1807-1828.

Abdel Kader Nusr-ed-deen, fourth son of Abdel Kader Mehi-ed-deen, was born in the month of May, 1807, at the paternal ketna, or family village, on the banks of the river Hammam. This locality lies in the district of Eghrees, appertaining to the province of Oran, in Algeria.

From his infancy Abdel Kader was the especial object of his father’s fondest affections. Even when at the breast, the doting parent would constantly insist on taking the child in his arms; and he reluctantly permitted anyone but himself to do the duties of a nurse. Some secret and undefined impulse, as it seemed, impelled him to devote more than ordinary care and attention to the child, whose future career was to be so indelibly and gloriously associated with his country’s weal.

The physical constitution of the boy early exhibited a robust development; whilst, by a strange contrast, his disposition displayed a great natural timidity. The term “frightened at a shadow,” might have been taken in its most literal sense in his case. In after years, and when in the pride and vigour of manhood, he shone forth as the bravest of the brave—ever foremost to lead the charge, or cover the retreat—his father would often rally him on his boyish frailty, and wonder at the extraordinary contrast.

The mental powers of the boy were more than usually precocious. At the age of five he could read and write; at twelve he was a Taleb, or an approved proficient in the Koran, the Hadeeth (traditional sayings of the prophet Mohammed), and all the most esteemed religious expositions. Two years later he attained the highly-prized distinction of being a Hafiz, or one who knows the entire Koran by heart. In this position he had a class in the family mosque, where he explained the most difficult and recondite passages of the commentators. The extent of his youthful ambition was to be a great Marabout, like his father, whom he loved and regarded with an enthusiasm amounting to adoration.

In his seventeenth year the youth was conspicuous amongst his associates for his remarkable strength and agility. The perfect symmetry and compactness of his figure—his height being about five feet six inches—his bony make, his broad, deep chest, all betokened a frame formed for untiring activity, and capable of enduring the utmost fatigue.

As an equestrian, none approached him. Not only was he a graceful rider, but his marvellous superiority in all those feats of horsemanship which require the nicest eye, the steadiest hand, and the greatest efforts of muscular power, was the theme of all who knew him. Touching his horse’s shoulder with his breast, he would place one hand on its back, and vault over to the other side; or, putting the animal to its full speed, he would disengage his feet from the stirrups, stand up in the saddle, and fire at a mark with the utmost precision. Under his light and skilful touch, his well-trained Arab would kneel down, or walk for yards on his hind legs, its fore ones pawing the air, or spring and jump like a gazelle.

But it was on the race-course that the youth more particularly shone. That exciting pastime, into which the Algerian nobles enter with a passion not exceeded by our most devoted amateurs of the turf, was his peculiar element. Mounted on a jet-black steed—a colour he especially affected, as generally accompanied by superior equine qualities, and as throwing into relief the whiteness of his burnous—he was the cynosure of every eye.

His apparel was plain and simple. His arms alone displayed ornament. His long Tunisian musket was inlaid with silver; his pistols were encrusted with mother-of-pearl and coral; and his Damascus blade encased in a sheath of silver gilt. These brilliant appurtenances, combined with the partial gifts which Nature had lavished on his person, threw an inexpressible charm around his appearance.

His countenance, of the purest classic mould, was singularly attractive from its expressive and yet almost feminine beauty. His nose—middling-sized and delicately shaped—a pleasing mean between the Grecian and the Roman type; his lips, finely chiseled and slightly compressed, bespoke dignified reserve and firmness of purpose; while large, lustrous hazel eyes beamed from beneath a massive forehead of marble whiteness with subdued and melancholy softness, or flashed with the rays of genius and intelligence.

Once the race engaged, his whole hearing and demeanour exhibited the most perfect coolness and self-possession. Distancing his numerous competitors, he would often reach the goal alone, amidst shouts of applause, clapping of hands, and the exhilarating shouts of hundreds of female voices bursting out into the zulagheel—that shrill and piercing cry of joy and welcome amongst the Arabs, which is so cheering to the triumphant warrior.

Thus, when at a later period of his life he performed those marvellous courses which astonished and confounded his enemies—never sleeping for weeks together under cover, and rarely ungirdling his sword—it was truly said of him that “his saddle was his throne.”

In Algeria, the nobility is divided into two distinct classes—the Marabouts and the Djouads. The former derive their position from religion; the other from the sword. These respective representatives of moral influence and physical strength regard each other with mutual scorn and jealousy. The Djouads accuse the Marabouts of ill-disguised ambition, and of a greedy covetousness after wealth and power, veiled under the specious pretext that every fresh acquisition they make was solely for the service of religion. The Marabouts taunt the Djouads with their violence, licentiousness, and love of rapine.

The Djied devotes himself entirely to the chase. He delights in all the bracing recreations which call forth skill and courage. His pride is to excel in falconry, in hunting the gazelle, the ostrich, the panther, and the wild boar. These violent pursuits, the thrilling excitement of which calls forth all the energies of body and mind, prepare him for the more serious encounters of war. The chase is the school for the razzia.

Abdel Kader, although he certainly never contemplated the possibility of ever being engaged in a razzia, and altogether repudiated such a mode of warfare (based as it generally was on the mere love of plunder), as equally contrary to his principles and his inclination, yet engaged ardently in field sports. His favourite diversion was to hunt the wild boar. Carefully avoiding the ostentatious display of the Djouads, as they sallied forth with their long train of adherents, their falcons, and their greyhounds, he privately mounted his horse, and taking only two or three domestics, plunged into the depths of the forest. On his return from his sporting excursions, he betook himself to his studies with renewed ardour.

