THE BATTLE OF NAZARETH

At dawn the next day, about six o'clock in the morning, the drums beat

and the trumpets sounded the call.

Roland had told Junot that the advance-guard of the Damascenes was on

its way to Tiberias, and Junot, not wishing to give them time to besiege

him in his mountain, crossed the ravine between the hills which rise

around Nazareth and descend through the valley as far as the village of

Cana, which he did not see until he was within three-quarters of a mile

of it, for it was hidden behind a spur of the mountain.

The enemy might be either in the valley of Batouf or on the plain which

lies at the foot of Mount Tabor. But in either case, as the French were

coming down from the "high places," as Scripture has it, they were in no

danger of being surprised; on the contrary, they were sure to see the

enemy at a distance.

The soldiers were better versed in the miracle which Jesus performed at

Cana than in any of his other miracles; and of all the places sanctified

by his memory, Cana was the one that was the most firmly impressed upon

their minds. For it was at the wedding at Cana that Jesus turned the

water into wine. And although the soldiers were very happy on the days

when they had water, it is self-evident that they would have been

happier had there been any days on which they could have had wine.

It was also at Cana that Jesus performed that other miracle of which

Saint John speaks:

There was a certain nobleman whose son was sick at Capernaum. When

he had heard that Jesus had come out of Judea into Galilee, he went

unto him and besought him that he would come down and heal his

son, for he was on the point of death.

Then Jesus said unto him, Except ye see signs and wonders ye will

not believe.

The nobleman said unto him, Sir, come down, lest my child die.

Jesus said unto him, Go thy way, thy son liveth. And the man

believed the word which Jesus had spoken unto him and went his

way.

And as he was now going down, his servants met him and told him,

saying, Thy son liveth.

Junot found the Sheik El-Beled at the entrance of the village of Cana,

who was coming to meet him to ask him to go no further, as he said there

were two or three thousand of the enemy's cavalry on the plain.

Junot had one hundred and fifty grenadiers of the nineteenth brigade of

the line, a hundred and fifty carabineers of the second light, and about

a hundred cavalry commanded by Major Duvivier, belonging to the

fourteenth dragoons. This made exactly four hundred men, as he had said

on the previous night.

He thanked the Sheik El-Beled, and to the latter's great admiration he

continued on his way. When he reached one of the branches of the little

river which takes its source at Cana, he followed its bank. As he came

to the pass which separates Loubi from the mountains of Cana, he saw two

or three thousand cavalry divided into several corps, who were galloping

about between Loubi and Mount Tabor. To obtain a better idea of their

position, he spurred his horse to a gallop and rode as far as the ruins

of a little village on the crest of a hill, which the natives of the

country called Meschanah.

But just then he caught sight of a second corps marching from the

village of Loubi. It was composed of Mamelukes, Maugrabins, and

Turcomans. This troop was almost as strong as the other, and Junot, with

his four hundred men, had five thousand against him. Moreover, this

troop was marching in a compact body, contrary to the custom of the

Orientals, and was advancing slowly and in good order. He could see a

great many standards, banners and horses' tails in their ranks.

These horses' tails, which served as the ensigns of the pashas, had been

the laughing stock of the French until they had learned the origin of

this singular standard. Then they had heard that at the battle of

Nicopolis, Bajazet, seeing that his standard had been captured by the

Christians, with one blow had severed his horse's tail from his body,

and putting it on a pike had rallied his soldiers around this novel

oriflamme and won the battle, which had proved one of the most

disastrous to Christianity which has ever been fought.

Junot was right in estimating that the troop which was marching in such

good order was the only one to be feared. He sent fifty grenadiers to

keep back the cavalry whom he had first seen, and whom he had recognized

as Bedouins who would be content with harassing his troops during the

fight. But he drew up a hundred grenadiers and the hundred and fifty

carabineers in opposition to the regular force, keeping the hundred

dragoons in reserve, in order to use them later where they might be most

needed.

The Turks, when they saw this handful of men draw up to wait for them,

thought that they were struck motionless with terror. They approached

within pistol range; but then the grenadiers and the carabineers, each

choosing his man, fired, and the whole front rank of the Turkish force

fell, some of the bullets plowing their way to horses and men in the

third and fourth lines. This volley created great confusion among the

enemy, and gave the carabineers and grenadiers time to reload. But this

time only the front rank fired, the second then passing forward their

loaded guns and receiving the discharged ones in exchange.

This continuous fusillade made the Turks falter; but when they saw their

own numbers, and the insignificant number of the enemy, they charged

with loud shouts. This was the moment for which Roland was waiting.

When Junot ordered his two hundred and fifty men to form a hollow

square, Roland, at the head of his hundred and fifty dragoons, dashed

upon the troop, which was advancing in disorderly fashion, and took them

in the flank.

The Turks were not accustomed to these straight sabres, which pierced

them like lances at a distance, where their curved cimeters were of no

use. The effect of this charge was terrible in consequence. The dragoons

cut straight through the body of Mussulmans, coming out on the other

side. They gave the square an opportunity to discharge their rifles, and

then dashed into the furrow which the bullets had plowed; and riding

with sabres held straight before them, enlarged the furrow until it

seemed to burst, and the Turkish horsemen, instead of continuing to

march with closed ranks, began to scatter all over the plain.

Roland had closed with the standard-bearer of one of the head chiefs. As

he wore the curved sabre of the chasseurs instead of the straight one of

the dragoons, he and his antagonist were on equal terms. Two or three

times, letting the reins fall upon his horse's neck and guiding him with

his legs, he carried his hand to his pistols; but this means of defence

seemed to him unworthy. He urged his horse upon that of his adversary,

and seized the man about the body, and the struggle continued, while the

horses, recognizing each other as enemies, bit and tore savagely at each

other. For a moment those who were surrounding the two adversaries

paused; Frenchmen and Mussulmans waited to see the end. But Roland,

loosening his girths, drove the spurs into his horse, which seemed to

slip from under him, and his weight dragging upon the Mussulman, he fell

head downward, hanging by the stirrups. In a second Roland was up again,

his bloody sabre in one hand and the Turkish standard in the other. As

for the Mussulman, he was dead, and his horse, spurred by a prick from

Roland's sabre, dragged him into the ranks of his comrades, where he

increased the disorder.

Meanwhile, the Arabs on the plain of Mount Tabor hastened toward the

firing. Two chiefs, who were better mounted, preceded them by about five

hundred paces. Junot rode out alone to meet them, ordering his soldiers

to leave them to him.

He halted a hundred paces in advance of the fifty whom he had sent as if

in derision against the Arabs on the plain; and noticing that the two

horsemen with whom he had to do were separated by about a hundred paces,

he let his sabre hang by its knot, and took a pistol from his holster.

He saw two flaming eyes between the ears of the horse who was coming at

full speed against him, and (we have said that he was marvellously

skilful with the pistol) he put a ball straight through their owner's

forehead. The rider fell, and the horse, carried on by its own impetus,

was caught by one of the fifty grenadiers, while the general, replacing

the pistol in the holster, and seizing his sabre, cut off his second

adversary's head with a single blow.

Then each officer, inspired by his general's example, left the ranks.

Ten or twelve single combats like that which we have just described

engaged the attention of the whole army, who applauded vigorously. The

Turks were defeated in all.

The battle lasted from half-past eight in the morning until three in the

afternoon, when Junot ordered a retreat into the mountains of Cana. When

he came down in the morning he had seen a large plateau well-suited to

his purpose, for he knew that, with his four hundred men, while he could

make a brilliant fight he could not expect to win the victory. The

battle had been fought; four hundred Frenchmen had held the ground

against five thousand Turks for five hours; they had left eight hundred

dead and three hundred wounded of the enemy upon the field of battle.

They themselves had had five men killed and one wounded.

Junot gave orders that they should take the wounded man with them, and,

as his leg was broken, they laid him upon a litter, which four of his

comrades carried.

Roland mounted his horse again. He had exchanged his curved sabre for a

straight one; and in his holsters he had his pistols, with which he

could cut a pomegranate flower at twenty paces. With Junot's two

aides-de-camp he took command of the hundred dragoons who formed the

general's cavalry; and the three young men in their amicable rivalry

converted this errand of death into a pleasure party. Whether they were

fighting hand-to-hand with the Turks with their swords, or whether,

encouraged by their general's example, they contented themselves with

using them as a target for their bullets, they filled the day with

picturesque incidents which long furnished heroic anecdotes and amusing

tales for the bivouac of the Army of the East.

Junot was sheltered from attack and secure in his position at four

o'clock in the afternoon. He had established himself oh his plateau,

past which flowed one of the feeders of the little river which empties

into the sea near Carmel, and was in communication with the Greek and

Catholic priests of Cana and Nazareth. He could therefore afford to wait

quietly for the reinforcements which Bonaparte would be sure to send him

after he had been warned by the Sheik of Aher.

CHAPTER X

MOUNT TABOR

As Roland had said, the Sheik of Aher reached the camp about daybreak.

In accordance with his maxim, "Always wake me for bad news but never for

good," Bonaparte had been awakened.

The sheik, when admitted to his presence, told him what he had seen, and

that twenty-five or thirty thousand men had just crossed the Jordan and

entered the territory of Tiberias.

When Bonaparte inquired what had become of Roland, he replied that the

young aide-de-camp had volunteered to go and warn Junot, who was at

Nazareth, and that there was a great plain at the foot of Tabor between

the mountains of Nablos and that mountain in which twenty-five thousand

Turks could sleep without inconvenience. Bonaparte sent some one to wake

Bourrienne, called for his map, and summoned Kléber.

In the latter's presence he bade the young Druse point out the exact

place at which the Mussulmans had crossed the river, the road which they

had followed, and that which he and the sheik had taken in returning to

the camp.

"You will take your division," Bonaparte said to Kléber; "it should

consist of about two thousand men. The sheik will serve as your guide,

so that you may follow the same road as that which he chose for Roland.

You will reach Safarie by the shortest route; you should be at Nazareth

by to-morrow morning. Let each of your men carry enough water for the

day. Although I see a river marked on the map, I fear that at this

season it will be dried up. If possible give battle on the plain, either

in front of or behind Mount Tabor, at Loubi or Fouli. We must take our

revenge for the battle of Tiberias which Saladin won over Guy de

Lusignan in 1187. See that the Turks lose nothing by waiting all these

years. Do not worry about me; I will get there in time."

Kléber assembled his division, and bivouacked near Safarie that

evening--Saint Anne and Saint Joachim inhabited that city, according to

tradition.

That same evening he was in communication with Junot who had left an

advance-guard at Cana, and gone on to Nazareth, for which he showed

great partiality. He learned from him that the enemy had not left their

position at Loubi, and that they could therefore be found at one of the

two points which Bonaparte had indicated--that is, the one in front of

Mount Tabor.

