CHAPTER XXIII

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1853-1860.

Abdel Kader at length sailed from Constantinople for Broussa. The Pasha in that town had been ordered by the Turkish Government to place a carriage at his disposal, on landing. “What!” said the Turk, “an Arab ride in a carriage! Who ever heard of such a thing? Surely there are plenty of camels to be had. Why does not the man hire a camel? Is not a camel good enough for him?” The Turk was spared the indignity of supplying the Arab with a carriage, on account of the simple fact, that it was impossible to traverse the road from the landing-place to Broussa in any vehicle whatever; and of this fact, the Sublime Porte, at a distance of scarcely twenty miles, was profoundly ignorant.

Fortunately for Abdel Kader, though thrown amongst the Turks, he was in no way obliged to be dependent on them. The munificence of Louis Napoleon had largely provided for his wants. The Emperor had settled on him a pension for life of £4,000 a year. With Abdel Kader’s habits, this income was more than a competence, it was superfluity. With such wealth he might have lived in princely state, and indulged in ostentation. But he was regulated by other principles.

At all times averse to self-gratification, Abdel Kader looked upon this liberal allowance as a trust; and he considered that after deducting what was absolutely necessary for his own expenses, he was bound to expend the remainder for the benefit of others. His income now enabled him to provide for the wants of many who had nobly refused to separate themselves from his fortunes, and even to extend his generosity to other quarters. Reserving barely a half for himself and family, he disbursed the residue in salaries to his most needy chiefs and dependents; in charities to the poor, presents to the mosques, and other benevolent purposes. It is to be remarked that out of his income he had also to support his two brothers and their families.

So averse, indeed, was Abdel Kader to vain and trifling expenditure of every sort, that the outlay generally devoted by his co-religionists to rejoicings and festivities, at one of their most important religious rites, was by him directed to charitable ends. On the occasion of the circumcision of one of his sons, the people of Broussa were surprised to see, in place of the usual costly procession, with all its concomitants of pomp and show—the cavalcade, the flags and the music—a vast assemblage of the poor congregated in front of his dwelling, and receiving from his own hands presents of bread, and clothing, and money. Such was, in the eyes of Abdel Kader, the best commemoration of the sacred rite.

The building which the Turkish Government had allotted for his residence was an old dilapidated khan, in many parts without a roof. With some difficulty he contrived to make it habitable. The wildness and gloom of the old ruin were terrible. But he bought a small farm in the neighbourhood, to which he escaped at times to regale himself with a sight of the sun and to breathe the fresh air.

His days were passed, as usual, in the education of his children, in readings at the mosque, and in private study and meditation. Still he felt himself in a land of strangers. Few understood his language. Between the Turks and himself there was no possible sympathy, and there never could be. The Ulemas amongst them envied and disliked him for his superior learning. The Effendis, in their supercilious pride, scarcely vouchsafed to notice him. The public functionaries, gradually recovering from their dread of his widely-spread influence, smiled with inward repose and satisfaction, not unmingled with contempt, as they congratulated each other on the discovery that the great Arab hero was after all only a “derweesh.”

Thus time wore on with him for nearly three years. He secretly longed for a change in his place of exile; but he was diffident in asking for it. At last, the appalling earthquake which, in 1855, nearly laid all Broussa in ruins, afforded him a plea for opening the subject, and he hastened to avail himself of the circumstance. He obtained permission to go to France. He once more saw the Emperor, who graciously acceded to all his wishes. It was arranged that for the future his residence should be at Damascus.

Whilst Abdel Kader was in Paris, the news of the fall of Sebastopol arrived. He was asked to assist at the celebration of the _Te Deum_ in Notre Dame; and he was told that the Emperor would be flattered by his presence on the occasion.

Though prostrated by a recent severe illness, he consented to go. No small sensation was created amongst the vast throng which filled the cathedral, as Abdel Kader advanced up to the altar, leaning on the arm of a French marshal, and accompanied by other officers of rank. On leaving it he was loudly cheered.

