The march onwards was a continued scene of misery; for the wounded and the sick were many, the heat oppressive, the thirst intolerable; and the ferocious Djezzar was hard behind, and the wild Arabs of the desert hovered round them on every side, so that he who fell behind his company was sure to be slain.  How hard and callous the hearts of brave men can become when every thought is occupied with self, the story of that march presents a fearful picture.  When a comrade, after quitting his ranks, being stimulated by the despair of falling into the hands of the Turks or Arabs, yet once again reared himself from the burning sand, and made a last attempt to stagger after the column, his painful and ineffectual efforts furnished matter for military merriment.  “He is drunk,” said one; “his march will not be a long one,” answered another; and when he once more sank helpless and hopeless, a third remarked, “our friend has at length taken up his quarters.”  It is not to be omitted, that Napoleon did, on this occasion, all that became his situation.  He issued an order that every horse should be given up to the service of the sick.  A moment afterwards one of his attendants came to ask which horse the General wished to reserve for himself:  “Scoundrel!” cried he, “do you not know the order?  Let everyone march on foot—­I the first.—­Begone.”  He accordingly, during the rest of the march, walked by the side of the sick, cheering them by his eye and his voice, and exhibiting to all the soldiery the example at once of endurance and of compassion.

[June 14.] Having at length accomplished this perilous journey, Buonaparte repaired to his old headquarters at Cairo, and re-entered on his great functions as the establisher of a new government in the state of Egypt.  But he had not long occupied himself thus, ere new rumours concerning the beys on the Upper Nile, who seemed to have some strong and urgent motive for endeavouring to force a passage downwards, began to be mingled with, and by degrees explained by, tidings daily repeated of some grand disembarkation of the Ottomans, designed to have place in the neighbourhood of Alexandria.  Leaving Dessaix, therefore, once more in command at Cairo, he himself descended the Nile, and travelled with all speed to Alexandria, where he found his presence most necessary.  For, in effect, the great Turkish fleet had already run into the bay of Aboukir; and an army of 18,000, having gained the fortress, were there strengthening themselves, with the view of awaiting the promised descent and junction of the Mamelukes, and then, with overwhelming superiority of numbers, advancing to Alexandria, and completing the ruin of the French invaders.

Buonaparte, reaching Alexandria on the evening of the 24th of July, found his army already posted in the neighbourhood of Aboukir, and prepared to anticipate the attack of the Turks on the morrow.  Surveying their entrenched camp from the heights above with Murat, he said, “Go how it may, the battle of to-morrow will decide the fate of the world.”  “Of this army at least,” answered Murat; “but the Turks have no cavalry, and, if ever infantry were charged to the teeth by horse, they shall be so by mine.”  Murat did not penetrate the hidden meaning of Napoleon’s words, but he made good his own.