The Decisive Battle of Acre, Where al-Jazzar Routed Napoleon Bonaparte

The commander Bonaparte came forth small from the womb of the French Revolution, and grew great... and the tide of his might swept over Europe... He looked toward the East, seeing in it a spacious stage for his imagination and his ambition... and there was India, with its secrets, its riches, and its fabled treasures, calling to him... and behold, he leapt with thirty thousand fighting men and more than four hundred transport ships from Toulon to Alexandria.

In early February 1797 he set out from Egypt with thirteen thousand of his best officers, commanders, and soldiers, making for Acre — for "al-Jazzar's village," as he used to call it in disdain for its master; little did he know that this man he scorned would teach him a lesson in the defense of right and of self that he would never forget all the days of his life.

No sooner did news of his advance reach al-Jazzar than he bestirred himself to meet him. He mobilized his army and drew up his plan... and his plan was among the most perfect of war plans: it consisted in defending the fortresses and towns, and in harrying the enemy in plain and rough country alike — a harrying that would exhaust his strength and leave him no opening for a decisive battle.

The French took Gaza... then Jaffa... and after that they swept through strongholds and towns all the way to Acre... Bonaparte stood before this city, contemplating and scoffing... But his commanders did not scoff as he did; in their eyes the city was too strong to be taken by mockery and disdain, and they advised him to go slowly and content himself with besieging it until its defenders grew weary of the war, or their ammunition ran out and they surrendered.

But the god of war accepts no advice... He would be ashamed to lay siege to such a village... and he ordered an immediate assault. But his soldiers fell back before the enemy's blazing fire, wave after wave, and on the first day a great number of them fell, officers and men alike.

Al-Jazzar and his soldiers cheered their fall and cried "God is great," which made the great, stubborn commander seethe with rage and press his violent attacks one upon another, hoping to open a breach, however small, that would let him reach his goal. But the walls were too strong for his feeble cannon to pierce, and when this became clear to him he reluctantly went back to following his commanders' advice, gave up his mad assault, and contented himself with the siege.

He was awaiting a naval flotilla carrying a number of heavy cannon, and he told his commanders: "I shall return to the attack the moment those cannon reach me, and of these accursed walls I shall not leave one stone upon another." But the cannon he was awaiting never arrived, for the English (the Sultan's allies) were watching him at sea, and behold, those cannon fell into their hands, and they carried them to the walls of Acre itself to fight him with them.

At that he went mad with fury... He began hurling his commanders, officers, and soldiers headlong to their deaths, and trying to blow up the walls and towers with gunpowder; and every time he met with failure he grew more stubborn and more furious, and shouted:

— If I had nothing left but one corporal and four riflemen, I would still enter this village.

At last... one of the mines opened a breach in the wall of the great tower, and the men, officers and soldiers, rushed to storm the breach; but al-Jazzar's fire poured down on them like driving rain and set about reaping them one after another, until the ditch around the tower was filled with their corpses.

The efforts of those who undertook that venture went for nothing... And while the "god of war," Bonaparte, was in the depths of his rage and anxiety, a messenger arrived from France bearing him news: the French armies were being routed everywhere, the commanders killed or surrendering, the frontiers threatened on every side, and the government weak and powerless to save the situation.

But how could he withdraw from this wretched village before pounding its strongholds to dust and wiping out the stain of shame that clung to him for his failure to take it?

He said to his companion and confidant Berthier:

— I must return to France... but before that I mean to enter Acre

... and I shall enter it, even if I bury beneath its ruins what is left of my men.

The engineers blew up the tower with a mine they had spent twenty days laying... and great was the disappointment when it turned out that the mine had made nothing in it but a breach... Even so, the commander-in-chief ordered the assault... The victims fell in great numbers... Bonaparte's patience gave out; he drew his sword and strode forward, shouting:

— Soldiers! Either you advance, or you fall back and I wash away your shame with my blood.

Zeal stirred in their breasts... the riflemen surged forward in a frenzy... some of them climbed over the corpses to the breach... they managed to reach it and raise their flag upon it... and from it they poured down, in a storm of enthusiasm, into the city.

And Bonaparte's face lit up.

And al-Jazzar's face darkened... He roared like a wounded lion and shouted at his fleeing soldiers:

— What cowards you are!

And he drew his sword violently and plunged into the battle, adding:

— I will die in your stead.

He had built a second wall behind the first, reinforced by the nearby houses, and the attackers, in their mad rush, crashed against it.

The men of the garrison saw him fighting, and pride flared in their heads, and they surged like a torrent to defend him, striking and slaying without stint the enemy caught between the two walls.

And Bonaparte waited outside... and every time he heard a cry of despair from his soldiers, answered by a shout of victory from al-Jazzar's men, he shook from head to foot with rage and shouted to the reinforcements he sent in one after another:

— To death or to victory!

The hours passed, and behold, victory slipped from his hand, and death rose up in its terrible specter before him, calling on him to spare his soldiers, saying:

— You have no hope of overcoming al-Jazzar and his city, man.

And often did Bonaparte remember... often did he remember that stubborn old man whom he had scorned, thinking he would crush him with ease, and he would repeat:

— But for that man, I would have changed the map of the world.