The principal aide-de-camp of the Minister of War conducted him over the International Exhibition, which on the year of this visit made Paris the rendezvous of all the civilised world. After viewing all the varied productions which it contained, he paused for a long time in perfect astonishment at the marvellous elaborations of machinery which expanded in various compartments before his eyes. Then he suddenly exclaimed, “Surely this is the temple of reason and intelligence, animated by the breath of God.”

After returning to Broussa, where he remained for a few weeks to arrange and settle his affairs, he finally embarked on board a French steamer, with his family and suite, amounting in all to more than one hundred persons, and reached Beyrout, November 24th, 1856; and from thence, after a short stay, he proceeded to Damascus.

Midway on his ascent of the Lebanon he was surprised to hear the sound of firing, as though a battle were raging close by. Presently he saw the heights and slopes covered with large bodies of men, keeping up a well- sustained roll of musketry; and then, a compact and splendidly attired cavalcade advancing to his encounter. The Druzes had assembled to give him a welcome.

Their chiefs, on approaching him, dismounted. He returned the compliment. They bowed before him with oriental prostrations, and kissed his hand. Then they begged him to do them the honour of reposing amongst them, if only for one night. He accepted their invitation, and found once more a hospitable Eastern home. His heart expanded. He was once more amongst the Arabs.

Long and closely did these mountain warriors question him as to his campaigns against the French. “If your fame,” they said, “has so long raised our spirits and excited our admiration; if it has so long rejoiced our hearts to hear of you, how much more must we rejoice to see you!” On his leaving the Lebanon he was escorted by the Druzes to the frontiers of their territory. After thanking them for their courtesy and attention, Abdel Kader parted from them with the words, “God grant we may ever remain one!” and the Druzes replied, “God grant it! May we soon meet again.”

Another ovation, and on a larger scale, awaited Abdel Kader at Damascus. The whole Mohammedan population—men, women, and children—turned out to receive him. For more than a mile outside the gates the road was lined on either side with all ranks and degrees of persons dressed in holiday attire, who had come forth to feast their eyes by gazing on the renowned champion and hero of Islam. Preceded by a detachment of Turkish troops and a band of military music, Abdel Kader passed, almost like a conqueror, through the crowd, joyfully returning the unintermittent salaams with which he was greeted. No such Arab had entered Damascus since the days of Saladin.

The Sultan had ordered a serail to be placed at the disposal of Abdel Kader. Luckily for him, the khans were all already fully occupied. He only took up his residence in the abode prepared for him temporarily, and until he could select and purchase a house for himself. The Turkish authorities paid no further attention to him. It was quite enough for them that they had to endure him. They could not lower his rank and position, for an arm was outstretched over him stronger than theirs; they could not undermine his influence, for his was an ascendancy that defied their malice; they looked upon him as a painful and unavoidable anomaly, and succumbed.

Visits and salutations of various kinds soon multiplied upon him. Ben Salem, his old and devoted Khalifa, and some hundreds of Algerines, who had already obtained permission to settle at Damascus, and who proudly swelled his suite as he entered the city, now thronged around him day and night, never sufficiently satisfied with the sight of their adored Sultan, from whom they had been so long separated. The great Arab Effendis offered him the most ardent demonstrations of respect.

But it was to the Ulemas and the lettered classes that Abdel Kader became the great centre of attraction. By virtue of his triple warrant, as descendant of the Prophet, Ulema, and leader of the Djehad, he was entitled to their profoundest reverence. They felt themselves bound to him not only by feelings of national sympathy, but of religious duty. Their experience of his superior learning, quickly obtained, made them anxious to profit by his instructions. They begged him to become their teacher. A theological class, consisting of upwards of sixty students, was formed. It held its daily sittings in the great mosque, and Abdel Kader presided over it with scrupulous punctuality. The Koran and the Hadeeth naturally formed the great staple of discussion; but unlike the ordinary teachers, whose utmost stretch of mental power only extended to worn-out remarks and commentaries on the sacred books, Abdel Kader astonished and delighted his disciples by choice quotations from the works of Plato and Aristotle, and occasionally even from authors of less repute, selected from his own library, which he had been carefully re- forming during his residence at Broussa.