There was a village called Saïd-Jarra about three-quarters of a mile

from Loubi, which was occupied by a portion of the Turkish army, about

seven or eight thousand men in all. He ordered Junot to attack it with a

part of his division, while he formed a square with the rest of the men,

and charged the cavalry.

Two hours later the pasha's infantry were driven from Saïd-Jarra and the

cavalry from Loubi.

The Turks, completely routed, fell back upon the Jordan in great

disorder. Junot had two horses killed under him in this engagement.

Having nothing better at hand than a dromedary, he mounted that, and

soon found himself among the Turks, to whom he looked like a giant. The

animal's hamstrings were cut and the dromedary fell, or rather sunk

under him. Fortunately Roland had not lost sight of him; he came up with

Junot's aide-de-camp, Teinturier--the same one whom Roland had found

with him watching the damsels at Nazareth. They fell upon the mass

surrounding Junot like a thunderbolt, opened a passage, and made their

way to him. They placed him on the horse of a dead Mameluke, and all

three, pistol in hand, pierced this living wall and reappeared in the

midst of their soldiers, who had believed them to be dead, and who were

hastening forward with no other object than that of recovering their

dead bodies.

Kléber had come so fast that his army wagons had been unable to keep up

with him, and they were unable to pursue the fugitives for lack of

ammunition. He fell back upon Nazareth and fortified his position at

Safarie.

On the 13th, Kléber sent scouts to reconnoitre the enemy's position. The

Mamelukes of Ibrahim Bey, the Janissaries of Damascus, the Arabs of

Aleppo, and the different tribes of Syria, had effected a junction with

the people of Nablos; and all these different tribes were encamped in

the plain of Loubi or Esdrelon.

Kléber informed the commander-in-chief of these details at once. He told

him that he had reconnoitred the hostile army, that it amounted to about

thirty thousand men, of which there were twenty thousand cavalry; and he

announced that he proposed to attack this multitude with his twenty-five

hundred men on the following day. He ended his letter with these words:

"The enemy is exactly where you wanted him. Try to come to the

jollification."

The Sheik of Aher was intrusted with this message; but, as the plain

was overrun with hostile riders, it was sent in triplicate by three

different men over three different roads. Bonaparte received two of the

three despatches--one at eleven o'clock at night, the other at one in

the morning. The third messenger was never heard from.

Bonaparte fully intended to participate in the "jollification." He was

eager for general action and a decisive battle which should drive all

these hordes back, that they might not eventually crush him against the

walls of Saint-Jean-d'Acre.

Murat was sent forward with a thousand infantry, one light piece of

artillery, and a detachment of dragoons, at two o'clock in the morning.

He had orders to march until he came to the Jordan, where he was to take

possession of Jacob's Bridge, to prevent the retreat of the Turkish

army. He had more than thirty miles to make.

Bonaparte started at three in the morning, taking every man with him who

was not absolutely needed to keep the enemy within their walls. He

bivouacked on the heights of Safarie at daybreak, and distributed bread,

water and brandy to his men. He had been forced to take the longest

road, because his artillery and wagons could not follow him along the

banks of the Kishon. He took up his march again at nine o'clock in the

morning, and at ten he reached the foot of Mount Tabor.

There, about nine miles away, on the vast plain of Esdrelon, he saw

Kléber's division, scarcely twenty-five hundred strong, face to face

with the entire body of the enemy's army, which enveloped it on all

sides, and where it looked like a black patch surrounded by a wall of

fire.

It was being attacked by more than twenty thousand cavalry, which

twisted now like an avalanche, now like a whirlwind. Never had these

men, who had seen so many things, been confronted with such a horde of

cavalry, charging and galloping around them. And yet each soldier,

standing foot to foot with his neighbor, preserved the terrible calmness

which could alone insure his safety, received the Turks at the end of

his rifle, and fired only when he was sure of his man; stabbing the

horses with his bayonet when they came too near, but reserving his

bullets for their riders.

Each man had received fifty cartridges, but at eleven in the morning

they were obliged to make a fresh distribution of fifty more. They had

fired a hundred thousand bullets; they had made a breastwork of dead

horses and men around themselves; and this horrible heap, this bleeding

wall, sheltered them like a rampart.

This was what Bonaparte and his men saw when they rounded Mount Tabor.

At this sight enthusiastic shouts rang down the line: "To the enemy! To

the enemy!"

But Bonaparte shouted, "Halt!" He made them take a quarter of an hour's

rest. He knew that Kléber could hold out for hours yet if necessary, and

he wished the day's work to be well done. Then he formed his six

thousand men into two squares of three thousand men each, and

distributed them in such wise as to inclose the whole savage horde of

cavalry and infantry in a triangle of steel and fire.

The combatants were in such deadly earnest that--like the Romans and

Carthaginians, who, during the battle of Trasimene did not feel the

earthquake which overthrew twenty-two cities--neither the Turks nor the

French perceived the advance of the two armed bodies, in whose trains

thunder was rolling, as yet mute, but with its glistening weapons

flashing in the sunlight, forerunners of the storm which was about to

burst.

Suddenly they heard a single cannon-shot. This was the signal agreed

upon to warn Kléber of Bonaparte's approach. The three squares were now

not more than three miles apart, and their combined fire was about to be

directed upon a struggling mass of twenty-five thousand men. The fire

burst forth from all three sides at once.

The Mamelukes and Janissaries, in short all the cavalry, turned this way

and that, not knowing how to escape from the furnace, while the ten

thousand infantry, ignorant of all the art and science of war, broke

their ranks and hurled themselves upon all three lines of fire.

All who were fortunate enough to run between the shots were fortunate

enough to escape. At the end of an hour the fugitives had disappeared

like dust swept by the wind, leaving the plain covered with dead,

abandoning their camp, their standards, four hundred camels, and an

immense amount of booty.

The fugitives thought themselves safe, and those who succeeded in

reaching the mountains of Nablos did indeed find shelter there; but

those who tried to escape across the Jordan by the way they had come,

found Murat and his thousand men guarding the ford of the river.

The French did not stop until they were weary of killing. Bonaparte and

Kléber met upon the battlefield and embraced amid the shouts of the

three squares.

According to tradition, it was then that the colossal Kléber, putting

his hand on Bonaparte's shoulder, who barely reached to his chest, said

those words which have so often since been disputed: "General, you are

as great as the world!"

Bonaparte ought to have been content.

He had just conquered on the same spot where Guy de Lusignan had been

defeated; it was there that, on the 5th of July, 1187, the French,

"after having exhausted even the source of their tears," says the Arab

author, "met in desperate conflict with the Mussulmans commanded by

Saladin."

"At the beginning," says the same author, "they fought like lions; but

at the end they were nothing more than scattered sheep." Surrounded on

all sides, they were driven back to the foot of the Mount of Beatitudes,

where our Saviour in teaching the people had said: "Blessed are the poor

in spirit, blessed are they that weep, blessed are they who are

persecuted for righteousness' sake"; and where he also said: "When ye

pray say, 'Our Father, who art in heaven.'"

The whole action took place in the neighborhood of this mountain, which

the infidels call Mount Hittin.

Guy de Lusignan took refuge among the hills and defended the True Cross

as well as he could; but he could not prevent the Mussulmans from

capturing it after they had mortally wounded the Bishop of

Saint-Jean-d'Acre who was carrying it.

Raymond opened a passage for his men and escaped to Tripoli, where he

died of grief. So long as a single group of horsemen remained, they

returned to the charge; but it melted before the Saracens like wax

before a blazing furnace. Finally the king's standard fell to rise no

more. Guy de Lusignan was made a prisoner, and Saladin, taking the sword

of the King of Jerusalem from the hands of the man who brought it to

him, dismounted from his horse, and, kneeling down, gave thanks to

Mohammed for the victory.

Never did Christians in Palestine or elsewhere suffer such a defeat. "In

looking over the number of the dead," says an eye-witness, "one could

not credit the fact that any prisoners had been made; in looking upon

the prisoners one could not believe that there were any dead."

The king, after having sworn to renounce his kingdom, was sent to

Damascus. All the chevaliers of the Temple and the Hospitallers lost

their heads. Saladin, fearing that his soldiers might feel the touch of

that pity which left him unmoved, offered fifty gold pieces for the head

of every one of these soldiers-monks which should be brought to him.

Scarcely a thousand men were left out of the whole Christian army. The

Arab authors say that prisoners were sold for a pair of sandals, and

that they exposed the heads of the Christians like melons in Damascus.

Monseigneur Mislin, in his beautiful book, "Les Saints Lieux," says that

a year after this horrible carnage, in crossing the field of Hittin, he

still found heaps of bones, and that the mountains and valleys adjoining

were covered with remains which wild beasts had dragged thither.

After the battle of Mount Tabor the jackals of the plain of Esdrelon had

no need to envy the hyenas of the mountain of Tiberias.

CHAPTER XI

THE BULLET MERCHANT

Since Bonaparte had returned from Mount Tabor, nearly a month before,

not a day had passed that the batteries had ceased to thunder, or when

there had been a truce between besieged and besiegers. This was the

first resistance that Fortune had cast in Bonaparte's path. The siege of

Saint-Jean-d'Acre lasted sixty days. There were seven assaults and

twelve sorties. Caffarelli died from having his arm amputated, and

Croisier was still confined to his couch of suffering. A thousand men

had been killed or had died of the plague. And while there was still

plenty of powder there were no bullets.

The report spread through the army; such things cannot be concealed from

the soldiers. One morning a sergeant-major approached Roland, who was in

the trench with Bonaparte, and said to him: "Is it true, my commandant,

that the commander-in-chief is in need of bullets?"

"Yes," replied Roland. "Why?"

"Oh," replied the sergeant-major, with a movement of the neck which was

peculiar to him, and apparently dated back to the days when he wore a

cravat for the first time, and did not like the feeling, "if he wants

some I can get them for him."

"You?"

"Yes, I. And not so dear either. Five sous."

"Five sous! And they cost the government forty!"

"You see, it would be a good bargain."

"You are not joking?"

"Do you think I would joke with my superiors?"

Roland went up to Bonaparte and told him what the sergeant-major had

just said.

"These rogues often have good ideas," he said. "Call him."

Roland beckoned to the sergeant to come forward. He advanced with a

military step, and stopped a couple of yards away from Bonaparte with

his hand at the vizor of his shako.

"Are you the bullet merchant?" asked Bonaparte.

"I sell them, but I do not make them."

"And you can furnish them for five sous?"

"Yes, general."

"How do you do that?"

"Ah! that is my secret! If I were to tell it, everybody would be selling

them."

"How many can you furnish me?"

"As many as you wish," replied the sergeant-major.

"What must I give you for that?"

"Permission to go in bathing with my company."

Bonaparte burst out laughing, for he understood at once.

"Very well," he said. "Go!"

