Le Voleur - For Love of a Bedouin Maid

He shot a piercing glance at St. Just, as though to emphasize his words; a glance so keen and stern that the young officer felt that he trembled under it. But he replied, "General, you shall have no cause to regret your confidence in me. To my country I have dedicated myself body and soul. She possesses my unshared allegiance. I have no father or mother, no brothers or sisters. France stands for all these to me. To make her respected—aye feared—among the nations; to add to her glory, so far as my humble efforts can avail, is my sole ambition. If she demand my life, it shall be willingly laid down."

"Your sentiments do you honor, sir," said Buonaparte. "See that you live up to them. Now go, and make your preparations for departure. Present yourself here at daybreak on the third day from this—the 3rd of May—when we shall march out of Paris. Your horses will be provided for you. Till then, farewell." The General waved his hand towards him in token of dismissal, and St. Just saluted and took his leave.

When the young officer left General Buonaparte, he strode onward with a rapid, springy step, treading on air, as the saying is. At last, he thought, he had his opportunity; his fortune was secured. He was resolute to earn distinction in the career he had adopted; and, with the sanguine exuberance of youth and strength, he already saw himself mounting with nimble steps the successive rungs of the military ladder—Captain, Major, Colonel, Brigadier, General of Division; until he had attained the summit and found himself in command of an army, smiting the enemies of France—perhaps even rivalling the great Captain under whom he was about to serve. Such was the mental vision that gradually unfolded itself to his excited gaze. At this moment he had the most unbounded enthusiasm for the successful general whose marvelous achievements were the theme of Europe; the most absolute devotion to him. Later events will show how far these sentiments were destined to be lasting; for the present they were paramount.

St. Just had few preparations to make; having no near relatives, and being heart whole, there were no painful leavetakings; only a farewell dinner to his friends and intimate brother officers, the payment of a few bills, the purchase of sundry necessary articles, and he was ready.

At daybreak, on the 3rd of May he reported himself at General Buonaparte's headquarters, and, a few hours later, Buonaparte began the march that the great General hoped and believed would result in the adding of the land of the Pharaohs to the possessions of France. The advance guard had already preceded the main body.

The movement of troops through their own country—except when that country is in the partial occupation of the enemy—is seldom fruitful of adventure, and, in the present instance, it was wholly uneventful. St. Just had the opportunity, to a limited degree, of improving his knowledge of Buonaparte, also of becoming acquainted with some of his entourage. To his annoyance, however, almost immediately on their quitting Paris, a feeling of weakness and lassitude began to overtake him, despite his most strenuous efforts to shake it off. Day by day it grew upon him, until, by the time the army had reached Toulon, which they made on the 8th of May, he felt so prostrated as to be almost unfit for duty.

But he fought hard against his weakness; for all that, it was only by the exercise of unflinching determination to conceal how ill he felt, that he was not left behind invalided. He managed to hold up until the 19th of May, when, with Buonaparte, he embarked on board the Admiral's ship, L'Orient. Then, he broke down altogether, and was carried below. The army surgeons pronounced him to be suffering from low fever, and feared the worst. The efforts he had made to hide the real state of his health had aggravated his condition, so that his vitality was at the lowest ebb.

For more than a fortnight he lay oscillating between life and death; then a change for the better set in, and, from that moment, he began rapidly to improve, so that, at the end of another fortnight, he was able to set foot on the quarter deck, and breathe the pure, fresh air of the Mediterranean. Oh! in the relief, after inhaling the stifling atmosphere below deck, to drink in deep draughts of the ozone laden breezes that swept over the broad expanse of water! His spirits revived, and, once more, he felt that he had it in him to emulate his chief.

Wafted by favorable breezes, the gallant fleet sped on its way, until, on the morning of the first of July, the Admiral's ship sighted, in the far distance, the domes and minarets of Alexandria.

So the fleet was headed for the land. After beating along the coast for several hours in the teeth of a rising gale, in search of a suitable landing place, Marabou was selected, and at one o'clock in the morning of the second of July the disembarkation was begun. The spot was three leagues to the west of Alexandria.

The landing was accomplished with great difficulty, caused, not only by the roughness of the sea, but also by the attacks of the Bedouin Arabs, great swarthy fellows, who appeared in swarms. They showed marvelous horsemanship, circling round the French and making repeated dashes upon the right flank, and picking off many stragglers.

At three in the morning the march upon Alexandria began. The divisions of Bon, Kleber, and Morand heading the advance.

At the moment when the order to march was given, Buonaparte, who was mounted on a white horse—one of the six given him in Italy—turned to Kleber, and, pointing upwards to the sky, where a few stars still lingered before the advent of the dawn, as though loth to have their brightness veiled, said, "See yonder stars scintillate in token of our coming success; foretelling glory out of the clouds of trouble."

"Yet," rejoined Kleber, "they must pale before the glory of the rising sun." And he pointed Eastward to where a faint light showed the approaching dawn.

When Buonaparte appeared, the whole army set up a tremendous shout; cheer after cheer went up and, amidst them, the march began that all hoped and believed would result in the conquest of Egypt, but which to thousands of the sons of France meant but their grave.

After some hours marching under a dropping fire of musketry from the Arabs hovering around, and under a blazing sun, they arrived within gunshot of Alexandria. There was only a show of opposition to the French advance, for what took place was more of a skirmish before the gates than a battle. A few shots were fired, and then the Arabs fled into the city, followed by the French, some scaling the walls, and others making their way through gaps where the walls had been broken down, and through the gates.

Soon after their entrance, Buonaparte, who was attended by St. Just and accompanied by an escort of guides, had a near escape of being killed. The party was going along a narrow street, that but just allowed two persons to ride abreast; it was bounded at the end by a tall house. Those within were watching the approach of Buonaparte and his escort, apparently with friendly interest, when, all of a sudden, the party being about a hundred yards from the house, a musket shot was fired from one of the windows, and a bullet carried away the plume of Buonaparte's hat.

Instantly St. Just, followed by a sergeant of the Guides, enraged at the murderous attempt, galloped to the house, threw himself from his horse, scaled a staircase and rushed forward.

Two shots were fired at him by a woman who tried to bar his progress, one passing over his left shoulder and lodging in the arm of the guide behind him. Smarting with the wound, before St. Just could interpose, he cut her down. The other shot went through the metal ornament of St. Just's sabre-tache, and, striking on a button of his tunic, made him think for a moment that he was wounded. The shock made him stagger, and gave others of the Guides, who had followed, the opportunity of rushing past. Their blood was up and they were intent on revenging themselves for the shots fired on their officer and their comrade, and were in no mood to grant quarter. So that, when St. Just came up to them, he had the greatest difficulty in saving the life of a young Arab, who had been knocked down with the butt of a musket and was on the point of being sabered.