The light which thus shed its rays over the literary world of the Mohammedans of Damascus, was of course accompanied by its attendant shadow of envy and detraction, fostered by offended vanities and obscured reputations. Such, on the whole, was the social position of Abdel Kader in Damascus, when events unexpectedly occurred to disturb for a moment the tranquil tenor of his life.

The Peace of Paris, concluded in 1856, filled the Turks with mingled sensations of exultation and mistrust: of exultation, because the peace had rescued them from an impending doom, and renewed their lease of political existence; of mistrust, because the deed of deliverance was saddled with a decree of death. Such a doom, it is true, depended on the realization of a theory; but that theory was, to them, of ominous importance. By eliciting from them the Hati Homayoom of 1856, the Christian Powers simply made the Turks put the knife to their own throats.

If that famous “Magna Charta for the Christians of the East,” as it has been ridiculously styled by those who know nothing at all about the politics of the East, was to be strictly carried into execution, the relative position of Turks and Christians, as a body, throughout the Turkish empire, would in due course of time be completely reversed. The Turks have as yet escaped the stern necessity of giving themselves the fatal gash; and their kind and forbearing allies have for the moment refrained from pressing the completion of the sacrifice. Nevertheless, it behoves the Christian Powers, seriously and conscientiously, to reflect that, on the execution or non-execution of the Hati Homayoom, depends the gradual enfranchisement, or the continued bondage and degradation of Christianity, under Turkish rule.

When the Christian Powers signed a document giving the Turks an indefinite tenure of political existence, they virtually ratified the bond by which the latter have consigned some of the fairest provinces of the earth to irremediable depopulation, barrenness, and sterility. When they contented themselves with receiving in exchange an impossible programme of amalgamation, progress, and refinement, they not only stultified themselves, but betrayed the vital interests of humanity and civilisation.

If England, passively consenting to be bound down by traditions which took their rise in an age when the East, with all its glorious destinies, was universally ignored, chooses still to regard the maintenance of the Turkish empire as indispensable to the balance of power in Europe—as though, in the event of its abruption or collapse, national adjustments would become impossibilities, political arrangements fictions, and diplomatic treaties myths—if, with suicidal arm, she still persists in helping to lock up those rich, fertile, and widely extended regions, which, if that empire were to pass under Christian sway, would rapidly be opened up to her commercial enterprise, and would increase the demands upon her arts and manufactures ten, fifty, and a hundred fold; then let her, by all means, go on worshipping her “log of wood,” and lavish in its support her money, her arms, and her men, thereby wasting and crippling her actual and prospective resources.

But if, awakened at length to a due sense of her dignity and of her best interests, to say nothing of her responsibilities to a Higher Power, England should resolve to abandon the fruitless and thankless task of attempting to mould, tutor, and reform a government which by its very nature must ever be a stumbling-block and an offence in the path of Eastern advancement—which is the fanatical and persecuting enemy of her faith, which laughs at her credulity, practises on her forbearance, and is a permanent obstruction to the full development of her wealth and greatness—then her policy will lie in a nut-shell. Let her leave the Turks to fight their own battles. Howsoever, wheresoever, and by whomsoever attacked, let her stand by an undisturbed spectator. Let her quietly see the game commenced. She will always be in time to cut in and play her own cards.

The Christians of Syria have ever been viewed by the Turks with gloomy jealousy. They are called “the Key to the Franks.” The Turks imagine them to be ever ready to welcome and aid a Frank invading force; furnishing it with supplies, and in various ways initiating it into the land’s capabilities and resources. Their increasing population, wealth, and prosperity, are to the Turks a perpetual source of exasperation, exciting in their breasts feelings of hatred and broodings of revenge.