It is not surprising that one so highly gifted by nature, and so earnest in the task of self-culture and improvement, should have gradually obtained a considerable ascendancy over all around him. Abdel Kader, indeed, already shared the unbounded respect, confidence, and affection which the Arabs of Oran had so long extended to his father. The latter, overjoyed to see his fondest hopes thus realised, could not perform a duty, or enjoy a social pleasure, without the presence of his favourite son. In his public audiences, his plans and projects, his lesser journeyings, or his more distant visits to the Turkish beys in the town, and the Arab tribes in the Tell or Sahara, Abdel Kader was his unfailing confidant and companion.

According to Moslem usage, and the law of the Koran, Abdel Kader married young. “Marry young,” says the Prophet, “marriage subdues the man’s look and regulates the maiden’s conduct.” At that period of life when the passions first agitate the breast, Abdel Kader was, in an especial manner, the object of his father’s solicitude. Faithful and trustworthy servants accompanied him wherever he went. He was never allowed to be alone. Temptations were thus avoided which might have endangered the purity of his morals. At the age of fifteen he married his cousin, Leila Heira, who was alike remarkable for her beauty and her moral attractions.

The time at length arrived when Mehi-ed-deen, now in his fiftieth year, felt it his duty to perform a pilgrimage to Mecca. Large preparations were made for the solemn event. Many were the entreaties on the part of his sons and retainers to be allowed the boon of sharing the dangers and the honours of the journey. None could endure the thought of being left behind. Mehi-ed-deen, embarrassed by such applications, declared his intention of going alone. The next day an exception was made in favour of Abdel Kader. All, though with mournful hearts, were obliged to submit to the final mandate; and father and son left the ketna, in October, 1823.

The rumour of Mehi-ed-deen’s movement soon spread through the province of Oran. Suddenly, a sympathetic impulse seemed to inspire the Arabs in all directions. All remembered they had a pilgrimage to perform. “To Mecca, to Mecca!” resounded on every side. Parties were made, mules procured, tents prepared.

On his first day’s halt, Mehi-ed-deen saw his place of encampment invaded by hundreds of Arabs claiming the privilege of joining him on his pious errand. On the second day they increased to thousands. On the fourth, a sea of tents surged around him. Gentle remonstrance and stern refusal were equally unavailing. Mehi-ed-deen was their Marabout, their chief, their saint, and doubly blessed would those be who under such auspices should kiss the Holy Shrine. On the sixth evening the vast pilgrimage had assembled on the banks of the Ejdowia, in the valley of the Cheliff.

At dead of night a Turkish horseman rode up at full gallop, and dismounted at the tent of Mehi-ed-deen. He was the bearer of a dispatch from Hussein Bey, the governor of Oran. The missive was hastily opened by Abdel Kader, and found to contain a courteous summons to his father to repair to that seat of government. Before daybreak Mehi-ed-deen had finished his arrangements for a return to Oran, in obedience to his chief’s commands.

Great was the consternation which seized the Arabs when the news of this unexpected summons got abroad; not only were all their hopes damped and frustrated, but their liveliest fears were awakened for their beloved leader. Numbers thronged around him. Some clung to his person, others seized his horse; others again flung themselves despairingly across the horse’s path—all entreating and imploring him not to heed the message. To all these ardent demonstrations of attachment Mehi-ed-deen, with that sense of loyalty which never forsook him, calmly replied, “My children, it is my duty to obey, and I go, though it cost me my head.”

Having thus spoken, and bidden the friends around him farewell, he took his course with Abdel Kader to the spot to which he was summoned.

The reception given them by Hussein Bey was apparently frank and cordial. Addressing himself to Mehi-ed-deen, he said, “You know, my friend, how high you stand in my favour and esteem. Deeply has it grieved me to hear the malicious reports which have been spread about you. Your enemies are numerous. I dreaded lest you should fall into the hands of the Dey of Algiers, whose territory you have just entered in a way which, I know, has excited his suspicions. I sent for you, to save you from impending danger. My heart was filled with anxiety on your account.”

“And it was to save you anxiety,” mildly and sarcastically replied Mehi-ed-deen, “that I obeyed your summons.”

There is no doubt, in fact, that Hussein Bey was himself actuated by those very feelings of jealousy and suspicion which he had described as peculiar to his colleague at Algiers. The strange and unusual gathering of the Arabs around Mehi-ed-deen had alarmed him. He knew and hated the great Marabout’s popularity. He dreaded lest it might one day raise him into the position of a rival power. Any overt acts of hostility against the man he feared, he was well aware, were dangerous, if not fruitless. But now he had succeeded, under the garb of friendship, in getting this very man into his power. His subsequent proceedings soon revealed his real intentions. Scarcely had Mehi-ed-deen and Abdel Kader gone to their lodgings ere a Turkish guard was placed over them. Wherever they went they were escorted by soldiers. Soldiers entered with them into the houses of their friends. Soldiers stood by them in the mosque. They were prisoners of state.

This irksome position of things continued with unabated rigour for two years. Mehi-ed-deen never made a remonstrance. Profiting by their forced seclusion, he and Abdel Kader ardently pursued their favourite studies. They awaited with stoic resignation the issue of their tyrant’s caprice. At last Hussein Bey, awakened to the folly of his fears, sent for Mehi-ed-deen and gave him permission to resume his pilgrimage.

Resolving not to return to the ketna, even to bid adieu once more to his family, lest such steps should produce a similar manifestation to that which had previously caused them so much embarrassment, Mehi-ed-deen and Abdel Kader left Oran with the greatest privacy, in November, 1825. Passing through Medea and Constantine, they reached Tunis, where they joined a company of 2,000 pilgrims who were awaiting a favourable occasion to proceed by sea to Alexandria. The whole party shortly afterwards embarked in a vessel bound for that port. But they were overtaken by a violent storm, and were obliged to put back. A more prosperous result attended their next essay; and after beating about for a fortnight they reached their destination.

