Daylight revealed the fruits of victory. Eleven of the thirteen French ships-of-the-line had been captured or destroyed. Out of some eight thousand French sailors, over five thousand were dead and the majority of the remainder were prisoners. It was possibly the most bloody sea battle ever fought and the greatest triumph for British sea power since the defeat of the Spanish Armada. It made the Mediterranean henceforth, for over a century, a British lake; and the French Navy was so completely shattered that seven years elapsed before, in combination with a large Spanish Fleet, it again dared challenge Nelson at Trafalgar.
During that night Roger had no inkling of all this, apart from the knowledge that his countrymen had proved victorious. He had mounted his horse long before dawn that morning at Damanhur, ridden thirty miles to Alexandria, talked with Kleber, ridden on to Aboukir, gone aboard the flagship, delivered his despatch to Brueys, sustained over five hours of appalling anxiety and a further three of hideous battle.
When going overboard he had hurt himself badly and the exertion of swimming and clinging to the cable had drained away his last reserves of strength. He was hardly able any longer to think coherently, yet sufficiently able to realize that he was in some danger: for in no circumstances, while he remained among the French prisoners, must he give away the fact that he was English. Wondering vaguely what new problems and perils he might have to face next day, he slumped down on the hard deck, utterly exhausted, and, almost instantly, was asleep.
The One Who Got Away
The personnel of Audacious were so fully occupied preparing the dead for burial, tending their wounded, clearing away wreckage, and stopping holes torn in the side of the ship by French cannon balls, that it was mid-morning before they had time to give any attention to their prisoners. Roger was roused by movement all round him and found that half a dozen Jack-tars, supervised by a Lieutenant, were serving out a ration of ship's biscuits and a drink of water, dipped from buckets.
He eagerly swallowed the few mouthfuls of brackish water, but was not sufficiently hungry to tackle the biscuits. It was very cold down there on the tier deck; so his clothes had not yet dried out, and his right arm and hip, with which he had hit the bulge of L'Orient when going overboard, were stiff and painful.
Looking about him he saw in the dim light some fifty officers and men in the same wretched state as himself: their clothes torn and sodden, their faces begrimed and their hair in rats'-tails. With some twenty others, who had been picked up and taken to other ships, they were the only survivors of the eight hundred men who the day before had manned the mighty L'Orient.
When the ration had been served the Lieutenant sat himself down on an upturned barrel and, using a crate for a table, produced some sheets of paper. A Petty Officer then marshalled the prisoners into a queue for examination. The Lieutenant spoke little French, but all he asked each man was his name, rank and ship; then he wrote them down. When Roger's turn came he drew himself to his full height and replied in French:
'Breuc, Colonel on the Staff of French Army headquarters, Cairo, and aide-de-camp to the General-in-Chief.'
193
The Lieutenant gave him a surprised look, took down what he had said and put a large cross against his name, then told him to stand aside with another French officer who had been singled out from the ratings. By the time all the names had been taken, the group of officers numbered five, with one Midshipman. A Sergeant of Marines beckoned them to follow him and took them to the bread-room, where they were locked in.
There, while agreeing that they were lucky to be alive, they commiserated with one another on the defeat their Fleet had sustained and speculated gloomily about their future as prisoners-of-war. Roger produced his share of apparent despondency, but inwardly he was now in excellent spirits. Apart from his right arm and side being badly bruised and aching, he had come through the terrible night unscathed and rosy prospects lay ahead of him.
He had known that he had to do no more than say he was one of Bonaparte's aides-de-camp to ensure his being brought before a senior officer for questioning. From that it should be only a step to securing a private interview with Admiral Nelson, to whom alone he was prepared to disclose his true identity. None of the prisoners had so far been searched, presumably because it was thought that they would have only small, private possessions on them. He still had the despatch concealed under his tunic and even should it be taken from him before he got to the Admiral that would not prevent it from being sent to Nelson with him. All he had to do was guard against anyone, French or British, finding out that he was an Englishman, and that should present no great difficulty.
Then, once he had had his interview with the Admiral, good-bye to Egypt. Kleber would report that he had left Alexandria to deliver the despatch to Brueys on the afternoon that the British Fleet had been sighted. Bonaparte would assume that he had been either killed or captured during the battle, and what more perfect explanation could there be for not returning to him? Now that he had captured Cairo and had virtually subdued Egypt, it was certain that he would proceed with his ambitious schemes. The Directory had ordered him to occupy the Red Sea ports, and it was highly probable that, having secured them, he would use them as bases for a descent on India. Alternatively, he might first turn north to conquer Syria. But, whichever he did, India would be his ultimate objective, and to conquer the whole of the East must take him several years.
Roger had had more than enough of deserts and battles, and now he could get Nelson to send him home, either as an important prisoner who would be well treated, or under another name in a merchant ship. Even if at a later date he wished to return to France he would still be able to do so with a clean bill as a Frenchman, because # he could say that he had been held as a prisoner in England. Even Talleyrand could have no reason to suspect that his capture had not been genuine.
One thought only marred his delight at chance having provided him with a way to escape further service in the East: that was of Zanthe. There she was—the most breathtaking beauty he had seen for years, lovely to look at, lovely to touch and, with her rich, deep voice, lovely to listen to—his captive in Cairo. Not to return to her seemed the height of ingratitude to those generous, joy-loving gods of Olympus who had sent her to him. To have done so, then immediately to have placed him in a position where every other interest demanded that he should sacrifice her, was harsh indeed. But one of the reasons why Roger had survived so many perilous situations was his ability to face facts squarely and weigh their pros and cons.
To return to Zanthe might bring him delirious happiness, but for how long? At the best for a few months, while Bonaparte fully established a new administration throughout Egypt. He was such a dynamic worker that it was quite possible that, having set the pattern, after a few weeks, he would leave someone else to do the administering and himself march on to new conquests. Still worse, as Roger spoke Arabic, his master might any day take it into his head to pack him off on some mission to a desert Sheik or the Red Sea ports, and he would not be able to take Zanthe with him.
There was, too, the most potent reason of all for not returning to Cairo. It was most unlikely that any opportunity such as this to get back to England would occur again, so he would be tying himself to Bonaparte for an indefinite period. And now the French Fleet had been destroyed, the Army was cut off. This meant that should disaster befall the adventurous Corsican he would be unable to take his Army back to France. He and all those with him would become slaves of some Eastern potentate or perish.