These Christians had deluded themselves into the idea that the Hati Homayoom was to become a reality. They gloried in the prospects of civil, military, and political equality with their Mohammedan fellow- subjects which it held out to them. They craved to be permitted to enter the service of the State, and offered to serve in the army. They were told their services were not wanted. At the same time the information was vouchsafed to them that they were to be subjected to a yearly fine of ten shillings per head, in lieu of military service.

“What!”—they argued amongst themselves—“is this all that our friends and protectors, the great Christian Powers, have been able to procure from the Turks by the promulgation of the Hati Homayoom? Could they do no more than achieve mockery and derision for themselves, and for us an additional mark of inferiority and humiliation?” They could not believe it. The mistake, they were sure, would be rectified. They protested, and refused to pay the tax.

The Christians of the Lebanon soon after observed, with just alarm, the menacing attitude displayed towards them by the Druzes. They knew at once that the Turks were going to play their old game of letting loose these tribes against them. What had they to do? They armed themselves to the teeth; and they were right. The Turco-Druze compact was already completed. Such was the aspect of affairs between the Turks and the Rayahs in Syria in 1859.

The Turkish authorities in that province had duly reported the refractory conduct of the Christians, and the general tone of assumption evinced by them, to their superiors in Constantinople. In the instructions they received, they were emphatically told that the Christians must be “corrected.” The expression seems trivial, but those to whom it was addressed perfectly well understood its cabalistic meaning.

As a Turkish sultan was once entering his kiosk, a handsome, comely- looking youth, the son of one of his viziers, attracted his notice. He approached him, patted him on the cheek, and stroked his chin. The lad, well knowing the feelings which prompted such a mark of attention, turned away from the caress with offensive abruptness. The Sultan looked towards the father, and sternly said, “Your son must be corrected.” That same day the lad’s head was cut off. He had been “corrected.” In Eastern phraseology this is called “imperial correction.”

In May, 1860, the civil war between the Druzes and Christians, so sedulously fostered and excited by the Turks, broke out. In little more than a month the Lebanon became a vast scene of slaughter and conflagration. In an evil hour the Christians, despite their better convictions, had allowed themselves to be deceived by the solemn protestations of Turkish pashas and colonels, who called upon God to witness that they were about to act as mediators.

They repaired by hundreds to the different Turkish garrisons planted over the mountain, hourly expecting the signal for peace. There, after having been politely requested to give up their arms, as a mark of confidence, they were crammed into open courts, or penned up in small chambers, according to the nature of the locality, and assured they were in perfect safety. And then, after a time, the Druzes and the Turkish troops fell on them, and massacred them all. They had been “corrected.”

The Christians of Damascus were the next to be “corrected.” Abdel Kader, entirely ignorant of the great Turco-Druze plot, had sent messages to some of his friends among the Druze Sheiks, at the commencement of the civil war in the Lebanon, calling upon them to exercise forbearance and moderation. He soon had occasion to turn his attention to events nearer home. Rumours were daily becoming more and more rife that the Mohammedans of the Pashalick of Damascus intended to rise on the Christians.

Abdel Kader was at first incredulous. But his Algerines came round him day by day, repeating to him the fearful gossip of the town. Many of them, who had been tampered with, were asked to join in the scheme. He now went to the Ulemas, and begged them to use their influence with the people to allay the feeling, and avert such a frightful catastrophe. He wrote urgent letters in the same sense to the Ulemas of Homs and Hamah.

Having received information that some straggling parties of the Druzes were extending their ravages towards Damascus, he hastened to send the following collective letter to all their leading Sheiks:—

“TO THE DRUZE SHEIKS IN MOUNT LEBANON, AND IN THE PLAINS AND MOUNTAINS OF THE HOURAN.

“We continually invoke for you eternal happiness, and continuation of prosperity.

“You are aware of our friendship for you, and our goodwill towards all the servants of God. Hearken to what we say to you, and accept and be advised by our admonition. The Turkish Government, and all men, know your old enmity towards the Christians of Mount Lebanon, and you may imagine that the Government will not hold you wholly responsible for the war which is now raging between you and them. The Government may accept your excuses.