After stopping a few days at Alexandria, Mehi-ed-deen and Abdel Kader went on to Cairo, and pitched their tents near the town. Here for the first and only time Abdel Kader saw Mohammed Ali. Little did the youthful pilgrim imagine, while gazing on that successful soldier, that he himself was already destined to outrival him, before many more years had past, in military prowess, in administrative ability, and in deeds of wide-world renown.

The usual route to Mecca, by Suez and Djedda, was performed without any incident worthy of notice. Having performed their devotions at the Caaba, Mehi-ed-deen and Abdel Kader separated from their companions and went to Damascus. In that city they remained for some months. They there made the acquaintance of the principal Ulemahs, and spent most of their time in the great mosque, engaged in religious readings.

They now set out on another pilgrimage, scarcely less sacred in their eyes than the one to Mecca,—that to the tomb of the famous Abdel Kader il Djellali, the patron saint of Algeria. They reached Bagdad in thirty days, by the Palmyra route. Belonging as they did to a family well known for the costly presents which many of its members had laid upon the sacred tomb, they received a most hospitable reception from the cadi of the city, Mohammed il Zachariah, who was himself a descendant of the great saint. Mehi-ed-deen contributed a bag full of gold. To doubt the miraculous powers of Abdel Kader il Djellali would have been as great a sin in the eyes of the Marabout as to have doubted the apostolic mission.

His father Mustapha had thrice performed the pilgrimage to Bagdad, and had at each time been favoured with peculiar manifestations. Once when returning, and while yet eight days from Damascus, he got separated from the caravan and lost his way. Bewildered and benighted, he found himself alone in the desert. Suddenly a negro appeared by his side, and offered to conduct him to the city. At break of day he saw the minarets. The muezzin’s call to prayer struck upon his ears. In a few hours, time and space had been annihilated.

At another time, when at Cairo, he was desirous of buying a book, but he had no money for the purchase. A stranger all at once advanced towards him, placed some coins in his hand, and disappeared. Such, according to the belief of Mehi-ed-deen, were the rewards of a firm and unshaken faith in Abdel Kader il Djellali.

This Moslem saint flourished in the twelfth century. There are cenotaphs to his memory all over the East. In Algeria the operations of the physical world are believed to be under his control. No journey is ever undertaken without prayers for his protection; none are terminated without a festival in his honour. The Arabs attribute the success and good fortune of Abdel Kader to the patronage of his mighty namesake. But whenever Abdel Kader was questioned as to his own belief in such a superstition, he invariably replied, with finger pointed up to heaven, “My trust was in God alone.”

Many stories have been circulated about mysterious indications given to Abdel Kader, while at Bagdad, of his future greatness. They are all without foundation. It is true Mehi-ed-deen had a dream. An angelic being appeared to him, and putting a key into his hand, told him to hasten back to Oran. On demanding what he was to do with the key, the spirit replied to him, “God will direct you.” The dream made an impression at the time on the two pilgrims, for it was noted down, and long remembered; but it only excited curiosity, without fostering delusion.

After spending three months at Bagdad, father and son returned to Mecca. Their funds were exhausted. For the remainder of their journey, they depended on the resources of their fellow-travellers, pilgrims like themselves, who were going back to Algeria. They took the land route the entire way, and reached home early in 1828, after an absence of more than two years.

Great were the rejoicings which celebrated their safe arrival at the ketna. The first and most prominent in the round of festivities was a great banquet in honour of Abdel Kader il Djellali. Fifteen oxen and eighty sheep were sacrificed. Guests of every rank and class hourly arrived from all parts, spontaneously and uninvited. Some were superbly mounted and splendidly attired, followed by trains of slaves and domestics; others of the middle classes came riding on mules and donkeys, whilst hundreds of the lower orders kept pouring in, eagerly anticipating the princely fare of their revered Marabout.

Mehi-ed-deen, whose hospitality was proverbial, would hear of no limits to this costly profusion; and thus week after week rolled on, and still fresh guests were perpetually arriving to swell the general tide of festivity. Nor was it till nearly all the Arabs of the province of Oran, and numerous deputations from the tribes of the Sahara, had paid their tribute of homage and congratulation to the respected chief of the Hashem, that the Wady Hammam resumed its wonted aspect of quiet and repose.

Abdel Kader was now once more a peaceful dweller at the paternal ketna. He made a vow of religious seclusion. No visions of human greatness rose before him. No worldly aspirations agitated his breast. He scorned the allurements of ambition. His whole time was given up to close and unremitting study. No cloistered monk ever shunned more carefully all contact with his fellow-men. From sunrise to sunset he rarely left his room. His only interruptions were his meals and the sacred intervals of prayer.

The works of Plato, Pythagoras, Aristotle, treatises by the most famous authors of the Arabian Caliphates, on ancient and modern history, philosophy, philology, astronomy, geography, and even works on medicine, were eagerly perused by the enthusiastic student. His library accumulated. The master-spirits were around him. He would not have exchanged his communion with them for all the thrones in the universe. But a change was about to come.

The mysterious power which regulates the human will, and makes every mortal career subservient to its all-wise, all-comprehensive and resistless fiat, was exercising its invisible influence. Abdel Kader had renounced the world. He was ere long to appear one of its foremost actors. He hated battle—yet was he soon to shine mightiest in the battle’s front.

1830-1832.

