1845-1847.

Flushed with his recent triumph, and anxious to realise the hopes it had awakened in every quarter to which the news of it had reached, Abdel Kader, in the month of October 1845, carried his standards to the plains of Mascara. Here he was again hailed with as much enthusiasm as at the outset of his career. All the tribes which had submitted to the French rallied round him. The garrison of Mascara came out against him, but was driven back with loss. The French entrenched camps of Saida and Taza were strictly blockaded.

But other portions of the country required his presence. It was his policy not so much to adopt a system of combined attack against the French, which, from his want of regular infantry and artillery, was next to impossible, as to foment the spirit of insurrection in all parts of the Regency, to keep the French perpetually on the alert by his meteor-like appearance in districts apparently subdued, to revive hostilities ostensibly extinguished, and then, by the rapidity of his movements, to baffle all the measures directed against him.

He now advanced to Tekedemt with 6,000 cavalry, and prepared to descend into the valley of the Cheliff. The Beni Shaib, a large and important tribe, one hundred and fifty miles away to the south, were reported to him as about to go over to the French. The contemplated movement into the valley of the Cheliff was instantly suspended. The wavering tribe suddenly found itself attacked by Abdel Kader at the head of 5,000 cavalry. Their chiefs were seized, their flocks carried off, their coffers emptied.

The movements of the French had, in the meantime, compelled him to alter his plans. No sooner was it known that Abdel Kader was in the Tell, than all their efforts were concentrated in that direction. The columns of Lamoricière, Bedeau, Yoosuf, and Marcey, were all set in motion. Orders were given, that whichever column found itself in presence of Abdel Kader, was to fire a signal gun, on which the other columns were immediately to converge and lend their aid.

Lamoricière was the first to come up with him, near Tiaret, December 1, 1845. He was protecting the emigration of several tribes, who, under his direction, were withdrawing into the desert. The signal gun was fired. Bedeau, Yoosuf, and Bugeaud, rapidly emerged on the scene. But Abdel Kader, always admirably served by spies, frustrated this combination, and within forty-eight hours had removed the seat of his operations to the Ouarensis.

Bugeaud, Lamoricière, Yoosuf, and St. Arnaud, followed in breathless haste, and were again on the Sultan’s traces; but their ubiquitous foe everywhere gave them the slip, and for weeks led them a fruitless dance through the valleys of the Cheliff.

On one occasion he nearly succeeded in annihilating the third-named general. On encountering Yoosuf in person on 23rd December, near Temela, he pretended to fly. Yoosuf, falling into the snare, followed him up with 2,000 cavalry. After thus drawing the French on for some time, Abdel Kader suddenly faced about and charged them with 500 irregulars. The rain fell in torrents. The firearms of the French would not go off. Their horses were dead beat. They got lost in the intricacies of the ground, and were on the point of surrendering, when the unexpected advance of a column of infantry averted their fate.

That very night Abdel Kader slipped between the columns of Bugeaud and Lamoricière, made a sweeping razzia on the Beni Esdama, between Tekedemt and Mascara, carried off all their cattle, with abundance of corn and barley, and retired unmolested into the Sahara. Several tribes here brought him the usual tribute.

He now conceived the daring project of visiting the Djurjura, rallying the Kabyles, and making a dash into the Metija. Ben Salem, duly informed, prepared to second this movement.

Abdel Kader left the Sahara in February, 1846, followed by part of the Beni Hassan, passed, unobserved, through the Wady Isser to the east of Medea, and, making a razzia by the way on the Beni Hadoura, who served the French, reached the Djurjura, where the Kabyles stood ready to await his bidding. With a force of 5,000 warriors, accumulated as if by magic, he now swept down into the plains, ravaged and destroyed the French colonies, and advanced to within four hours of Algiers itself. The French generals were all the while searching about for him in the high ground of the Tell.

On the 7th February, he was encamped at the foot of the Djurjura. While engaged in midnight prayer, he heard the French order to charge. In another moment, the French were upon him. He sprang on his horse and called on his men to rally. The Chasseurs closed around him. He fought with them single-handed. Two horses were shot under him. He fought on foot. He became undistinguishable in the confusion of the skirmish, and aided by the darkness of the night effected his escape.

On the 28th Abdel Kader held a grand council of war at Burj bou Keni. Deputies from all the Kabyle tribes were present. The question of war was warmly mooted. For a time the majority were in favour of a continuation of hostilities. At this moment news was brought in that Bugeaud was advancing against them with superior forces. The moderate party immediately gained the ascendancy. Attack and defence were declared to be alike hazardous. Prudence was preferable to a fruitless enthusiasm. In that would be the best guarantee for the preservation of their liberties.

Abdel Kader left the Djurjura. In a few hours he was in the vicinity of Bayhan. There, on the 7th of March, he surprised, routed, and plundered the French Douairs, with his body guard of 2,000 cavalry. The booty was immense. All the mules and camels of the tribes scarcely sufficed to remove it. The long train and its escort entered the passes of the Djebel Amour, seeking by rapid stages the districts of the Beni Nail, in the Sahara.

