The life of Abdel Kader, ex-sultan of the Arabs of Algeria

1841-1842.

It was the month of March, 1841; the night was cold, dark, and tempestuous. More than a thousand fires glimmered in house, and tent, and bivouac. Men were anxiously discussing the past stages and future prospects of the war. Generals were conning their maps; soldiers were drinking the old accustomed toasts to love and glory; priests were reading their breviaries; the Bishop of Algiers had just finished midnight mass. Suddenly a young woman, holding a little girl by the hand, rushed into his apartment, threw herself at his feet, and in accents of wild despair exclaimed:—“My husband; the father of my child!” Her husband had disappeared in the frightful hurricane of war which had devastated the plain of Algiers. But he was safe; he was with Abdel Kader.

The good bishop had long deplored, though unavailingly, the melancholy fate of French prisoners in the hands of the Arabs. He had often suggested measures for their relief, but French national pride and dignity had hitherto opposed an impassable barrier to his benevolent designs. Now, however, touched and excited by the scene before him, he determined to break the restraints imposed on him, and, confident of finding a response in the breast of the magnanimous chief to whom he was about to appeal, he wrote to Abdel Kader.

“You do not know me,” he said, “but my profession is, to serve God, and in Him to love all men, his children and my brethren. If I was able to mount on horseback I should dread neither the blackness of the night nor the roaring of the tempest. I would present myself at the door of your tent, and would cry out in a voice which, if my idea of you deceives me not, you would be unable to resist, ‘Restore to me my unfortunate brother, fallen into your warlike hands.’ But I cannot come myself.

“Let me then send you one of my followers, and let the letter which he will present to you, and which I have written in haste, supply the place of that verbal appeal which God would have blessed, for it would have proceeded from the bottom of my heart.

“I have neither gold nor silver to offer you. Your only recompense will be the sincere prayers and the deep-felt gratitude of the family on whose behalf I write. ‘Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy.’”

Abdel Kader at once replied in the following terms:—“I have received your letter and comprehended it. It has not surprised me, after all I had heard of your sacred character. Nevertheless, permit me to observe that in the double title you assume of servant of God and friend of men, your brethren, you ought to have demanded from me not merely the liberty of one, but of all the Christians who have been made prisoners of war since the resumption of hostilities.

“Nay more. Would you not be, in a twofold manner, worthy of the mission of which you speak, if, not content with procuring such a boon for two or three hundred Christians, you were to endeavour to extend it to an equal number of Mussulmans who languish in your prisons?”

The celebrated exchange of prisoners at Sidi Khalifa, May 21st, 1841, was the glorious fruits of this touching fusion of two noble hearts.

The bishop had reserved some Arab orphans whose parents had died in French captivity. He expected a protest. To his surprise and astonishment he received a present and a recommendation. “I send you a flock of goats,” wrote the catholic-minded Sultan of the Arabs, “with their young who are still sucking. With these you will be able for some time longer to nourish the little children you have adopted, and who have lost their mothers. Pray excuse this gift, for it is very trifling.”

The generous care, the tender sympathy exhibited by Abdel Kader towards his prisoners is almost unparalleled in the annals of warfare. Christian generals might sit at his feet in this respect and blush for their degeneracy. No doubt the prisoners taken by the Arabs were often exposed to the insults of their barbarous captors, especially when falling amongst tribes exasperated by the sufferings inflicted on them by the French. Effectually, however, though slowly, the spirit inculcated by the Sultan at length gained ground. Barbarism recoiled before it, mercy prevailed, humanity triumphed.

Wherever Abdel Kader was present, indeed, the French in his power were treated more like guests than prisoners. He frequently sent them, in secret, sums of money, varying from five to twenty dollars, out of his privy purse. They were sure to be well clothed and well fed. Abdel Kader even went so far as to desire that their spiritual wants should receive due attention.

It is thus the uncompromising champion of Islamism writes on the subject, in words that deserve to be printed in letters of gold, to the Bishop of Algiers:—“Send a priest to my camp. He shall want for nothing. I will take care he shall be honoured and respected as becomes his double character of a man of God, and your representative.

“He shall pray with the prisoners daily, he shall console them, and he shall correspond with their families. He may thus be the means of procuring them money, clothes, books, in a word, everything they may desire or want, to soften the rigours of their captivity. Only, on his arriving here, he must solemnly promise, once for all, never to allude in his letters to my encampments or military movements.”

The very sight of a prisoner seemed to touch a chord within the breast of Abdel Kader, which called forth all the more lofty sentiments and magnanimous feelings ennobling to human nature. His heart, so stern and dauntless when confronted with danger, expanded and softened with all a woman’s tenderness before the captive’s dark and dreary fate, like flowers which only exhale their fragrance to the shades of night.

“Sultan,” said two French prisoners who were brought before him, “we wish to become Mussulmans; we are ready to make profession of your religion.”

“If you do so in good faith,” replied Abdel Kader, “well and good. But if you are needlessly alarmed at your present situation, you will do wrong. Though you are, and remain Christians, not a hair of your heads shall be touched. Consider rather what will happen to you should you return to your countrymen after having renounced your faith. Would you not be treated as the most criminal of deserters? How can you hope to benefit by the occasion should an exchange of prisoners take place?”

A French prisoner, kindling with indignation at the bare mention of apostacy, exclaimed, in presence of Abdel Kader, “As for me, I will never renounce my religion. You may cut off my head, but make me a renegade, never!”

“Be perfectly easy, your life is sacred with me,” was the reply of Abdel Kader. “I like to hear such language. You are a brave and loyal man, and merit my esteem. I honour courage in religion more than courage in war.”

A celebrated Moroccan chief asked to see the French prisoners. Having remarked a trumpeter, he asked him to play a tune. The trumpeter sounded the charge. “What does that mean?” said the chief. “Tell the Sultan,” said the trumpeter, “that when he hears that sound, the sooner he gives his horse the reins and gallops off, the better.” The chief, feeling himself insulted, demanded that the offender should have the bastinado. “No, no,” said Abdel Kader, “we must be generous and forbearing to our prisoners.”

Abdel Kader’s repugnance to see female prisoners was extreme. The thought that women should become victims of war was a source of constant anxiety to him. One day, the cavalry of one of his Khalifas brought him in four young women, as a brilliant capture. He turned away in disgust. “Lions,” he said, sarcastically, “attack strong animals; jackals fall upon the weak.”