The taking of Algiers by the French in 1830 did not at first inspire the Arabs with any unusual feelings of dread or anxiety. The Franks had often descended on their coasts, and even occupied some of their maritime towns. The standards of Spain and England had waved triumphantly on the ramparts of Oran and Tangiers. Bona and Algiers had been compelled at different times to yield a sullen deference to the requirements of European civilisation; but the military occupation and the political pressure had alike ceased. Thus the Arabs had never as yet seen any reason to regard a hostile incursion on their soil, by the Franks, as pregnant with danger to their national existence.

The proceedings of the French, however, in Algeria, soon convinced them that the presence of these invaders was no ordinary visitation. General Bourmont, indeed, from the outset, declared in a public proclamation, that France took possession, not only of the town of Algiers, but of the whole Regency. This announcement, closely followed as it was by the exile of the Dey, the removal of every trace and vestige of Turkish power, the deportation of the Turkish population, the issuing of laws and ordinances in the name of the King of the French, the enlarging and beautifying of the town of Algiers, the seizure of all the towns along the coast, and the advances of military reconnaissance towards the Atlas, revealed designs which neither the Arabs of the actual generation, nor their ancestors, had ever been called upon to counteract.

Before the French began to move beyond the walls of Algiers, the disposition of the Arabs towards them had been apparently friendly. Provisions had been brought in abundantly. Some of their chiefs had made overtures of submission. The Bey of Tittery had even accepted French investiture. So promising, indeed, was the aspect of affairs, that the French fancied they were about to be hailed as deliverers, and considered that the Arabs, overjoyed at being emancipated from the hated Turkish yoke, would thankfully accept French domination. The first movement of the French into the interior rapidly dispelled this pleasing illusion.

An expedition, commanded by the French general in person, to Blidah, a town situated at the foot of the Lower Atlas (July 24th, 1830), at once revealed the rising feeling of the Arabs. Lulled into security by the apparent heartiness of their reception among the inhabitants of Blidah, the leading men of which town came out to meet them, the French threw off their knapsacks, and wandered joyously amidst its delicious gardens. Suddenly, bands of Arabs and Kabyles rushed down upon them from the mountains above, and with wild cries commenced a vigorous attack. The French rapidly collected, bravely held their ground, and the next day retreated in good order to Algiers.

The Arabs took this temporary advantage as an earnest of future successes. From that moment, the spirit of defiance and resistance assumed a decided form. The Marabouts, leading and directing the national mind, proclaimed the Djehad, or Holy War. The Bey of Tittery, anxious to atone for his recent defection, wrote to Bourmont, fixing the day when at the head of 20,000 men, he would drive him and his Frenchmen into the sea.

On the other hand, French garrisons were quietly being stationed in all the seaport towns. At Oran, Hussein Bey became anxious to be delivered from a position which had become dangerous to his person. He was closely blockaded by the Arabs, burning to revenge themselves on his tyranny. His Turkish militia was utterly powerless for his defence. The Arabs in Turkish employ, the Maghzen, as they were called, were flying before the tribes so long oppressed, who now considered that their hour of retaliation was come.

In this dilemma, Hussein, unwilling to fly, and yet unable to hold his post, determined on adopting a course which, though humiliating to his pride, was dictated by the sternest necessity. He sent for Mehi-ed-deen, and craved his protection. Mehi-ed-deen, astonished at such an application, and fearing to compromise himself with his own countrymen by a hasty consent, asked leave to return home to consult the Hashems.

On his arrival at the ketna, he assembled a family council, and called on each member to give his opinion on the subject. The prevailing opinion was to the effect that it would be ungenerous to refuse the Bey’s request. It was true, as was on every hand admitted, that the injuries done by him to their beloved chief had been wanton and malicious; but it was urged, that it would be a stain upon Arab character to refuse an asylum to the fallen.

Abdel Kader spoke. He begged the indulgence of his relatives, and particularly of his father, if he ventured to differ from them. In the state of anarchy which now existed in the province of Oran, he argued, it was by no means certain that they could protect the Bey from the effects of the universal feelings of hatred and indignation which prevailed against him. Whatever steps they might take, the Bey would still run the risk of being insulted, assaulted, perhaps murdered. Who could avert an outburst of popular fury, or be answerable for its consequences? In such an event, how great would be the disgrace of those who had given him a safe-conduct, and had been unable to make it respected!

“Another and equally important reason,” pursued Abdel Kader, “militates against the reception of the Bey in our ketna. An asylum given by our family to that detested representative of Turkish tyranny, would be looked upon by the Arabs as a kind of tacit forgetfulness of all his past conduct. Consequently we should make to ourselves enemies of all the tribes to whom the Bey is obnoxious; in other words, of all the Arabs of Oran.”

Mehi-ed-deen at once declared himself a convert to his son’s reasoning; and in this step he was shortly followed by every member of the council. A messenger was sent to inform the Bey that his request could not be granted, as Mehi-ed-deen would not become responsible for his safety. On the 4th of January, 1831, General Damremont entered the port of Oran. The Bey at once surrendered, and he was allowed to embark for Alexandria.

The disorder and anarchy which had already broken out in the interior was now constantly on the increase. The Mohammedans of the sea-coast towns, who had fled from the French, were roaming about the country with their families in terror and despair. The Arabs waylaid them, and robbed them without mercy. Mehi-ed-deen, who had hitherto been a passive observer of events, felt that the time had now arrived for action. By his orders Abdel Kader and his brothers, with effective escorts, scoured the plains in all directions, protecting the unfortunate fugitives, rescuing many from the hands of the marauders, and conducting all to places of safety.

But whatever good Mehi-ed-deen effected by this humane and timely interposition, it was evident that a far more potent arm than his was requisite to establish anything like a semblance of order and government. Not only on the plains, but in the towns, strife and contention were raging unchecked. Party feuds, which had been long suspended, broke out afresh with redoubled acrimony. The Arabs were everywhere giving the reins to their innate propensities for unbridled licence and lawlessness.

