While Roger was inwardly seething, Bonaparte, being in one of his confidential moods, went on,'1 should have liked to have had a child by her; but the little stupid seemed incapable of producing one. She vowed that it was not her fault, and implied that because I have never yet begotten one it must be mine. Yet I'm as virile as other men, so I'll not accept it that I'm incapable of becoming a father.'
Raising a smile with difficulty, Roger replied, ' You are not yet thirty, so have ample time. It may be that one's mental state when making love has an effect on such matters. You are constantly beset by so many urgent problems that it would surprise me if you ever gave your whole thoughts to a woman even for a few moments.'
Bonaparte gave him a swift glance. ' That is an interesting thought. Perhaps you are right. At least it gives me some comfort. But there are more important things in life than women. One's country must come first, and you shall see what I will do in Paris. As I've often said I would, I'll put an end to these fops and puppies who are bringing about our ruin.'
This conversation did not console Roger for the loss of Zanthe; but it did help a little to take his thoughts from her, for Bonaparte had confirmed his belief that exciting imes lay ahead when they reached .the French capital and the various ways in which events might develop gave him much on which to ponder.
However, it was to be many weeks before they reached Paris. After their propitious start the weather became unfavourable. As in the case of the outward journey, Bonaparte allowed their Admiral no say about the course he should take, preferring to trust in his own star rather than let anyone else decide how they should endeavour to evade Nelson's ships.
He ordered Gantheaume to hug the coasts of Tripoli and Tunisia until they came opposite the ruins of ancient Carthage, then head north for Sardinia. His plan was sound, for if they had encountered British warships in the open sea they must either have surrendered or been sunk; whereas, should they be intercepted near the coast, it was his intention to have the frigates run ashore then, accompanied by some eight to nine hundred fighting men, make his way to an African port, from which he might hope to get another ship and again attempt to reach France. But for twenty-one days without intermission the winds were adverse. Laboriously the frigates tacked from side to side, making a few miles each night, only to be blown back towards Alexandria next day.
The gaiety on board soon subsided. For three whole weeks the voyagers suffered the most agonizing frustration and apprehension. Each morning it seemed impossible that dusk should again fall without Sir Sidney Smith's squadron having come upon them. The sighting of even the smallest sail on the horizon made Bonaparte's pale face still paler, from fear that he was about to be captured; for he knew that there could be no escape and that resistance would be futile.
His companions did everything they could to distract him, almost forcing him to play cards and letting him cheat as much as he liked at vingt-et-un; for he could not bear to lose at any game, although he always gave away his winnings.
At last, in mid-September, the wind changed and for long, monotonous days they sailed west along the coast of Africa until they rounded Cape Bon. Soon afterwards they entered on the worst hazard of their journey—the hundred-and-fifty-mile run from the neighbourhood of Bizerta across to the southern tip of Sardinia—for the narrows there were always patrolled by British ships. Fortune favoured them and fair winds continued to carry them up the west side of the big island. But when they had passed it a great storm blew up, driving them with it into the Gulf of Ajaccio, and, failing to beat their way out, the frigates were forced to put into the port.
Far from being pleased at this opportunity to revisit his birthplace and see his relations, Bonaparte was furious at the delay. Moreover, he had long since lost all interest in Corsica and presented a surly face to the innumerable people anxious to claim kinship with him and the scores of mothers who presented their offspring to him vowing that, although the great man's memory might have failed him about such trivialities, he was the godfather of their children.
In Ajaccio they learned that further disasters had befallen the French in northern Italy. On July 22nd the citadel of Alessandria had surrendered and, eight days later, the great fortress of Mantua had fallen. The successful end to these sieges had released many thousands of Austrian troops. In addition, Suvoroff had received reinforcements which brought the strength of the Russians up to twenty-seven thousand men.
Joubert, a young General of great promise, had been sent to Genoa to supersede the veteran Moreau. Ambitious to win laurels for himself but unaware that Mantua had fallen, and hoping to save it, Joubert had left the shelter of Genoa and advanced to Novi where he had seized the heights above the town. There he was attacked by an Austrian Army, under General Kray, and Suvoroff's Russians. Early in the day the young Joubert's promising career was cut short during an encounter with skirmishers. In spite of having lost their General, the French fought valiantly but were surrounded. In the final phase of the battle they had to retreat down a valley choked with their own baggage wagons. Hungarian troops had moved round to the heights commanding it and poured down a relentless fire upon them. The valley became a shambles. Only a remnant of the French got away and at Novi they had lost twelve thousand men.
Meanwhile, terrible things were happening in the south. Nelson had refused to recognize the capitulation of the garrisons of the castle at Naples that had been agreed with Cardinal Ruffo, so these unfortunates became the victims of a White Terror. Instead of being given a safe-conduct to France, as they had been promised, many hundreds of them were executed. King Ferdinand had arrived from Palermo and made his headquarters in Nelson's flagship. Bewitched out of all sense of reason by his Neapolitan friends, Nelson allowed himself to be made their sword of vengeance. Even one hundred and twenty of the noble Eletti, who had endeavoured to maintain order in the city after the departure of the Sovereigns, were summarily put to death. As chief executioner in this blood bath, Nelson was created Duke of Bronte by His Sicilian Majesty. But when he later returned to England his own Sovereign, King George III, received him with chilling coldness.
On October 7th the two frigates left Ajaccio on their last desperate run for the French coast. Another thing Bonaparte had learned in Ajaccio was that, as far back as the preceding April, Admiral Bruix had brought his Atlantic Fleet round into the Mediterranean. But instead of employing it to convoy reinforcements to Egypt, as Bonaparte had so consistently implored the Directory to do, they had retained it to protect the south coast of France.
Even so, the Corsican was still haunted by the fear that he might yet be captured; so while in Ajaccio he had had a cutter built. It was to be towed behind Murion, with twelve stout rowers in it, so that should the frigate be intercepted by the British, he could at once jump into it and still have a chance of landing in France.
From having to take to it he had the narrowest of escapes. The weather proved fair, but on their second evening out they sighted a British Squadron of fourteen sail. The Squadron recognized the two frigates as Venetian-built and, knowing that the Venetian Fleet had been stolen by the French, at once altered course and came in pursuit. Darkness fell, but they were still in danger of capture. All night, as they heard the reports of the signal guns of the British ships, they sweated in panic. It seemed inevitable that when morning came they would again be sighted, then run down. Their voyage had lasted nearly seven weeks and the thought of being taken prisoner on the very last day drove them frantic with despair. Gantheaume lost his head and urged an attempt to get back to Ajaccio; but Bonaparte, practically alone among them kept calm. He ordered every sail to be spread and, instead of trying to reach Toulon, decided that a course should be set to the north-west. By morning it brought them to St. Raphael, the harbour village that served the ancient town of Fr£jus.