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CHAPTER XVI

RETREAT FROM JAFFA – POISONING OF FIVE HUNDRED SOLDIERS – DIFFERENT ENGLISH AUTHORITIES THEREON – NAPOLEON’S OWN STORY, ALSO THOSE OF LAS CASES AND O’MEARA – RETREAT TO CAIRO

But this retreat became the subject of a dreadful accusation against Napoleon, which must have hit him hard at the time of his projected invasion in 1803 – aye, quite as hard as the massacre at Jaffa. It was nothing less than that he poisoned, with opium, 500 of his sick soldiers, before he left Jaffa. There was a solid foundation for this fearful charge, as will be shown hereafter. Combe speaks of it thus —

 
Another great thing Boney now did,
With sick the hospitals were crowded,
He therefore planned, nor planned in vain,
To put the wretches out of pain;
He an apothecary found —
For a physician, since renown’d,
The butchering task with scorn declined,
Th’ apothecary, tho’, was kind.
It seems that Romeo met with such a one,
This is a mournful theme to touch upon,
Opium was put in pleasant food,
The wretched victims thought it good;
But, in a few hours, as they say,
About six hundred, breathless lay.
 

The truth of this has never been accurately established, but I fancy, at that time, there were very few Englishmen who did not thoroughly believe it. Sir Robert Wilson wrote: ‘Buonaparte finding that his hospitals at Jaffa were crowded with sick, sent for a physician, whose name should be inscribed in letters of gold, but which, from important reasons, cannot be here inserted; on his arrival, he entered into a long conversation with him respecting the danger of contagion, concluding at last with the remark, that something must be done to remedy the evil, and that the destruction of the sick at present in the hospital, was the only measure which could be adopted. The physician, alarmed at the proposal, bold in the confidence of virtue, and the cause of humanity, remonstrated vehemently, respecting the cruelty, as well as the atrocity, of such a murder; but, finding that Buonaparte persevered and menaced, he indignantly left the tent, with this memorable observation; “Neither my principles, nor the character of my profession, will allow me to become a murderer; and, General, if such qualities as you insinuate are necessary to form a great man, I thank my God that I do not possess them.”

‘Buonaparte was not to be diverted from his object by moral considerations; he persevered, and found an apothecary, who (dreading the weight of power, but who since has made an atonement to his mind, by unequivocally confessing the fact) consented to become his agent, and to administer poison to the sick. Opium, at night, was distributed in gratifying food, the wretched, unsuspecting, victims banqueted, and, in a few hours, five hundred and eighty soldiers, who had suffered so much for their country, perished thus miserably by the order of its idol…

‘If a doubt should still exist as to the veracity of this statement, let the Members of the Institute at Cairo be asked what passed in their sitting after the return of Buonaparte from Syria; they will relate, that the same virtuous physician, who refused to become the destroyer of those committed to his protection, accused Buonaparte of high treason, in the full assembly, against the honour of France, her children, and humanity; that he entered into the full details of the poisoning of the sick, and the massacre of the garrison, aggravating these crimes by charging Buonaparte with strangling, previously, at Rosetta, a number of French and Copts, who were ill of the plague; thus proving that this disposal of his sick was a premeditated plan, which he wished to introduce into general practice. In vain Buonaparte attempted to justify himself; the members sat petrified with terror, and almost doubted whether the scene passing before their eyes was not an illusion.’

Dr. Wittman assures his readers that whilst he was in Egypt with the army, a man was pointed out to them as having been the executioner of Napoleon’s commands to poison the sick and wounded French soldiers in the hospitals of Jaffa.

Barre says: ‘Although neither Sir Robert Wilson nor Dr. Wittman mention the name of the worthy physician who refused with horror, and of the infamous wretch, who basely consented to become the executioner of the sick soldiers, it is now well known that the former was the worthy physician Dr. Desgenettes, and the latter, one Rouyer, an infamous apothecary, who thus became the murderer of his own countrymen, in compliance with the wishes of a Corsican assassin.’