Long and anxious were the consultations held by the Marabouts on this frightful state of affairs. At length, with one accord, they determined to go to Mehi-ed-deen for counsel. Mehi-ed-deen thus appealed to, addressed the applicants for his advice in the following terms:—

“For many months, as you all know, I have been trying to preserve some degree of order amidst the general confusion which prevails; but my utmost endeavours have only been able to rescue a few of the weak and unprotected from the brutality of violent men.

“The tyranny of the Turks cramped and crushed our energies; but the present state of things, if allowed to continue, will destroy them utterly. The bonds of society are dissolved. Every man’s hand is raised against his neighbour. Our people, given up to their vile passions, are daily outraging the laws of God and man. At the same time, the evils which menace us from without are not less formidable than those which consume us from within. Shall we call in the French? Impossible. To submit to them, much more to invite them, would be to betray our duty to our God, our country, and our faith.

“Yet the French are a warlike nation, strong in numbers, abounding in riches, and burning with a love of conquest. And what have we to oppose to them? Tribes at variance with each other; designing and rapacious chiefs striving for personal aggrandisement; a commonalty which has thrown off all restraint, some enriching themselves by plunder, others precariously holding their own. The parties are too unequal. With such materials, to imagine even a successful struggle with the infidel would be folly, to attempt it, madness.

“No. The French king, powerful as he is, can only be effectually opposed by a king like himself at the head of a well-regulated state, disposing of a well-filled treasury, commanding a disciplined army. Nor need we go far to find such a one. The Sultan of Morocco already sympathises with us. He must know full well that the external danger which threatens us may ultimately menace him. His presence amongst us will at once encourage and embolden the good, and awe the wicked. Order will be enforced. Fighting under him, we shall march to assured victory; for his standards are the standards of God and the Prophet.”

A few days afterwards, an embassy, comprising ten of the most influential Marabouts and Sheiks, with an escort of fifty horsemen, and mules laden with presents, took its departure for Fez. Sultan Abderahman received the embassy with every appearance of cordiality, and promised to consider its demands. Six months elapsed without any reply. At last the Arab chiefs were sent for. Movements in the palace, and the assemblage of the troops, showed that the petition of the Arabs of Algeria had been granted. In six weeks, the Sultan’s son Ali, at the head of 5,000 cavalry and two parks of artillery, established his headquarters at Tlemsen, in the province of Oran.

Mehi-ed-deen and Abdel Kader, with all the chiefs of the Hashem, chiefs from the Beni Mejaher, the Beni Amer, and other tribes, hastened to pay their homage to the son and representative of their new Sultan. His authority was speedily recognised in all parts of the regency. The khotba, or public prayer for the Mohammedan Sultan, was pronounced in all the mosques for the Sultan of Morocco. Everything conspired to confirm the belief that Algeria had peaceably passed under the Moorish sceptre. But the French Government, seasonably apprised of these newly-formed relations between the Arabs and the Sultan Abderahman, at once sent the latter an ultimatum of immediate withdrawal from Algeria, or war.

Abderahman, compelled to choose one or other of these alternatives, and being totally unprepared to commence hostilities, immediately sent orders to his son to return. In a few days, although the Moors had been warmly welcomed, even in the provinces of Tittery and Constantine, not one was to be seen in the whole country. The Marabouts and chiefs now resolved to offer the dignity of Sultan to Mehi-ed-deen, and went in a body for that purpose to the ketna. He modestly declined the offer; but at the same time he recommended a second appeal to Morocco.

Another embassy was accordingly sent to Fez, to implore the Moorish Sultan to lend his name, at least, if he could not give material aid and assistance, to the movement which was being made in his favour. Unable to act overtly, yet hoping to profit by events, Abderahman so far complied with their request, that he sent a confidential agent to Mascara. This clandestine proceeding, however, produced no effect. The Arabs scorned a power which dared not openly display itself; and in a short time the Moorish agent was withdrawn.

Again all eyes were turned to Mehi-ed-deen. Again the Arabs entreated him to be their Sultan. “No,” he replied. “I am not adequate to perform the duties of such a post; but what religion imposes upon me, that will I do. I will go with you to the Djehad.” The Arabs had for some time been making approaches to Oran, now strongly occupied by the French. Abdel Kader had taken the field, and his father served under him.

The Arabs had recently been attacking Fort Philip, a strong citadel to the south of the town. Abdel Kader had both proposed and superintended the operation. Conspicuous in a scarlet burnous, he led on a mixed body of cavalry and infantry to the very walls of the fort. Ordering the latter to descend into the ditch and keep up a constant fire on the ramparts, he placed the former in such a position as to be ready to resist any sortie which might be made from the place. The fire of shot and shell which the French opened on the Arabs was such as might have staggered the best disciplined troops. But Abdel Kader, careering to and fro, and cheering his comrades by his voice and gestures, kept them together, and taught them to despise the tremendous missiles which were so wont to fill them with terror and amazement.

Word was sent him that the Arabs he had placed in the ditch had expended their ammunition, and that no one would expose himself to supply them. “Cowards!” he exclaimed, “give me the cartridges.” Wrapping them up in the folds of his burnous, he dashed singly across the plain, rode up to the fort, threw them into the ditch, and urging his men to be firm and go on with their work, returned, to the surprise of all, without being touched.

On this and many similar occasions of peril and enterprise, in which he fleshed his maiden sword, Abdel Kader’s courage and bravery drew forth not only praises, but rapturous admiration. The Arabs began to look with superstitious reverence on one, who as with a charmed life, rode fearlessly and harmlessly wherever danger menaced; now breaking through the line of the enemy’s skirmishers; now charging up to a square, and sweeping the bayonets with his sabre; now standing unmoved and pointing contemptuously at the cannon balls as they whizzed by his head, or at the shells as they exploded at his feet.