Once he and his followers were reduced to the greatest straits. Subsistence could hardly be procured. In this extremity, he bethought him of ninety-four French prisoners lying in his camp in the greatest misery. He released them all without ransom or exchange. He even had them escorted to the advanced posts, where they were delivered over to their comrades, astounded by such an act of generosity.

Numberless acts of magnanimity, known only to the French superior officers whom he encountered, or with whom he corresponded, testified to the elevation of his soul. One general officer has since said, “We were obliged to conceal these things as much as we could from our soldiers; for if they suspected them, we should never have got them to fight with the due ardour against Abdel Kader.”

Some French artisans had, by permission of the Governor-General, entered into a contract with Abdel Kader to execute certain works in four of the towns he was rebuilding. They were to receive 3,000 francs each. The war broke out before their contract was completed; nearly half of their work had yet to be completed. They petitioned for leave to return.

Not only did Abdel Kader at once consent, but he gave them a safe-conduct and an escort through tribes who were all in arms, and crying out for French blood. At the frontier the entire sum which had been agreed upon was counted down to the French artisans, who were thus paid by the Sultan for works which they had actually not finished.

Converted, animated, inspired by such an example, the Sultan’s chiefs and delegates, throughout the provinces and districts under their control, for the most part engaged willingly and cordially in acts of sympathy, kindness, and hospitality to their fallen foes. Such were Ibn Salem and Ben Hamedi; such a one, also, was Sidi Embarak, that brilliant reflex of his master’s mind, whose prisoners, when released, subscribed to present him with pistols of honour.

But, in all those tender offices which soothe and assuage the unutterable sufferings of the estranged and forlorn, none exceeded the Sultan’s mother, the mild, the gentle Leila Zohra. She assumed, as by inherent right, the guardianship of all the female prisoners. The care and solicitude she lavished on them was as extraordinary as it was exemplary. They occupied a tent close to hers. Two of her negro slaves guarded the entrances. No one was allowed to approach them without an order. Every morning they received from her own hands presents of oil, butter, meat, and other articles, for their repast. Did sickness overtake any of them, she would bring them, with maternal anxiety, tea, sugar, coffee—anything she thought would contribute to their ease and comfort.

One day, a batch of French prisoners was brought in and placed temporarily near her tent. She came out to see them. “What have you come to do in our country?” she observed, looking on them with compassion; “it was calm and prosperous, and you have covered it with the desolation of war. No doubt, it is the will of God which is being accomplished; but that God is all-powerful, His designs are impenetrable. Perhaps, one of these days, in the hour of reconciliation, we may restore you to your homes and families.” Such words of hope, which thrilled through the breasts, and cheered the wounded spirits of the unhappy prisoners, and seemed to them like distant gleams of future freedom already beaming on their captivity, revealed, in one glorious trait, the mother of Abdel Kader.

By his humanity, Abdel Kader had done much more than only inaugurate a new era in the treatment of prisoners amongst the Arabs; it was due to him that soldiers had ever been spared on the field to be taken prisoners at all. The very word “prisoner” had been hitherto unknown amongst their savage tribes. To show no quarter, to massacre all who came in their way and fell into their hands, to count their vanquished enemies by the number of bloody heads dangling on their horses’ flanks, and to receive prizes for them, had been their custom, until custom had almost grown into an instinct.

Who was the first to abolish such atrocious practices? Who prohibited, with all the severity which circumstances would allow, the custom of adding to the heads of those who had been slain in open fight, the heads of prisoners taken alive, wounded or not? Who, in place of the sum of money heretofore given for each of these sanguinary trophies, gave double and triple the sum for every prisoner brought in safe and sound?—Again and again, let Christendom and the whole civilised world be told, that it was Abdel Kader.

Nor was it without the risk of a general insurrection that Abdel Kader insisted and persevered in the new course he had marked out. Undeterred, however, by threats, unshaken by menaces, he went steadily on till he had achieved the moral revolution dictated to him by religion and humanity. One of his soldiers, at the commencement of this reform, insolently demanded of him—

“How much will you give for a prisoner?”

“Eight dollars.”

“And how much for a head cut off?”

“Twenty-five blows on the soles of the feet.”

One day, Abdel Kader desired that five prisoners, already some weeks in custody, should be brought before him. Three were immediately summoned by the Khalifa, to whose charge they had been given. The latter, dreading the Sultan’s queries, turned to the prisoners and said—

“There, take these burnouses, throw them over your shoulders; the Sultan calls for you. If he asks you any questions, mind you say that you have been well treated, and that you have wanted for nothing.”

“Very good; but if we are asked if those burnouses are our own?”

“Say that you have had them a long time.”

“Agreed.”

“Woe to you if you make any complaint. Now follow me to the Sultan.”

After having given these warnings, the Khalifa proceeded with his prisoners to the tent of the Sultan. Abdel Kader was seated in one corner, surrounded by his principal chiefs and Marabouts. The reception of the prisoners was designedly solemn. The Arabs and their Sultan preserved a mysterious silence. The three prisoners advanced, preceded by Hadj Mustapha, the Sultan’s brother-in-law.

“Which of you is the trumpeter?” said the Sultan.

“I am.”

“Take that letter, it is for you.”

As the prisoner read the letter, his cheeks became flushed; tears rushed into his eyes; his limbs trembled with excitement. It was a letter from his General, informing him that the Legion of Honour had been conferred on him, for his bravery in devoting himself for the safety of his colonel, in the affair of Sept. 22nd, 1843.

“Step forward,” said the Sultan.

The trumpeter advanced a few paces.

Abdel Kader, with his own hands, fixed the Cross of the Legion of Honour on his breast.

Then, turning to his brother-in-law, he said:—

“I only see three prisoners. There were five: where are the other two?”

“They are dead.”

“Since when?”

“A long time ago.”

“Did they die of sickness?”

“We shot them.”

“Shot them!” exclaimed the Sultan, looking sternly at his brother-in-law.

“They tried to escape.”

“Is that a reason for killing them? This is wicked, unjust, infamous. If the French were to kill my Arabs who are their prisoners, what would you say?”

“Dogs of Christians.”

“Enough; for shame! I will have no more of these doings. Do you understand me? This shall and must be the last. Give the prisoners thirty francs a-piece, place them in my camp, and mind they are well provided for.”

