(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