On the 13th, while bringing up the rear guard with seventy men, Abdel Kader was again attacked by General Yoosuf, who, finding out the direction he had taken, had followed him up by forced marches. An open space of ground gave the French unusual advantages. Abdel Kader was conspicuous on a white charger. Alternately firing and charging, he kept the enemy at bay. His men fought with desperation. Forty were killed. At length, after two hours’ hard fighting, and after performing prodigies of valour, Abdel Kader was lost to view in a defile.

The French were amazed at his gallantry. When, at a later period, he was in Paris, the object of universal curiosity and admiration, the French general who commanded on this memorable day recalled to Abdel Kader the impression made on all who witnessed his chivalrous demeanour at a moment when to all appearances he was irrecoverably lost, “If one of our officers had displayed such extraordinary heroism,” said General Yoosuf, “the Emperor would have sent him the decoration of the Legion of Honour.”

Abdel Kader had hoped to recruit his forces amongst the tribes of the Sahara. But the French had forestalled him. Everywhere their columns and detachments made themselves felt. The Beni Nail, the Beni Shaib, the Beni Hassan, from whose resources he had long been accustomed to supply his wants, and with whom he had often found shelter in the hour of need, all submitted successively to the persevering foe. Wherever Abdel Kader presented himself he found lassitude and despondency. Indeed his presence began to be looked upon as an omen of misfortune, and a prelude to ruin.

He visited the Oulad-Sidi-Chirk, a large and powerful tribe at the southern extremity of the Sahara. Their chiefs and marabouts thronged about him. They condoled with him. They assured him of their warmest sympathies. They offered him a temporary hospitality. But they adjured him not to entail upon them the horrors of war, and so to expose the venerated tombs of their saints to the profanation of the infidel. Abdel Kader received the intimation with composure and resignation. Accompanied by his faithful escort, he now returned to his Deira, on the Melouia, in Morocco.

He arrived there July 18th, 1846. A terrible episode had just occurred. The French prisoners taken in the affairs of Sidi Ibrahim and Ain Temouchen, in September, 1845, had been sent to the Deira. They had been presented to the Sultan’s mother, had met with a most assuring reception, and had been well treated. Nothing was withheld that could mitigate the painfulness of their situation. Abdel Kader had more than once written to Bugeaud, offering an exchange of prisoners, but his offer had been treated with contempt. Such was the position of the prisoners when he had left the Deira, on his late expedition.

The Deira, to which was always attached a small body of regulars, was under the charge of Ben Hamedi. On the 10th of April, 1846, Mustapha-ibn-Thamy, the Sultan’s brother-in-law, arrived from the Sahara and took the command. He had left Abdel Kader three days after his brilliant action with General Yoosuf, in the Djebel Amour, and brought with him several wounded and invalids. He found the Deira greatly reduced in numbers, by desertion, by suffering, by privation. Provisions had become scarce. The Moorish tribes in the vicinity would only furnish supplies for ready money; and of money there was little or none. Two hundred and eighty prisoners had become an embarrassment.

In this crisis a report reached Mustapha-ibn-Thamy that the Moorish troops, who were not far distant, were about to advance and rescue the prisoners. He had no force sufficient to resist such an enterprise if it was attempted. The idea of such a stain upon his honour preyed upon his mind. If he made his small band of regulars fight to keep them, Moslem blood would be shed, and probably fruitlessly shed, for the sake of infidels. If he tamely surrendered them, how could he look Abdel Kader in the face? He determined to make away with them. On the night of the 24th of April they were massacred. Ten officers alone were spared.

The first step taken by Abdel Kader on his arrival at the Deira, July 18th, was to endeavour to get the survivors exchanged. His efforts, as usual in such matters, failed. They were, however, finally ransomed for 30,000 francs. Abdel Kader felt it due to his own reputation, utterly guiltless as he was of this deed of blood, to address the following letter to the King of the French:—

“Praise be to God, the merciful and compassionate. Glory to our lord and master Mohammed.

“On the part of the Prince of the Faithful, Sid-il Hadj Abdel Kader-ibn Mehi-ed-deen, may God vouchsafe unto him his favour both in this and another world; to the Sultan of the Christians, the commander-in-chief of the French armies, King Louis Philippe, may God constantly promote the increase of his power, and the execution of his projects in all that relates to the happiness of his people, and especially enable him to exalt those who follow the good path, and to confound all who do otherwise.

“I would call to your recollection that we have ever been ready to accept conditions of peace. We have even accepted conditions which you thought proper to impose upon us. We rejoiced to be on a good understanding with you. Our alliance was cemented by good faith. Our treaties had your personal approbation. By an exchange of presents we likewise confirmed our mutual feelings of friendship.

“Such was our position up to the moment when certain influential persons in Algeria gave a too willing ear to perfidious insinuations tending to interrupt the harmony which existed between us, and represented us as being culpable and blameworthy, whereas it was we, on the contrary, who had every reason to complain of their injustice committed towards us.

“I have written to you many times, both officially and confidentially, and invariably my intentions were misconstrued to such an extent that the evil consequences spread themselves unchecked all over Algeria.

“During our late expedition in the East, and in the numerous battles we fought, God permitted many prisoners to fall into our hands. We rejoiced at the circumstance, because it gave us power to offer an exchange. Last year we were unable to treat for the deliverance of the Mussulman prisoners in your hands, because we were not prepared to offer you a proposition which would have suited you. In previous years, however, we have sent back to Marshal Bugeaud more than a hundred prisoners without exchange.