From this moment, Abdel Kader determined to procure a national edict as regarded the treatment of prisoners; for notwithstanding all his vigilance, isolated instances of barbarity still continued to occur. He convoked a grand council of all the Khalifas, the Agas, the Kaids, and chiefs of tribes. Three hundred assembled. Standing up before them, he took for the text of his oration, an article in the Koran, where Mohammed blames his brother-in-law Ali for having slain five hundred infidels after they had surrendered.

Applying this passage to the case of French soldiers taken prisoners, Abdel Kader vehemently insisted that they should no more be wantonly killed or mutilated. After eloquently showing, to the conviction of his audience, the inhumanity, the disgrace, the inutility of such actions, he demanded a decree to the effect, that every Frenchman, whether taken in action or otherwise, should be looked upon as a prisoner, and be treated with every consideration, until an opportunity presented itself for effecting his exchange.

The proposition of the Sultan received the approval of the majority of the council. The following decree was at once drawn up; and hundreds of copies were made, and forthwith distributed throughout all the towns, villages, and tents, in the Sultan’s dominions:—

“Be it ordained, that every Arab who shall bring in a French soldier, or a Christian, safe and sound, shall receive a reward, amounting to eight dollars for a male, and ten dollars for a female.

“Every Arab who has a Frenchman or a Christian in his possession, is held responsible for his good treatment. He is hereby commanded, on pain of the severest punishment, to conduct his prisoner, without delay, either to the nearest Khalifa, or before the Sultan himself. On doing this, he shall receive the promised reward.

“In the case of any prisoner complaining of the slightest ill-treatment, the Arab, his captor, shall lose all claims for reward.”

Once—and once only—after the publication of this order, it was reported to Abdel Kader that one of his regulars had been taken up with a Frenchman’s head in his hands. Starting with indignation, he instantly wrote to the Khalifa of the district where the case had occurred, commanding him to bring the culprit forthwith to head-quarters. He resolved to make a severe example. His regular regiments, both infantry and cavalry, and the contingents of irregular cavalry, of the tribes nearest by, were all convoked to a grand parade.

On the day, and at the hour fixed, all were under arms. Abdel Kader stood surrounded by his civil and military chiefs. The culprit was led forth; the head was placed before the Sultan.

“Prisoner,” said Abdel Kader, “was the man to whom this head belonged dead or alive, before you cut it off?”

“Dead.”

“Then you shall receive two hundred and fifty blows, for having disobeyed my orders. This punishment shall teach you that, as a dead man can be no man’s enemy, it is cowardly and brutal to mutilate him.”

The soldier was laid down, and received his award. He rose, and thinking his punishment over, was moving off.

“Stay a little,” said the Sultan, “I have another question to ask you. While you were cutting off the man’s head, where was your musket?”

“I had laid it on the ground.”

“Two hundred and fifty blows more, then, for having abandoned your arms on the field.”

After this second punishment, the unhappy regular could hardly stand on his feet. Some men stepped forth to carry him away.

“Not in such a hurry,” said the Sultan, again; “I have another question yet to ask. After you had cut off the man’s head, how did you manage to carry your musket and the head at the same time?”

“I held my musket in one hand, and the head in the other.”

“That is to say, you carried your musket in such a manner that you could not have made use of it. Give him two hundred and fifty blows more.”

Such unbending severity had its due effect. The French had no longer occasion to dread falling alive into the hands of the Arabs. When taken they were regularly and carefully conducted to the station of the nearest Khalifa. On arriving there, they were subjected to a strict but mild examination, and were simply asked to what corps they had belonged, when and how they had been taken, and whether they had been well treated by their captors.

After their declarations had been duly taken down and registered, they were forwarded to certain depôts appointed for the reception of prisoners. The men were generally sent to Taza, or Tekedemt. The women, invariably to the Smala, to be cared for and superintended by the Sultan’s mother.

Not satisfied with ameliorating the condition of his own prisoners of war, Abdel Kader was extremely desirous of pushing the principle of humanity still further, by establishing a regular exchange of prisoners on both sides. Often and earnestly did he plead with the French generals, that the precedent so auspiciously established and carried into effect at Sidi Khalifa, might be extended and confirmed as a system. But he pleaded in vain.

1843.

At this period of his fortunes, Abdel Kader was almost as much engaged in subduing his own subjects and keeping them to their allegiance, as in fighting with the French. The latter, by promises, by bribes, by threats, by measures of the utmost severity, tried to gain over the Arab tribes as allies and auxiliaries. A razzia on the part of the French was sure to be followed by a razzia on the part of the Sultan. Both parties endeavoured to establish their power by terror. But, whilst the one was actuated by the thirst for conquest, the other was influenced by the desire of rescuing his country from its evils, and rendering it eventually great and powerful.

The French had learned to appreciate the importance of the Smala. They saw in it the real nucleus of Abdel Kader’s influence. They ascertained that it was the depository of immense wealth. It now became the chief object of their research. From generals of corps d’armée to colonels of detachments, all displayed an eager and zealous activity to snatch the splendid prize.

In the spring of 1843, Lamoricière opened the campaign by occupying Tekedemt. Abdel Kader, with 1,500 cavalry, watched his further movements from the neighbouring woods of Serisso. He had learned by spies that the general’s object was the Smala. For twenty days he remained in ambush. All communication with him was strictly prohibited, lest his presence should be discovered. He and his men lived on acorns. The horses were fed with leaves. To add to the intenseness of his abnegation, this trial came on them during the period of the fast of Ramadan.

One day the chiefs of Abdel Kader came to him radiant with joy. They had found a stray sheep. The Sultan at least might have a repast. “Take it to my starving soldiers,” said Abdel Kader, and he turned to his meal of acorns. Unconsciously, he was following the example of David, when he looked on the waters from the well of Bethlehem, and said, “Is not this the blood of the men who went in jeopardy of their lives? and he would not drink it;” of Alexander, when he refused the helmet of water—“If I alone drink, my men will be dispirited;” of Sidney, who on the field of Zutphen resigned the cooling draught to his wounded comrade, with the touching remark, “This man’s necessity is greater than mine.”