“But if you make offensive movements against a place with the inhabitants of which you have never before been at enmity, we fear such conduct would be the cause of a serious rupture between you and the Government. You know how anxious we are for your welfare and happiness, and that of all your countrymen at large. The wise, before taking a step, calculate the consequences.

“Some of your horsemen have already been pillaging in the environs of Damascus. Such proceedings are unworthy of a community distinguished for its good sense and wise policy. We repeat it, we are most anxious for your welfare, and are hurt at whatever reflects on your name.

“ABDEL KADER IBN MEHI-ED-DEEN.

“_May_, 1860.”

Abdel Kader next proceeded to Achmet Pasha, the Governor, and stated his apprehensions. The Pasha told him that there was no occasion to be alarmed, and that all reports were mere idle rumours. A second and third time he went to the Governor and renewed his representations, but with little or no effect. At last the Pasha allowed a few arms to be distributed amongst Abdel Kader’s followers, but without instructions under what circumstances they were to be used.

On the 9th of July, in the forenoon, Abdel Kader’s Algerines came running in, in breathless haste, and told him the town had risen. Without a moment’s delay he sallied forth, ordering his attendants to follow him. After a few turnings he met a furious mob in full career towards the Christian quarter. He drew up with his men in the centre of the street. The mob stopped short. A pause ensued. Abdel Kader harangued the rioters, expostulated with them, and endeavoured to convince them of the awfulness of the crime which they were about to commit. He implored them to desist and return.

“What!” they shouted, “you, the great slayer of Christians, are you come out to prevent us from slaying them in our turn? Away!”

“If I slew Christians,” he shouted in reply, “it was in accordance with our law—Christians who had declared war against me, and were arrayed in arms against our faith.”

“Away, away!” retorted the mobs, and the rioters rushed by. Within three hours the Christian quarter was a waving sheet of fire. The hot blast, fraught with the moans of the tortured and the shrieks of the defiled, rolled over the city like a gust from hell.

The Pasha had some days before made a pretence of affording protection to the Christians by stationing Turkish troops in their quarter. He now sent his soldiers orders to withdraw. They piled arms and plundered. But Abdel Kader hurried to the rescue. Altogether about 1,000 of his Algerines had by this time gathered round him. He patrolled the flaming streets. His men went from house to house, entering and crying out, “Christians, come forth! Do not fear us—we are Abdel Kader’s men, and are here to save you! Come forth, come forth!”

At first, no voices responded. The unfortunate victims dreaded fresh treachery. By degrees, however, after repeated and earnest assurances, they gained confidence. Men, women, and children issued forth trembling and crawling from their hiding-places. They emerged from wells, from sinks, from gutters. As fast as they could be collected together, they were hurried off to Abdel Kader’s abode, enclosed in long oblong squares, formed by the Algerines to protect them on the way from insult and attack.

Abdel Kader, who had more than once narrowly escaped suffocation, now returned to his house. He found it filled to overflowing. He induced his immediate neighbours to vacate their abodes in order to give shelter to the unhappy fugitives. But the tide kept pouring in, and still more space was wanted. As a last resource, he proposed to the Christians to send them for protection to the Turkish castle. But at this proposition a wild cry arose from all. The poor creatures fell on their knees, and with frantic gestures and agonising accents exclaimed, “O Abdel Kader, for God’s sake do not send us to the Turks! By your mother! by your wife! by your children! O Abdel Kader, save us from the Turks!”

Abdel Kader endeavoured to reassure the supplicants and allay their fears. He pledged himself for their safety, and offered to accompany them to the citadel himself. Not a hair of their heads should be touched, he said, while he was alive. With sad misgivings and sinking hearts, the Christians at length consented to go. Abdel Kader headed the sad procession in person. His Algerines marched on its flanks and in its rear. It moved on rapidly. An unwonted gloom pervaded the great city. The bazaars were all deserted, and reverberated to the escort’s tramp in sad funereal echoes. The castle, which lay nearly a mile off, was reached a little before sunset, and Abdel Kader gave over his charge. The Turks looked at him askance.

