For a moment Napoleon was tempted to answer modestly, but he already felt irritated by Paoli’s cavalier response to his report on the state of Corsica’s defences.‘I’m sure that every good officer shares that ambition, sir.’
‘I’m glad to hear it. But you must admit, the chances of France prosecuting a successful war are slim indeed. In which case, some might argue that it is in the best interest of Corsica not to be on the losing side.’
‘Some might argue that.’
‘And you? What do you think? I ask you as one Corsican to another.’
Napoleon felt a chill trickle down his spine. What was Paoli after? Was this some kind of loyalty test? If so, what would be the safest answer? He had to be careful. If Paoli was thinking of declaring Corsican independence then Napoleon must be seen to support him, until his family could be moved to safety. If, on the other hand, he was testing Napoleon’s loyalty with a view to reporting back to Paris then Napoleon would have to hope that any pro-independence line that he supported would be seen as an expedient by Saliceti. Napoleon cleared his throat. ‘I think that Corsica needs France, for now. We are like a goat surrounded by wolves. Our only salvation lies in siding with the strongest wolf. Besides, no other power would tolerate the social reforms that our people are starting to enjoy.’
Paoli stared at Napoleon with renewed intensity. ‘And what happens when the beasts have fought it out, and the strongest one is left? What hope is there for your goat then?’
Napoleon managed to smile at such a predicament. ‘Then, I hope that the wolf has already eaten enough to overlook a scrawny morsel.’
Paoli laughed and leaned forward to clap the young man on the shoulder.‘Truly, you are in the wrong profession.What a lawyer or politician was lost when you decided to become a soldier.’
The tramp of heavy boots ended the exchange as both men glanced towards the door. A tall man in thigh-length riding boots entered the room and saluted Paoli, but ignored Napoleon. He had a shock of dark hair tied back by a blue ribbon. He was powerfully built and projected a confidence that bordered on arrogance, and Napoleon was instantly reminded just how much he had disliked the man when they had last met in Bastia.
Paoli made the reintroductions. ‘Colonel Colonna, you have met Lieutenant Colonel Buona Parte of the Ajaccio battalion of volunteers.’
‘Yes, sir.’ He turned to Napoleon. ‘Or would you prefer me to address you as captain of artillery?’
Napoleon bit back on a surge of anger. ‘As I am currently in Corsica, serving in a Corsican battalion and working in the interests of Corsica, it would be suitable to refer to me by my local rank, wouldn’t you agree, sir?’
Colonna shrugged. ‘Please yourself.’
‘Excuse my nephew,’ Paoli interrupted with a hard glance towards Colonna. ‘He has been busy planning for the operation.’
‘Operation?’
Paoli smiled. ‘You were so busy with your survey that I didn’t think it right to distract you.We have been instructed by the War Office in Paris to co-operate in the campaign against the Kingdom of Piedmont. France needs to protect its southern flank so she intends to send an army into Piedmont. The main force will strike from Nice and Savoy. Our contribution will be to seize Sardinia.’
Napoleon’s mind reeled. ‘When were you told of this?’
‘Before Christmas. We have been busy with organising the men and supplies needed since then. Now we need to consider the plan.’
Before Christmas. Napoleon was furious.Why had Saliceti not warned him? He would write to the deputy at the first opportunity and find out. Meanwhile Paoli had beckoned to Colonna to join them at the map, then he placed some inkwells on the bottom corners so that Sardinia was clearly visible.
‘Just to put you in the picture, Buona Parte, Admiral Truguet’s fleet at Toulon will provide the transport for our troops. We have been instructed to provide six thousand men. Needless to say, that will strip most of the garrisons of Corsica of their protection, but Paris does not seem to have considered that. The question is, where should we strike first? I’d value your opinion.’
Napoleon bent over the map. He already knew what he would say. He had mentioned it in the appendix to his report. Two prominent islands were marked off the northern tip of Sardinia.