Twice Lamoricière led forth his troops in search of the Smala, and twice Abdel Kader drove him back. But treason was at work. Sheik Omar ibn Ferrath, of the Beni Aiad, offered to point out the exact spot on which the Smala was encamped. Immediately the plan was laid. From Abdel Kader no obstruction was feared. He was occupied with Lamoricière. The column stationed at Medea was selected for the enterprise. The execution was entrusted to the Duc D’Aumale.

On the 10th of May, 1843, D’Aumale left Boghar with 1,300 infantry, 600 cavalry, and 2 field pieces. Sheik Omar had announced the Smala to be at Gojilat. The French reached that place on the 14th. But the Smala was gone. Its new locality was unknown. The column wandered about weary and uncertain. A fierce simoon sweeping over it reduced the men to utter exhaustion. They halted and piled arms. D’Aumale rode on for some miles in front, merely accompanied by his cavalry.

At break of day on the 16th, the traitor Sheik rode up to say that the Smala was at the spring of Taguin. D’Aumale at once gave orders to march on the point indicated. The Sheik expostulated. To attack the Smala with 600 cavalry appeared to him to be madness. He entreated the Duke either to return to his column or to wait till it came up. “No prince of my race ever receded,” was the gallant reply; and the trumpets sounded the advance.

The Smala was reached. The French cavalry, spreading out like a fan, went dashing through that sea of tents, and quickly scattered a bewildered and panic-striken population of old men, women, and children. The small guard of 500 regulars fired a volley and fled. A handful of the Hashems bravely attempted to stem the torrent, but were swept away. In less than an hour the victory was complete.

The scenes of confusion and despair which were crowded into that brief interval—the frantic efforts at escape, the terror of the flying, the dismay of the abandoned—the careering and plunging of a promiscuous mass of camels, dromedaries, horses, mules, oxen, sheep, tossing about like the waves of a raging sea, have been immortalised by the genius of Horace Vernet. The painter’s art alone could do adequate justice to that unparalleled and almost inconceivable scene of tumult.

The bloodshed had been comparatively trifling. The trophies consisted chiefly of the families of Abdel Kader’s most influential chiefs. His own family had escaped. The booty was immense. It comprised thousands of animals of all kinds, Abdel Kader’s library, consisting of the rarest Arabian manuscripts, richly bound, and valued at £5,000; his military chest, containing millions of francs; the chests of his Khalifas and Kaids, all deposited in the Smala for security, and filled with gold and silver coins, and costly jewellery.

The French soldiers baled out dollars and doubloons in their shakos; they filled their haversacks with pearls and diamonds. In the general disorder, the voice of command was unheeded; and each seized the prize, which a more or less happy chance threw into his hands.

Abdel Kader received the news of the taking of the Smala, in the woods of Serisso. The blow for a moment overwhelmed him. He measured at once the extent of his misfortune, and saw in that severe decree of fate the presage of a dark and calamitous future. Dismissing the messengers who brought him the intelligence, he retired from some hours to his tent, engaged in meditation and prayer.

His chiefs, his officers and men, had, in the meantime, assembled in groups outside. Some were silent and downcast, others gave way to the wildest imprecations. Many had lost their all; their wives and their children had been taken captive—they might be separated for years, perhaps for ever; disordered imaginations filled up this dark shadow of the unknown with exaggerated horrors; the distracted sufferers saw no prospect of relief. One only feeling gave them a shadow of consolation—their Sultan was still amongst them.

Abdel Kader came forth. They crowded to his presence. They watched his looks. Some essayed to address him, but the words faltered on their lips; none ventured to fathom the secret workings of that profound prostration. But the cloud had passed over; a smile played on his countenance. “Praise be to God,” he said; “all those objects which I so highly prized, which were so dear to my heart, and occupied my mind so much, only impeded my movements, and turned me aside from the right way. For the future, I shall be free to fight the infidels.”

Then, speaking of those who had fallen, he added, “Why should we mourn and complain? Are not all those whom we loved and have lost, now blessed in Paradise?” The next day he wrote to his Khalifas:—“The French have made a razzia on my Smala; but let us not be discouraged, we shall henceforth be lighter and better disposed for war.”

Thus, rising superior to events, Abdel Kader stilled the troubled waters which rose around him; from the deepest of his misfortunes he gathered hope and encouragement for the future.

When alluding afterwards to this disastrous period, Abdel Kader thus expressed himself:—“When my Smala was attacked by the Duc D’Aumale, its population could not have comprised less than 60,000 souls. He did not carry off a tenth part; it extended from Taguin as far as Djebel Amour. When an Arab lost sight of his family in it, he was sometimes two days in finding it. Wherever it was encamped, the wells and rivulets were dried up. I had established a police force expressly to prevent the waters from being muddled or wasted by the flocks. In spite of all my precautions, many perished from thirst.

“My Smala contained armourers, saddlers, tailors—every trade, in fact, necessary to its organisation. An immense fair was held in it, which was much frequented by the Arabs of the Tell. As to our grain, corn, and barley, it was either brought to us, or we sent to procure it from the tribes of the north.

“The order of the encampment was perfectly regulated. When I had pitched my tent, every one knew the place he was to occupy. I had around me three or four hundred of my regular infantry, and the irregular cavalry of the Hashems of Eghrees, who were especially devoted to me. It was no easy task to reach me. Not that I took these measures for my own personal security; I felt I was necessary to accomplish the work of God, and trusted in Him to strengthen and protect the arm that carried his standard.

“At the time of the surprise, I was near Tekedemt, observing the division of Oran, which was in the neighbourhood, and from which I thought I had most to dread. I had with me 1,500 or 1,600 cavalry. Ben Kharoub was with the Flittas, Ben Allal in the Ouarensis, Mustapha-ibn-Taamy amongst the Beni Ouragh. But I never thought there was occasion for me to fear so terrible a mischance in the direction of Medea; and none of my Khalifas were watching the movements of the king’s son.

“Despite all that, however, we should not have been surprised if God had not blinded our people. On seeing the Spahis coming on, with their red burnouses, it was thought in the Smala that they were my irregulars returning. The women even raised the usual cries of welcome and rejoicing to their honour. Nor were they undeceived until the first shots were fired. Then ensued a scene of inexpressible confusion, which baffled all the efforts of those who sought to defend themselves.

“If I had been there, we should have fought for our wives and children, and the French would have seen a grand day. But God decreed it otherwise. I only heard of the misfortune three days afterwards; it was too late.”