In a little periodical, called ‘Ring the Alarum Bell!’ (which only ran four numbers), published in 1803, is the following, written by a General Danican: ‘In 1801, I met at a lazaretto in Sicily, with a number of French Soldiers just come from Alexandria. With one of them I contracted habits of intimacy during my stay, and who frequently related to me some curious particulars of the conduct of Buonaparté in Egypt… Having been witness to the poisoning scene at Caiffa he related to me the following anecdote. A grenadier, who had lost two brothers, was amongst the unfortunate wretches slightly affected with the pestilential disease. From what he had previously observed in the hospital, he had become more suspicious than his companions in distress, and he had scarcely taken the Corsican physic, than he immediately discharged it, made his way out of the hospital, and escaping the guard, whom he contrived to knock down, he gained the column under the command of Kleber, at whose feet he threw himself, and, in the intercession, almost of despair, conjured him to let him mount one of the camels, describing what he had escaped from, and venting the most energetic maledictions on the Poisoner in Chief. The poor wretch, in the most piteous manner, assured General Kleber that he would keep at a distance from the army, so that no one should be in any danger of catching his disorder, except the camel. Kleber granted his request; the grenadier was saved and recovered, and was alive when the English landed under the brave Abercrombie.’

Now let us hear the Emperor’s side of the question, beginning with De Bourrienne. ‘Orders were given directly to undermine the fortifications and blow them up; and, on the 27th May, upon the signal being given, the town was in a moment laid bare. An hour afterwards, the General in Chief left his tent and repaired to the town, accompanied by Berthier, some physicians and surgeons, and his usual staff. I was also one of the party. A long and sad deliberation took place on the question, which now arose, relative to the men who were incurably ill of the plague, or were at the point of death. After a discussion of the most serious and conscientious kind, it was decided to accelerate a few moments, by a potion, a death which was inevitable, and which otherwise would be painful and cruel…

‘I cannot say that I saw the potion administered. I should state an untruth if I did. I cannot name any person concerned in the matter, without hazarding a misrepresentation. But I well know that the decision was come to after that deliberation, which was due to so important a measure; that the order was given, and that the infected are dead. What! shall that which formed the subject of the whole conversation of the head quarters, on the day after leaving Jaffa, and was spoken of without any question of its reality; which was regarded by us as a dreadful, but unavoidable, misfortune; which was never mentioned in the army but as a fact, of which there was no doubt, and only the details of which were inquired after – I appeal to every honourable man who was present, for the truth of what I state – shall that, I say, be now stigmatized as a malignant calumny, fabricated to injure the reputation of a hero, who, were this the only reproach that might be addressed to him, would go down with little blemish on his character, to posterity?’

Las Cases is specially wroth with Sir Robert Wilson, but, even he, cannot successfully whitewash his beloved emperor. His attempted vindication is too long to be reproduced in extenso, but it goes to prove how widely spread in the army was the belief that the sick were hurried to their rest at Jaffa. ‘A circumstance, which will not a little surprise those who have yet to learn how little credit is due to public report, and which will serve to show the errors that may creep into history, is that Marshall Bertrand, who was himself with the army in Egypt, (though certainly in a rank which did not enable him to come into immediate contact with the General in Chief) firmly believed, up to the period of his residence at Saint Helena, the story of poison having been administered to sixty invalids. The report was circulated, and believed, even in our army; therefore, what answer could be given to those who triumphantly asserted, “It is a fact, I assure you, I have it from officers who served in the French army at the time.” Nevertheless, the whole story is false. I have collected the following facts from the highest source, from the mouth of Napoleon himself.

‘1st. That the invalids in question who were infected with the plague, amounted, according to the report made to the General in Chief, only to seven in number.

‘2nd. That it was not the General in Chief, but a professional man, who, at the moment of the crisis, proposed the administering of opium.

‘3rd. That opium was not administered to a single individual.

‘4th. That the retreat having been effected slowly, a rear-guard was left behind in Jaffa for three days.

‘5th. That on the departure of the rear guard, the invalids were all dead, except one or two, who must have fallen into the hands of the English.’