The sergeant-major saluted and started off at a run. Shortly afterward

the commander-in-chief and his aide saw the company to whom the former

had given the permission to bathe pass with the sergeant-major at their

head.

"Come and see something curious," said Bonaparte.

And taking Roland's arm, he ascended a little hill, from which the whole

gulf was visible.

They saw the sergeant-major set the example by rushing into the water,

as he certainly would have done had he been rushing into fire, after

having first removed his clothing, and wade into the sea with a part of

his men, while the others scattered along the shore. Roland had not

understood until then.

But scarcely had the sergeant-major executed this manœuvre than the

English frigates and the ramparts of Saint-Jean-d'Acre opened fire, and

a storm of bullets fell around them. As the soldiers, both those who

were in the water and those who had remained on shore, took good care

to stay at a safe distance from each other, the bullets fell into the

spaces between them, and were immediately picked up without a single one

being lost, not even those which fell into the water. The beach sloped

gradually, and the soldiers had only to stoop and pick them up.

This strange game lasted two hours. At the end of that time the inventor

of the system had collected from a thousand to twelve hundred bullets,

which netted three hundred francs to the company, a hundred francs for

each man lost. The company thought it a very good bargain. As the

batteries of the frigates and the city were of the same calibre (16 and

12) as those used by the French army; not a bullet was lost.

The next day the company went in bathing again, and when the

commander-in-chief heard the cannonading he could not resist the

temptation of witnessing the strange spectacle once more, and this time

some of the principal officers of the army accompanied him. Roland could

not contain himself. He was one of those men who go mad over the sound

of cannon and who are intoxicated by the smell of powder. He dashed down

to the shore in two bounds, and tossing all of his clothes except his

drawers upon the shore, he sprang into the sea. Twice Bonaparte called

him back, but he did not seem to hear.

"What ails the foolish fellow," he murmured, "that he will never let

slip an opportunity to be killed?"

Roland was no longer there to reply, and he would probably not have

replied had he been there. Bonaparte followed him with his eyes. He soon

passed the cordon of bathers, and swam out until he was almost within

musket range of the "Tiger." They opened fire upon him, and the balls

sent the water seething around him.

This did not disturb him, and his conduct so closely resembled bravado

that an officer on the "Tiger" ordered a boat lowered. Roland longed to

be killed, but he did not wish to be taken prisoner. He swam vigorously

for the reefs which lie along the base of Saint-Jean-d'Acre. It was

impossible for the boat to pursue him among those reefs.

Roland disappeared for a moment, and Bonaparte was beginning to fear

that some accident had befallen him, when he reappeared at the foot of

the city, within the range of fire of the musketry. The Turks, seeing a

Christian within rifle-shot, did not hesitate to fire upon him; but

Roland seemed to be in league with the bullets. He walked slowly back

along the edge of the water. The sand on one side and the water on the

other were thrown up almost at his very feet. He reached the spot where

he had removed his clothes, dressed himself, and returned to Bonaparte's

side.

A _vivandière_ who was with the party at the time, distributing the

contents of her cask to the bullet gatherers, offered him a glass.

"Ah! is it you, Goddess of Reason?" said Roland. "You know very well

that I never drink brandy."

"No," said she; "but once does not make a habit, and what you have just

done deserves a drop, citizen-commandant." And she held out a little

silver cup full of liquor.

"To the health of the commander-in-chief and of Saint-Jean-d'Acre," said

she.

Roland raised his glass toward Bonaparte and drank. Then he offered her

a piece of money.

"Pooh!" said she, "I sell my liquor to those who need to buy courage,

but not to you. Besides, my husband will make a good thing out of this."

"What is your husband doing?"

"He is the bullet merchant."

"Well, to judge by the cannonading, he is liable to make a fortune in a

short time. Where is this husband of yours?"

"There he is," she said, pointing out to Roland the sergeant-major who

had suggested that he be allowed to sell bullets to Bonaparte. As the

Goddess of Reason was pointing, a shell buried itself in the sand not

four feet from the speculator.

The sergeant-major, who seemed to be familiar with all sorts of

projectiles, threw himself face downward in the sand and waited. The

shell burst in about three minutes, scattering a cloud of sand.

"Upon my word, Goddess of Reason," said Roland, "I am afraid that shell

has made you a widow."

But the sergeant-major rose unhurt from the midst of the dust and sand.

He seemed to be rising from the crater of a volcano. "Long live the

Republic!" he shouted as he shook himself.

And on the instant, from the shore and the water, that sacred phrase,

which made the dead immortal, was taken up by spectators and actors.

CHAPTER XII

HOW CITIZEN PIERRE-CLAUDE FARAUD WAS MADE A SUB-LIEUTENANT

This collecting of musket balls lasted four days; but the English and

Turks finally guessed the meaning of this performance which they had at

first taken to be bravado.

A count of the balls showed that they had picked up thirty-four hundred.

Bonaparte paid for them to the last sou through Estève, the paymaster of

the army.

"Ah!" said Estève, when he recognized the sergeant-major, "so you are

speculating in artillery again! I paid you for a cannon at

Froeschwiller, and now I am to pay you for thirty-four hundred

cannon-balls at Saint-Jean-d'Acre."

"Pooh!" said the sergeant-major, "I am none the richer for it; the six

hundred francs at Froeschwiller, together with the Prince de Condé's

treasure, went to the fund of the widows and orphans of Dawendorff."

"And what are you going to do with this money?"

"Oh! I have a use for it."

"Might I ask what it is?"

"Certainly, since I depend on you to undertake the commission,

citizen-paymaster. This money is destined for our brave Captain

Guillet's old mother. He was killed at the last assault. He bequeathed

her to his company before he died. The Republic is not very rich and

might forget to pay the pensions of its widows. Well, in default of a

pension the company will send her a little capital. It is a great pity,

though, that those fools of Turks and those devils of Englishmen should

have guessed our game and refused to keep it up any longer; we would

have made up a sum of a thousand francs for the poor woman. But what

will you, citizen-paymaster! The prettiest girl in the world can give no

more than she has; and the thirty-second brigade, although it is the

prettiest girl in the army, has only one hundred and seventy francs to

offer."

"Where does Captain Guillet's mother live?"

"At Châteauroux, the capital of the Indre. Ah! it is fine to be faithful

to one's old regiment, and that is just what he was, that brave Captain

Guillet."

"Very well, the sum shall be paid to her, in the name of the third

company of the thirty-second brigade, and of--"

"Pierre-Claude Faraud, the executor of his will."

"Thanks. And now, Pierre-Claude Faraud, the commander-in-chief wishes me

to say to you that he wants to speak with you."

"Whenever he likes," replied the sergeant-major, with that twist of the

neck which was peculiar to him. "Pierre-Claude Faraud is never too much

embarrassed to talk."

"He will send for you."

"I await the summons." And the sergeant-major turned upon his heel and

returned to the barracks of the thirty-second brigade, to wait until he

was sent for.

Bonaparte was eating dinner in his tent when he was informed that the

sergeant-major whom he had sent for was awaiting his pleasure.

"Let him come in," said Bonaparte.

The sergeant-major entered.

"Ah! it is you," said Bonaparte.

"Yes, citizen-general, did you not send for me?" replied Faraud.

"What brigade do you belong to?"

"The thirty-second."

"To what company?"

"The third."

"Captain?"

"Captain Guillet, deceased."

"Not replaced?"

"Not replaced."

"Which of the two lieutenants is the braver."

"There is no 'braver' in the thirty-second. They are all equally brave."

"The older, then?"

"Lieutenant Valats, who stayed at his post with a shot through his

breast."

"The second lieutenant was not wounded?"

"That was not his fault."

"Very well. Valats then will be captain, and the second lieutenant will

succeed him. Now, is there not an under-officer who has distinguished

himself?"

"All the men distinguished themselves."

"But I cannot make them all lieutenants, stupid."

"That is a fact. Well, then there is Taberly."

"Who is Taberly?"

"A brave man."

"And would his appointment be well received?"

"With applause."

"Then there will be a vacant sub-lieutenancy. Who is the oldest

sergeant-major?"

The man whom he was questioning made a movement with his neck as if his

cravat were strangling him. "He is one Pierre-Claude Faraud," he

replied.

"What have you to say about him?"

"Nothing much."

"Perhaps you do not know him?"

"It is exactly because I do know him."

"Well, I know him also."

"You know him, general?"

"Yes; he is an aristocrat of the Army of the Rhine--"

"Oh!"

"A quarrelsome fellow--"

"General!"

"Whom I caught fighting a duel with a brave Republican at Milan."

"He was one of his friends, general. Friends may fight."

"And whom I sent to the guard-house for forty-eight hours."

"Twenty-four, general."

"Then I cheated him out of the other twenty-four."

"He is ready to take them, general."

"A sub-lieutenant is not sent to the guard-house; he is put under

arrest."

"General, Pierre-Claude Faraud is not a sub-lieutenant, he is only a

sergeant-major."

"Oh, yes; he is a sub-lieutenant."

"That's a good one, for example! Since when?"

"Since this morning. See what it is to have patrons."

"I? Patrons?"

"Oho! So it is you?"

"Yes, it is I. And I should like to know who my patrons are."

"I," replied Estève, "who have twice seen you generously give away money

which you have earned."

"And I," said Roland, "because I want a brave man to second me on an

expedition from which few will return."

"Take him," said Bonaparte; "but I advise you not to give him sentry

duty if there are any wolves in the country."

"What, general, do you know that story?"

"I know everything, monsieur."

"General," said Faraud, "you are the one to do my twenty-four hours in

the guard-house."

"Why?"

"Because you have just said monsieur."

"Come, come," said Bonaparte, laughing, "you are a bright fellow; I

shall remember you. In the meantime you must drink a glass of wine to

the health of the Republic."

"General," said Roland, "citizen Faraud never drinks to the health of

the Republic in anything but brandy."

"The deuce! And I have none," said Bonaparte.

"I have provided for the emergency," replied Roland; and going to the

flap of the tent he said, "Come in, citizeness Reason."

Citizeness Reason obeyed. She was still beautiful, although the sun of

Egypt had darkened her complexion.

"Rose here!" exclaimed Faraud.

"Do you know the citizeness?" asked Roland, laughing.

"I should think so; she is my wife!" replied Faraud.

"Citizeness," said Bonaparte, "I saw you at work in the midst of the

musket balls. Roland wanted to pay you for the brandy you gave him when

he came out of the water, but you refused. As I had no brandy here, and

my guests each desire a glass, Roland said: 'Let us call the Goddess of

Reason, and we can pay her for it all at the same time.' So we called

you. Now serve us."

Citizeness Reason tipped her little cask and poured out a glassful for

each. She forgot Faraud.

"When the health of the Republic is drunk," observed Roland, "everybody

drinks."