The smallness of their force prevented the French from taking more than 3,000 prisoners; but amongst them were the families of several of the Sultan’s Khalifas. The rest of the Smala dispersed in all directions. Some fell among Arab tribes, who plundered them. Others were overtaken by Lamoricière.

Foremost in the pursuit was Mutapha-ibn-Ismail, who throughout the war had made himself conspicuous by the malicious zeal with which he had ever aided and directed the movements of the French against the distinguished chief whom a base jealousy urged him to thwart and oppose. But the traitor now met a merited doom. Crossing the district of the Flittas, he was attacked, shot down, and decapitated. His head was taken to the Sultan’s head-quarters. Abdel Kader gazed upon it for some moments with pardonable satisfaction, and then contemptuously ordered it to be thrown to the dogs.

To recover his influence and restore the general confidence by the re-establishment of his Smala, was now to Abdel Kader a matter of vital importance. But all his efforts were vain. The moral effects of its defeat and capture were irremediable. Every day brought Abdel Kader information of the defection of large and influential tribes. Arab contingents now swelled the ranks of his enemies, and marched openly against him.

Yet deeper misfortunes followed. At the very moment when his ablest Khalifas were most needed, a remorseless fate removed them. Their career was cut short by captivity, or terminated by a glorious death. Deprived of these connecting links, his empire lost cohesion. His distant provinces fell an easy prey to the French, who everywhere displayed their triumphant standards. But the lion heart and iron will still bore up, and defied fortune to do its worst.

The province of Oran became the scene of an almost superhuman struggle. Followed by a chosen and devoted band of some 5,000 followers, Abdel Kader made his presence felt at all points; now he fell on recreant tribes; now he made head against the French columns. Ever in the van, leading on the charge, plunging into the thickest of the fight, by his heroic example he encouraged, animated, and inspired his small band. His bravest followers fell around him; his horses were killed under him; his burnous was riddled with bullets; but still he fought on, desperately braving and sustaining the battle’s brunt.

Once he was taken unawares. On the 23rd September, 1843, he was encamped near the Marabouts (or sacred edifices) of Sidi Yoosuf, with a battalion of infantry and 500 irregular horse. A spy betrayed his position to Lamoricière. A distance of six leagues was between them. The general at once led out in person the 2nd Chasseurs d’Afriques. All were elate and confident. The space was rapidly traversed by a night’s march. In the grey of dawn the spot was reached.

Abdel Kader was aroused from sleep by cries of “The French! the French!” He had barely time to mount. He might have escaped, but death in his eyes was preferable to the double stain of surprise and flight. His infantry sprung to their arms, and by his orders advanced and fired a volley. His cavalry rallied at his voice. Then, as the smoke slowly rolled away, he dashed into the French chasseurs, overwhelmed and dispersed them by the suddenness of the shock, and after a few minutes’ hard fighting drew off his whole force in perfect order.

The Beni Amers had gone over to the French—those same Beni Amers whose 4,000 sabres had waved in exultation around the young hero of the Djehad; whose brilliant courage had opened before him the path of glory and of empire. Abdel Kader determined to attack them. Descending suddenly upon them with all his available levies, he swept through their encampments, slew numbers, and carried off a large booty. A French battalion stationed amongst them struggled vainly to arrest his progress. But an Arab chief, one of his old followers, boldly singled him out, rode up to him, and fired at him point blank. The ball missed. Abdel Kader turned round and shot the traitor dead with his pistol.

Notwithstanding the temporary success of these desperate efforts, Abdel Kader well knew that unless some more stable and permanent form were given to his energy and perseverance, all attempts to regain his former ascendancy, and repair the crumbling edifice of his fortunes, would be vain and illusory. Algeria, he now clearly saw, was closed to him, as a battle-field likely to be productive of any solid advantages to his position, notwithstanding his endless raids and triumphant razzias. Without external aid, he felt the game was lost.

The magnificent Smala was now reduced to his own Deira, barely amounting to 1,000 souls, wandering about in miserable uncertainty. By fixing it in a place of security, he would be ready for fresh efforts. While escorting it to a more favourable spot, Lamoricière again crossed his path. A desperate engagement ensued. The women animated the combatants with their voices. Abdel Kader and his followers, fighting in the presence of their wives and children, performed prodigies of valour. Again the Sultan’s formidable antagonist was foiled. The Deira was safely established at Bouka Cheha, on the territory of Morocco.

The political relations between England and France were at this time threatening. Abdel Kader thought the moment propitious. He sent an embassy to the Queen of England. In a letter addressed to her Majesty, he opened to her the prospect of possessions in Algeria. All the sea-coast towns should be ceded to her in full and undivided sovereignty. On the other hand, the Arabs required at her hands the acknowledgment of their national independence. A glorious alliance between the English and the Arabs would present an impassible barrier, he urged, to French aggrandisement in Africa. The letter was placed in the hands of the Prime Minister. An interview with the Queen was sought by his agent, and refused. An answer was promised, but it was never sent.

The embassy was at the same time entrusted with a letter from Abdel Kader to the Turkish Sultan, to be transmitted through the British Foreign Office. In return for succour promptly sent, the Sultan of the Arabs offered to acknowledge the descendant of Othman as his suzerain. The letter was forwarded to its destination, but no results ensued.

Whatever were his expectations from the quarters he thus addressed, Abdel Kader’s main reliance was in the support and co-operation of the Sultan of Morocco. For years, Sultan Abderahman had shown him every mark of unbounded cordiality and esteem, had loaded him with presents, and offered him the sweet incense of flattery and adulation. But there his friendship stopped. Throughout the whole career of Abdel Kader, he had never offered to supply him gratuitously with material aid of any kind; and Abdel Kader had never condescended to demand it.

Now, however, stern necessity and a solemn sense of religious duty compelled him to make the appeal. In the most urgent and pressing terms, he adjured the Moorish Sultan to come forward with the whole strength and resources of his empire in behalf of the common cause. He pointed out the common danger. If all Algeria were to be subdued, where, he asked, could be the security for Morocco? Pretexts would not be wanting for invading the latter, as pretexts had been found for invading the former. The Arab tribes, momentarily dispirited, would revive at the sight of the Moorish armies, and, with re-enkindled enthusiasm, range themselves round the Moorish standards.

