We reached Tentoura on the 20th of May, when a most oppressive heat prevailed, and produced general dejection.  We had nothing to sleep on but the parched and burning sand; on our right lay a hostile sea; our losses in wounded and sick were already considerable since leaving Acre; and there was nothing consolatory in the future.  The truly afflicting condition in which the remains of an army called triumphant were plunged, produced, as might well be expected, a corresponding impression on the mind of the General-in-Chief.  Scarcely had he arrived at Tentoura when he ordered his tent to be pitched.  He then called me, and with a mind occupied by the calamities of our situation, dictated an order that every one should march on foot; and that all the horses, mules, and camels should be given up to the wounded, the sick, and infected who had been removed, and who still showed signs of life.  “Carry that to Berthier,” said he; and the order was instantly despatched.  Scarcely had I returned to the tent when the elder Vigogne, the (General-in-Chief’s groom), entered, and raising his hand to his cap, said, “General, what horse do you reserve for yourself?” In the state of excitement in which Bonaparte wad this question irritated him so violently that, raising his whip, he gave the man a severe blow on the head; saying in a terrible voice, “Every-one must go on foot, you rascal—­I the first—­Do you not know the order?  Be off!”

Every one in parting with his horse was now anxious to avoid giving it to any unfortunate individual supposed to be suffering from plague.  Much pains were taken to ascertain the nature of the diseases of the sick; and no difficulty was made in accommodating the wounded of amputated.  For my part I had an excellent horse; a mule, and two camels, all which I gave up with the greatest pleasure; but I confess that I directed my servant to do all he could to prevent an infected person from getting my horse.  It was returned to me in a very short time.  The same thing happened to many others.  The cause maybe easily conjectured.

The remains of our heavy artillery were lost in the moving sands of Tentoura, from the want of horses, the small number that remained being employed in more indispensable services.  The soldiers seemed to forget their own sufferings, plunged in grief at the loss of their bronze guns, often the instruments of their triumphs, and which had made Europe tremble.

We halted at Caesarea on the 22d of May, and we marched all the following night.  Towards daybreak a man, concealed in a bush upon the left of the road (the sea was two paces from us on the right), fired a musket almost close to the head of the General-in-Chief, who was sleeping on his horse.  I was beside him.  The wood being searched, the Nablousian was taken without difficulty, and ordered to be shot on the spot.  Four guides pushed him towards the sea by thrusting their carbines against his back; when close to the