‘Maddalena and Caprera.’ He tapped the names with his finger. ‘We must take them before we make a landing on Sardinia. As soon as the enemy are aware that France is going to launch an attack they are sure to fortify these islands and place heavy guns on them. Once that is done they will control the Strait of Bonifacio, and be able to prevent any landing in the north of Sardinia. But if we move fast, we can snap up these islands before the enemy realise the danger. Then we mount our own batteries there, and the Strait is under our control.’
He looked up in time to see Paoli and his nephew exchange a look of satisfaction, then Paoli’s eyes flickered towards Napoleon and he nodded. ‘That is just what we were thinking, Napoleon. I’m delighted that we are in agreement. A small force should suffice for the attack. Say, one battalion.’
Napoleon felt a burst of excitement. This was his chance. ‘Sir, may I request that the Ajaccio battalion has the honour of making the attack?’
Paoli smiled. ‘I was hoping you’d say that. I suggest that you return to Ajaccio and prepare your men, the moment we have completed the plans.’
‘When did it happen?’ Napoleon asked.
‘On the twenty-first of January,’ Joseph replied, thrusting the newspaper across the table to his brother. Napoleon had been aware that something momentous had happened the moment he entered Ajaccio. The streets were almost deserted and he hurried up to the salon the moment he had tethered his mount in the small courtyard behind the house. His mother and his other brothers and sisters were at church, like much of the population, praying that the Almighty would spare Corsica from the consequences of the execution of King Louis. Joseph had remained in the house to read through the first reports to reach Ajaccio.
Napoleon glanced at the newspaper, skimming his eyes over the front page. ‘Good God . . . they actually went ahead and did it,’ he marvelled. ‘I don’t believe it.’
Joseph nodded. His gaze flickered towards his younger brother. ‘What will happen now?’
‘Now?’ Napoleon bit his lip. With King Louis dead the monarchs of Europe would be terrified of sharing his fate. Terrified, and filled with a spirit of vengeance. It could mean only one thing. ‘There’ll be a conflict on a scale no one can yet imagine.’
Joseph stared back at him anxiously, and Napoleon continued, ‘They’ll be lining up to declare war against France now. Those fools in Paris have no idea what they have unleashed.’
‘God help us.’
Napoleon smiled bitterly. ‘There’ll be no help from that quarter. Not after everything that Robespierre and his friends have done. We’re on our own, and the world is against us.’
Chapter 67
The icy water felt like a thousand knives stabbing at his flesh and Napoleon gasped as it closed round his chest. He held his pistols above his head and started wading towards the shore. Around him, the men from the other boats were also struggling to reach the shingle, muskets held aloft and muttering low curses at the coldness of the water. Ahead, at the base of the cliff, gleamed the lantern that had guided the boats to the landing point. A dark figure stood in the faint glow of the lamp, beckoning them on. Napoleon felt the angle of the seabed increase and moments later he surged from the small waves breaking on the shore and stood on the shingle, shivering like a new-born lamb. Around him the other men were stamping their boots and muttering through clenched teeth.The sound was terrifying and Napoleon was sure that the sentries on the walls of the small fort a short march from the beach would hear the noise. He grabbed the arm of the nearest sergeant.
‘Tell the men to keep quiet, and then get them formed up!’
‘Yes, sir.’The sergeant moved off amongst the dark mass, hissing orders as he went.
&
nbsp; Napoleon crunched up the steep beach towards the lamp. He called out as loudly as he dared. ‘Lieutenant Alessi.’
‘Sir! Here!’With a clatter of shells and loose shingle the figure at the lamp came forward. Alessi had landed the day before from a Corsican fishing boat. He had used the time to scout the approaches to the fort and then prepared his landing signal as night fell. A fellow Jacobin, he saluted as he came up to Napoleon.
‘Is the route to the fort marked out?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Any trouble?’
‘No. The enemy are tucked up in their barracks for the night, sir.’ Napoleon could see a faint gleam as Alessi grinned. ‘They’ve posted four sentries that I could see. They seem to spend most of their time in the turrets on the wall. Can’t say I blame them on a night like this.’