Nevertheless, however confident the Arabs might feel in their young chief, however they might acknowledge that in him a master-spirit had arisen to conduct them in their struggle against the infidels, they felt that this desultory mode of attack was not war. They saw full well that without a responsible head to organise, to raise revenues by regular imposts, to husband resources, and to form and carry out a clearly defined plan of campaign, all their efforts would be abortive, all their sacrifices useless. At a grand meeting held at Mascara, these topics were earnestly discussed.

Mehi-ed-deen, who was enjoying a short repose at the ketna, was invited to attend. Scarcely had he arrived and dismounted, when an excited throng surrounded him. A tumult of voices was raised. On all sides he was thus apostrophised,—“How long, O Mehi-ed-deen, are we to be left without a leader? How long will you remain a callous spectator of our distractions; you, whose name alone would suffice to rally all hearts, to encourage the desponding, to curb the malignant, to give strength and cohesion to the common cause? Already many of our bravest have fallen off in weariness and disgust. Who, they say, is to repair our losses, to replace our horses killed, our arms broken and useless? You, O Mehi-ed-deen, are answerable for all this.” Then, placing their swords at his breast, the chiefs exclaimed:—“Choose between being our Sultan or instant death.”

Mehi-ed-deen, violently agitated, but still preserving his presence of mind, demanded to be heard. “You all know,” he said, “that I am a man of peace, devoting myself to the worship of God. The task of ruling involves the use of brute force and the shedding of blood. But since you insist on my being your Sultan, I consent; and abdicate in favour of my son, Abdel Kader.”

This sudden and unexpected solution of the question was received with loud acclamations of approval. The name of Abdel Kader was repeated with enthusiasm. The character, the personal appearance, the manly bearing, the tried gallantry of the favourite son of Mehi-ed-deen, became the general topic of discourse. A horseman was forthwith despatched to bring him from the ketna.

Early on the next morning, November 21st, 1832, Abdel Kader entered Mascara. All the streets and avenues leading to the town were thronged. Men, women, and children vied with each other in joyful demonstrations of welcome to their future Sultan. Ushered into the large court where the council was assembled, Abdel Kader was informed of all that had passed. Calm, self-collected, and unelated, he simply said, “It is my duty to obey the commands of my father.” A burst of applause followed this simple avowal of filial obedience and patriotic devotion.

Placed in an antique chair of state, which had formerly belonged to some Spanish grandee, and which had been dragged forth from its musty recess for the occasion, the young Sultan, of twenty-five years of age, received the allegiance of the nobles and chiefs congregated around him. Loud shouts of “Long life and victory to our Sultan, Abdel Kader!” burst from the whole assembly. They were caught up and reiterated by the people from without, and thus heralded the inauguration of an Arabian Caliphate.

In the afternoon Abdel Kader went to the Mosque, which was already crowded to suffocation. After performing his devotions, he stood up. A Koran was put into his hands. He read and expounded. By degrees his countenance became more animated, his voice more resonant, his manner more impressive, and his action more emphatic, as, leaving the language of disquisition, he passed to more noble and exalted themes.

Not for minutes, but for hours, and until the sun had sunk below the horizon, did the soldier orator pour forth one continued stream of burning and impassioned eloquence. He expatiated, in heart-rending tones, on the sins, the iniquities, the crimes, the horrors which polluted the land. In vivid terms he depicted Heaven’s judgments overtaking a godless and vice-abandoned people; and now, again, he conjured up before the minds of his audience, in characters of flame, the appalling picture of their country ravaged by the infidel, their domestic hearths violated, their temples desecrated.

The sensation of wonder and astonishment which had at first filled the breasts of his hearers, now rapidly changed into conscience-stricken feelings of shame, contrition, and remorse. But when, with outstretched arm and lightning glance, he called on his countrymen, in words which glowed with the fire of inspiration, to stand boldly forward in the sacred cause of God and the Prophet, to rally round the standard of the “Djehad,” and to emulate the glorious martyrs of the true faith; and then painted in vivid colours the liberated spirits of the slain entering the blissful mansions, they sprang to their feet, they shook their spears, they clashed their swords, they wept aloud, and with frantic cries yelled out, “Il Djehad! Il Djehad!”

Exulting in his prowess, again and again did the consummate artist strike the chord, whose vibrations had thrilled every heart and enkindled every soul, and, as the frenzied voices rose louder and louder around him, his voice yet surged above them all. Gathering fresh impulse from the responsive acclamations of his hearers, he swayed to and fro. He smote his breast. Big drops of sweat suffused his brow. His eyes glistened and flashed. He flung his hands aloft, as though appealing to celestial witnesses. At last, so crushing and overpowering became his excitement, that Reason might have succumbed, had not Nature, by a copious flood of tears, relieved the fearful tension.

The next day (November 22nd, 1832) Abdel Kader proceeded in state to the valley of Ersibia, ten minutes’ distance from Mascara. Ten thousand Arab cavalry were there in waiting to receive and welcome their newly-elected sovereign. They were arranged, according to their tribes, in one continuous crescent, around a splendid tent, which had been erected in the centre of the plain. The entire population of Mascara occupied the intervening ground.

Just as the sun’s slanting rays peered over the heights of Djebel Nusmut, lighting up this scene as if by magic brightness, the shrill cries of the women, the shouts of the men, and incessant crashes of musketry, announced the approach of the royal cavalcade. First came a chosen band, escorting the standard of the Djehad. Then followed the chiefs of the Beni Amer, the Beni Mejaher, the Beni Yacoub, the Beni Abbas, on their high-mettled steeds, with their brilliant equipments, and well-burnished arms. Now appeared Abdel Kader—a plain, unornamented, red burnous flung over his shoulders, riding his favourite black charger. The chiefs of the Beni Hashem, his own tribe, brought up the rear of the splendid cortège.

