Reinforcements from England raising the number of men available to General Hutchinson to 16,000 gave him for the first time numerical superiority over the French, and enabled him to press the siege more actively. On 2nd September, General Menou capitulated. Again the terms were almost exactly those of the Convention of El Arish. ‘Everybody hastened to congratulate Sir Sidney,’ Major Wilson wrote. It had taken nearly 20,000 men in more than 100 ships to achieve with toil and trouble, and with heavy losses, what he had achieved single handed. In the case of the Convention, however, Sir Sidney, whose authority had not yet been undermined by his own countrymen, had reserved to himself the position of arbitrator to see that the terms were properly observed and that there would be no reprisals on the Egyptian population. This time the clauses necessary for their protection were still included, but the Turks made little pretence of observing them.
Thus the war in Egypt was concluded after having been prolonged for eighteen months unnecessarily, and the statesmen’s wrong decisions had been paid for in human blood. Sir Sidney had almost prevented the prolongation of the war, but Elgin’s incitement of the Grand Vizier to advance against Kléber had brought everything to ruin. Thenceforward it was as if the powers of darkness had got the upper hand, one act of cruelty and violence leading inexorably to another, while the men who stood for mercy and humanity were discredited and rendered powerless. The rout of Heliopolis, the nightmarish revolt of Cairo and its suppression, the assassination of Kléber, the death of Abercromby with thousands of British, French and Turkish troops killed or maimed, the harrowing of Lower Egypt by unpaid mercenaries, the strangling or beheading of the women suspected of having consorted with the French, and untold horrors — all building up a legacy of bitterness and hatred for the future — and the seeds of distrust for ‘perfidious Albion’ were deeply implanted in the Levant.
The Dispatches containing the news of General Menou’s capitulation and the successful termination of the war for Egypt were brought to Constantinople by General Hutchinson’s brother, Mr. C. Hutchinson. He received from the Sultan a diamond-set Plume of Victory similar to that given to Lord Nelson for the Battle of the Nile and to Sir Sidney for the Defence of Acre, and also a large gold medal, rolls of costly material, bundles of shawls, a splendid diamond box, etc., etc. Because he had been given the honour of bringing the dispatches, it was naturally assumed that he had particularly distinguished himself in the campaign. There was an embarrassing scene when Lord Elgin explained that he wasn’t even in the army; he was a lawyer who had accompanied his brother to Egypt as a tourist. He had quite a military appearance: a large rather good-looking Irishman wearing a sort of uniform with a red hat and a sword, which was not unusual with civilians who were travelling in outlandish places. Lady Elgin, in one of her sprightly and entertaining letters to her mother, wrote that the Turks were ‘amazingly vexed’, but that he continued to receive presents until he had an immense number.
Besides the dispatches, he had brought a letter to the Sultan from the Captain Pasha saying that he wanted to annul the treaty that Baron Hammer had negotiated with the Mamelukes on behalf of the Allies, and claiming that he had influenced General Hutchinson to agree with him on the way to settle the Mamelukes and conquer Egypt from them. This was in direct contradiction to a letter that General Hutchinson had written to Elgin saying that as long as he had life he would remain firm to what had been agreed; so it looked as if the Captain Pasha was using Mr. Hutchinson to compromise his brother. He had re-furnished his own house in European style for Mr. Hutchinson’s comfort and accommodation, and provided a French chef to dress his meals so that he should lack nothing. He stayed alternately there and at the British Embassy where he greatly enlivened Lady Elgin’s parties. He was ‘a famous dasher’ in the reels and country dances that were a feature of her evenings.
Lord Elgin was highly indignant that the French had been allowed to capitulate; he considered the terms ‘infamous’. But between writing angry letters to London protesting against the cessation of hostilities he was exchanging congratulatory addresses with the Turkish ministers on the successful conclusion of the war, and receiving their thanks, with more gifts and honour from the grateful Sultan who ordered a palace to be built in Constantinople for the future residence of British ambassadors. Elgin took this favourable opportunity to ask for, and obtain, permission to take stones away from the Parthenon in Athens which was then under Ottoman rule.