“Lately, when we had a certain number of your subjects in our power, we wrote more than once to those who represent you to propose an exchange of prisoners. We received no answer. All the bearers of our letters were imprisoned. That was a treachery foreign to French usage. Besides, a message between hostile sides is always considered neutral.

“Shortly afterwards it was rumoured amongst the Arabs that the French prisoners were to be rescued by force. It was known that French agents had offered large sums of money to any who would conduct the prisoners to the French outposts. It was, moreover, openly declared that the Emperor of Morocco had undertaken to rescue the prisoners in spite of us. Your own agents thus became the chief cause of the deplorable event which has occurred, by their persistence in refusing to treat of an exchange of prisoners.

“We have never made any difference between the prisoners and our own men as regards their food and lodging. As soon as we saw there were amongst them men of rank and honour, who scorned to seek for means of escape, we gave them a marked preference over the others. We found them grateful. We proposed to set them at liberty. Their chief (Cognord) knows all the arrangements which were being made for their liberation. He knows that we never received any reply to our letters, and that this contemptuous silence was the cause of the cessation of the good understanding between you and us.”

Abdel Kader concluded with an urgent appeal for the release of some Mussulman prisoners, and a warm exculpation of himself from all knowledge or connivance at any measures whatever which were contrary to justice and religion. This letter, like all the preceding, remained unanswered.

During Abdel Kader’s late absence from the Deira, several Arab tribes had been gradually crossing the frontier, and fixing themselves on Moorish territory. The Moorish Sultan had given them lands to occupy. The jealousy of the French was awakened. They feared that the emigrants might eventually become the nucleus of an invading force. The late massacre added to their impatience. They called upon Sultan Abderahman to show at once by his deeds the sincerity of his professions. They demanded the immediate expulsion of Abdel Kader from his empire.

Abdel Kader, meanwhile, only anxious for freedom from molestation, had already commenced sowing the grounds near the Melouia for the subsistence of his Deira. Bou Maza wrote to him inviting him to join him in renewing the struggle. He rejected the instigation. With whatever the future might be pregnant, for the present he sought only repose and tranquillity. But these blessings he was not allowed to obtain. Mouley Abderahman sent him a letter to the effect that he must immediately withdraw, with his Deira, from Moorish territory.

Abdel Kader assembled his followers, and read them the letter. They unanimously declared it would be ignominious to yield to the demand of a recreant who had betrayed his faith and signed a humiliating treaty with the infidel. “We have pledged ourselves by oath,” they said, “to fight with you to the death. We are ready to follow you wherever you choose. But into Algeria we will not follow you. Abdel Kader conveyed these sentiments to Abderahman, promising at the same time not to attack the French. In his Deira he would resignedly await the decrees of God.

The Moorish tribes were now secretly instructed to molest the Deira. They refused to sell it provisions. Its foraging parties were attacked and robbed. Abdel Kader wrote a strong appeal to Abderahman against such conduct. He got neither answer nor redress. He endured this treatment patiently for six months. Again he addressed the Moorish Sultan, and warned him that if such annoyances were continued he should vindicate his own rights.

In self-defence he now re-assumed a hostile attitude. His body-guard of 1,200 cavalry and 800 infantry patrolled the country on all sides. The Moorish aggressors were chased to their very tents; they were brought to the Deira and chastised. By a few such acts of vigour his position was improved; provisions flowed in. More than one Moorish tribe offered to join the Deira. Wherever Abdel Kader showed his person he was welcomed with professions of submission and allegiance; his material strength increased hourly. The large and influential tribe of the Beni Hamian sent in their adhesion.

One night, while the Deira was still at Ain Zohra, an assassin glided, unperceived by the guards, into the tent of Abdel Kader. The Sultan was reading. Hearing a footstep, he raised his head, and saw standing before him a tall, powerful negro, with a dagger in his hand. Suddenly the man dashed the weapon to the ground, and threw himself at his feet. “I was going to strike you,” he exclaimed, “but the sight of you disarmed me. I thought I saw the halo of the Prophet around your head.”

Abdel Kader, rising slowly from his seat, and without betraying the least emotion, placed his hand on the negro’s head and said, “You came into my tent as an assassin. God, who moved you to repent of your wicked intention, has ordained that you should leave it an innocent man. Go, then, and remember that the servant of God has pardoned you.”

In the month of July, 1847, the Deira was encamped in Wady Aslaf, on the territory of the Kabyles of the Rif. While in this position it was suddenly menaced by a large Moorish force led by Mouley Hashem, the Sultan’s nephew, and the Kaid El Hamra. The Prince began by sending out a strong reconnaissance, which was immediately repulsed by the Deira’s outposts. Abdel Kader sent to the Prince to demand an explanation as to the cause of this hostile proceeding in the midst of peace. He received a haughty and disdainful answer. That very night he fell upon the Moorish camp by surprise, and completely routed and dispersed it. The Kaid El Hamra was slain, and Mouley Hashem barely escaped with his life.

A great quantity of baggage was taken, and specie to the amount of £2,000 English money. Abdel Kader and his chiefs viewed with mingled feelings of scorn and triumph the splendid cloaks and burnouses which the Moorish Prince had packed up in cases, for the purpose of distributing them amongst the Sheiks of the Rif tribes, and inducing them by such gifts to join him. On his return to the Deira Abdel Kader found that the Beni Kullayieh, availing themselves of his absence, had made an irruption into his camp and carried off all the camels. Without a moment’s repose he pursued the marauders, slew upwards of a hundred of them, and captured all their Sheiks.

