The distant roar of cannon fire drew Napoleon’s eye back to the extreme right of the French line where a powerful battery had been established in a small village. Through the lens the battlefield was foreshortened into a swirl of figures and smoke in tightly compressed planes. Then Napoleon saw the barrels of his guns belch smoke and flame as they cut down swathes of the enemy cavalry closing on them. An instant later his view was obscured by the Mamelukes as they charged the French divisions and converged on the gaps between the French squares. There was a distant roar as Desaix’s men poured volley fire into the flank of the horsemen riding past the side of their square. Then Reynier’s men joined in, before the sound of musket fire became more general, a continuous roar and crackle. The Mamelukes added to the growing din as they drew their horse pistols and fired into the dense masses of blue-coated infantry.
Napoleon made his way across to the right hand side of the centre formation to better observe the attack.A torrent of enemy cavalry had swept into the gap between Reynier’s division and the centre of the French line and now charged home, seemingly straight at Napoleon and his staff officers.
‘Fix bayonets!’ the colonel of the right flank brigade bellowed out to his men and there was a metallic rasp and rattle down the line as his men drew out the long blades and slid the sockets over the ends of their muskets. When his men were still again the colonel shouted the order to advance their weapons and the long line of bayonets rippled down, towards the oncoming Mamelukes.
A cannon roared from the corner of the square and sent a blast of grapeshot scything through those at the head of the charge, bringing down several horses and their riders. Close to Napoleon a musket went off and he cupped a hand to his mouth and bellowed,‘Wait for the order! Don’t fire until they are within fifty paces!’
The sergeants relayed the order along the line and the men stood still in grim anticipation as they watched the approaching enemy, so close now that their wild cries could be heard above the drumming of hooves. From behind Napoleon there came a flat thud as a mortar was fired and the shell arced up and then plummeted down amid the enemy before exploding with a great flash and a roar. A pall of smoke and dust filled the air. For a moment the charge faltered and then the colonel of the brigade bellowed the order to open fire and a hail of musket balls added to the slaughter. Men and horses went down like skittles, and still they came on, desperate to get close enough to use their pistols on the French. Only a few managed it and hurriedly discharged their weapons. Most shots went high, or kicked into the sand at the feet of Napoleon’s soldiers.Then the Mamelukes wheeled their mounts away and spurred them out of range of the French weapons so that they could reload and charge again.
Within minutes the ground in front of the square was scattered with the bodies of horses and riders, many writhing as their cries of agony split the air. Still the muskets roared out, cutting even more of the enemy down. Despite their desperate bravery the Mamelukes could not stand up to the withering fire from the French line, and at last they wheeled their mounts away from Napoleon’s formation and galloped across the rear of Reynier’s and Desaix’s divisions to fall upon the artillery battery on the far right of the line. As soon as the artillery crews saw the threat they abandoned their guns, clambered up on to the flat roofs of the village and fired down on the horsemen swirling between the houses.
Once he saw that the flank would hold off the enemy’s cavalry host, Napoleon turned to Berthier with a grin. ‘We seem to have got their attention on the right. Now’s the time to strike at Embabeh and close the trap.’
He wheeled his horse about and galloped back across the centre of the square. Followed by Berthier and a handful of mounted guides, he made his way through a narrow gap between two battalions of the brigade stationed on the left of the division. They made for the bank of the Nile where General Bon and his men were standing ready to assault Embabeh. Napoleon thrust his arm out towards the earthworks encircling the village.
‘Now’s the time, Bon! Send your men in.’
‘Yes, sir.’ General Bon passed the order on at once and a moment later the drums began to beat the advance. The French battalions rolled forward, their standards rippling out in brilliant colours as they caught the glare of the sun’s rays. To their right three small squares moved to cover the attack in case the Mameluke cavalry attempted to intervene. Napoleon urged his horse forward and joined Bon in the main assault column tramping towards the mud-brick ramparts of Embabeh. Behind the breastwork on top of the rampart Napoleon could see the turbaned heads of the defenders as they levelled their muskets and opened fire.The range was long and only an occasional shot whistled past close enough for Napoleon to hear. Even so, the dense mass of men marching forward was a hard target to miss and as they neared the walls the first men began to fall. Their comrades stepped over them and continued relentlessly towards the ramparts, now shrouded with gunpowder smoke, so that only the stabs of flame showed where the defenders stood.
Cannon fire echoed across the surface of the Nile as the gunboats shifted their aim from the other bank and started to bombard Embabeh, pounding the ramparts. The enemy fusillade slackened as the Mamelukes took cover and the French columns quickened their step as they approached the fortifications. Napoleon ducked instinctively as a roundshot from one of the gunboats whirred overhead.
‘Shit, that was close,’ Berthier muttered.
Napoleon nodded. ‘Hope those bastards on our boats don’t get carried away and forget to cease firing. Time to continue on foot, I think.’
He slipped down from his saddle and handed the reins to one of his staff officers. An infantry battalion was marching past and Napoleon exchanged a few cheerful greetings with them before falling into step with the captain of the rear company.
‘Mind if Berthier and I join you?’
The captain, a stocky youth, a few years younger than his general, flushed with pride as he saluted. ‘It would be an honour, sir.’
‘The honour is ours, Captain. Now, let’s see what your men can do.’
The last cannon fired from the gunboats just as the colours of the leading battalion reached the foot of the rampart. The grenadier company immediately scrambled up the steep slope, struggling to keep moving in the shifting sand that had been piled up against the ramparts to slow the attackers down. Now that the bombardment from the gunboats had ceased the Mamelukes returned to the ramparts and renewed their fire on the French troops. But it was already too late for them, as the skirmishers in front of the ramparts raised their muskets and fired at any turbaned heads that appeared above the parapet, either side of the assault column. As Napoleon watched, the grenadiers swarmed up the slope, and then hauled themselves over the breastwork to fall on the defenders beyond. The sound of musket fire was replaced with the harsh scrape and ring of bayonets and swords and the wild cries of men fighting for their lives.
The companies following the grenadiers began to climb up and feed into the fight spreading out along the wall.As Napoleon made his way forward with the last company of the battalion the churned sand gave way beneath his boots and he was breathing hard by the time he reached the ramparts. The bodies of Mamelukes and French soldiers were sprawled on either side. A short distance ahead lay the nearest houses of the village and the Mamelukes were streaming back from the walls into the narrow alleys between the mud-plastered buildings, pursued by French soldiers wildly shouting out their cries of triumph and jeers of contempt.