The men who had fought were not forgotten in the Sultan’s bounty. To perpetuate the services rendered to the Ottoman Empire he established an order of knighthood which he named the Order of the Crescent. Those who were to receive it with diamonds, that is, in the first class, were Lord Keith, Sir John Hutchinson, Admiral Sir Richard Bickerton, Major-general Coote, Major-general Baird and Lord Elgin. In the second class were the Senior Post-Captains and the general officers. All the field officers were to receive large gold medals similar to that presented to Mr. Hutchinson, and the other serving officers were to have smaller medals.
The investiture was held on 7th and 8th October on the site of General Abercromby’s victory near Alexandria that had decided the fate of Egypt. The Captain Pasha officiated, seated upon a magnificent sofa and continually stroking his long black beard. He wore a red robe of state over a white robe of beautiful Persian satin and a superb turban with rows of pearls in the different folds. He was attended by the Reis Effendi and the Pasha of Egypt in equal splendour.
When the British officers rode up they were received by a line of troops with music playing and banners flying. The Sultan’s firman was read empowering the Captain Pasha to confer the honour of knighthood upon them, and when the ceremony had been performed and celebrated by the firing of royal salutes, a long dissertation was read aloud explaining the power and magnificence of the Sultan, and the value the knights were to set upon the honours that had been conferred on them.
As soon as Sir Sidney had been dismissed, Keith and Hutchinson had quarrelled about which of them should command the operations of the transport craft on the river and lakes that he had organised, and the gunboats that protected them. This caused much confusion and bad feeling between the services. The navy also felt aggrieved at what they considered the general’s lack of appreciation. In his dispatch describing the landing of the troops and the subsequent operations, he had omitted to mention the part played either by Captain Cochrane or by Sir Sidney. He had given the credit for the disembarkation to Rear-Admiral Bickerton who had had nothing whatsoever to do with it, and it was not known in London who had commanded the seamen who had landed and co-operated with the army. Because they were not particularly mentioned in the Gazette, their names were deleted from those who were thanked by the Houses of Parliament, and a motion by Lord Spencer in the House of Lords thanking Sir Sidney had had to be withdrawn. Both officers had to write personally to Hutchinson to have their services with the army included in the records.
The Sultan was more generous: he sent Sir Sidney a valuable scimitar with orders that it should be presented to him personally by one of the pashas who had most persistently opposed him. The presentation took place in the state cabin of the Turkish flagship Selim among the yellow sofas, the Japanese cabinets, the silver candlesticks and the large bowls of goldfish. While the Pasha was advancing to present the scimitar, he was making the most extraordinary facial contortions from which it appeared that he was trying to smile though quaking with terror. It transpired he thought that the Sultan intended Sir Sidney to test its sharpness by cutting his head off. He did not avail himself of the opportunity.
The Mamelukes had been treated with much honour and consideration by the Captain Pasha, and they had accompanied him when he made his triumphal entry into Alexandria. Protected both by British and by Ottoman good faith, they were beginning to feel secure. It had been arranged that eleven of their leading beys should visit Rear-Admiral Bickerton in H.M.S. Madras, then lying in Alexandria Harbour. While passing through Lake Mariotis in the Captain
Pasha’s boat they were treacherously attacked. Five of them, including their leader, Osman Bey Tambourgi, were hacked to death after a desperate resistance; the other six were wounded, overpowered and taken on board a Turkish gunboat.
When the Admiral complained of the way his guests had been treated, General Hutchinson ordered his troops to surround the Captain Pasha’s tent, and then told him that unless the surviving Mamelukes were given up he would burn all the ships in the Western Harbour, and also make the Pasha himself personally responsible for their safety; the Mamelukes were immediately delivered. The General interred three of their murdered comrades with military honours. One body was not found, and one was buried privately.