The rumour of Abdel Kader’s renewed activity, and of the momentary gleam of success which shone upon his efforts, was quickly bruited throughout the Moorish empire. It created a sensation amongst its fanatic population which thrilled to the very capital. The emigrant Algerian tribes, which had been located by order of the Moorish Sultan within three days of Fez, longed to regain their adored chief. The Beni Amer entered into correspondence with him, and begged him to assist them in effecting a junction.

Sultan Abderahman got notice of the design. In his terror he fancied Abdel Kader thundering at his palace and hurling him from his throne. Not a moment was to be lost; a force of 15,000 men was at once despatched against Beni Amer. The tribe, taken unawares, was cut to pieces, while the women and children were carried away into slavery.

Such persevering and even barbarous acts of hostility filled Abdel Kader with despair and indignation. But what could his handful of men effect against the combined armies of France and Morocco, amounting to 100,000 men? He determined to make a last appeal to his old friend, patron, and admirer. He sent his Khalifa, Bou Hamedi, on a mission to Fez. In the most solemn manner he invoked the glorious recollections of the past. He claimed the sacred rites of hospitality in the name of every tie of friendship and religion.

But the days of country, of fraternity, of holy sympathy, were irrevocably past. Mouley Abderahman saw himself daily environed with fresh difficulties. The French Government hourly demanded the literal execution of its treaty. Bou Hamedi was thrown into prison, where he shortly afterwards died. Abdel Kader at length received the following imperial mandate:—“Abdel Kader must either surrender himself in person to Sultan Abderahman, or return to the Algerian desert. In case of refusal or delay, the imperial armies will march against him.” The last link was thus broken between him and his only hope. He stood at bay, alone.

Calm and undismayed, he now saw the toils closing around him. In the Deira all was grief and despondency. His own brothers had left him. Ben Salem—the faithful, long-tried, and devoted Ben Salem—was a voluntary prisoner in the French camp. His whole available force barely amounted to 2,000 men, but among these there were 1,200 horsemen, the flower of the Algerian cavalry. Most of these men, also, had been the Sultan’s inseparable companions, partakers in all his hardships and dangers throughout the whole of his heroic career.

During the short period of rest which Abdel Kader now enjoyed, he daily summoned them around him. He was incessant in vocal prayer and exhortation. The bronzed old warriors hung with rapture on his accents. Fired with martial enthusiasm, they prepared for the final act.

At other times Abdel Kader retired to his tent, and kept long and lonely vigils. One night he stood up for seven successive hours while he repeated off by heart the whole of the Koran, from beginning to end. In such religious exercises he renewed his soul’s strength. Ever worthy of his destiny, he now towered above it.

1847.

On the 9th of December, 1847, the Deira was stationed at Agueddin, on the left bank of the Melouia. It comprised in all about 5,000 souls. Rumours had long been afloat that the Moroccan army was advancing towards it in great strength. On the 10th Abdel Kader got positive information that Muley Mohammed and Muley Soliman, the two sons of Sultan Abderahman, were at only three hours’ distance, at the head of upwards of 50,000 men. This force, he learned, was divided into three grand divisions, with intervals of half a mile between each. The first division, consisting mostly of Arab auxiliaries, such as the tribes of the Riff, the Beni Snassen, and others, had taken up its ground, it was reported, around the ruined castle of Selwan.

Abdel Kader saw at once that if this imposing array was permitted to move forwards unmolested, his Deira would inevitably be captured. On the other hand, to attack it with his small force seemed to him like to rushing on certain destruction. Feelings of honour, of chivalry, of revenge, however, all conspired to make him determine on essaying a desperate effort.

On the 11th he collected together his 1,200 cavalry and 800 infantry. After a spirited harangue, he informed them that they must prepare that very night to follow him to battle. To such a command, amongst such followers, there could be but one reply. They all departed in silence to accoutre themselves for the approaching struggle.

At dead of night they moved on. Two camels, covered entirely with halfa, a kind of brushwood, and which had been dipped in tar and pitch, were driven in front of the little column. After a march of two hours the first division of the enemy was reached; the halfa around the camels was set fire to, and the maddened animals plunged furiously on; the infantry fired; the cavalry, led on by Abdel Kader, charged.

The amazement and bewilderment of the Moroccans and the Arabs upon whom this sudden tempest fell was immeasurable. Slumbering in fancied security during the calm silence of the night, they suddenly saw the thick darkness illumined by flashes of light, the glistening of sabres, and the glare of two incomprehensible meteors sweeping above and around them with unearthly coruscations. The terrors of superstition were superadded to those of fright and consternation. The men rushed off in all directions, as though the gates of hell had been opened and its demons let loose against them, abandoning arms, tents, and baggage.

In the meantime Abdel Kader and his cavalry had passed on, and were in deadly collision with the second division, which in like manner was surprised, defeated, and dispersed. In less than half an hour the third division was reached. There, warned by the noise and tumult in their front, the Moroccan princes had just had time to draw up some regulars to defend their persons. The intention of Abdel Kader was to make straight for their tent and make them prisoners. Checked by a heavy fire of infantry and artillery, he now withdrew; and, as the day dawned, slowly and steadily he took up a position on an adjoining eminence, and thence enjoyed the sight of his discomfited and broken foe.

