CHAPTER XX

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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!

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