After inspecting all the army and issuing his orders, he rode up the hill in company with his staff to the pillar of Pompey, in order to observe from that point the course of events. The army was advancing impetuously, and soon the city built by Alexander the Great must open its gates to his successor, Bonaparte the Great.
After a short respite, the army advanced farther into the land of the pyramids. "Remember," cried Bonaparte to his soldiers, pointing to those monuments--"remember that forty centuries look down upon you."
And the pyramids of the great plain of Cairo beheld the glorious deeds and victories of the French army, beheld the overthrow of the Egyptian host. The Nile murmured with its blood-red waves the death-song of the brave Mamelukes, and the "forty centuries" which looked down from the pyramids were obliterated by the glorious victories that Bonaparte gained at the foot of those sacred monuments. A new epoch was to begin. The old epoch was buried for Egypt, and out of the ruins of past centuries a new Egypt was to be born, an Egypt which was to serve France and be tributary to it as a vassal.
This was Bonaparte's plan, and he did every thing to bring it to completion. He passed from battle to battle, from victory to victory, and after conquering Egypt and taking up his residence in Cairo, he at once began to organize the newly-won country, and to introduce to the idle and listless East the culture of the earnest and progressive West. But Egypt would not accept the treasures of culture at the hand of its conqueror. It rose again and again in rebellion against the power that held it down, and hurled its flaming torches of revenge against the hated enemy. A token of this may be seen in the dreadful revolt at Cairo, which began in the night of the 20th of October, and, after days of violence, ended with the cruel cutting down of six thousand Mamelukes. A proof of it may be seen in the constantly renewed attacks of swarms of Bedouins and Mamelukes on the French army. These hordes advanced even to the gates of Cairo, and terrified the population, which had at last taken refuge beneath the foot of the conqueror. But Bonaparte succeeded in subjugating the hostile Bedouin tribes, as he had already subjugated the population of the cities. He sent one of his adjutants, General Croisier, with a corps of brave soldiers, into the desert to meet the emir of the hostile tribes, and Croisier won respect for the commands of his general. He succeeded in taking captive the whole body. A fearful sentence was inflicted on them.
Before the eyes of their wives, their children, and their mothers, all the men of the tribe, more than five hundred in number, were killed and their heads put into sacks. The howling and weeping women and children were driven to Cairo. Many perished of hunger on the road, or died beneath the sabre-blows of their enemies; but more than a thousand succeeded in reaching Cairo. They were obliged to encamp upon the great square El Bekir, in the heart of Cairo, till the donkeys arrived which bore the dreadful spoils of victory in blood-dripping bags upon their backs. The whole population of Cairo was summoned to this gigantic square, and was obliged to look on while the sacks were opened and the bloody heads rolled out upon the sacred soil of Egypt.
After this time quiet reigned for a season. Horror had brought the conquered into subjection, and Bonaparte could continue his victorious course. He withdrew to Syria, taking with him Kleber and Kleber's young adjutant, the little Louis. He saw the horrors of war; he was there, the son of the Kings of France, when the army of the republic conquered the cities El Arish and Gaza; he took part by the side of Kleber in the storming of Jaffa. He was there when the captured Jaffa had to open its gates to the victors. He was there when, in the great caravansary, four thousand Turkish soldiers grounded their arms and surrendered themselves as prisoners, after receiving the promise that their lives should be spared. He was there, too, the son of Marie Antoinette, when the unfortunates were driven down to the sea-coast and shot, in order that their enemies might be rid of them. He was there, the son of Louis XVI., when Bonaparte visited the pest-house in Jaffa; he walked through the sick-rooms at the side of his uncle Kleber, who noticed how the face of the young man, which had so often been calm in meeting death on the battle-field or in the storm of assault, now quivered, and the paleness of death swept over his cheeks.
"What was the matter, my son?" asked Kleber, as he returned home from this celebrated visit to the pest-house. "Why did you turn pale all at once, Louis?"
"General," responded Louis, perplexed, "I know not how to answer."
"You ought not to have gone with me to the hospital," said Kleber, shaking his head. "You know I did not want you to go at first; but you insisted on it, and begged and implored so long that at last I had to yield and let you accompany us. But, I confess it myself, it was a dreadful sight, these sick people with their swollen bodies covered with blood and running sores. I understand now why you trembled and turned pale--you were afraid of this dreadful sickness?"
"No, general," answered Louis, softly--"no, I have no fear. Did you not notice that I sprang forward and assisted General Bonaparte, when he lifted up the poor sick man who lay on the floor before the door, and that I helped carry him into the room?"
"I saw it, Louis, and I was much pleased with your courage, and was therefore surprised afterward when you turned pale and trembled, and I saw tears in your eyes. What agitated you all at once so much?"