Passing on, as quickly as the crowd would permit—for some thronged round to kiss his hand, some the hem of his burnous, others even his horse’s feet—Abdel Kader reached the tent and dismounted. For some minutes he was lost to view. At length Mehi-ed-deen came forth, leading him by the hand, in order to present him to the people. “Behold the Sultan announced by prophecy!” he exclaimed. “Behold the son of Zohra! Obey him as you would have obeyed me. God protect the Sultan!” “Our lives, our properties, all that we have, are his!” shouted the people. “We will obey no law but that of our Sultan Abdel Kader.”

“I, in my turn,” replied Abdel Kader, “will know no law but the Koran. By the precepts of the Koran, and the Koran alone, will I be guided. If my own brother forfeits his life by the Koran, he shall die.”

Amidst the acclamations which saluted this short but pregnant speech, Abdel Kader vaulted into his saddle, and, followed by all his chiefs, swept at full speed along the Arab lines. At intervals he reined up, briefly ejaculating, “Il Djehad! Il Djehad! Liberty and independence are only in the Djehad. Paradise is in the shade of sabres. Rally round the standard of the Djehad!”

The banners waved, the drums and trumpets sent forth their martial sounds, and the mighty mass, breaking ground, circled round their Sultan in successive squadrons, and then escorted him back to Mascara. After snatching a hasty meal, Abdel Kader shut himself up in a small room, and, summoning his secretaries, dictated the following proclamation:—

1833.

The appeal thus made by Abdel Kader was variously entertained by the different tribes to which it was addressed. The religious party was inclined to give its strenuous support to one who summoned them to fight for the faith. The men of worldly views and individual ambition looked with jealousy on such an assumption of sovereignty. Chiefs, who even under the Turkish rule had struggled to maintain an independent existence, felt little disposed to accept the mandates of a compeer, whose claims to an extended sway were in their eyes no better than their own.

Even in the province of Oran, the imposing circumstances under which Abdel Kader had been installed, had excited party feelings rather than disarmed them. Sidi-il-Aribi, a powerful chieftain, whose influence was supreme over the tribe of the Flittas, in the valley of the Cheliff, spoke of the new power with undisguised contempt. El Ghomari, chief of the Beni Engad, held sternly aloof. Noona, who affected to hold Tlemsen for the Sultan of Morocco, felt it beneath him to give his adhesion. Mustapha-ibn-Ismail, an old and experienced warrior, grown grey in the Turkish service as leader of the Maghzen, scornfully disdained to kiss the hands, as he expressed it, of a beardless boy.

As a contrast to these selfish views and circumscribed ambitions, Abdel Kader presented to his countrymen the one simple and majestic idea of an Arab nationality. Little as it might be at first comprehended and appreciated by a race accustomed for centuries to bow their necks to a foreign yoke, and in whom all principles of patriotism had long been extinguished, he trusted that amongst the hundreds of tribes which occupied Algeria there would be some, at least, in whom it would awake a responsive echo.

On the other hand, though not a fanatic himself, Abdel Kader well knew the latent fires of fanaticism which slumber in every Moslem breast. What love of country would not effect, zeal for religion might surely accomplish. He determined, consequently, to make this latter feeling the key-stone to the mighty superstructure his genius alone had dared to imagine. In this unity of design consisted the grandeur of the drama he proposed to exhibit to the civilised world.

He now issued invitations for a general rendezvous of forces at Mascara, in the spring of 1833. Many important tribes from the Tell and the Sahara responded cordially to the summons. Of the Maghzen tribes, who had been so long the instruments of the Turks for the enslavement and oppression of their brethren, some sent evasive, some insulting answers. Anarchy was better suited to their sordid dispositions. They were ready, if occasion presented itself, to offer their mercenary swords to the French.

On the day appointed—May 18th, 1833—an imposing array of 8,000 cavalry and 1,000 infantry assembled on the plains of Ersibia. Abdel Kader’s own standard, a large white flag, with an open hand in the centre, was unfurled before the multitude with great pomp and ceremony. After riding through the ranks, and apostrophising the assemblage in a few short, trenchant sentences, which caused the blood to thrill through their veins, he led them off to take the field in the direction of Oran.

On this expedition he inaugurated that system, so conspicuous alike for its simplicity and its regularity, which he afterwards maintained under all changes and vicissitudes throughout his whole career. His tent was large and commodious, and displayed hangings adorned with red, blue, yellow, and green crescents. A woollen curtain divided it into two compartments. The largest of these was the menzoul, or general reception-room, open to all comers, and in which he heard appeals and administered justice. The smaller he used as his bedroom and library; and here he spent more time in reading than in sleeping.

On alighting at the end of the day’s march, which was generally over by mid-day, he dismissed all his attendants, and retired into the strictest privacy, scrupulously devoting an hour to prayer. He then went into the menzoul, where his principal officers and secretaries were in waiting to receive him. The movements of the enemy and his own plans were now discussed, or orders and dispatches were dictated by himself. On these occasions he frequently supported his commands by appropriate quotations from the Koran. His ordinary military council consisted of four chiefs, a kehié, and his treasurer; but other chiefs were called in, if thought advisable. He listened to the suggestions of all with the greatest patience and urbanity.

At sunset, Abdel Kader stood at the door of his tent, and preached. None were compelled to attend; but none, if possible, absented themselves from these discourses. Thence, as from a central source of light and heat, all daily received that warmth of warlike and religious zeal which glowed within their breasts. For Abdel Kader pre-eminently possessed the art of attracting the love and admiration of his followers; and he wielded with an almost magical power that talisman which is the gift, as it is the sign, of noble and exalted natures.