"But any one who chooses is at liberty to drink water," cried Bonaparte;

and raising his glass, he cried, gayly, "To the health of the Republic."

The toast was repeated in chorus. Then Roland, drawing a parchment from

his pocket, said: "Here is your bill of exchange on posterity, but it is

in your husband's name. You may indorse it, but he alone can use it."

The Goddess of Reason unfolded the parchment with trembling hands, while

Faraud looked on with sparkling eyes.

"Here, Pierre," she cried, "read it! It is your commission as

sub-lieutenant in Taberly's place."

"Is that true?" asked Faraud.

"Look for yourself."

Faraud looked.

"Hurrah! Sub-lieutenant Faraud!" he shouted. "Long live General

Bonaparte!"

"Twenty-four hours' arrest for having cried 'Long live General

Bonaparte!' instead of 'Long live the Republic!'" said Bonaparte.

"I certainly cannot escape them," said Faraud; "but I will do those

twenty-four hours with pleasure."

CHAPTER XIII

THE LAST ASSAULT

During the night following Faraud's promotion to a sub-lieutenancy,

Bonaparte received eight heavy pieces of artillery and an abundance of

ammunition. Faraud's thirty-four hundred balls had served to repulse the

sorties from the town. The "Accursed Tower" was almost completely

demolished, and Bonaparte resolved to make a last effort.

Then, too, the circumstances rendered this imperative.

A Turkish fleet of thirty vessels, escorted by English warships, was

sighted on the 8th of May. It was scarcely daylight when Bonaparte

learned of this. He climbed the little hill whence he could survey the

entire harbor. It was his opinion that the fleet came from the Island of

Rhodes, and was conveying ammunition, troops and provisions to the

besieged.

It became imperative therefore to take Saint-Jean-d'Acre before the town

received these reinforcements.

When Roland saw that he had decided upon the attack, he asked the

general for two hundred men with full permission to use them in any way

and for whatever purpose he should choose.

Bonaparte asked for an explanation. He had great confidence in Roland's

bravery, which amounted almost to rashness; but because of this very

rashness he feared to intrust the lives of two hundred men to him. Then

Roland explained that the day when he took his long swim he had seen a

breach in the walls from the sea which could not be seen from land, and

which had evidently caused the besieged no anxiety, defended as it was

by an inside battery and the fire from the English frigates. He intended

to enter the town through this breach and then create a diversion with

his two hundred men.

Bonaparte gave him the desired permission. Roland chose two hundred men

from the thirty-second brigade, and among them Sub-lieutenant Faraud.

Bonaparte ordered a general attack. Murat, Rampon, Vial, Kléber, Junot,

generals of division, generals of brigade, chiefs of corps, all were to

charge at once.

At ten o'clock in the morning all the outer works which had been

recaptured by the enemy were thrown down once more. Five flags were

taken, three cannon carried off, and four more spiked. But the besieged

did not yield an inch; as fast as they were beaten down, others took

their places. Never had such audacity and ardor, never had more

impetuous courage and obstinate valor, struggled for the possession of a

city.

Generals, officers and soldiers fought together in confusion in the

trench. Kléber, armed with an Albanian rifle which he had wrested from

its owner, made a club of it, and raising it above his head as a

thresher uses his flail, he brought down a man with every blow. Murat,

with his head uncovered and his long hair floating in the wind, was

flashing his sabre back and forth, its fine temper bringing its message

of death to all those who came in contact with it. Junot killed a man,

now with a pistol, now with a rifle, every time he fired.

Boyer, the commander of the eighteenth brigade, fell in the disorder

with seventeen officers and more than a hundred and fifty soldiers of

his corps; but Lannes, Bon, and Vial passed over their bodies, which

only served to raise them closer to the ramparts.

Bonaparte, not in the trench, but upon it, was directing the artillery

himself, and motionless, a target for all, was making a breach in the

wall on his right with the cannon in the tower. They had made a

practicable opening at the end of an hour. They had no bushes with which

to fill up the ditch; but they threw in the corpses as they had already

done at another part of the ramparts. Mussulmans and Christians, French

and Turks, thrown out through the windows of the tower where they laid

heaped up, raised a bridge as high as the ramparts.

Shouts of "Long live the Republic!" were heard, with cries of "To the

assault!" The band played the "Marseillaise," and the rest of the army

joined in the fight.

Bonaparte sent one of his ordnance officers named Raimbaud, to tell

Roland that the time had come for him to effect his diversion; but when

he learned what had been projected, instead of returning to Bonaparte,

Raimbaud asked permission to remain with Roland. The two young men were

friends, and when a battle is on one does not refuse favors of that sort

to a friend.

Roland no sooner heard the order than he placed himself at the head of

his two hundred men, plunged into the water with them, turned the corner

of the bastion with the water up to their waists, and presented himself

in the breach with the trumpets in front. The attack was so unexpected,

although the siege had lasted two months, that the gunners were not even

at their posts. Roland took possession of them, and having no men to

work them, he spiked them. Then shouting, "Victory! Victory!" they

dashed into the winding streets of the town.

These cries were heard on the ramparts and redoubled the ardor of the

besiegers. For the second time Bonaparte believed himself master of

Saint-Jean-d'Acre, and sprang into the "Accursed Tower," which they had

had such difficulty in taking. But when he reached it he saw with

dismay that the French troops had been brought to a halt by a second

inclosure. This was the one which Colonel Phélippeaux--Bonaparte's

companion at Brienne--had constructed behind the other.

Leaning half-way out of the window, Bonaparte shouted encouragement to

his soldiers. The grenadiers, furious at meeting with this fresh

obstacle, attempted to mount on each other's shoulders for want of

ladders; but suddenly, while the assailants were being attacked in front

by those who had been placed there to defend the inclosure, they were

swept by a battery in the flank. A tremendous fusillade burst forth on

all sides--from the houses, the streets, the barricades, and even from

Djezzar's seraglio. A thick smoke poured up from the city. It was

Roland, Raimbaud and Faraud who had fired the bazar. In the midst of the

smoke they appeared on the roofs of the houses, and endeavored to enter

into communication with those on the ramparts. Through the smoke of the

fire and of the artillery they saw the tri-colored plumes waving, and

from the city and the ramparts they could hear the cry of "Victory!"

which went up for the third time that day. It was destined to be the

last.

The soldiers who were to effect a junction with Roland's two hundred

men, a portion of whom had already slid down into the town, while the

others were fighting on the ramparts or in the ditches, being assailed

by volleys from four sides, hesitated as the bullets whistled and the

cannon roared around them, falling like hail and passing like a

hurricane. Lannes, wounded in the head by a musket ball, fell upon his

knees, and was carried off by his soldiers. Kléber held his own like an

invulnerable giant in the midst of the fire. Bon and Vial were driven

back into the ditch. Bonaparte sought for some one to support Kléber,

but every one was occupied. He then ordered the retreat with tears of

rage in his eyes; for he did not doubt that all who had entered the town

with Roland, together with those who had slipped over the ramparts to

join him, some two hundred and fifty or three hundred in all, were

lost. And what a harvest of heads they would have to gather in the moat

the next day.

He was the last one to retreat, and he shut himself up in his tent with

orders that no one was to disturb him. This was the first time in the

course of three years that he had doubted his own fortune.

What a sublime page could be written by the historian who could tell

what thoughts passed through his mind in that hour of despair.

CHAPTER XIV

THE LAST BULLETIN

Meanwhile Roland and his men, and those who had gone into the town to

join him, having cherished for a time the hope that they were to be

supported, were at last forced to the conviction that they had been

abandoned. The shouts of victory which had answered their own became

fainter and fainter, and then died away. Then the volleys of musketry

and cannon gradually grew fainter, until they had ceased entirely in the

course of an hour. Amid the other sounds which encompassed him, Roland

even thought that he heard the sound of the drums and trumpets sounding

and beating the retreat.

Then, as we have said, all these sounds ceased.

Then, like a tide rising upon all sides at once, from all points of the

compass, the little troop was assailed by English, Turks, Mamelukes,

Arnauts, Albanians--the entire garrison, in short, of some eight

thousand men.

Roland formed his little troop into a square, one side of which he

backed against a mosque, thus converting it into a fortress, and there,

after making them swear to defend themselves to the death against these

enemies from whom they knew they could expect no quarter, they waited

with levelled bayonets.

The Turks, full of overweening confidence in their cavalry as usual,

dashed upon the little troop with such violence that, although the

double volley of the French laid low over sixty men and horses, those

who came up behind rode over their bodies and dashed upon the bayonets

of the still smoking guns.

But there they were forced to stop. The second rank had time to reload

and fire at close quarters. They had no choice but to fall back, and as

they could not again cross the heap of corpses, they sought to flee to

the right and left. Two terrible volleys accompanied their flight and

cut them down in swaths. But they returned with all the greater

desperation.

Then a frightful struggle ensued, a regular hand-to-hand encounter, in

which the Turkish horsemen, defying the murderous volleys, rushed up to

the very points of the French bayonets, to discharge their pistols at

their adversaries.

Others again, seeing that the reflection of the sun upon the gun-barrels

frightened their horses, made them walk backward, and, forcing them to

rear, threw them over on the bayonets. The wounded dragged themselves

along the ground, and, gliding like serpents under the gun-barrels,

hamstrung the French.

Roland, perceiving that the number of his men was decreasing, and that,

despite the triple row of corpses which formed a rampart for the little

troop, he could not hope to sustain the unequal fight much longer, had

the door of the mosque opened, and with the utmost composure, continuing

his murderous fire all the while, he bade his men enter, being the last

to pass through the door himself. Then the firing began again through

every opening in the mosque; but the Turks brought up pieces of

artillery and trained them against the door. Roland himself was near a

window, and one after another, the three gunners who drew near to apply

the match to the touch-hole fell. Then a horsemen rode swiftly toward

the gun, and, before any one could divine his motive, he fired his

pistol at the priming. The gun was discharged, and the door broken in.

This broken entrance emitted such a terrible fusillade, however, that

the Turks presented themselves before it three times to enter the

mosque and were repulsed each time. Mad with rage, they rallied, and

made a fourth attempt, but this time only a few scattered shots replied

to their shouts of death. The little troop had exhausted its ammunition.

The grenadiers awaited the enemy with fixed bayonets.

"Friends," cried Roland, "remember that you have sworn to die rather

than be made prisoners by Djezzar the Butcher, who cut off your

comrades' heads."

"We swear it!" replied Roland's two hundred men with one voice.

"Long live the Republic!" said Roland.

"Long live the Republic!" they all repeated after him.

And each man prepared to die, but to sell his life dearly. Just then a

group of officers appeared at the doorway with Sidney Smith at their

head. They all carried their swords in their scabbards. Smith raised his

hat and made a sign that he wished to speak. Silence ensued.