For several days his Algerines were constantly engaged in escorting fugitive Christians, in batches of twenty, fifty, and a hundred, to the same destination. As they were being hurried along, all exclaimed alike, “Do not leave us to the mercy of the Turks! Come back to us! Stay with us! The Turks will yet murder us!” Nor indeed were their fears unfounded.

On the third day, when the large quadrangle within the castle was crowded with the Christians, to the amount of some thousands, of all ranks, ages, and sexes, the Turks coolly divided the males from the females into two large bodies. The one was intended for massacre; the other was reserved for violation. They only awaited the arrival of the Druzes, whom they were hourly and anxiously expecting, to co-operate with them in the fiendish work.

But here, also, Abdel Kader had marred and circumvented their diabolical designs. He had heard of the approach of the Druzes. He had ridden out to meet them. He had fallen in with them at the village of Ashrafeeiy, in the outskirts of the city. There he had parleyed with their Sheiks, had reasoned with them, and by his personal influence, and his eloquent and persuasive arguments, had succeeded in turning them aside from their bloody errand.

For ten days he continued engaged in his arduous task. Once the mob approached his house, and demanded with frantic yells that the Christians within it should be delivered up to them. He drew his sword, and, accompanied by a strong body of his followers, at once went out to confront the yelling crowd. “Wretches!” he exclaimed, “is this the way you honour the Prophet? May his curse be upon you! Shame on you, shame! You will yet live to repent. You think you may do as you like with the Christians; but the day of retribution will come. The Franks will yet turn your mosques into churches. Not a Christian will I give up. They are my brothers. Stand back, or I give my men the order to fire.” The mob withdrew.

When he returned to his post it was to keep anxious watch by day, and sleepless vigil by night. He had a rug spread at his entrance door, and on this hard bed he snatched intervals of troubled rest. He never once retired. He felt that his personal presence was absolutely indispensable for the safety of all. The stream of fugitives was incessant. Every moment Abdel Kader was called up to give orders to form escorts, or to issue provisions to the thousands congregated under his roof.

The European Consuls, leaving their burning consulates behind them, had fled to him with their families on the first day. The British Consul alone, living in the Mohammedan quarter, had thought himself secure. But, as an additional security, he had sent to the Pasha, and requested that Turkish troops might be stationed at his house. A detachment of soldiers was accordingly dispatched for his protection.

Shortly after their arrival one of his cawasses came and told him to beware. He had overheard the conversation of the Turkish soldiers. They were talking of breaking into the consulate, and murdering every one within their reach. After a slight deliberation, it was decided that Abdel Kader was the only resource now left. To Abdel Kader, accordingly, a messenger was instantly sent, craving immediate assistance. To the surprise and astonishment of the Turkish soldiers, seventeen Algerines suddenly appeared, and seemed to supersede them in their functions. The Turks were overawed. Their bloody plot was frustrated; and the safety of the British Consul was secured. The interposition had been indeed both timely and providential. In a few minutes more the Consul with his staff and household would have been _massacred by their Turkish guard!_

Though the great mass of the Christians had been forwarded to the castle, the Consuls and many of the wealthier classes remained partakers of Abdel Kader’s hospitality for more than a month. By degrees, however, this assemblage broke up, moving off in successive parties, always escorted by Algerines, to Beyrout.

Abdel Kader was at length enabled to repose. He had rescued 15,000 souls belonging to the Eastern churches from death, and worse than death, by his fearless courage, his unwearied activity, and his catholic-minded zeal. All the representatives of the Christian powers then residing in Damascus, without one single exception, had owed their lives to him. Strange and unparalleled destiny! An Arab had thrown his guardian ægis over the outraged majesty of Europe. A descendant of the Prophet had sheltered and protected the Spouse of Christ.

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