For some weeks previous to Abdel Kader’s present advance on Oran, the Hashem Gharabas, his family tribe, had been engaged in a series of encounters with the French, under General Boyers. This general had lately been replaced by General Desmichels; and Abdel Kader came up just in time to assist his allies in resisting a vigorous attack made on them by the latter. Dividing his force into two portions, he sent one to fall on the enemy’s left flank, whilst, at the head of the other, he marched directly up to a fort which the French general had erected at a place called Figuier. The defence of this fort was supported by a battalion of infantry, a squadron of Chasseurs d’Afrique, and two pieces of artillery.

On approaching the fort, the Arab infantry wavered. Abdel Kader at once sprang from his horse, and taking the lead on foot, attempted an escalade. Twice repulsed in his endeavours to take the fort, he remounted, and drawing off his men, rejoined his cavalry in the plain. There the French were utterly unable to resist the onset made upon them. Their lines of skirmishers were swept away, their squares broken. The engagement was prolonged till night, when Desmichels retreated under cover of the fire from his artillery. For some days there was a suspension of hostilities.

Abdel Kader, impatient of inaction, proceeded one night with a hundred picked horsemen, and placed himself in ambush in a copse, a short distance from Oran, through which the French were accustomed to send their reliefs of cavalry to the outposts. At the ordinary hour, a squadron of Chasseurs made their appearance. Abdel Kader led on the charge, routed and dispersed them, slaying several, and taking thirty prisoners. One Chasseur made a thrust at him with his spear. The weapon passed under his left arm. He held it firmly between his left arm and side as in a vice, and with a swing of his sabre cut off the Frenchman’s head.

In the mêlée his cousin Achmet was shot down. Abdel Kader was by the side of his wounded relative in a moment. After stanching the blood and binding up his wound, he placed the sufferer before him on his horse, and carried him out of reach of danger. Shortly afterwards, seeing that the French were not disposed again to measure their swords with his, he drew off his whole force, and returned to Mascara.

Abdel Kader had conducted this movement more with the intention of trying his men, and of inspiring them with confidence, than with the hopes of achieving any permanent result. He felt that the jealousies and rivalries which environed him could only be dispersed by the tumult of battle; and that all internal difficulties would vanish before success. His reception at Mascara fully confirmed this impression. Many chiefs who had hitherto withheld their allegiance, were there awaiting him. Hadj-ibn-Isa, a celebrated Marabout, alone brought with him deputations from twenty tribes in the Sahara.

Abdel Kader, deeply impressed with the necessity of absolute union amongst his countrymen, to enable him to complete their common independence, now determined on smiting with the sword all who questioned or attempted to resist his power. Sidi-il-Aribi had been collecting forces, which, as he never hesitated to declare, were to be directed against the aspiring son of Mehi-ed-deen.

Abdel Kader paid him an unexpected visit at the head of 5,000 men, announcing his approach by discharges of musketry and shouts of triumph. His rival was completely taken by surprise; and the defence he attempted was quickly paralysed. Tents were knocked over, prisoners made, flocks carried off. It was only by sending a written engagement of submission, and sending his son as a hostage to his conqueror, that the old chief obtained forgiveness of the past, and security for the future.

On continuing his course through the vast valley of the Cheliff and the adjoining regions, Abdel Kader received the adhesion of several important tribes. He even advanced as far as the Ouarensis, a difficult mountain range, inhabited by fierce Kabyles. These stern republicans, secure in their fastnesses, and indifferent as to the doings of the outer world, were accustomed to scorn all authority. Uncertain as to their attitude, Abdel Kader refrained from pushing his expedition further. At a later period these very tribes obeyed him like children.

Where no great feudal influences prevailed, the authority of Abdel Kader was promptly and even thankfully accepted. The small provincial towns at once opened their gates to him. His occupation of Arzew, situated two leagues from the port of that name, was marked by a circumstance which gave rise to reports reflecting both erroneously and injuriously on his character for humanity.

He had issued the most stringent orders that no communications should be opened with the French. In direct violation of this order, Sidi Achmet-ibn-il-Taher, the Cadi of that town, had supplied the French with cattle and forage, and, what was considered a far graver crime, had even sold them horses. Abdel Kader had often written to him, warning him of the consequences of his conduct, and menacing him with exemplary punishment if he persisted in his proceedings. The Cadi, unable to give up the profit he was making by his transactions, and calculating on French protection, persevered. Abdel Kader one day suddenly dashed into the town. The Cadi was seized, loaded with chains, and conveyed to the prison at Mascara.

Giving strict injunctions that nothing was for the present to be done to the delinquent, he rode off to the Beni Amers on matters which detained him several days. His private intentions were to allow the Cadi to ransom his life (justly forfeited by the law of the Koran) for 5,000 francs. On his return to Mascara he found, to his surprise, that the Cadi had been put to death. Mehi-ed-deen had had him tried. He had been condemned to capital punishment, and the sentence had been carried into immediate execution. His eyes had been put out. The responsibility of this latter act of brutality, which was the spontaneous suggestion of one of the executioners, has been spitefully thrown by some on Abdel Kader.

Fully comprehending that mere successes in the field would not be sufficient to consolidate his dominion, Abdel Kader now sought to place his sovereignty on a more solid basis, by holding places of strength, erecting arsenals, and establishing stores and magazines. With this view he attacked Tlemsen, about seventy miles to the south-west of Oran. This town is situated on an eminence at the foot of steep and lofty mountains. Its walls are remarkable for their thickness and solidity, and it had frequently withstood sieges.