"Gentlemen," he said in excellent French, "you are brave men, and it

shall never be said that men who had borne themselves like heroes were

massacred in my presence. Give yourselves up; I will guarantee that your

lives shall be spared."

"It is too much or not enough," replied Roland.

"Pray what do you want?"

"Kill us to the last man, or let us all go."

"You are exacting, gentlemen," said the commodore; "but one can refuse

nothing to such men as you. But you will permit me to furnish you with

an escort of Englishmen as far as the gate? Otherwise none of you will

reach it alive. Is that agreed?"

"Yes, my lord," replied Roland; "and we can only thank you for your

courtesy."

Sidney Smith left two English officers to guard the door, entered the

mosque himself, and held out his hand to Roland. Ten minutes later the

English escort arrived.

The French soldiers with fixed bayonets, and the English officers with

drawn swords, traversed the street which led to the French camp, amid

the imprecations of the Mussulmans, the howling of the women, and the

cries of the children. The ten or twelve wounded, among them Faraud,

were carried on improvised litters of gun-barrels. The Goddess of Reason

walked beside the sub-lieutenant's litter, pistol in hand. Smith and his

English soldiers accompanied the grenadiers until they were out of range

of the Turkish guns, and as they defiled before the redcoats the latter

presented arms.

Bonaparte, as we have said, had retired within his tent. He called for

Plutarch, and read the biography of Augustus; then, thinking of Roland

and his gallant companions, who were probably being murdered, he

muttered, like Augustus after the battle of Teutberg: "Varus, give me

back my legions!"

But he had no one of whom he could demand his legions, for he had been

his own Varus.

Suddenly he heard a great uproar and the strains of the "Marseillaise"

reached his ears. Why did these soldiers rejoice and sing when their

general was weeping with rage?

He sprang to the door of his tent. The first persons he saw were Roland,

his aide-de-camp Raimbaud, and Faraud.

The wounded man was leaning on the shoulder of the Goddess of Reason.

Behind them came the two hundred men whom Bonaparte had thought lost.

"Ah, my good friend," he said, pressing Roland's hand, "I was mourning

for you. I thought you were lost. How the devil did you get out of it?"

"Raimbaud will tell you," said Roland, who was in a bad humor because he

owed his life to an Englishman; "I am too thirsty to talk, I want

something to drink."

And taking a glass full of water, which was standing upon the table, he

emptied it at a single draught, while Bonaparte went out to meet the

soldiers, all the more delighted to see them since he had never expected

to do so again.

CHAPTER XV

VANISHED DREAMS

Napoleon, speaking of Saint-Jean-d'Acre at Saint Helena, said: "That

paltry town held the destiny of the East. If Saint-Jean-d'Acre had

fallen, I would have changed the face of the world."

This regret, expressed some twenty years later, gives an idea of the

poignancy of what Bonaparte must have suffered at the time, when he

realized the impossibility of taking Saint-Jean-d'Acre, and published

the following order in all the divisions of the army.

As usual, Bourrienne wrote at his dictation:

Soldiers! You have crossed the desert which separates Africa from

Asia with more rapidity than an army of Arabs.

The army, which was on its way to invade Egypt, is destroyed. You

have taken its general, its camp baggage, its supplies and its

camels.

You have captured all the strongholds which defend the wells of

the desert. On the fields of Mount Tabor you have dispersed the

cloud of men which had gathered from all parts of Asia in the hope

of pillaging Egypt.

Finally, after having maintained the war with a handful of men in

the heart of Syria for more than three months, taken forty pieces

of artillery, fifty flags, six thousand prisoners, levelled the

fortifications of Gaza, Jaffa, Kaïffa, and Acre, we are about to

return to Egypt; the season of disembarkation calls me back.

A few days more and we might hope to take the pasha in his own

palace; but at this season the price of the castle of Acre is not

worth the loss of a few days, and the brave men whom I should lose

are now necessary to me for other operations.

Soldiers, we have a season of fatigue and danger before us. Having

made it impossible for the East to do anything against us during

the forthcoming campaign, we shall perhaps be forced to repulse

the attack of a part of the West.

You will find new opportunities for glory; and if in so many

battles, every day is marked with the loss of a brave man, other

brave men must be made every day, and take their places among the

little band who set the example of daring in times of danger, and

who make victory easy.

As he finished dictating this bulletin to Bourrienne, Bonaparte rose and

went out of his tent as if to breathe more freely. Bourrienne followed

him uneasily; events seldom left such a deep impression upon that heart

of bronze.

Bonaparte climbed the little hill which overlooked the camp, seated

himself upon a stone, and remained for a long time staring at the

partially demolished fortress and the ocean which lay before him in its

immensity. Finally he said: "The men who will write my life will not

understand why I was so anxious to take this wretched little place. Ah,

if I had taken it as I hoped!"

He let his head fall upon his hands.

"And if you had taken it?" asked Bourrienne.

"If I had taken it," replied Bonaparte, seizing his hand, "I should have

found the treasures of the pasha in the city and arms for three hundred

thousand men; I would have aroused and armed all Syria; I would have

marched upon Damascus and Aleppo; I would have swelled my army with all

the malcontents; I would have announced the abolition of servitude and

the tyrannical rule of the pashas to the people; I would have reached

Constantinople with my armed hordes; I would have overthrown the Turkish

Empire; I would have founded a new and vast empire in the Orient which

would have fixed my place in history; and perhaps I should have returned

to Paris by way of Adrianople and Vienna, after having humbled the house

of Austria."

This, as will be seen, was nothing more nor less than Cæsar's project

when he fell beneath the assassin's knife; it was his war among the

Parthians which was to end only in Germany. As far as was the man of the

13th Vendémiaire from the conqueror of Italy, so far was the conqueror

of Italy that day from the conqueror of Egypt.

Proclaimed throughout Europe the greatest of living generals, he sought,

on the shores where Alexander, Hannibal and Cæsar had fought, to equal

if not surpass the names of these captains of antiquity; and he did

surpass them, since he tried to do what they only dreamed of.

"What would have become of Europe," said Pascal, speaking of Cromwell's

death from calculus, "if that grain of sand had not entered his

entrails?"

What would have become of Bonaparte's fortunes if Saint-Jean-d'Acre had

not stood in the way?

He was dreaming of this great mystery of the unknown when his eye was

attracted by a black speck between the mountains of the Carmel chain

which was gradually growing larger. As it drew nearer he recognized a

soldier of that dromedary corps which he had created "to pursue the

fugitives more swiftly after the battle."

Bonaparte drew his glass from his pocket, and, after taking a good look,

he said: "Good! Now we shall have some news from Egypt."

And he stood up. The messenger also recognized him; he promptly turned

his dromedary, which was edging toward the camp, somewhat out of the

direct line toward the hill. Bonaparte descended the hill. The soldier,

who seemed to be an excellent rider, put his dromedary to a gallop. He

wore the uniform of a quartermaster-general.

"Where do you come from?" called Bonaparte as soon as the man could hear

him.

"From Upper Egypt," was the answer.

"What news?"----"Bad, general."

Bonaparte stamped his foot. "Come here," he said.

The man reached Bonaparte in a few moments. The dromedary knelt down and

the man slid to the ground.

"Here, citizen-general," he said, and he handed him a despatch.

Bonaparte passed it to Bourrienne, saying: "Read it." Bourrienne read:

_To the Commander-in-Chief, Bonaparte_:

I do not know whether this despatch will reach you, general, or

whether, if it does, you will be in a position to remedy the

disaster with which I am threatened.

While General Desaix was pursuing the Mamelukes from the coast of

Syout, the flotilla composed of the "Italie," and several other

armed ships, which carried almost all of the supplies of the

division, some artillery, and the sick and wounded, was detained

off the coast of Beyrout by the wind.

The flotilla was attacked within a quarter of an hour by the

Sherif Hassan and three or four thousand men. We are not in any

condition to resist but we shall do so.

But we cannot escape death save by a miracle.

I am preparing this despatch, to which I shall add the details of

the battle as it progresses.

Hassan attacks us with a sharp fusillade; I have ordered his fire

to be returned. It is two o'clock in the afternoon.

Three o'clock--The Arabs are returning to the charge for the third

time, after suffering terrible havoc from our artillery. I have

lost a third of my men.

Four o'clock--The Arabs have thrown themselves into the river and

taken the small boats. I have only a dozen men, all the rest are

dead or wounded. I shall wait until the Arabs have crowded aboard

the "Italie," and then I shall blow her up with myself and them.

I am sending this despatch by a brave and clever man, who has

promised me that, unless he is killed, he will find you wherever

you are. In ten minutes all will be over.

CAPTAIN MORANDI.

"And then?" asked Bonaparte.

"That is all."

"But Captain Morandi?"

"Blew himself up, general," replied the messenger.

"And you?"

"Oh, I did not wait until he blew himself up; I blew away before that,

after carefully concealing my despatch in my tobacco-box. Then I swam

under water to a place where I hid in the tall grass. When it was dark I

came out from under the water, and crawled on all fours to the camp

where I came upon a sleeping Arab. I put a dagger into him, and taking

his dromedary I started off at a gallop."

"And you have come from Beyrout?"

"Yes, citizen-general."

"Without accident?"

"If you call shots fired at or by me accidents, then I have had plenty

and my camel also. Between us we have been hit four times. He three

times in the side, and I once in the shoulder. We have been hungry and

thirsty; he has eaten nothing at all, and I have eaten horseflesh. But

here we are. You are well, citizen-general; that is all that is

necessary."

"But Morandi?" asked Bonaparte.

"The deuce! as he put the match to the powder himself, I rather think

that it would be difficult to find any of him, even a piece as big as a

nut."

"And the 'Italie'?"

"There is not enough of the 'Italie' left to make matches."

"You were right, my friend; this is indeed bad news. Bourrienne, you

will say that I am superstitious; but did you notice the name of the

vessel?"

"The 'Italie.'"

"Well, now listen, Bourrienne. Italy is lost to France; that is beyond

doubt; my presentiments never deceive me."

Bourrienne shrugged his shoulders. "What connection do you find between

a ship which is blown up twenty-four hundred miles from France, on the

Nile, and Italy?"

"I have said it," replied Bonaparte with a prophetic accent, "and you

will see." Then, after a moment's silence, he said, pointing to the

messenger: "Take this good fellow with you, Bourrienne; give him thirty

talaris, and get him to tell you the story of the battle of Beyrout."

CHAPTER XVI

THE RETREAT

In the evening, in order to conceal its movements from the enemy as well

as to avoid the heat of the day, the army began its retreat. The orders

were to follow the Mediterranean for the fresh air of the sea.

Bonaparte called Bourrienne and dictated an order to the effect that all

who were able must go on foot, leaving the horses, mules and camels for

the sick and wounded.

An anecdote will at times convey the state of a man's mind better than

any number of descriptions.