At mid-day, 5,000 Moroccan cavalry moved out against him. He calmly awaited their approach, and when they had arrived at a charging distance led on his men to the attack, ploughing through and through their clustering files, and shaking them off like dew-drops from the lion’s mane. By a skilful combination of assault and retreat, Abdel Kader and his illustrious cavalcade regained the Melouia towards sunset.

Many were the brilliant passages of arms performed by those giant warriors, who, in that memorable struggle, crowned their long career of glory by deeds of superhuman valour. Memorable also was that struggle, as having furnished the closing scene to the stirring and eventful career of Ibn Yahyié, the favourite and far-famed Aga of Abdel Kader. Ibn Yahyié was the stalwart champion of countless combats. He was surnamed “El Sheitan” from his wondrous exploits and marvellous escapes. In his day he had had seventeen horses killed under him. It was now his destiny to earn his last laurels in a martyr’s death.

The Deira had nearly effected its passage across the river. The baggage and the spoils taken from the enemy were still traversing it when Abdel Kader arrived. The Moroccan army advanced, but cautiously. Their cavalry now only fired long shots, unenvious of renewing their lately-earned bitter experience.

Nevertheless, the situation of Abdel Kader was full of peril. Never had the Deira been in such imminent danger. The ammunition was expended. The large quantities of ammunition which Abdel Kader’s followers had captured and were now bringing in proved useless—it was unsuited to their muskets. The infantry, therefore, could be turned to no account. But Abdel Kader still saw his Old Guard around him, and looked and felt triumphant. Their presence was, in his mind, the Deira’s safeguard.

The Melouia was at length passed. Though the foe kept pressing on, Abdel Kader refused to leave its banks until his Deira was a full hour in advance, on the plain of Triffa. At last it reached the river Kis, crossed it about midnight, and ceased to be molested. It was on French territory.

Of all that tumultuous crowd of men, women, children, and animals, not a life had been sacrificed, not a beast of burden had been lost. Abdel Kader, by his coolness, skill, and intrepidity, had been its guardian genius. Many a sad blank, however, had been made in the ranks of that heroic band, which with such unflinching devotion had answered to the voice of its chief and emulated his example, throughout the unparalleled foray in which under his guidance they had been so unequally engaged. Upwards of 200 had been slain. All were more or less bleeding from wounds. Abdel Kader himself had had three horses shot under him.

Leaving his Deira in momentary security, he now turned towards the hills of the Beni Snassen—a tribe which yet adhered to him in part. His indomitable cavalry followed in anxious silence, suffering, wearied, and exhausted. The rain fell in torrents. Heavy and conflicting thoughts preyed on the mind of the wandering chief. Though the French were seen in the distance, occupying the principal pass of the Kerbous, there were yet narrow defiles through which he could emerge into the Sahara. He might yet try his fortunes. But to what end? he thought despairingly. How was he to persevere in a bootless struggle? What force had he at command? On what assistance could he calculate? Then his thoughts reverted to his aged mother, his wife and children, his helpless followers, who were within three hours of the French camp, and might probably enter it ere long a mounted train, as prisoners of war. In no extremity had Abdel Kader ever found himself so hopelessly pressed. He felt the crisis of his fate had come. What he meant to determine, he knew he must determine quickly.

He sounded a halt. He ordered his men to close up. When they had surrounded him, he thus commenced a conference which he had that moment resolved to open:—

“Do you remember the oath you took at Medea eight years ago, at the renewal of the war,” he said—“the oath that you would never forsake or abandon me, whatever might be your dangers or sufferings?”

“We all remember it, and are ready still to adhere to it.” “That oath,” pursued Abdel Kader, “I have ever considered to be binding on me towards you, as well as on you towards me. It is this feeling alone which has made me persevere in our struggle up to this hour, even against hope. I was resolved that no Mussulman, of whatever rank or degree, should ever be able to accuse me of binding you to any engagement which I on my part was not equally prepared to fulfil; or to say that I had not done all in my power to insure the triumph of the cause of God. If you think I can yet do anything, tell me. If not, I ask you to release me from the oath I made you mentally, when I solemnly demanded yours.”

“We all bear witness before God, that you have done all that it was in your power to do for his cause. At the day of judgment God will do you justice.”

“If that is your opinion, we have now only three courses open before us—either to return for the Deira, and with it be prepared to encounter every obstacle; or to seek out a path for ourselves into the Sahara, in which case, the women, children, and wounded would not be able to follow us, and must fall into the hands of the enemy; or, lastly, to submit.”

“Perish women and children, both ours and yours, so long as you are safe and able to renew the battles of God. You are our head, our Sultan; fight or surrender, as you will, we will follow you wherever you choose to lead.”

Abdel Kader paused for a few moments, and then with deep emotion resumed:—

“Believe me, the struggle is over. Let us be resigned. God is witness that we have fought as long as we have been able. If He has not given us the victory, it is because He has deemed that this land should belong to the Christians. It signifies very little whether I remain in the country or not. What more can I do for the cause we have so long defended together? Can I renew the war? I shall be defeated; and the Arabs would only be exposed to renewed sufferings.