Napoleon nodded. That was why they had chosen a date before the new moon appeared. His only worry now was that the Sardinians might see the ship that had carried the battalion from Ajaccio. Napoleon turned and squinted out to sea. Only the faintest patch of denser darkness indicated the frigate, La Gloire, anchored offshore where the other four companies of the battalion were waiting to be ferried ashore. The frigate’s boats were already heading back for them as the first two companies began to form up on the shore a short distance above the waterline. In addition to the men of the battalion a disassembled six-pounder was to be landed with the ammunition and powder needed for the assault on the fort. If the attack succeeded then a pair of eighteen-pounder long guns would be brought ashore and mounted in the fort. Once that was done the guns could command the waters of the strait around the island, and begin bombardment of the fortlet on the coast of Caprera.
Colonel Colonna remained aboard the frigate to oversee the operation, with Colonel Quenza acting as his aide-de-camp. Napoleon felt a huge sense of relief that he had landed with the first wave of troops and had escaped the dead hand of his superiors. His relief was mixed with excitement about the prospect of the attack itself.
He leaned forward to pat Alessi on the shoulder. ‘You’ve done a fine job. Find someone to look after the lantern and then you can return to your company. I want them in position as soon as possible out of sight of the fort, but ready to move up the moment the attack begins.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Alessi saluted and scrabbled down the shingle to find the grenadier company - the first to be landed. Napoleon stood, arms clasped around his thin chest and shivering, as he waited for the boats to return with the next wave of troops.The six-pounder would be coming ashore with them and Napoleon would command the party that moved the gun up into position to fire on the fort. A short time after the second company followed the grenadiers off the beach, the dark shapes of the boats heaved up into the surf and more men splashed into the water. Napoleon made his way down to the shoreline and looked for the boat carrying the gun and its accessories.
‘Sir! Over here.’ A figure in the surf waved to him and Napoleon recognised the voice of the Swiss officer who had been ordered to accompany the gun borrowed from the citadel at Ajaccio. For a moment Napoleon wondered if this was the man responsible for shelling the Jacobin Club. He hoped so - that had been a fine display of gunnery. He smiled to himself as he mused how shifting fortunes made strange bedfellows, and then waded over to the boat Lieutenant Steiner was holding on to.
‘Let’s get moving. Powder and shot first.’
The men assigned to the gun crew carried the ammunition ashore and then returned to the boat for the gun carriage, iron-rimmed wheels and lastly the brass cannon itself; an unwieldy and heavy lump of metal that had been wrapped in a boarding net. With ten men straining at the rope handles, it was carried through the waves and dumped on the shingle with a collective grunt of relief. The men hurriedly assembled the gun just as the last soldiers to reach the beach shuffled off to join the rest of the battalion.Then, with the gun crew taking up the traces, Napoleon gave the order to begin hauling the gun up the beach and on to the narrow track that wound over the headland towards the fort. The men carrying the small powder barrels and nets of iron balls followed. It was exhausting going and Napoleon was obliged to rest the men regularly. With dawn approaching, he resented these necessary delays, and when they moved forward again he took his turn at the traces.The strenuous work soon warmed his body and the trembling stopped as he gasped for breath between clenched teeth as the wheels of the gun ground over the loose stones along the path.
As they approached the crest of the headland, Napoleon handed command over to Steiner and ran ahead. The first faint smudge of grey was lightening the eastern horizon and he had to be sure that all was ready for the attack. The path flattened out, and through a thin screen of pine trees he could see the silhouette of the fort. The grenadier company had crept forward and was now lying still in the shadows of the wall, either side of the gate. The rest of the men had moved to within two hundred paces of the wall and waited amongst the rocks and undergrowth. There was no sign of alarm from the fort. Napoleon nodded with satisfaction and turned back down the path.
The sky was a pale rosy pink by the time the gun had been positioned amongst the trees, three hundred paces from the gateway.The fort looked old and neglected, and Napoleon hoped that the timber of the gate was as badly maintained as the rest of the defences. The gun stood on a flat patch of ground, and the rocks had been cleared from the recoil area.The powder and balls were stacked to one side and the gun crew had loaded the weapon and stood by as Napoleon carefully sighted it, adjusted the elevation and blew gently on the portfire until it glowed. He stood back from the gun carriage and extended his arm so that the portfire was hovering just above the firing tube protruding from the vent. Napoleon paused, savouring the thrill of excitement as he realised that he had only to lower the portfire to send six hundred men into action. He took a breath and eased his arm down.