Bonaparte had just finished his dictation when his personal attendant,

Vigogne senior, entered the tent, and asked: "General, which horse have

you reserved for yourself?"

Bonaparte looked him through and through, and then, striking him in the

face with his riding-whip, he retorted: "Did you not hear the order,

imbecile? Everybody is to go on foot, myself as well as the others. Go!"

And he went.

There were three men sick of the plague at Mount Carmel; they, too ill

to be moved, were left to the generosity of the Turks and the care of

the Carmelite brothers.

Unfortunately, Sidney Smith was not there to save them and the Turks put

them to death. Word of this was brought to Bonaparte after he had gone

six miles. Then Bonaparte gave full vent to the passion of which the

blow which he struck Vigogne was only the prelude. He stopped the

artillery wagons and distributed torches to all the army. Then he gave

orders to light the torches and to set fire to all the small towns and

villages, hamlets and houses on the road. The barley was ripe; they set

fire to it. It was a terrible yet a magnificent sight. The whole coast

was in flames for thirty miles around, and the sea reflected the

tremendous ocean of flames like a gigantic mirror. The bridge, being

bare sand, was the only thing which was not on fire, and seemed like a

bridge thrown over the Cocytus.

Bonaparte became alarmed when, after breakfast, he again took the head

of the column. A devouring thirst, the total want of water, excessive

heat, and a fatiguing march through burning sand-dunes had completely

demoralized the men, and caused the most cruel selfishness and the most

heartrending indifference to supersede all generous sentiments.

And this continued day after day. They began by ridding themselves of

those who were sick of the plague under pretext that it was dangerous to

take them along. Then came the turn of the wounded. The unfortunate men

cried out: "We have not got the plague, we are only wounded." And they

showed their old wounds, or inflicted new ones on themselves. But the

soldiers did not even turn their heads. "Your turn has come," they said.

And they went on.

Bonaparte shuddered with terror when he saw this. He ordered a halt. He

forced all the able-bodied men who were on mules, horses, or dromedaries

to give them up to the sick and wounded.

They reached Tentoura on the 20th of May, in a stifling heat. They

sought vainly for a bit of grass or a tree to give them shelter from the

blazing sky. They lay down upon the sand, but it was fiery hot. Men were

continually falling to rise no more. A wounded man in a litter asked for

water. Bonaparte went up to him.

"Who have you got there?" asked he.

"We do not know," replied the men. "All that we do know is that he wears

double epaulets."

The moans and the prayer for water had ceased.

"Who are you?" asked Bonaparte.

The wounded man was silent. Bonaparte raised the cloth which shaded the

litter and recognized Croisier.

"Ah, my poor boy!" he exclaimed.

Croisier began to sob bitterly.

"Come," said Bonaparte, "have a little courage."

"Ah," said Croisier, lifting himself up in his litter, "you think I am

weeping because I am going to die? I am weeping because you called me a

coward; and I tried to get myself killed just because you did call me

that."

"But," said Bonaparte, "I sent you a sword after that. Didn't Roland

give it to you?"

"Here it is," replied Croisier, seizing the weapon which was at his

side, and carrying it to his lips. "Those who are carrying me know that

I want to have it buried with me. Tell them to do that, general."

And the wounded man clasped his hands imploringly.

Bonaparte dropped the corner of the cloth which covered the litter, gave

the necessary order, and walked away.

When they left Tentoura on the following day they came upon a quicksand

of considerable extent. There was no other road, so the artillery was

obliged to take it, and the guns sank deep in the sand. They laid all

the sick and wounded on the edge for a time, while they harnessed all

the horses to the gun-carriages and wagons. But it was useless; wagons

and cannon sunk to their middle in the sand. The able-bodied soldiers

asked to be allowed to make a last effort. They exhausted themselves

uselessly.

They wept as they abandoned the brass which they had so often blessed,

which had so often witnessed their triumphs, and which had made Europe

tremble.

They slept at Cesarea on the 22d of May.

So many of the sick and wounded had died that horses were more

plentiful. Bonaparte, who was himself far from well, had nearly died

from fatigue on the previous day. He was so strongly urged to do so that

he finally consented to mount a horse. He had hardly gone three hundred

paces beyond Cesarea when, about daybreak, a man fired pointblank at him

from behind some bushes, but missed him.

The soldiers who were near the commander-in-chief darted into the

thicket and dragged out the man, a native of Nablos, who was condemned

to be shot on the spot. Four men pushed him toward the sea with the

butts of their carbines; there they pulled their triggers, but none of

the guns went off. The night had been damp and the powder was wet.

The Syrian, astonished at finding himself still alive, recovered his

presence of mind immediately, and throwing himself into the sea, swam to

a reef beyond the range of their muskets. The soldiers in their first

stupefaction watched him go without thinking to fire off their muskets.

But Bonaparte, who knew what a bad effect it would have upon the

superstitious population if such an attempt were to go unpunished,

ordered a platoon to fire upon him. They obeyed, but the man was out of

range, and the balls fell hissing into the water wide of the reef. The

man drew a dagger from his breast and made a threatening gesture with

it. Bonaparte ordered them to load again with a charge and a half, and

fire once more.

"It is useless," said Roland; "I will go." And he instantly threw off

all his clothing, retaining only his drawers.

"Stay here, Roland," said Bonaparte; "I do not wish you to risk your

life for that of an assassin."

But whether he did not hear him, or whether he did not wish to hear,

Roland had already borrowed a dagger from the Sheik of Aher, who was

retreating with the army, and, thrusting it between his teeth, he had

thrown himself into the sea. The soldiers, who knew that the young

captain was the most daring in the whole army, shouted "Bravo!"

Bonaparte was forced to be a witness of the duel which was impending.

The Syrian did not attempt further flight when he saw that it was only

one man who was coming after him, but waited. He presented a fine

spectacle there on his rock. With one hand clinched and his dagger in

the other he looked like a statue of Spartacus on a pedestal. Roland

swam toward him, his course as straight as that of an arrow. The Syrian

made no attempt to attack him until he had gained a footing; he even

drew back courteously as far as the rock would afford him a footing.

Roland emerged from the water, young and handsome, and dripping like a

sea-god.

They stood facing each other. The rock which was to serve as their arena

resembled the shell of an immense tortoise protruding from the water.

The spectators looked for a long scientific contest in which neither

would give any advantage to the other. But this was not to be.

Roland had no sooner gained his feet and shaken off the water which

blinded him as it fell from his dripping hair, than, without taking any

precaution to defend himself against his adversary's dagger, he sprang

upon him, not as one man springs upon another, but as a jaguar springs

upon the hunter. They saw the flash of the daggers, then the two men

fell into the water.

There was a tremendous splashing, then one head reappeared--the blond

head of Roland.

He clung to the sharp edges of the rock with one hand, then he rested

his knee upon it, and finally stood upright, holding his adversary's

head by its mass of long hair in the other hand. He resembled Perseus

after he had cut off the Gorgon's head.

A tremendous shout went up among the spectators and reached Roland. Then

putting his dagger between his teeth, he sprang into the sea and swam to

the shore.

The army had halted. The men had forgotten both heat and thirst. The

wounded forgot to think of their wounds. Even the dying found strength

to rise on their elbows.

Roland paused ten feet from Bonaparte.

"Here," said he, "is the head of your would-be assassin."

Bonaparte recoiled, in spite of himself. As for Roland, he went straight

to his clothes and began to put them on as calmly as if he had come from

an ordinary bath, and with a degree of modesty which a woman might have

envied him.

CHAPTER XVII

WHEREIN WE SEE THAT BONAPARTE'S PRESENTIMENTS DID NOT DECEIVE HIM

The French arrived at Jaffa on the 24th. They stayed there the 25th,

26th, 27th and 28th. Jaffa was indeed a city of misfortune for

Bonaparte.

The reader will remember the four thousand prisoners whom Croisier and

Eugene de Beauharnais had taken, who could neither be fed, nor sent to

Cairo, and who had to be, and were, shot.

A graver and still more lamentable necessity awaited Bonaparte on his

return. There was a hospital at Jaffa for plague-stricken patients.

There is a fine picture by Gros, at the Musée, which portrays Bonaparte

in the act of touching the plague stricken at Jaffa. The picture is

none the less beautiful because it represents an occurrence which did

not take place.

Here is what M. Thiers says. We who are only petty novelists are sorry

to find ourselves again in opposition to that giant among historians. It

is the author of "The Revolution," of "The Consulate and the Empire" who

is speaking.

When he reached Jaffa, Bonaparte blew up the fortifications. There

was a hospital there for plague-stricken patients. It would have

been impossible to carry them away. They would have been exposed to

inevitable death had they been left where they were, either from

sickness, hunger or the cruelty of the enemy. Therefore Bonaparte

told Dr. Desgenettes that it would be much more humane to give them

opium than to allow them to live; to which the doctor made the

much-lauded reply: "My trade is to cure, not to kill." The opium

was not administered, and this occurrence served to propagate an

outrageous slander which has now been refuted.

I humbly beg M. Thiers's pardon, but this reply credited to Desgenettes,

whom I knew as well as I did Larrey and all of the "Egyptians"--I mean

my father's companions in the great expedition--is as apocryphal as that

of Cambronne.

God forbid that I should slander (that is the word which M. Thiers used)

the man who illuminated the first half of the nineteenth century with

the torch of his glory; and when we come to Pichegru and the Duc

d'Enghien, the reader will see whether I simply repeat infamous echoes.

We have said that Gros's picture represents something which did not

happen, and we will prove it. Here is Davoust's report, written under

the eyes and the orders of the commander-in-chief, in his official

narrative:

The army reached Jaffa on the 5th Prairial (May 24). It remained

there the 6th, 7th, and 8th (25th, 26th, 27th of May). The time was

spent in disciplining the villages which had behaved badly. The

fortifications of Jaffa were all blown up. All the artillery of the

place was thrown into the sea. The wounded were sent away, both by

land and sea. There were only a few ships, and in order to give

time for the land evacuation we were obliged to defer the

departure of the army until the 9th.

Kléber's division formed the rear-guard, and did not start from

Jaffa until the 10th (29th of May).

You see not a word about the plague, not a word about the visit to the

hospital, and, above all, nothing about the touching of the

plague-stricken patients. Not a word in any of the official reports.

Bonaparte's eyes had been bent upon France ever since he had turned them

from the East, and it would have been very much misplaced modesty on his

part had he concealed such a remarkable fact, which would have done

honor, not to his reason perhaps, but to his daring.

