‘Yes, sir.’ Berthier saluted and turned away. Napoleon watched him for a moment and then stared back out to sea. Despite his present difficulties, it was hard to believe how lucky the expedition had been in recent weeks. The fleet had stopped en route to seize Malta.The Grand Master of the Knights of St John, who had so rashly declared war on France a few months earlier, had surrendered the formidable fortresses of Valletta after a brief exchange of fire. If the Knights had shown the same resolve against France as they had against the Turks then hundreds, perhaps thousands, of lives would have been lost. As it was, Napoleon had been able to liberate two hundred galley slaves, who even now were making their way through Egypt with proclamations written in Arabic promising the fellahin- the peasants - that Napoleon and his army were here to liberate them from their Turkish overlords. Better still, the vast fortune of the Knights had been seized and divided, the main portion being returned to France while Napoleon added the rest to his war chest.
The slow progress of the fleet that had caused Napoleon so much anxiety had saved it from destruction by the squadron of English warships under Lord Nelson that had been sent to intercept the French fleet. Nelson had overshot his target and arrived at Alexandria three days ahead of Napoleon, before turning north to search the sea in the direction of Cyprus, just hours before the French fleet arrived.
Clearly his lucky star was burning with its usual brilliance, Napoleon reflected with a smile. But good fortune had played its hand and now it was up to Napoleon to seize the initiative and take full advantage of the situation. He had briefly considered delaying the attack on Alexandria until his scattered force could be gathered in when morning came. However, any advantage he gained in numbers would be offset by the advance warning the Mameluke garrison would have of the approach of the French invaders. Regardless of the lack of any guns or cavalry, the attack would have to be launched as soon as possible.
Berthier formed the men up along three sides of a platform hastily constructed from some water barrels and the door from one of the hovels in Marabout. A torch flared at each corner and Napoleon clambered up, illuminated by the flickering glare. He paused a moment to catch his breath and then filled his lungs and began to address his men.
‘Soldiers! At first light you will be in sight of one of the wonders of the ancient world - the port of Alexandria. It is named after its founder, the greatest conqueror in history, Alexander the Great. Today we will take the first steps in following the route he took in conquering an empire that spanned the known world. But where the Greeks called a halt to their march we shall go on and claim an even greater empire for the glory of France!’
A cheer rose from the grey ranks facing him in the moonlight. He waited for it to subside before he continued. ‘Although we are here to fight an enemy, it is vital that you remember we are far from our homeland.We must win over the local people, or we will never be able to rest at night. So you will respect their religion.You will respect their customs. Any man caught looting or raping will be shot on the spot. We are here to liberate the people, not their chattels or their chastity!’ The men laughed good-naturedly and Napoleon nodded to himself. Despite the trials of the landing, their spirits were high and they would recover their fighting mettle the moment they closed on the enemy.
Napoleon snatched his hat off his head and thrust it aloft.‘For France! For liberty, equality and fraternity! And most of all, for victory!’
Once the cheers had died away Napoleon left orders that Desaix should be told to guard the beachhead as soon as he was located.Then he gave the order for the men to form a marching column and they set off, their boots shuffling quietly across the sand as they advanced on Alexandria.
Even though the distance was not great it was tiring ground to march over, and even the men of Napoleon’s personal bodyguard began to mutter and grumble as the sand gave and shifted under their boots.At least the brilliant illumination in the star-scattered heavens made it possible to see clearly for some distance and there was none of the usual night march anxiety of an ambush or a sudden engagement. As dawn streaked the eastern sky with pastel pink and orange hues Napoleon caught his first glimpse of Alexandria from the crest of a dune. The image of the great city of Alexander that he had carried in his head since childhood bore little resemblance to the present reality. A grey wall stretched round the perimeter of what was no more than a minor town by European standards. Beyond the wall he could see a sprawl of flat and domed roofs and dun-coloured buildings. A large triangular fort lay to one side of the track that led up to the western gate, and as the head of the French column descended the far slope of the dune a dull thud made Napoleon look up to see a puff of smoke roll lazily along the nearest wall of the fort. A moment later a column of sand leaped up from the ground a short distance from the head of the column.
‘Berthier!’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Halt the men. Then find General Menou. Tell him to take a brigade and storm that fort.’
Berthier saluted and a moment later the officers and sergeants were bellowing their orders up and down the line. While the other soldiers waited, three battalions marched forward and deployed across the track in front of the fort.The gun on the wall continued firing steadily, scoring one hit on the attackers that swept away a file of six men. Menou immediately sent forward a screen of skirmishers to fire at any of the enemy that dared to show their heads above the parapet. Under cover of their comrades’ fire the assault columns quick-marched across the packed sand and scrambled up the crumbling mud walls. From his position Napoleon could see the glint of bayonets and curved swords twinkling in the sunshine as Menou’s soldiers fell upon the defenders. It was soon over and the green flag with a yellow crescent that had fluttered above the ramparts was hauled down and a moment later the tricolour rose in its place.
Napoleon nodded with satisfaction, then gave the order for the column to move forward. They marched past the fort and exchanged cheers with the men on the walls. Menou left a handful of men behind to guard the prisoners and then rejoined the tail of the column as it passed the fort and continued down the track towards Alexandria. By the time they had reached the town the sun had risen high enough to make the air stifling.The men were wearing the same uniforms that they had worn in Europe and were weighed down by five days’ issue of rations and sixty rounds for each musket. Most had already emptied their canteens and their dry throats were further irritated by the dust kicked up by the marching column.
Napoleon and Berthier climbed up on to a pile of ancient masonry to observe the town’s defences while the men deployed for the attack. Closer to the walls they could now see that the stonework was old and small sections around the main gates had fallen down. Napoleon pointed them out with his riding crop.
‘We’ll attack through those.’
Berthier unrolled the map of the town that he had obtained from a French merchant. ‘Ah, yes, the Pompey and Rosetta gates. According to our source, once we’re through those, there are no other defences in the town, sir.’
‘Good. Then let’s not waste any more time. Kléber can attack the Pompey gate, while Bon takes the Rosetta. Give the orders.’
As the French battalions tramped foward, kicking up yet more dust that billowed around and above them, at times obscuring Napoleon’s view of the assault, the enemy began to fire from the walls and bastions, tiny flickers of flame and puffs of smoke indicating their positions. The sunlight beat upon the parched landscape and after a while Napoleon sat down on a small pile of pottery fragments to watch the proceedings. As he squinted into the dusty haze about the gates he irritably swiped at the potsherds with his riding crop. Eventually he could stand it no longer and scrambled down and strode towards the nearest gate, his staff hurrying to catch up with him. Berthier trotted forward and fell into step alongside his general.