It was on the morning of the 3d of July. The French army had
disembarked, and stood not far from Alexandria, on the ancient
sacred soil of Egypt. Whatever was done must be done quickly, for
Nelson was approaching with a fleet, prepared to contend with the
French for the possession of Alexandria. Should the city not be
taken before the arrival of the English fleet, the victory would be
doubtful. Bonaparte knew this well. "Fortune gives us three days'
time at the most," cried he, "and if we do not use them we are
lost!"
But he did use them! With fearful rapidity the disembarkation of the
troops was effected; with fearful rapidity the French army arranged
itself on Egyptian soil in three divisions, under Morand, Bon, and
Kleber. Above them all was he whose head had conceived the gigantic
undertaking, he whose heroic spirit comprehended the whole. This was
Bonaparte.
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.
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