Furthermore, this is how Bourrienne, who was an eye-witness, and a very

impressionable actor, relates the incident:

Bonaparte went to the hospital. He found men there with their limbs

amputated, wounded soldiers, afflicted with ophthalmia, who were

moaning piteously, and men sick with the plague. The beds occupied

by the latter stood to the right of the entrance. _I was walking

beside the general._ I affirm that I did not see him touch one of

the plague patients. Why should he? They were in the last stages of

the malady; none of them spoke. Bonaparte knew well that he was not

immune from the malady. Would fortune interfere in his behalf to

shield him. It had certainly not seconded his plans with sufficient

ardor during the last two months for him to depend upon that.

I ask: Would he expose himself to certain death, and leave his

army in the midst of a desert which we had just made by our own

ravages, in a demolished town, without help, or the hope of

receiving any--he so necessary, so indispensable, as everybody

must admit, to his army; he upon whom rested the responsibility of

all the lives of those who had survived the last disaster, and who

had just given proof of such devotion by their unalterable

courage, their sufferings, and the endurance of privations; who

were doing all that he could humanly ask of them, and who had

confidence in him.

That is the voice of logic; but here is something convincing.

Bonaparte walked rapidly through the rooms, lightly flicking the

yellow tops of his boots with the riding-whip which he held in his

hand.

He spoke as follows as he strode back and forth:

"The fortifications are destroyed. Fortune was against me at

Saint-Jean-d'Acre. I must go back to Egypt to preserve it against

the enemies who are coming. In a few hours the Turks will be here.

Let all those who are strong enough to rise, get up and come with

us; they will be carried on litters and horses."

There were at the most sixty down with the plague. Anything that

may have been said about a greater number is mere exaggeration.

Their absolute silence, their complete prostration, and their

general weakness announced the near approach of death. To take

them in that state meant infallibly to introduce the plague in the

army.

If one longs for ceaseless conquests, glory, and brilliant deeds

one must accept his share of ill-fortune. When we think we have

found something to cavil at in the actions of a leader who is

hurried along by reverses and disastrous circumstances to terrible

extremities, it is essential, before passing judgment upon him, to

post ourselves thoroughly as to the given condition of affairs,

and ask ourselves with our hands on our hearts whether we would

not have done as he did. Then we must pity the man who is forced

to do something cruel, but we must absolve him, since victory--let

us be frank about it--cannot be won except with such or similar

horrible accompaniments.

Here again is some one who has every interest in telling the truth.

Listen:

He ordered an examination to be made in order to determine what had

best be done. The report stated that seven or eight were so

dangerously ill that they could not live more than twenty-four

hours longer, and that, furthermore, plague-stricken as they were,

they would spread the disease among all the soldiers who came in

contact with them. Several asked for instant death. _He_ thought

that it would be an act of charity to advance their death by a few

hours.

Do you still doubt? Napoleon shall speak for himself in the first

person.

Where is the man who would not have preferred a speedy death to the

horror of living exposed to the tortures of these barbarians? _If

my son_--and I think I love him as dearly as a child can be

loved--_were in a situation similar to that of those unfortunates,

my opinion would be in favor of doing the same thing to him; and

were I in the same position I should demand that it be done to me_.

It seems that nothing could be clearer than those few lines. How does it

happen that M. Thiers did not read them? And if he did read them, why

did he deny a fact which was confessed by the man who would have the

most interest in concealing it?

Thus we establish the truth, not for the purpose of attacking Bonaparte,

who could not have acted otherwise, but to prove to the partisans of

_pure_ history that it is not always _true_ history.

The little army followed the same route in returning from Cairo that it

had on coming to Syria. But the heat grew more terrible each day. When

they left Gaza it registered 35 degrees Centigrade, and if the mercury

was placed in the sand it rose to 45 degrees. Bonaparte noticed two men

filling a grave a short time before they reached El-Arich. He thought he

recognized in them the two men to whom he had spoken a fortnight before.

And when he questioned them they said that they were indeed the men who

had carried Croisier's litter. The poor fellow had just died of tetanus.

"Did you bury his sabre with him?" asked Bonaparte.

"Yes," replied both men together.

He stayed until the grave was filled up. Then fearing that it might be

violated, he said: "I want a volunteer to stay here as a sentinel until

the army has passed."

"Here," said a voice.

Bonaparte turned and saw Quartermaster Falou seated upon his dromedary.

"Ah, is it you?"

"Yes, citizen-general."

"How does it happen that you have a dromedary when the rest are on

foot?"

"Because two men have died of the plague on my dromedary's back, and no

one will ride it."

"And it seems that you are not afraid of the plague?"

"I am not afraid of anything, citizen-general."

"Very well. I will remember that. Look up your friend Faraud and both of

you come to me at Cairo."

"We will be there, citizen-general."

Bonaparte glanced at Croisier's grave.

"Sleep in peace, poor Croisier," he said, "your modest grave will not

often be disturbed."

CHAPTER XVIII

ABOUKIR

On the 14th of June, after a retreat across the burning sands of Syria

almost as disastrous as the retreat from Moscow through the snows of the

Beresina, Bonaparte entered Cairo in the midst of an immense concourse

of people. The sheik, who was awaiting him, presented him with a

magnificent horse and the Mameluke Roustan.

Bonaparte had said in his bulletin dated from Saint-Jean-d'Acre, that he

was returning to Egypt to oppose the landing of a Turkish force

assembled in the Island of Rhodes. He had been correctly informed upon

this point, and the lookouts at Alexandria signalled on the 11th of July

that they had sighted seventy-six sails in the offing, of which twelve

were men-of-war, flying the Ottoman flag.

General Marmont, who was in command, sent courier after courier to Cairo

and Rosetta, ordering the commander at Ramanieh to send him all the

troops at his disposal, and sent two hundred men to the fort at Aboukir

to reinforce that point. That same day Colonel Godard, the commander at

Aboukir, wrote to Marmont:

The Turkish fleet is moored in the roadstead; I and my men will

hold out until the last man falls rather than yield.

The 12th and 13th were employed by the enemy in hastening the arrival of

some battalions which were behindhand.

There were one hundred and thirty ships in the roadstead on the evening

of the 13th, of which thirteen carried seventy-four guns each, nine were

frigates, and seventeen gunboats. The remainder were transports.

On the following evening Godard and his men had kept their word. He and

his men were dead, and the redoubt was captured. Thirty-five men were

still shut up in the fort under the command of Colonel Vinache. They

held the fort for two days against the whole Turkish army.

Bonaparte learned of this while he was at the Pyramids. He started for

Ramanieh, where he arrived on the 19th.

The Turks, now masters of the fort and the redoubt, had landed their

whole artillery. Marmont, who had only eighteen hundred troops of the

line, and two hundred sailors composing the nautical legion, with which

to oppose the Turks at Alexandria, sent courier after courier to

Bonaparte. Fortunately, instead of marching upon Alexandria, as Marmont

had feared, or upon Rosetta, as Bonaparte had feared, the Turks with

their customary indolence contented themselves with occupying the

peninsula, and throwing out to the left of the redoubt a great line of

intrenchments bordering upon Lake Madieh. They fortified little mounds

some five or six feet in front of the redoubt, placing a thousand men in

one and two thousand in another. They had eighteen thousand men in all.

But they seemed to have come to Egypt for the sole object of being

besieged.

On the 23d Bonaparte ordered the French army, which was now only distant

a couple of hours' march from the Turkish army, to advance. The

advance-guard, composed of Murat's cavalry and three of General

Destaing's battalions, with two pieces formed the centre.

The division of General Rampon, who had Generals Fugière and Lanusse

under his orders, was on the left. On the right General Lannes's

division advanced along the shores of Lake Madieh.

Davoust, with two squadrons of cavalry and a hundred dromedaries, was

placed between Alexandria and the army, with orders to head off Mourad

Bey, or any one else who should come to the assistance of the Turks, and

to keep communication open between Alexandria and the army.

Kléber was expected, and he was to take command of the reserve. And

finally Menou, who had gone toward Rosetta, found himself at dawn near

the end of the bar of the Nile, by the ferry which crosses Lake Madieh.

The French were within sight of the intrenchments almost before the

Turks were aware of their proximity.

Bonaparte formed the columns of attack. General Destaing, who commanded

them, marched straight against the fortified hill at the right, while

two hundred of Murat's cavalry, stationed between the two hills, left

their positions, and circling both sides of the hill to the right, cut

off the retreat of the Turks who were attacked by General Destaing.

Meanwhile Lannes marched against the hill on the left, which was

defended by two thousand Turks, and Murat sent two hundred more of his

cavalry around that hill.

Destaing and Murat attacked at almost the same moment and with equal

success. The two hills were carried at the bayonet's point. The fugitive

Turks met the French cavalry, and threw themselves into the sea.

Destaing, Lannes, and Murat then marched against the village which

formed the centre of the peninsula, and attacked in front. A column left

the camp at Aboukir and came to the support of the village. Murat drew

his sabre, a thing he never did until the last moment, gave the word to

his cavalry, charged the column, and drove it back to Aboukir. Meanwhile

Lannes and Destaing captured the village. The Turks fled on all sides

only to meet Murat's cavalry as it was returning. The battlefield was

already strewed with four or five hundred corpses. The French had only

one man wounded. He was a mulatto, a compatriot of my father's, the

commander of a squad of the Hercules Guides. The French now found

themselves upon the highroad which covered the Turkish front.

Bonaparte had it in his power to box the Turks up in Aboukir, and harass

them with bombs and shells while he was awaiting the arrival of Kléber

and Régnier with their divisions; but he preferred to deal a decisive

blow and have done with them. He ordered the army to march straight at

the second line of defence. Lannes and Destaing, supported by Lanusse,

still bore the brunt of the battle, and won the honors of the day.

The redoubt which defends Aboukir is the work of the English, and

consequently it is constructed on the most scientific plan.

It was now defended by nine or ten thousand Turks. It was connected with

the sea by a causeway. As the Turks had not had time to dig far enough

in the other direction, it did not connect with the Lake of Madieh. A

space some three hundred feet in length remained open, but it was

occupied by the enemy and swept by the gunners at one and the same time.

Bonaparte ordered an attack to the right and the front. Murat, who was

ambushed in a grove of palms, was to attack on the left, and crossing

the space where there was no causeway, under fire of the gunners, was to

drive the enemy before him. The Turks sent out four detachments of about

two thousand men each, when they saw these arrangements, who marched

against our troops.

The battle would inevitably be a desperate one, for the Turks realized

that they were shut up in the peninsula with the sea before them and a

wall of French bayonets behind.

A heavy cannonade directed against the redoubt and the intrenchments of

the right was the signal for a fresh attack. General Bonaparte thereupon

sent General Fugière forward. He followed the bank, and turned to the

right of the Turks. The thirty-second, which was stationed on the left

of the hamlet which had recently been captured, was to hold the enemy in

cheek, and sustain the eighteenth.

It was then that the Turks left their intrenchments and came to meet the

French. The latter uttered a joyful shout. This was what they wanted.