But Las Cases, in his zeal, tries to prove too much; for, in a later passage, he says, that since his return to Paris he has had opportunities of conversing with those whose situation and profession naturally rendered them the first actors on the scene, and he finds ‘that no order was given for the administering of opium to the sick,’ and ‘That there was not at the period in question, in the medicine chest of the army, a single grain of opium for the use of the sick.’ So he admits that the emperor had the proposition made to him, by a man who must have known he had not the means to carry it out.

Is Barry O’Meara to be trusted? Let us hear what his testimony is (also professedly from the emperor’s own lips). ‘“Previously to leaving Jaffa,” continued Napoleon, “and after the greatest number of the sick and wounded had been embarked, it was reported to me that there were some men in the hospital so dangerously ill, as not to be able to be moved. I ordered, immediately, the chiefs of the medical staff to consult together upon what was best to be done, and to give me their opinion on the subject. Accordingly they met, and found there were seven or eight men so dangerously ill, that they conceived it impossible to recover, and also that they could not exist twenty-four or thirty-six hours longer; that, moreover, being afflicted with the plague, they would spread that complaint amongst all who approached them. Some of them, who were sensible, perceiving they were about to be abandoned, demanded with earnest entreaties, to be put to death. Larrey was of opinion that recovery was impossible, and that those poor fellows could not exist many hours; but as they might live long enough to be alive when the Turks entered, and experience the dreadful torments which they were accustomed to inflict upon their prisoners, he thought it would be an act of charity to comply with their desires, and accelerate their end by a few hours. Desgenettes did not approve of this, and replied, that his profession was to cure the sick, and not to despatch them.

‘“Larrey came to me immediately afterwards, informed me of the circumstances, and of what Desgenettes had said; adding, that perhaps Desgenettes was right. ‘But,’ continued Larrey, ‘those men cannot live more than a few hours, twenty-four, or thirty-six at most; and, if you will leave a rear-guard of cavalry to stay and protect them from advanced parties, it will be sufficient.’ Accordingly I ordered four or five hundred cavalry to remain behind, and not to quit the place until all were dead. They did remain, and informed me that all had expired before they had left the town; but I have heard since, that Sydney Smith found one or two alive when he entered it. This is the truth of the business…

‘“You have been amongst the Turks, and know what they are; I ask you now, to place yourself in the situation of one of those sick men, and that you were asked which you would prefer, to be left to suffer the tortures of those miscreants, or to have opium administered to you?” I replied, “Most undoubtedly I would prefer the latter.” “Certainly, so would any man,” answered Napoleon; “if my own son (and I believe I love my son as well as any father does his child) were in a similar situation with those men, I would advise it to be done; and, if so situated myself, I would insist upon it, if I had sense enough, and strength enough to demand it…

‘“If I had thought such a measure, as that of giving opium, necessary, I would have called a council of war, have stated the necessity of it, and have published it in the order of the day.” He afterwards goes on to say that if he had done so, some of his soldiers would have been sure to have shot him.’

I have gone thus at length into these occurrences at Jaffa, to show how widely spread was the belief in them, and also to prove that these scandals were not of British origin. Whatever amount of truth there may be in them, readers must judge, as I have laid both sides fairly before them. That there was foundation for them, there can be no doubt – but we know that a tale does not lose in telling.

The return to Cairo, and the battle of Aboukir, are soon dismissed by the satirist, and not chronicled by the caricaturist.

CHAPTER XVII

THE OLD RÉGIME AND THE REPUBLICANS – THE ‘INCROYABLES’ – NAPOLEON LEAVES EGYPT – HIS REASONS FOR SO DOING – FEELING OF THE ARMY – ACCUSED OF TAKING WITH HIM THE MILITARY CHEST

It is refreshing, and like going among green pastures and cool streams, to leave for a while political caricature, with its ambitions, and its carnage, and find a really funny social skit, aiming at the follies of the times, even if it be only in ridiculing extravagance in dress.

Exceedingly droll is a social caricature by Gillray (August 15, 1799), where a courtly old gentleman of the Court of Louis XVI. bows low, saying, ‘Je suis votre tres humble serviteur,’ whilst the ruffianly French ‘gentleman of the Court of Égalité’ replies with a sentence unfit for reproduction. (See next page.)