“Besides, the tribes are tired of the war. They would no longer obey me. We must submit. The only question is, whether we shall deliver ourselves into the hands of the Christians, or into those of Mouley Abderahman. In this respect you can do as you judge best. As for myself, I would prefer a thousand times to trust in those who have fought against me, than in the man who has betrayed me. Our situation is difficult; and our demands must consequently be modest. I shall confine myself to asking for a safe conduct for myself and my family, and those of you who choose to follow me to another Mussulman country.”

A doubt was now raised by some of the members of the conference as to the probability of such a stipulation being faithfully carried into execution. To this doubt Abdel Kader replied, “Do not be afraid. The word of the French is one. Either they will not pledge their word to its fulfilment, and then we can see what is best to be done; or if they pledge their word, they will keep it.” “Sultan,” was the universal reply, “let your will be done.”

The rain was still falling so incessantly that it was impossible for Abdel Kader to write down his demands. Taking a piece of paper, he affixed his seal to it, and immediately dispatched it with two horsemen, who were commissioned to show the seal to the French General, as a sign of authorisation on his part for demands which they were to make in his name verbally.

During the night of the 21st December, Lamoricière had been informed both of the arrival of the Deira within the French frontier, and of the direction which Abdel Kader and his little force had taken. To the Deira he at once sent assurances of safety. The prize was important. But the concentration of any amount of men against the camp of Abdel Kader would have been of little permanent avail, if the redoubtable chief himself were yet at large. Without a moment’s delay, therefore, Lamoricière started in his pursuit, at the head of a small column of infantry and cavalry.

He had scarcely marched three hours when he was unexpectedly joined by Ben Khouia, a lieutenant of his Arab Spahis, accompanied by the two emissaries of Abdel Kader. The latter showed him their master’s seal and stated his demands. Lamoricière was overjoyed. He granted everything. But, as in the case of Abdel Kader, the rain prevented him from stating his consent in writing, and his seal was not in his possession. In this emergency he gave his sword, and the seal of Commandant Bazaine, to the emissaries, to be presented to Abdel Kader in token of the acceptance of his conditions.

At a later period, when taunted in the Chamber of Deputies with having allowed Abdel Kader to escape, when by a little energy he could have taken him prisoner, and with having committed a grave error in so unreservedly granting him the privilege of unrestricted liberty, Lamoricière thus defended his conduct, defined his position, and stated the motives which had induced him to sign the treaty thus attacked:—

“It has been brought as a charge against me that I entered into a negotiation in place of marching on. Do you know what I should have taken if I had marched on? I should have taken his convoy; I should have made one razzia the more; I should have been able to report that I had taken the tent of Abdel Kader, his carpet, his harem, perhaps one of his Khalifas; but he, with his cavalry, would have gone into the desert.

“The Emir made a voluntary abdication; and France, after having thrown the whole weight of its brave armies upon Algeria, saw the chief who had preached, excited, and conducted the Holy War, come in the end, and voluntarily deposit his arms in the hands of the Governor-General. For France, this was at once a military, a political, and a moral triumph. The effect produced by it among the natives was immense, and its consequences have yet to be developed.

“Abdel Kader is the incarnation of a principle—of a great religious sentiment; and in Algeria this is the only political sentiment which unites the population. This principle manifested itself in the Holy War. It had the same force which legitimacy formerly possessed amongst us. When a man by the prestige of the past, by his belief, by his eloquence, by the battles he has fought, and by the successes he has gained, has become the living representative of an idea profoundly agitating the masses, an immense danger is incurred as long as he is left in his country.”

Abdel Kader had moved on to the village of Triaret. His emissaries returned. He convoked his men to deliberate on the answer which he had received. It was remarked that the promise given by the French general was merely verbal; and, although the value of the answer was acknowledged, supported as it was by the transmission of the general’s sword and the seal of one of his officers, yet it was considered only prudent, when a decision of such vital importance to all was to be taken, that a further guarantee should be claimed.

The rain having ceased, Abdel Kader now wrote a letter to Lamoricière, stating his demands, and again dispatched his emissaries to seek him out. The general had already communicated the important transaction to the Duc D’Aumale, the new Governor-General, who happened to be in the immediate neighbourhood. On receiving Abdel Kader’s letter, he had addressed his Royal Highness as follows:—

“I have been obliged to make engagements; I have made them, and I have done so with the fullest confidence that your Royal Highness and the Government will ratify them if the Emir relies on my word.

“I am this instant mounting my horse to go to the Deira. I have no time to send you a copy of the letter which I have received from the Emir, or of my reply to it. Suffice it for me to state, that I have only promised and stipulated that the Emir and his family shall be conducted to St. Jean d’Acre or Alexandria. These are the only two places which I have mentioned. They are those which he designated in his demand, and which I have accepted.”

With a written stipulation in his possession, in entire compliance with his own terms, Abdel Kader had no further cause for hesitation or delay. On the morning of the 23rd of December he proceeded, accompanied by such of his chiefs and followers as had decided on sharing his fortunes in a foreign land, to the marabout (or temple) of Sidi Ibrahim. There he was received by Colonel Montauban, at the head of 500 cavalry, with all the respect, sympathy, and consideration due to his exalted rank, to the recollection of his past glorious deeds, and to the spectacle of his present heavy and severe misfortune.

