Saint-Jean d’Acre, doubtless, presented a singular spectacle, when two European armies met with hostile intentions in a little town of Asia, with the mutual purpose of securing the possession of a portion of Africa; but it is still more extraordinary that the persons who directed the efforts of each party were both of the same nation, of the same age, of the same rank, of the same corps, and of the same school.
Philippeaux, to whose talents the English and Turks owed the preservation of Saint Jean d’Acre, had been the companion of Napoleon at the military school of Paris: they had been there examined together, previous to their being sent to their respective corps. “His figure resembled yours,” said the Emperor to me, after having dictated his eulogium in the Memoirs, and mentioned all the mischief he had done him. “Sire,” I answered, “there were many other points of affinity between us; we had been intimate and inseparable companions at the Military School. When he passed through London with Sir Sydney Smith, who, by his assistance, had been enabled to escape from the Temple, he sought for me in every direction. I called at his lodgings only half an hour after his departure; had it not been for this accident, I should probably have accompanied him. I was at the time without occupation; the prospect of adventure might have tempted me; and how strangely might the course of my destinies have been turned in a new direction!”
“I am well aware,” said Napoleon, “of the influence which chance usurps over our political determinations; and it is the knowledge of that circumstance which has always kept me free from prejudice, and rendered me very indulgent with regard to the party adopted by individuals in our political convulsions. To be a good Frenchman, or to wish to become one, was all that I looked for in any one.”—The Emperor then went on to compare the confusion of our troubles to battles in the night-time, where each man attacks his neighbour, and friends are often confounded with foes; but when daylight returns, and order is restored, every one forgives the injury which he has sustained through mistake. “Even for myself,” said he, “how could I undertake to say that there might not have existed circumstances sufficiently powerful, notwithstanding my natural sentiments, to induce me to emigrate? The vicinity of the frontier, for instance, a friendly attachment, or the influence of a chief. In revolutions, we can only speak with certainty to what we have done: it is silly to affirm that we could not have acted otherwise.” The Emperor then related a singular example of the influence of chance over the destinies of men. Serrurier and the younger Hedouville, while travelling together on foot to emigrate into Spain, were met by a military patrol. Hedouville, being the younger and more active of the two, cleared the frontier, thought himself very lucky, and went to spend a life of mere vegetation in Spain. Serrurier, on the contrary, being obliged to return into the interior, bewailed his unhappy fate, and became a marshal: such is the uncertainty of human foresight and calculations!
At Saint-Jean d’Acre, the General-in-chief lost Caffarelli, of whom he was extremely fond. Caffarelli entertained a sort of reverential respect for the General-in-chief. The influence of this sentiment was so great that, though he was delirious for several days previous to his death, when Napoleon went to see him, the announcement of his name seemed to recal him to life: he became more collected, his spirits revived, and he conversed coherently; but he relapsed into his former state immediately after Napoleon’s departure. This singular phenomenon was renewed every time the General-in-chief paid him a visit.
Napoleon received, during the siege of Saint-Jean d’Acre, an affecting proof of heroic devotedness. While he was in the trenches, a shell fell at his feet; two grenadiers who observed it immediately rushed towards him, placed him between them, and raising their arms above his head, completely covered every part of his body. Happily the shell respected the whole group; nobody was injured.
One of these brave grenadiers afterwards became General Dumesnil, who lost a leg in the campaign of Moscow, and commanded the fortress of Vincennes at the time of the invasion in 1814. The capital had been for some weeks occupied by the Allies, and Dumesnil still held out. Nothing was then talked of in Paris but his obstinate defence, and his humorous reply when summoned by the Russians to surrender;—“Give me back my leg, and I will give up my fortress.”
The French soldiers acquired extraordinary reputation in Egypt, and not without cause; they had dispersed and dismayed the celebrated Mamelucks, the most formidable militia of the East. After the retreat from Syria, a Turkish army landed at Aboukir: Murat-Bey, the most powerful and brave of the Mamelucks, left Upper Egypt, whither he had fled for safety, and reached the Turkish camp by a circuitous route. On the landing of the Turks, the French detachments had fallen back in order to concentrate their forces. The Pacha who commanded the Turks was delighted at this movement, which he mistook for the effect of fear; and, on perceiving Murat-Bey, he exultingly exclaimed:—“So! these are the terrible French whom you could not face; see, the moment I make my appearance, how they fly before me.“ The indignant Murat-Bey furiously replied:—“Pacha, render thanks to the Prophet that it has pleased these Frenchmen to retire; if they should return, you will disappear before them like dust before the wind.”
His words were prophetical:—some days after, the French poured down upon the Turkish army and put it to flight. Murat-Bey, who had interviews with several of our generals, was extremely surprised at their diminutive stature and pitiful condition. The Oriental nations attach high importance to the bodily stature, and they were unable to conceive how so much genius could exist within such small dimensions. The appearance of Kleber alone came up to their ideas; he was an uncommonly fine-looking man, but his manners were rude. The discrimination of the Egyptians induced them to think that he was not a Frenchman; in fact, though a native of Alsace, he had spent the early part of his life in the Prussian army, and might very well have passed for a German. Some one said that Kleber had been a Janissary in his youth; the Emperor burst into a fit of laughter, and said somebody had been imposing on him.
The Grand-Marshal told the Emperor that at the battle of Aboukir he was for the first time placed in his army, and near his person. He was then so little accustomed to the boldness of his manœuvres, that he scarcely understood any of the orders he heard him give. “Particularly, Sire,” added he, “when I heard you call out to an officer, ‘Hercule, my dear fellow, take twenty-five men and charge that rabble:’ I really thought I had lost my senses; your Majesty pointed to a detachment of a thousand Turkish horse.”
After all, the losses sustained by the army in Egypt were far from being so considerable as might have been expected in a country to which the troops were unaccustomed; particularly when the insalubrity of the climate, the remoteness of the resources of the country, the ravages of the plague, and the numerous actions which have immortalized that army, are taken into account. The French force, at its landing in Egypt, amounted to 30,000 men; it was augmented by the wrecks of the battle of Aboukir, and probably also by some partial arrivals from France; and yet the total loss sustained by the army, from the commencement of the campaign to two months after the departure of the General-in-chief for Europe, (during the space of seven or eight-and-twenty months,) amounted only to 8,915, as is proved by the official report of the Muster-master-general.[[22]]