The detonation of the powder charge came an instant after the first fizz from the firing tube. A bright orange tongue of flame roared from the end of the muzzle as the carriage jumped back. At once the view of the fort was shrouded by smoke, and Napoleon leaped to one side to watch the fall of shot. A chunk of masonry exploded off the wall, above and to the right of the gate. Lieutenant Steiner called out the orders to reload the gun in a steady calm voice and Napoleon instructed him, ‘Down and left, then fire at will.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Leaving Steiner to it, Napoleon hurried to join the rest of the battalion. At the sound of the first shot they had risen from the ground and moved forward either side of the path to keep clear of their cannon shot’s trajectory. There was another explosion from behind Napoleon and a shrill moan as the cannon ball passed over head. He glanced up just in time to see the shot strike the top of the gate, smashing in the timbers and leaving a jagged gap the size of a cooking pot.
Napoleon hurried forward to join Alessi and his grenadiers. Both men drew their swords and stared at the fort. Two of the sentries were peering over the wall and the sound of a bugle rang out in the cold air. Alessi pointed to the sentries.
‘First section! Open fire!’
A quick rattle of musket fire chipped fragments of masonry from the wall and the head of one of the sentries suddenly dissolved in a spray of blood and brains.The grenadiers cheered at the sight. Then another cannon ball roared by and struck the gate dead centre, crashing through the timbers and shattering the locking bar behind.With a grinding creak the gates swung inwards.
‘Forward!’ Napoleon thrust his sword towards the gate. ‘Forward!’
The grenadiers rushed up the path towards the narrow bridge over the defence ditch. Napoleon charged in with them. Behind him the remaining companies let out a deep-throated cheer and broke into a dead run towards the gate. A flicker of motion above drew Napoleon’s eye and he saw the other sentry thrust his musket over the wall and swing the muzzle towards him until the barrel foreshortened into almost nothing.Then there was a stab of flame and smoke and something snatched the hat off Napoleon’s head. He
did not even have time to register that the musket ball had missed his skull by inches before he was rushing through the gates and into the fort beyond. Behind the gatehouse was a large open courtyard lined with barracks and stores built into the walls. A soldier, wearing just his breeches, was blowing on a bugle as more men tumbled from the doors of their quarters, half dressed, and clutching their muskets and cartridge pouches.
‘Over there!’ Alessi pointed towards them. ‘Charge!’
Without waiting for his men, Alessi pointed his sword and sprinted across the courtyard. Some of the grenadiers rushed after him, while others, more cool-headed, paused, took aim and fired. Three shots found their targets in rapid succession and the Sardinian soldiers pitched forwards or were flung back by the impact. Then Alessi and his men were in amongst them, snarling and shouting like animals as they thrust their bayonets, or clubbed at men with the heavy wooden butts. Napoleon ignored them, and looked round for the commander of the garrison.
A door opened close to the gatehouse and a man emerged from within, clutching a gilt-handled sword. He gazed about in bewilderment for a moment before his eyes alighted on the shattered timbers of the gate, and Napoleon. His features hardened and he rushed from the doorway, sword point directed at the French officer’s breast. Napoleon just had time to slash his blade across horizontally and parry the thrust. Metal scraped on metal and then the man cannoned into Napoleon, sending them both crashing to the ground.The air exploded from his lungs and Napoleon gasped for breath, winded, as the enemy officer rolled to his feet, raised his sword and stared down at Napoleon in triumph. Then came the tramp of iron-nailed boots as the following wave of volunteer troops poured through the gateway. The Sardinian officer just had time to look up before two bayonets ripped into his stomach and carried him back into the fort and he collapsed on the ground with a grunt. One of the volunteers ripped his crimson point free, reversed his musket and smashed the butt into the enemy officer’s forehead, silencing him at once.
Young Bloods Page 42