Abdel Kader begged for permission to be allowed to enter the sacred edifice. On this request being granted, he dismounted, and, on reaching the door, took off his sword, and gave it to one of his attendants. His military career had ended. Hitherto his life had been devoted to God and his country. Henceforth it was to be devoted to God alone. After having been an hour engaged in prayer, he came forth, and the whole cavalcade at once moved on.

At six o’clock in the evening it reached Djemma Ghazouat, the head-quarters of the Duc D’Aumale. A few minutes afterwards Abdel Kader, accompanied by General de Lamoricière, General Cavaignac, and Colonel Beaufort, was presented to his Royal Highness. After a moment’s pause he pronounced the following words:—“I had wished to have done what I am doing this day at an earlier period. I awaited the hour destined by God. The general has given me a word on which I fully rely. I am not afraid that it will be broken by the son of a great king like the King of the French.”

The Prince, in a few clear and explicit words, pledged himself that the general’s word and engagements should be strictly observed. Abdel Kader then withdrew and went to his Deira, which had recently joined the French encampment.

The next morning the Duc D’Aumale held a review. Abdel Kader, riding a magnificent black charger of the purest Arab breed, and surrounded by his chiefs, awaited his return from the field. On his Royal Highness approaching he dismounted, and advancing to his side, said, “I offer you this horse, the last which I have mounted. It has been a great favourite, but now we must part. It is a testimony of my gratitude, and I hope it may always carry you in safety and happiness.” “I accept it,” replied the Prince, “as a homage rendered to France, the protection of which country will henceforth be ever extended towards you; and as a sign that the past is forgotten.”

On the 25th December, 1847, Abdel Kader, his family and followers, embarked in the Asmodeus frigate for Toulon. All his personal effects, his baggage, his tents, his horses, mules, and camels, had previously been sold by the French authorities for 6,000 francs. But even this paltry sum was afterwards only doled out to him in instalments, and a strict investigation was even instituted as to the manner in which each instalment was disbursed. General de Lamoricière accompanied him on board, and generously made him a present of 4,000 francs. Abdel Kader, in return, gave him his sword.

The sensations of joy and triumph excited in France at the news of Abdel Kader’s surrender were unbounded. Algeria could at last and with truth be styled “a French colony.” The Moniteur of January 3rd, 1848, thus alludes to the welcome intelligence:—“The subjugation of Abdel Kader is an event of immense importance to France. It assures the tranquillity of our conquest. It permits us sensibly to reduce the quota of men and money which we have been sending for so many years to Africa. It contributes, from this fact alone, to augment the force of France in Europe. To-day, France can, if necessary, transport to other quarters the hundred thousand men which held the conquered populations under her yoke.”

What a tribute are these words to the genius and ascendancy of one man!

1847-1848.

Abdel Kader arrived at Toulon the last week in December, 1847. A few hours, or days at most, he thought, would suffice for any arrangement which might still be necessary to facilitate his departure for the East. He was invited to disembark, though no preparations whatever had been made to receive him.

To his surprise, he and his family, and followers, eighty-eight in all, were marched up to a fortress—the Fortress of Lamalgue. He remonstrated. He was told not to be alarmed; and it was explained to him that a certain time was necessary for the requisite correspondence, either with the Turkish Government, if he was to be sent to St. Jean d’Acre, or with the Egyptian Government, if he was to be sent to Alexandria; and that then he could be allowed to proceed to his place of destination.

The day after his imprisonment a French officer demanded an interview. General Daumas came, officially charged by the King of the French, to make him the most brilliant offers, if he would only consent to forego the solemn word which had been given him by General Lamoricière and the Duc D’Aumale when he surrendered. He was offered a splendid position in France—a royal château, a guard of honour, and all the pomp and appurtenances of a prince.

Abdel Kader listened to the shameful proposal in contemptuous silence. Being pressed for a reply, his countenance flashed up, and fixing his eagle eye on his old friend, he said with warmth, “Have you ceased to know me? What! is it you who thus speaks to me? Your diplomatic talents, I have no doubt, are very useful to France; but I intreat you not to expend them thus uselessly on me.”

Then, taking up a corner of his burnous with both hands, and leaning towards the window, he exclaimed, “If you were to bring me, on the part of your King, all the wealth of France in millions and in diamonds, and it were possible to place them all in the fold of my burnous, I would throw them on the instant into the sea which washes my prison walls, rather than give you back the word which has been so solemnly given me. That word I will carry with me to my grave. I am your guest. Make me your prisoner if you will; but the shame and ignominy will be with you, not with me.”

He was asked if he would like to go to Paris. “I know,” he replied, “that Ibrahim Pacha lately visited it, and admired its wonders. But France was to him a land of hospitality. He was free! As for me, as long as I remain a prisoner, all France is but a dungeon. I have no wish to be a victim crowned with garlands.”

Patient and resigned himself, Abdel Kader infused his followers with the same spirit. They had hitherto been his subjects, accustomed to approach him with all the deference and respect due to royalty. They were now his companions. A common calamity had levelled all barriers. He placed his little means at their disposal, too happy if he could in any way contribute to their wants and alleviate their sufferings. “In the position in which I am now placed,” he said, “I must do as my ancestors have done. I can no longer say, ‘My horse, my burnous, my goods;’ but ‘Our horse, our burnous, our goods.’”