The Captain Pasha’s spoils included the dagger which Bonaparte had given to Murad Bey, and that Murad Bey on his deathbed had given to Osman Bey Tambourgi whom he considered most worthy to succeed him: on his return to Constantinople he presented it to Lord Elgin. ‘It is the oddest shaped thing I ever saw,’ Lady Elgin wrote, ‘set with pearls, rubies and diamonds. I shall have a glass case made for it and put it on a pretty table.’
Chapter Sixteen – Bonaparte becomes Napoleon
When the campaign was over, Sir Sidney wished to go home: his mother had died, and he had family business to attend to. He applied to Lord Keith to be allowed his dispatches to London. Lord Keith agreed. He wrote to the Secretary of the Admiralty to report that the objects of the expedition had been fully accomplished, and enclosing a copy of Menou’s capitulation. He ended his letter:
Captain Sir Sidney Smith, who has served with such distinguished reputation in this country, having applied to be the bearer of the dispatches announcing the expulsion of the enemy, I have complied with his request; and I beg to refer their lordships to that active and intelligent officer, for any particular information relative to this or other parts of the country, on which he has had opportunities of making remarks.
The ship’s company of The Tigre who had shared in so many adventures with him, and with whom he had the reputation of being a humane captain, spontaneously manned the yards and cheered him as he went over the side. With Colonel Abercromby, son of the dead general, whom Hutchinson had appointed to carry his dispatches, he embarked on 6th September in the old frigate, El Carmen, a Spanish prize lying in the Bay of Abukir. Her Second Lieutenant, George Parsons, described him thus as he stepped on to the quarterdeck: ‘He was then of medium stature, good-looking, with tremendous moustachios, a pair of penetrating black eyes, an intelligent countenance with a gentlemanly air expressive of good nature and kindness of heart. “Captain Selby”, said the Hero of Acre, “if you will do me the honour to be guided by my advice, we will make a passage that shall astonish the world.”’
This advice, which Captain Selby followed, was to hug the Barbary Coast in the hope of utilising the off-shore wind at night and the onshore wind by day. It was the advice that Sir Sidney had been given three years ago by old Admiral St. Vincent at Gibraltar who had remained for him a sort of father figure. Alas! the off-shore wind refused to fill their sails, and the onshore wind blew so hard upon them that they were all but wrecked on Cape Derna. During the passage, which was one of the slowest on record Sir Sidney daily shortened his moustachios. One night they fell in with a frigate; she didn’t answer their signals, so they took her for an enemy and cleared for action.
Sir Sidney appeared on deck ‘in the costume of Robinson Crusoe, a rifle on each shoulder, and with countless pistols. “I will lead the boarders, Captain Selby,” he said, “and I only advise one broadside, with the muzzles of your guns touching the Frenchman’s”’ — but she turned out to be an Algerine frigate. Sir Sidney detained her for two hours while he wrote instructions to the Bey of Derna in case the French should again attempt a landing on his coast, as Admiral Ganteaume had done earlier that year.
At Gibraltar they landed several army officers and proceeded into the Atlantic. Again they met with very bad weather: in the Bay of Biscay they had to heave to under a close-reefed main-topsail. On the following morning they sighted an American ship flying distress signals. They shook a reef out of the topsails, dropped the foresail, and stood under her stern. The American skipper shouted that he had sprung a leak and was sinking. He asked them to send a boat as all his had been washed away. ‘I’ll stand by you,’ Captain Selby replied, ‘but no boat could live in this sea.’
Upon hearing this, the crew and passengers set up such an outcry, throwing up their arms in despair and imploring aid, that Sir Sidney offered, if Captain Selby would risk his lee-quarter cutter, to make an attempt to save them. He brushed aside all attempts to dissuade him. Much to Lieutenant Parson’s relief, who had no wish to be drowned, he wrote, even in such distinguished company, he asked for the first lieutenant and the carpenter to accompany him.
‘If your tackle-falls give way,’ he remarked to the first lieutenant as he sprang into the cutter, ‘you will be drowned for your carelessness, and so shall I.’