Littré, in his magnificent dictionary, gives a very terse definition of these ‘Incroyables’: ‘S. m. Nom donné aux petit maîtres sous le Directoire, parce q’uon les entendait s’ecrier propos, c’est vraiment incroyable; et, parce que leur costume était tellement exagéré qu’il dépassait la croyance commune.’ They were Napoleon’s detestation, according to Madame Junot, and she describes them with feminine minuteness. ‘They wore grey greatcoats with black collars and green cravats. Their hair, instead of being à la Titus, which was the prevailing fashion of the day, was powdered, plaited, and turned up with a comb, while on each side of the face hung two long curls, called dog’s ears (oreilles de chien). As these young men were very frequently attacked, they carried about with them large sticks, which were not always weapons of defence; for the frays which arose in Paris at that time were often provoked by them.’

Pardon must be begged for this digression, and the matter in hand strictly attended to.

Napoleon left Egypt on August 23, 1799, and reached France October 8 of that year. The causes for this step will be detailed a little later on. Meanwhile the caricaturist was watching events on the Continent, and, after his lights, depicting them. With those not personally affecting Napoleon we have nothing to do; and of him – Egypt being a far cry – we have but few, until after his return, when he was brought prominently before European notice. Gillray thought he saw his power declining, and on September 1, 1799, he published ‘Allied Powers, Unbooting Égalité.’ In this picture Napoleon is being badly treated. One foot is on a Dutch cheese, which a Hollander is plucking away; a British tar has him fast round the waist, and arms; whilst a Turk, of most ferocious description, his dress being garnished with human ears, is pulling his nose, and slashing him with his scimitar, St. Jean d’Acre, which is reeking with blood. Prussia, backed up by Russia, is drawing off Italy, which serves as a boot for one leg, and, with it, a large quantity of gold coin.

The causes which induced Napoleon to leave Egypt cannot better be made known, and understood, than by quoting from De Bourrienne, who was an actor in this episode. He says: ‘After the battle,⁴⁹ which took place on the 25th July, Bonaparte sent a flag of truce on board the English Admiral’s ship. Our intercourse was full of politeness, such as might be expected in the communications of the people of two civilised nations. The English Admiral gave the flag of truce some presents, in exchange for some we sent, and, likewise, a copy of the French Gazette of Francfort, dated 10th June, 1799.⁵⁰ For ten months we had received no news from France. Bonaparte glanced over this journal with an eagerness which may easily be conceived.

‘“Heavens!” said he to me, “my presentiment is verified: the fools have lost Italy. All the fruits of our victories are gone! I must leave Egypt!”

‘He sent for Berthier, to whom he communicated the news, adding that things were going on very badly in France – that he wished to return home – that he (Berthier) should go along with him, and that, for the present, only he, Gantheaume, and I, were in the secret. He recommended him to be prudent, not to betray any symptoms of joy, nor to purchase, or sell, anything.

‘He concluded by assuring him that he depended on him. “I can answer,” said he, “for myself and Bourrienne.” Berthier promised to be secret, and he kept his word. He had had enough of Egypt, and he so ardently longed to return to France, that there was little reason to fear he would disappoint himself by any indiscretion.

‘Gantheaume arrived, and Bonaparte gave him orders to fit out the two frigates, the Muiron and the Carrère, and the two small vessels, the Revanche and the Fortune, with a two months’ supply of provisions for from four, to five, hundred men. He enjoined his secrecy as to the object of these preparations, and desired him to act with such circumspection that the English cruisers might have no knowledge of what was going on. He afterwards arranged with Gantheaume the course he wished to take. Nothing escaped his attention.’

Bonaparte concealed his operations with much care; but still some vague rumours crept abroad. General Dugua, the commandant of Cairo, whom he had just left, for the purpose of embarking, wrote to him on August 18 to the following effect: —

‘I have this moment heard, that it is reported at the Institute, you are about to return for France, taking with you Monge, Berthollet, Berthier, Lannes, and Murat. This news has spread like lightning through the city, and I should not be at all surprised if it produced an unfavourable effect, which, however, I hope you will obviate.’