They rushed upon the enemy with fixed bayonets. The Turks discharged

their guns first, then their pistols, and finally drew their sabres. The

French soldiers, who were not even checked by the triple discharge,

closed in upon them with their sabres.

It was not until then that the Turks realized with what kind of men and

weapons they had to reckon. With their guns slung over their shoulders

and the sabres hanging by their cords they began a hand-to-hand fight,

trying to snatch the terrible bayonets from the rifles, which pierced

their breasts as they stretched forth their hands to grasp them.

But nothing could stop the eighteenth. They continued to advance at the

same pace, driving the Turks before them to the foot of the

intrenchments, which they attempted to carry by storm; but there the

soldiers were driven back by a hot fire which raked them diagonally.

General Fugière, who led the attack, received a bullet in the head in

the beginning. The wound was a slight one, and he kept on, and spoke

encouragingly to his men. But when a ball carried away his arm he was

obliged to stop.

Adjutant-general Lelong, who came up with a battery of the

seventy-fifth, made heroic efforts to induce the soldiers to defy this

hurricane of fire. Twice he led them up to it and twice he was repulsed.

The third time he darted forward and was on the verge of springing over

the intrenchments when he fell dead.

Roland, who was standing near Bonaparte, had for a long time been asking

for a command of some sort, which the latter hesitated to give him,

until at length he felt that the moment had come for a supreme effort.

He turned toward him. "Very well, go!" he said to him.

"Thirty-second brigade!" shouted Roland.

And the gallant survivors of Saint-Jean-d'Acre ran off after him, led by

their major, Armagnac. Sub-lieutenant Faraud, recovered from his wound,

was in the first rank.

Meanwhile, Brigadier-general Morange had made another attempt; but he

was also driven back, leaving thirty men on the glacis and in the

trench. The Turks thought that they had conquered. Carried away by

their custom of cutting off the heads of the dead, for which they

received fifty _paras_ apiece, they left the redoubt in disorder, and

began the bloody work.

Roland pointed them out to his indignant soldiers.

"All our men are not dead," he cried; "some of them are only wounded.

Let us save them."

At that moment Murat caught a glimpse through the smoke of what was

going on. He darted forward under the fire of the artillery, passed

through it, cut off the redoubt from the village with his cavalry, and

fell upon the men who were engaged in the horrible operation of cutting

off heads on the other side of the redoubt, while Roland attacked it in

front, dashing in among the Turks with his usual reckless daring, where

he mowed down the harvesters.

Bonaparte saw that the Turks had been taken at a disadvantage by this

unexpected onslaught, and he sent Lannes with two battalions. Lannes

attacked the redoubt with his usual impetuosity, on the left face and at

the gorge. Pressed thus on all sides the Turks tried to reach the

village of Aboukir; but Murat was between the village and the redoubt

with his cavalry, and behind him was Roland and the thirty-second

brigade, and at their right Lannes and his two divisions.

Their only refuge was the sea. They threw themselves into it wild with

terror; for, since they were not in the habit of giving quarter to their

prisoners, they preferred the sea, and the chance of reaching their

ships, to death at the hands of the Christians whom they despised.

At this juncture the French were masters of the two hills, where they

had begun the assault; of the hamlet where the remainder of those who

had been defending the hills had taken refuge; of the redoubt which had

cost so many brave men their lives. And now they were before the camp,

and the Turkish reserve. They fell upon them.

Nothing could stop the French soldiers, who were drunk with the carnage

which they had just perpetrated. Murat's cavalry fell upon the pasha's

guard like a whirlwind, a simoom, a hurricane.

Ignorant of the result of the battle, Mustapha, when he heard the

shouting and uproar, mounted his horse, and placing himself at the head

of his _icoglans_, he rushed to meet the French, encountered Murat,

fired upon him at close range, and inflicted a slight wound. Murat cut

off two of his fingers with the first blow of his sabre. With the second

he would have cut off his head, but an Arab threw himself in front of

the pasha, received the blow and fell dead. Mustapha gave up his

cimeter, and Murat sent him to Bonaparte as a prisoner.

See Gros's magnificent picture.

The remnant of the army took refuge within the fort of Aboukir; the

others were killed or drowned.

Never had such annihilation been seen since two armies had marched

against each other. Aside from the two hundred Janissaries and the

hundred men shut up in the fort, nothing was left of the army of

eighteen thousand Turks.

Kléber arrived toward the close of the day. He asked about the battle,

and inquired where he could find Bonaparte. Bonaparte was musing out on

the most advanced point of Aboukir. He was looking at the gulf which had

swallowed up the French fleet--his sole hope of returning to France.

Kléber went up to him and took him by the arm; and while Bonaparte's

eyes remained veiled and sombre, he exclaimed: "General, you are the

greatest man in the world!"

CHAPTER XIX

DEPARTURE

During the year that this eighth crusade lasted--the ninth if we count

Saint Louis's double attempt as two--Bonaparte did all that it was

humanly possible to do. He took Alexandria, conquered the Mamelukes at

Chebrouïss and the Pyramids, took Cairo, achieved the conquest of the

Delta, and by means of its marshes completed the conquest of Upper

Egypt, took Gaza, Jaffa, and destroyed the Turkish army of Djezzar at

Mount Tabor; and finally he annihilated a second Turkish army at

Aboukir.

The tri-color had floated triumphantly over the Jordan and the Nile.

But he was ignorant of what was happening in France, and that was why on

the evening of his victory of Aboukir he was gazing dreamily at the gulf

which had swallowed up his fleet.

He sent for Quartermaster Falou, and questioned him about the battle of

Beyrout, the disaster to the flotilla, and the loss of the "Italie," and

his presentiment haunted him more persistently than ever. He called

Roland in the hope of learning some news.

"My dear Roland," said he, "I greatly desire to open a new career for

you."

"What is it?" asked Roland.

"That of a diplomat."

"Oh, what a sad idea that is, general."

"Nevertheless, you must yield to it."

"What! You are not going to allow me to refuse?"

"No."

"Then explain."

"I am going to send you with a flag of truce to Sidney Smith."

"My instructions?"

"You are to find out what is happening in France, and you will try to

distinguish the truth from the false in what the commodore tells you, by

no means an easy matter."

"I will do my best. What will be the ostensible object of my embassy?"

"An exchange of prisoners. The English have twenty-five of our men; we

have two hundred and fifty Turks. We will give them the two hundred and

fifty men if they will give us our twenty-five Frenchmen."

"And when am I to start?"

"To-day."

It was the 26th of July.

Roland went and he returned that same evening with a pile of newspapers.

Sidney had recognized him as the hero of Saint-Jean-d'Acre, and had

offered no objections to telling him what was going on in Europe. Then,

as he had read incredulity in Roland's eyes, he had given him all the

French, English, and German papers which he had on the "Tiger."

The news which these papers contained was disastrous. The Republic,

defeated at Sockah and Magnano, had lost Germany at Sockah and Magnano.

Masséna, intrenched in Switzerland, occupied an unassailable position on

the Albis. The Appenines had been invaded and the Var threatened.

The next day, when Bonaparte saw Roland, he asked: "Well?"

"Well?" replied the young man.

"I knew that Italy was lost!"

"You will have to take it again."

"We will try," returned Bonaparte. "Call Bourrienne."

Bourrienne was called.

"Ask Berthier where Ganthéaume is," said Bonaparte.

"He is at Ramanieh superintending the construction of the fleet which is

to start for Upper Egypt."

"Are you sure?"

"I received a letter from him yesterday."

"I need a brave and reliable messenger," Bonaparte said to Roland; "send

for Falou and his dromedary."

Roland went out.

"Write these few words to Alexandria, Bourrienne," continued Bonaparte.

As soon as this is received Admiral Ganthéaume will report to

General Bonaparte.

BOURRIENNE.

26th July, 1799.

Ten minutes later Roland returned with Falou and his dromedary.

Bonaparte glanced at the messenger with satisfaction.

"Is your mount in as good a condition as you are?" he asked.

"My dromedary and I, general, are in condition to do seventy-five miles

a day."

"I only ask twenty."

"A mere nothing."

"You must carry a letter."

"Where?"

"To Ramanieh."

"It shall be delivered to-night."

"Read the superscription."

"Admiral Ganthéaume."

"Now if you were to lose it--"

"I will not lose it."

"One must foresee everything. Listen to what it says."

"Is it long?"

"Only a sentence."

"That is all right then; what is it?"

As soon as this is received Admiral Ganthéaume will report to

General Bonaparte.

"That is easy to remember."

"Then go."

Falou made his dromedary kneel down, climbed upon his hump, and started

him off at a trot.

"I am off," he shouted.

And he was in fact already some distance off. The next evening he

appeared again.

"The admiral is following me," he shouted.

The admiral arrived during the night. Bonaparte had not retired and

Ganthéaume found him writing.

"You will prepare," said Bonaparte, "two frigates, the 'Muiron' and the

'Carrière,' and two smaller vessels, the 'Revanche' and the 'Fortune,'

with provisions enough to last forty or fifty men two months. Not a word

about it to any one. You are to come with me."

Ganthéaume withdrew, promising not to speak of it.

Bonaparte sent for Murat.

"Italy is lost," said he; "the wretches! They have wasted the fruits of

our victories. We must go. Select five hundred men for me." Then,

turning to Roland, he added: "You will see that Falou and Faraud are

included in the detachment."

Roland bowed assent.

General Kléber, to whom Bonaparte intended to leave the command of the

army, was invited to Rosetta, "to confer with the commander-in-chief on

matters of the utmost importance."

Bonaparte made an appointment with him which he knew very well he could

not keep. He wished, however, to avoid Kléber's reproaches and bitter

frankness. He wrote all that he would have said to him, and gave as his

reason for not keeping his appointment his fear that the English

cruisers might return at any moment.

The vessels destined for Bonaparte were once more to carry Cæsar and his

fortune. But this time it was not Cæsar sailing eastward to add Egypt to

the conquests of Rome; it was Cæsar revolving in his mind the vast

projects which had made the conqueror of the Gauls cross the Rubicon.

He was going back without recoiling at the idea of overturning the

government for which he had fought on the 13th Vendémiaire, and which he

had sustained on the 18th Fructidor.

A dream of gigantic magnitude had faded away before Saint-Jean-d'Acre. A

still vaster vision was forming in his mind as he left Alexandria.

On the 23d of August, a dark and gloomy night, a boat pushed off from

the Egyptian shore, and put Bonaparte aboard the "Muiron."

THE END

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| Transcriber's Note:-- |

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| Punctuation errors have been corrected. |

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| The following suspected printer's errors have been addressed. |

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| Page 172. misson changed to mission. (diplomat for this mission) |

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| Page 286. Convenion changed to Convention. (The Convention felt) |

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End of Project Gutenberg's The Whites and the Blues, by Alexandre Dumas