LIFE OF ABDEL KADER.
[Illustration]
THE
LIFE OF ABDEL KADER,
Ex-Sultan of the Arabs of Algeria;
WRITTEN FROM HIS OWN DICTATION, AND COMPILED
FROM OTHER AUTHENTIC SOURCES.
BY
COLONEL CHURCHILL,
AUTHOR OF “TEN YEARS’ RESIDENCE IN MOUNT LEBANON,” “DRUZES AND
MARONITES UNDER TURKISH RULE,” ETC., ETC.
LONDON:
CHAPMAN AND HALL, 193, PICCADILLY.
1867.
LONDON:
VIRTUE AND CO., PRINTERS,
CITY ROAD.
DEDICATION.
* * * * *
TO
NAPOLEON III.,
EMPEROR OF THE FRENCH.
SIRE,
OTHERS may claim for themselves the glorious privilege of recording
the courage, the sagacity, and the skill with which you wield the
destinies of Imperial France.
I have claimed, and am proud to have procured at your hands, the humbler
but scarcely less glorious privilege of dedicating to you a work which,
while it celebrates the great actions, and portrays the magnanimous
character of one of the most remarkable men whom the Arab race has ever
produced, records at the same time, though feebly and inadequately, the
loftiness of principle, the chivalry of sentiment, and the sensitive
jealousy of French honour which induced you to release him,
spontaneously and unconditionally, from treacherous detention on French
soil.
That act was a worthy inauguration of your splendid reign. That act
alone would suffice to give it imperishable lustre.
CHARLES HENRY CHURCHILL.
PREFACE.
* * * * *
If I should unfortunately be mistaken in the belief and expectation that
some interest may yet be excited in the public mind by a narrative of
the deeds and exploits of the illustrious Arab whose extraordinary
career I have selected as my theme, I shall willingly impute my
disappointment, not to any want of judgment and discrimination on the
part of the reading public, but to my own involuntary and sincere
enthusiasm for all that is grand, ennobling, and romantic.
That these characteristics attach largely, and in their most inspiring
and soul-stirring sense, to the life I here depict, the following pages
amply corroborate.
Having thus exhibited the feeling which induced me to approach a
subject, to me fraught with peculiar and almost irresistible
attractions, I proceed to state the circumstances under which my present
work was commenced and matured.
I was at Constantinople in the month of September, 1853. Abdel Kader was
living, an exile, at Broussa. To have been within such an easy distance
of one who had for so many years been invested in my mind with all the
attributes of heroic greatness, without gratifying myself with a sight
of his person, would have been doing treason to my warmest and most
deeply cherished feelings.
I went accordingly and saw him. The acquaintance thus formed has been,
through a course of wholly unexpected events, gradually cemented into
permanent and unalterable friendship. In 1855 he came to Syria, his
place of exile having been changed from Broussa to Damascus. On his way
to the latter, from Beyrout, he passed a short time with me in the
Lebanon.
Our long conversations turned almost exclusively on his proceedings in
Algeria—his campaigns, his mode of administration, his plans of reform,
and his principles of government. He expatiated on all these topics not
only without reserve, but with exuberance. The stirring recital,
delivered at times in a tone of martial energy and enthusiasm, at others
with an air of melancholy which touchingly told of glowing hopes cruelly
frustrated, of lofty and patriotic inspirations rudely crushed, was more
than simply interesting and exciting. It had the grandeur and sublimity
of a tragic epos.
What, I thought to myself, shall all this wealth of incident, these
marvels of adventure, these varieties of good, and great, and glorious
deeds be suffered to become “alms for oblivion,”[1] without even a
feeble attempt at rescue? Shall no one ever have an opportunity afforded
him of being urged to greater self-discipline, to the attainment of more
mental hardihood, to the practice of more severe abnegation, by having
placed before him the record of a life marked and distinguished by such
absorbing devotion to a sense of duty, such fixity and concentration of
purpose, such unflinching and indomitable perseverance?
Filled with these reflections, I one morning asked Abdel Kader if he had
never kept any written memorial of the transactions in which he had been
engaged. He smiled, and said, “I was far too much and constantly
occupied for that. I did my duty. That was quite occupation enough for
me.” “But,” I added, “if I were to endeavour to draw up an account of
your various doings, would you assist me?” “With the greatest pleasure,”
was his reply; “I will gladly answer any questions you may wish to put
me.” That day I resolved to write the biography of Abdel Kader.
I resided at Damascus during the winter of 1859-60, expressly for the
purpose of carrying my resolution into effect. Abdel Kader, though a
perfect miser of his time, courteously consented to give me an audience
of one hour every day. The mine was before me. I had to extract the ore.
I laboured at it for five months. Some French works assisted me in my
course of inquiry, such as “Annales Algériennes,” by M. Pellissier de
Reynaud; “Histoire de la Conquête d’Alger,” by M. Alfred Nottement, and
others of less note. At a later period I also profited by a publication
more exclusively devoted to my subject, entitled “Abdel Kader, sa vie
Politique et Militaire,” by M. Bellemare.
Abdel Kader was most ample in his remarks and commentaries on these
authors. He thus supplied me with many useful rectifications, as well as
a vast amount of valuable and important original information from
himself.