Not content with challenging the political and religious sympathies of the Sultan of Morocco, Abdel Kader resolved to win his patron’s adhesion, if not to extort his alliance, by an act of personal devotion. Several of the frontier Morocco tribes had long been in open revolt against their sovereign. He marched against them, subdued them, and sent the leaders of the rebellion in chains to Ouchda, forwarding at the same time a letter from himself to Sultan Abderahman, stating his services.

The reply of the Moorish monarch was complimentary, but reserved. It held out to him no encouragement. Abdel Kader, finding the fruitlessness of his advances in that quarter, now summoned around him a few faithful adherents, and, relying on his own efforts to retrieve his fortunes, disappeared for some months in the Sahara.

The French, relieved of Abdel Kader’s presence, imagined that their work was done. His withdrawal from the scene of action was to them the grateful symbol of his abdication and defeat. Marshal Bugeaud thus congratulated his Government on the glorious result:—“After the campaign of the spring (1843), I might have proclaimed Algeria to be conquered and subdued. I preferred stating less than the truth. But now, after the battle of the 11th of this month, in which the remains of the Emir’s infantry were destroyed, and in which his first and most distinguished Khalifa was killed, I will boldly declare that all serious warfare is finished. Abdel Kader may, indeed, with the handful of cavalry he still has about him, make some isolated coup de main on the frontier, but he can never again attempt anything important.”

1844-1845.

The erection of an Arab kingdom in Algeria had been viewed by the Sultan of Morocco, not only with feelings of religious sympathy and approval, but with a cordial appreciation of its commercial advantages. The government of the young Sultan of the Arabs, based on a strict and undeviating adherence to the principles of the Koran, had largely increased both the trade and the revenues of his empire.

Formerly the rich caravans which plied between Fez and the southern parts of Africa, passed through Algeria as through an enemy’s country. Large guards were necessary to save them from spoliation. They were frequently attacked and plundered, with serious loss of life. They had to run the gauntlet both of Arabs and Turks. If they escaped from the open hostility of the one, they were devoured by the grasping avarice and unblushing extortion of the other. Now they traversed the whole extent of Algeria in perfect safety. In the interior they paid no tolls; at the frontiers they paid no duties. In Abdel Kader’s eyes a custom-house was an anomaly and an abomination. The legal zekka and ashur, and, in case of urgent necessity, the marouna, an extraordinary war-contribution, were all that his conscience allowed him to demand from his subjects. Industry fructified in its natural channels; the reciprocity of exchange was unfettered.

When to all these considerations were added the personal esteem and regard, the admiration little short of idolatry with which the Moorish Sultan reverenced the once triumphant leader of the Djehad, it was fully expected throughout the Moorish population, who secretly longed to be led on, in alliance with the Arabs, against the infidels, that a loud and strenuous appeal to arms would sooner or later have signalised the adhesion of Morocco to the common cause, and imparted fresh strength and vigour to Abdel Kader’s noble, though waning, efforts of constancy and heroism.

But, however sensitive Sultan Abderahman might have been to the instincts of his faith, he was not the less tenacious of the stability of his own throne. The invading element had swept triumphantly over the barriers raised alike by Turkish and Arab desperation. The power which had planted its victorious standards in Algiers and Mascara, might well carry them to Fez. A demonstration in favour of Abdel Kader on the part of Sultan Abderahman, would probably involve them both in a common ruin. Balancing between his personal predilections and his political fears, the Moorish Sultan hoped to save his conscience and his crown, by doing nothing.

Unfortunately for the astuteness of these calculations on the part of the Moorish Sultan, the position of Abdel Kader was of such a nature as to render a hostile collision between France and Morocco inevitable. The sympathies of the Moorish population were gradually burning more and more strongly towards the indomitable hero who had honoured their soil by making it the sanctuary of his accumulated glories, his sanctified misfortunes, and his unflagging hopes. It required but a spark to raise a widely-spreading and inextinguishable conflagration.

Abdel Kader had for some time made the Morocco frontier the basis of his forays into Algeria. He could retire within the Morocco territory without molestation. The French, in order not to be thus baffled, had at last advanced a strong division to that part of the frontier from whence he made his sallies. But the frontier lines were ill defined. There was a portion of the territory which might be considered as debateable ground, and this debateable ground was boldly occupied by the French.

The name of the place on which Lamoricière and Bedeau fixed on for their encampment was Leila Maghnia, so called after the name of a celebrated and highly venerated female saint, whose remains lay deposited in a stately tomb, erected on the spot. Here the French dug entrenchments, hung up their accoutrements, smoked their pipes, and sung songs.

The profanation was too glaring to be overlooked, too monstrous to be endured. A shout of indignation rolled through the Moorish empire. It roused the vacillating monarch from his ignominious repose, and compelled him either to see himself engulphed amidst the tempestuous waves of an irrepressible fanaticism, or at once to send an army to the scene of outrage, for the purpose of asserting the national dignity, and avenging the foul insult offered to the national faith.

On the 22nd May, 1844, El Ghenaoui, commander of the Moorish garrison at Ouchda, summoned the French to evacuate Leila Maghnia. The summons was treated with contempt. On the 30th, some Moorish troops approached the French position, and encouraged by their leader, a fanatic Shereef, allied by birth to the Sultan’s family, gave way to their impetuous zeal. With menacing shouts and gestures they reached the French lines. They fired into the French entrenchments. Lamoricière and Bedeau displayed the French standards and marched against them. Quickly defeated and dispersed, the enemy fell back upon Ouchda.

On the 11th of June, Marshal Bugeaud arrived at the camp. He proposed an interview between himself and El Ghenaoui, and the arrangement was accepted. The interview was fixed for June 11th. Distrust prevailed on either side. Each party came towards the ground with a large body of troops. In presence of both armies, the chiefs advanced towards each other, accompanied by a small escort.

Scarcely had the conference begun when the Moorish cavalry were observed to be breaking ground and closing in upon the scene of parley. With cries of insult and defiance they brandished their sabres and discharged their pistols. Bedeau withdrew with dignity, disdaining to attempt reprisals. The main body of the enemy, mistaking this moderation for weakness, rushed on tumultuously. The French drew up in order of battle, waited a short time for reinforcements, and then, headed by Bugeaud, retorted the challenge. A general engagement ensued. Again the Moors were routed and put to flight.