Bonaparte embarked five days after the receipt of Dugua’s letter; and, as may be supposed, without replying to it.

On August 18, he wrote to the Divan of Cairo as follows: ‘I set out to-morrow for Menouf, from whence I intend to make various excursions to the Delta, in order that I may, myself, witness the acts of oppression which are committed there, and to acquire some knowledge of the people.’

He told the army but half the truth: ‘The news from Europe,’ said he, ‘has determined me to proceed to France. I leave the command of the army to General Kleber. The army shall hear from me forthwith. At present I can say no more. It costs me much pain to quit troops to whom I am so strongly attached. But my absence will be but temporary, and the general I leave in command has the confidence of the government, as well as mine.’

At night, in the dark, on August 23, he stole on board: and who can wonder if the army expressed some dissatisfaction at his leaving them in the lurch? From the many works I have consulted, whilst writing this book, I can believe the words of General Danican (who has been before quoted) in ‘Ring the Alarum Bell!’ – ‘Immediately after Buonaparte’s midnight flight from Egypt, with the Cash of the army, he was hung in effigy by the Soldiers; who, in dancing round the spectacle, sang the coarsest couplets (a copy of which I have now in my possession) written for the occasion, to the tune of the Carmagnole, beginning: “So, Harlequin has at length deserted us! – never mind my boys, never mind; he will at last be really hanged; he promised to make us all rich; but, instead, he has robbed all the cash himself, and now’s gone off: oh! the scoundrel Harlequin, &c., &c.”’

This charge against Napoleon, of running away with the treasure-chests, is, like almost all the others, of French origin. Hear what Madame Junot says, as it shows the feeling of the French army on this point, that some one had taken them (for Napoleon’s benefit): ‘A report was circulated in the army that Junot was carrying away the treasures found in the pyramids by the General in Chief. He could not carry them away himself’ (such was the language held to the soldiers), ‘and so the man who possesses all his confidence is now taking them to him.’ The matter was carried so far that several subalterns, and soldiers, proceeded to the shore, and some of them went on board the merchantman which was to sail with Junot the same evening. They rummaged about, but found nothing; at length they came to a prodigious chest, which ten men could not move, between decks, “Here is the treasure!” cried the soldiers; “here is our pay that has been kept from us above a year; where is the key?” Junot’s valet, an honest German, shouted to them in vain, with all his might, that the chest did not belong to his chenerâl. They would not listen to him.

‘Unluckily, Junot, who was not to embark till evening, was not then on board. The mutineers seized a hatchet, and began to cut away at the chest, which they would soon have broken up, had not the ship’s carpenter come running out of breath. “What the devil are you at?” cried he, “mad fellows that you are: stop! don’t destroy my chest – here’s the key.” He opened it immediately, and lo! – the tools of the master carpenter.’

Barre, of course, alludes to this alleged robbery, and Combe writes of his desertion of his troops as follows: —

 
Aboukir castle having won,
Our hero thought it best to run.
The bravest man will run away,
When it is dangerous to stay;
But, as he to his troops declared,
By him all dangers should be shared,
And that on no account he’d leave them,
’Twas proper he should now deceive them.
The cunning he display’d in fight,
He manifested in his flight.
On some pretence, it seems, he wrote
To certain generals a note,
Acquainting them with what he wanted,
The time and place, too, he appointed.
These generals, so well they fared,
The fame of his desertion shared.
When to th’ appointed place they got,
Nap was already on the spot;
And, what of all things made them glad,
The military chest he had!
He left his army, – but we find
He left these words for them behind:
‘This parting grieves me sore, altho’ meant
To be for only a short moment.’
 

This caricature is presumably by Gillray, although it is not signed by him; and, as it was published on March 8, 1800, it is absolutely prophetic, for Napoleon is pointing to a future imperial crown and sceptre. This is especially curious, as it shows how, even then, the public opinion of England (of which, of course, the caricaturist was but a reflex) estimated him.