Watching the lee roll, while ‘everyone held his breath for consternation’, he gave the order to lower away, and then to let go and unhook, on the celerity of which all their lives depended. At each moment the seas threatened to engulf the boat, but Sir Sidney calmly steered her alongside the American, a very large ship with towering sides and she rolled awfully as they scrambled on board. The El Carmen’s carpenter succeeded in diminishing the leak so that the pumps gained upon it, and the ship was saved.
On 9th November, 1801, the El Carmen at last reached Portsmouth. A sloop of war which had sailed a fortnight after her with duplicate dispatches had got in a fortnight before her. Discussions for a general peace were already in progress, and preliminaries of a treaty between Great Britain and France had been signed before news of the final capitulation of the French in Egypt came to England.
As usual Sir Sidney was lionised in London and, as usual, opinion was sharply divided about him: The Times reported that he had landed ‘attired in Turkish dress, turban, robe, shawl, and girdle round his waist with a pair of pistols’. He soon discarded the costume of an eastern pasha and appeared in his everyday clothes, but he hadn’t changed the cut of his coat with the changing times. Gentlemen were wearing an extraordinary variety of tail-coats, and resplendent flowered silk waistcoats with cravats — they thought his manner of dress eccentric, old-fashioned, too French, almost Henri Quatre — however, it consorted well enough with the gay apparel of the ladies who constantly surrounded him: they wore high-waisted, flowing muslin dresses with coloured sashes, flowered chintz draperies, and either shovel hats, bonnets, mop caps, or little plumed turbans because Egypt was all the rage.
The Princess of Wales wanted to fit up a room in her house as a Turkish tent, so he showed her, as a pattern, a drawing he had brought back with him of Murad Bey’s tent; and he instructed her interior decorator in the art of drawing the Egyptian arabesques that were required to ornament the ceiling. A contemporary wrote that he had a good-humoured, agreeable manner with a certain dash and turn of chivalry that was very taking with the ladies.
An old seaman from The Tigre saw him rather differently: when questioned about him he said, ‘Why, sir, after we skivered the mounseers away from Acre, Sir Sidney was looking as taut set up as a mainstay by a new first lieutenant; but, for all that, Sir Sidney was a weaselly man, — no hull, sir, — none; but all head, like a tadpole. But such a head! It put you in mind of a flash of lightning rolled up into a ball; and then his black curly nob — when he shook it, it made every man shake in his shoes.’
‘Was he then handsome?’
‘Blest if I can tell! You know, sir, as how we don’t say of an eighteen pounder, when it strikes the mark at a couple of miles or so, “that’s handsome”, but we sings out “Beautiful!” though after all it’s nothing but a lump of black iron. You’re laughing, sir. And so you thinks I’m transmogrifying Sir Sidney’s head into a round lump of iron shot! Well, I’m off like one. All I can say is, that he was most handsome when there was most to do.’
The better men knew Sir Sidney, the more they liked him. At the Admiralty, and in official circles generally, he was always unpopular, and he had suffered in his reputation through being censured in Parliament for acting without authority, and through his name being struck off the list of the officers to be thanked for the success of the Egyptian Expedition. The Foreign Office, having disavowed his diplomatic activities, got out of paying him for them also.
For his victory over Bonaparte at Acre, he was voted by the House of Commons £1,000 a year to augment his pay. Had he achieved the same thing as an admiral, or as a general commanding an army, he would at once have been elevated to the peerage and relieved of all financial anxiety. Promotion was impossible: it went by seniority, and he stood only 100th on the list of captains. A newspaper commented that he would have to wait through two natural lifetimes before he could receive an adequate reward. He had an interview with Pitt, and took the occasion to remind him that his instructions had been to co-operate with the Turkish forces to recover Egypt from the French, and that was precisely what he did. The King made some tardy amends for his censure by granting him additional armorial bearings. His friends lauded him to the skies and proclaimed that the Convention of El Arish was even more worthy of praise than the defeat of Bonaparte. For the general public he was, and he remained, the Hero of Acre.
Beware of Heroes Page 19