Bugeaud, astounded at these acts of treachery, determined to take and occupy Ouchda itself. He wrote to El Ghenaoui demanding an explanation. The latter only replied in a spirit of prevarication and evasion. The French general then sent his ultimatum. In this despatch Abdel Kader was declared to be the sole obstacle to a renewal of peace and friendship between France and Morocco. The genius of one man thus held the reciprocal positions of two empires in suspense. “We wish,” wrote General Bugeaud, “to have the same frontier limits which the Turks, and Abdel Kader after them, possessed. We want nothing which belongs to you. But we must insist on your no longer receiving Abdel Kader, granting him aid and support, reviving him when he is nearly dead, and launching him forth afresh upon us. This is not good friendship; it is war; and such war you have been making on us in this manner for two years.

“We desire that you confine to the west of the empire both Abdel Kader’s Deira and his principal chiefs, and that you disperse his regular troops, both infantry and cavalry. We require also that you no longer countenance the emigration of our tribes to your territory, and that you immediately send back those who are already located there.

“We will bind ourselves reciprocally towards you, in the same sense, should the occasion present itself. This is what may justly be called the practical observance of the principle of good friendship between two nations. On these conditions, we will be your friends, we will encourage your commerce, and favour the government of Muley Abderahman as much as lies in our power. If you act otherwise we shall be your enemies. Answer at once and without evasions, for I do not understand them.”

This despatch led to no results. The Moorish army retired into the interior; and Bugeaud occupied Ouchda, although but temporarily. The dispute, thus commenced on the frontier, soon spread into the higher regions of diplomacy. The French Government, in the month of June, 1844, sent a squadron under Prince de Joinville to the coast of Morocco to support its official reclamations. Marshal Bugeaud received instructions to commence offensive operations by land. The bombardment of Tangiers and Mogador, and the battle of Isly, compelled the Moorish Sultan to carry out the views of the conquering power. France claimed no territory, no indemnity, not even the expenses of the war. It merely begged Sultan Abderahman, to deliver it from Abdel Kader. By the 4th article of the treaty of peace which was drawn up, and signed by both parties, it was stipulated, that “Hadj Abdel Kader is placed beyond the pale of the law throughout the entire extent of the empire of Morocco, as well as in Algeria. He will, consequently, be pursued by main force, by the French on the territory of Algeria, and by the Moroccans on their own territory, till he is expelled therefrom, or falls into the power of one or other nation. In the event of Abdel Kader falling into the hands of the French troops, the Government of his Majesty the King of the French engages itself to treat him with respect and generosity. In the event of his falling into the hands of the Moorish troops, his Majesty the Emperor of Morocco engages himself to restrict his abode, for the future, to one of the towns on the western coast of his empire, until the two Governments shall have concerted such measures as will prevent the possibility of his resuming arms, and troubling the tranquillity of Algeria and Morocco.”

Abdel Kader, on the breaking out of hostilities between France and Morocco, had returned to the Deira, there to watch the course of events. Sultan Abderahman went through the formality of summoning him to Fez. But another summons reached Abdel Kader from the Moorish capital, of a far different nature. The defeat of their armies, the humiliating dictation of the French, the bitter reversal of all their ardent hopes, had filled the Moorish population with fury and resentment. All ranks inveighed against the incapacity, and the craven weakness of their sovereign. All demanded Abdel Kader.

Letters from the first grandees of the state, from military and civil functionaries, from the commercial classes, informed Abdel Kader of the general wish, implored him to rescue the empire from impending degradation and ruin, and invited him to ascend the throne of his ancestors.

Had Abdel Kader been a vulgar usurper, he had now only to put out his hand to seize the sceptre of Morocco. But patriotism, not ambition, was his ruling motive. He had taken the field for the freedom and independence of Algeria. His thoughts, his vows, his prayers, all his concentrated energies of body and mind, were devoted to his native land. No offer of greatness could seduce him beyond that legitimate sphere of action. He disdained to wear a borrowed crown.

“I refused the tempting offer so unanimously made to me,” he afterwards said, “not only because my religion forbade me to injure a sovereign chosen and appointed by God, but because, knowing Morocco as I did, with its discordant races, I felt it would have cost me at least twelve or fifteen years, not, indeed, to govern like Muley Abderahman, but to enable me in any way to enforce submission to the law, and to make my government respected.”

During the spring of 1844, in the hopes of embarrassing the concentration of the French army on the frontiers of Morocco, Abdel Kader had made a rapid incursion into the regions of the Tell, penetrating even as far as Tiaret. Everywhere he appealed to the tribes, convoked their chiefs, and called for contingents. But the presence of French detachments in all directions had overawed and stupefied the national spirit. His summons met with a feeble response. He returned to his Deira in the deepest despondency.

In long and anxious reveries, he now examined his position; he weighed his prospects; he questioned his conscience. Had he done all, he asked himself, that love of country and devotion to his faith demanded? Was it too soon to abandon all hope? Was despair criminal? He looked around on his Deira, composed of his family and a few hundreds of devoted followers, dependent on chance supplies for the bare means of existence, and acknowledged that the closing scene had come.

Again his mental horizon cleared up. A grand idea presented itself to his imagination. He would rally all the tribes of Algeria, unable to endure the yoke of the infidels, and lead them forth in a body towards Mecca. In this expedition he would live on terms of friendship with all who, on their route, welcomed them as friends; and pass over the bodies of those who opposed them as enemies.

What Arab, he argued to himself, could resist such a mighty impulse, or fail to be electrified by such a magnificent proposal? What a glorious spectacle would be presented by a whole people voluntarily abandoning a land which their forefathers, twelve centuries before, had won by their swords, rather than share it with the mortal enemies of their faith; and bearing back the standards of the Prophet in solemn pomp and grandeur, unsullied and uncontaminated, to the scenes and regions of their pristine glories!

But while pondering over this gigantic scheme, fresh circumstances again aroused him to renewed exertions. Old memories rose up before him. The touching appeals of his devoted Khalifas still occasionally reached him; renewed assurances of adhesion came in from time to time. His heart vibrated and responded to the innate conviction that his name still possessed its talismanic influence, and that his presence might yet re-animate and inspire the breasts of thousands, now sunk in apathy and despair. All combined in urging him to undertake the hazards of another campaign, in spite of the fearful odds opposed to him.