One day General Daumas came to visit him. It was in the depth of winter. Abdel Kader was without a fire. The general expressed his surprise. “My wood,” he replied, “was finished yesterday, and I could not bring myself to ask any of my companions to spare me some of theirs. Poor fellows! in place of taking from them, I wish it were always in my power to bestow.” “You are not, then, like those great chiefs who seem to take a pleasure in exhausting their people,” remarked General Daumas. “If I had resembled such rulers,” was the reply of Abdel Kader, “would the Arabs have sustained the struggle with you so long as they did, and sacrificed everything to uphold me?”

Day after day passed, and still there came no orders for his release. A painful uncertainty agitated his mind. At one time Colonel Beaufort, the Duc D’Aumale’s aide-de-camp, assured him, on the part of the Prince, that the King had resolved that the stipulation made with him should be fulfilled. At another time he was told that the Chamber of Deputies had called its validity in question.

On the 28th of February, 1848, Abdel Kader got the news of the revolution, of the abdication of the king, of the proclamation of the Republic. He saw at once the immense import of that event to his own prospects, and felt himself to be the sport of a capricious fortune. With the new Government he had no bond. He could no longer plead for the sanctity of treaties, of honour, of good faith. He could not expect an act of generosity, he felt, when he had failed to obtain common justice.

The sudden crash of a monarchy, hitherto supposed to be fixed on a solid and enduring basis, was to him an apposite spectacle. He moralised to those around him on the worthlessness and instability of human grandeur. “Behold,” he said to General Daumas, “behold a Sultan who was everywhere esteemed great and powerful, who had contracted alliances with other sovereigns, who had a numerous family to perpetuate his line, who was renowned for his wisdom and experience! A day has sufficed to overthrow him. Am I not right in my conviction that there is no other real force, no truth and no reality, but in the will of God? Believe me, this world is a carcass; dogs only quarrel over it.”

He received a visit from M. Olivier, Commissary-General of the Provisional Government. The great Republic had deigned to think of its captive. But it approached him not as a Paladin, chivalrously determined to redeem French honour, but as a suppliant, trembling at the magic of a name which, even in its collapse, was of ominous import to French dominion. He was asked what guarantees he could give to France that he would not appear again in Algeria.

“I have no other guarantee to give of my unchangeable resolution for the future,” he replied, “but that which I have already given. If I had not wished to surrender I should not have been here. I came to you freely and voluntarily. This guarantee is worth all others.” “Would you sign with your hand,” pursued the delegate, “and will the chiefs who are around you sign with their hands, a document sworn to on the Koran, by which you solemnly declare that you will never appear again in Algeria, or mix yourselves up, directly or indirectly, in its affairs?” “Such a document I would sign with my eyes, if my hands were not sufficient.” Abdel Kader was then asked to address a letter to the Provisional Government, enclosing a document to that effect. He penned and forwarded the following précis:—

“Praise be to the one God, whose empire alone is everlasting.

“To the upholders of the Republic which governs France, and who are, with regard to it, as the eyes and limbs are to the body.

“Sidi Olivier, your commissioner, has been to see me. He has informed me that the French, with one accord, have abolished royalty, and have decreed that their country shall henceforward be a Republic.

“I was rejoiced at the news, for I have read in books that such a form of government has for its object to root out injustice, and to prevent the strong from doing violence to the weak. You are generous men. You desire the good of all; and your acts are expected to be dictated by the spirit of justice. God has appointed you to be the protectors of the unhappy and afflicted. I look to you, therefore, as my natural protectors. Remove the veil of grief which has been thrown over me. I seek justice at your hands.

“That which I have done not one of you can condemn. I defended my country and my religion as long as I could; and I am persuaded that, as noble-minded men, you cannot but applaud me. When I was conquered—when it was impossible for me any longer to doubt that God, for inscrutable reasons, had withdrawn his support from me—I decided to withdraw from the world. It was then, when I could have found an asylum with perfect ease amongst the Berbers, or the tribes of the Sahara, that I consented to place myself in the hands of the French.

“I was convinced that when once they promised to do so, they would convey me to the country whither I declared it my wish to go. It was with this conviction that I selected France wherein to put my trust; for the word of France up to this day has been held to be inviolable. I demanded from General Lamoricière that I should be conveyed to Alexandria, without touching at Oran, or Algiers, or any port in France.

“To this demand he not only gave a verbal adhesion, but sent me a letter solemnly guaranteeing the fulfilment of my wish, signed with his name in French, and sealed with his Arabic seal. When this letter reached me, believing the word of the French was one, I gave myself up into his hands. At present this belief is shaken. Confirm me in it by giving me my liberty. You have accomplished a work which promises to confer happiness on all. Let me not be a solitary exception.

“Often have I said to myself, ‘Had the French taken me prisoner in battle, they would have treated me well; for they are brave and generous, and know how to hold the balance between the conqueror and the conquered.’ Well, I have not been made prisoner. I gave myself up of my own free will. Some of you may imagine that, regretting the step I took, I still harbour thoughts of returning to Algeria. That can never be. I may actually be numbered amongst the dead. My sole wish is to be allowed to go to Mecca and Medina, there to worship and adore the all-powerful God, until He calls me to Him.

“Receive my salutations.

“Abdel Kader ibn Mehi-ed-Deen.