From the gorges of the Djurjura, the loyal and chivalrous Ben Salem had thus addressed his long-absent sovereign:—“How is it that you no longer write to us? The sight of your seal, as you well know, revives all our hopes. I assure you, your very existence is called in question; and it is generally given out that your mother writes in your name. The French are preparing to march upon me, and I cannot answer for the Kabyles; I am almost inclined to believe, they are secretly of the religion of the conqueror. If you delay coming amongst us, the misfortunes of Berkani will be nothing compared to those with which I shall be overwhelmed. Answer me in your own handwriting, I conjure you.”

Abdel Kader replied,—“I have received your letter, informing me, that the news of my death is spread abroad in the east. No one can escape death; such is the decree of the Most High. However, God be praised, my hour is not yet come. I am yet full of force and vigour, and I still hope to attack with energy the enemies of our religion. It is by such proofs that men are known. Be always the same, calm, patient, unshaken, and God will recompense you. I will come to you as soon as my affairs in the west are settled.”

His absence being still prolonged, and disasters rapidly succeeding each other in every quarter, his three Khalifas in the east held a consultation as to the best measures to be adopted in such a desperate state of affairs. Their master was not there to cheer and animate their drooping spirits; and as they separated, Ben Allal, embracing his colleagues, exclaimed, “May God re-unite us in another world, for I have small hope that we shall meet again in this.” “Despair not,” said Ben Salem, newly consoled and supported by a letter he had just received from Abdel Kader, “I trust we shall yet all three of us meet in Algeria.” “Perhaps so,” added Ben Allal, dejectedly, “if we submit to the Christians, which God forbid.”

Soon after, all communication having been cut off by the French troops, the Khalifas to the east were again without any news from Abdel Kader. Ben Salem dispatched several chiefs of tribes to gather intelligence of his movements. By an unexpected piece of good fortune, they found out Abdel Kader himself. He received them with affectionate sympathy. Calm and cheerful in the midst of his reverses, he listened eagerly to their accounts of the embarrassments of his faithful lieutenants, and their still untiring zeal. He consoled them with words of comfort and assurance; and, on their taking leave, he gave them a horse richly caparisoned, as a present to Ben Salem, with the following letter:—

“Be patient in adversity; it is that which is the touchstone of great minds. Encourage your officials; aid and assist them; bear with their faults of judgment; measure the extent of their capacities with charity and consideration. This state of affairs cannot last long. I hope to be with you speedily, and then we will come to an understanding as to the proper course to be adopted. In the meantime, I beg you to accept the horse which I send you: it was a present to me from Mouley Abderahman. It may perhaps be propitious to you.”

The Arab tribes had, in some degree, viewed with satisfaction the state of comparative repose which had succeeded to those years of constant conflicts, in which, whoever conquered, they were sure to be the sufferers. But the gradual establishment of French regulations amongst them, and especially the haughtiness and severity with which they were enforced, as well as the constant presence of French officials, too often distinguished by that superciliousness and contemptuous display of superiority which intimate intercourse with the eastern races generally engenders in the breasts of Europeans, failed not again to awaken their slumbering feelings of hatred and fanaticism.

To minds thus prepared for renewed action, the emissaries of certain secret religious societies which existed amongst the tribes, found ready access. The arm of the Lord, they were assured, was about to be visibly revealed. The Mouley Saa, or “Master of the hour,” so long expected by all true and fervent believers, had appeared, as they were told, and was already in the field. “Woe be to those who hung back in doubt or fear,” was the rallying cry of these fanatics.

The sect of the “Derkaouas,” famous above all others for their furious and infatuated zeal, had found a tool, and boldly put him forward. In March, 1845, Mohammed-ibn-Abdallah, surnamed Bou Maza, raised the sacred standard in the Dahra and the valley of the Cheliff. This newly-installed prophet preached from place to place, exclaiming, “I am the destined one who is to appear at the hour predicted in the prophecies, the hour of deliverance.” He pledged himself to rid Algeria of the French within the year.

This impostor had his goat (which suggested his nickname, Bou Maza, or “father of the goat”), as Sertorius had his bitch, through which he pretended to receive celestial communications. He promised to all who believed in his mission, not only the plunder of the Christians, but also of all recreant Mussulmans. By these means he collected around him several hundred followers, and surprised and attacked some French posts. His successes aroused competitors. Whenever the French advanced, they were met by Bou Maza. The fermentation was temporarily, but only temporarily, appeased by the French. A greater personage than Bou Maza was about to re-appear on the scene.

Abdel Kader, though not a participator in the agitation which had been lately set on foot to excite the tribes, saw the ground prepared for him. He resolved to reap the harvest which had been sown. He descended into the valley of the Tafna, and routed and cut to pieces a French detachment at Sidi Ibrahim. In this action the lower part of his right ear was carried away by a musket ball. This wound was the only serious one that he ever received.

Another detachment laid down its arms to him without firing a shot, at Ain Temouchen. The collective prisoners amounted to six hundred. They were brought before him. He consoled them in their misfortune. “Never despair of the future,” he said; “no harm shall come to you. God has decreed that you should fall into my power; He may yet decree your liberation.”

The news of these successes spread rapidly abroad. Rumour magnified their importance. All hearts beat high with expectation. Soon letters from Abdel Kader were read and handed about with transport. In these letters the Arabs were told to be of good cheer, since their Sultan would soon be amongst them, and implored not to permit any partial and ill-judged rising to defeat the common aim. The Khalifas of Abdel Kader had received their instructions. “Let all patiently await the signal,” it was written, “and then rush with fury on the foe before them.”

The French felt the coming storm; they recognised the genius of Abdel Kader; the danger was imminent. Lamoricière, Cavaignac, Bedeau, pressed the government for reinforcements. They urged the immediate return of Bugeaud. The Marshal left France accordingly, and reached Algeria October 15, 1845. He brought new legions. Within a week he took the field at the head of 120,000 men. He determined, by a timely display of unrelenting rigour, to forestall the menaced blow.

Fourteen divisions, each complete in infantry, cavalry, and artillery, scoured the devoted land in every direction, some acting in concert, others independently, but all crushing out resistance, wherever it appeared, with fire and sword. Men were pitilessly slain, habitations ruthlessly burnt, crops given over to conflagration, fugitives smothered alive in caves. St. Arnaud led on “The Infernal Column.” Algeria once more felt all the strength of European civilisation, but now untempered by that mercy which ought to be its attribute.