Little did I contemplate, on leaving Damascus in the spring of 1860,
that another chapter was so soon about to be added to his strange and
eventful history; or that his glorious star, apparently for ever set,
was destined shortly to burst forth again with meteoric splendour. Of
his magnanimous and exemplary conduct during the fearful massacre of the
Christians in that city, through the shameless and heartless complicity
of the Turkish authorities, I obtained the most extensive and correct
details from eye-witnesses.
Such, then, were my materials. It remained for me to compile and embody
them. I have done so. With all diffidence and humility I invite my
readers to pronounce their verdict on the performance.
CONTENTS.
* * * * *
PAGE.
CHAPTER I.—1807-1828 1
CHAPTER II.—1830-1832 14
CHAPTER III.—1833 30
CHAPTER IV.—1833 43
CHAPTER V.—1834 57
CHAPTER VI.—1835 72
CHAPTER VII.—1836 84
CHAPTER VIII.—1837 97
CHAPTER IX.—1838 109
CHAPTER X.—1838 122
CHAPTER XI.—1838-1839 139
CHAPTER XII.—1839 153
CHAPTER XIII.—1839 167
CHAPTER XIV.—1839-1840 181
CHAPTER XV.—1841-1842 194
CHAPTER XVI.—1841-1842 206
CHAPTER XVII.—1843 219
CHAPTER XVIII.—1844-1845 231
CHAPTER XIX.—1845-1847 245
CHAPTER XX.—1847 259
CHAPTER XXI.—1847-1848 271
CHAPTER XXII.—1848-1853 287
CHAPTER XXIII.—1853-1860 301
CHAPTER XXIV—1860-1864 319
LETTER OF ABDEL KADER TO THE AUTHOR.
* * * * *
[TRANSLATION.]
PRAISE BE TO GOD ALONE!
To the amiable, the honourable, the all-accomplished and virtuous
Colonel Churchill.
After offering you our salutations, and inquiring after your noble
pleasure, we have to acknowledge your valued letter, showing your high
regard for us.
May God recompense you with His highest rewards, and make your portion
exceedingly rich and full in everlasting felicity.
We have now to state that we were hindered from replying to you sooner
by an illness, which prevented us even for several days from going to
the house of prayer. But now it is the most imperative of our imperative
duties to thank you, in reply, for your great kindness. We never cease
inquiring about all that may concern, or be connected with your
Excellency; and we pray God to smooth and prosper our affairs in common,
and to establish us in all rectitude and good works. With best wishes
for your peace and happiness,
ABDEL KADER IBN MEHI-ED-DEEN.
_1 Jumadi_, 1273.
_25th December_, 1856.
LIFE OF ABDEL KADER.
* * * * *
CHAPTER I.
1807-1828.
Abdel Kader Nusr-ed-deen, fourth son of Abdel Kader Mehi-ed-deen, was
born in the month of May, 1807, at the paternal _ketna_, or family
village, on the banks of the river Hammam. This locality lies in the
district of Eghrees, appertaining to the province of Oran, in Algeria.
From his infancy Abdel Kader was the especial object of his father’s
fondest affections. Even when at the breast, the doting parent would
constantly insist on taking the child in his arms; and he reluctantly
permitted anyone but himself to do the duties of a nurse. Some secret
and undefined impulse, as it seemed, impelled him to devote more than
ordinary care and attention to the child, whose future career was to be
so indelibly and gloriously associated with his country’s weal.
The physical constitution of the boy early exhibited a robust
development; whilst, by a strange contrast, his disposition displayed a
great natural timidity. The term “frightened at a shadow,” might have
been taken in its most literal sense in his case. In after years, and
when in the pride and vigour of manhood, he shone forth as the bravest
of the brave—ever foremost to lead the charge, or cover the retreat—his
father would often rally him on his boyish frailty, and wonder at the
extraordinary contrast.
The mental powers of the boy were more than usually precocious. At the
age of five he could read and write; at twelve he was a Taleb, or an
approved proficient in the Koran, the Hadeeth (traditional sayings of
the prophet Mohammed), and all the most esteemed religious expositions.
Two years later he attained the highly-prized distinction of being a
Hafiz, or one who knows the entire Koran by heart. In this position he
had a class in the family mosque, where he explained the most difficult
and recondite passages of the commentators. The extent of his youthful
ambition was to be a great Marabout, like his father, whom he loved and
regarded with an enthusiasm amounting to adoration.
In his seventeenth year the youth was conspicuous amongst his associates
for his remarkable strength and agility. The perfect symmetry and
compactness of his figure—his height being about five feet six
inches—his bony make, his broad, deep chest, all betokened a frame
formed for untiring activity, and capable of enduring the utmost
fatigue.
As an equestrian, none approached him. Not only was he a graceful rider,
but his marvellous superiority in all those feats of horsemanship which
require the nicest eye, the steadiest hand, and the greatest efforts of
muscular power, was the theme of all who knew him. Touching his horse’s
shoulder with his breast, he would place one hand on its back, and vault
over to the other side; or, putting the animal to its full speed, he
would disengage his feet from the stirrups, stand up in the saddle, and
fire at a mark with the utmost precision. Under his light and skilful
touch, his well-trained Arab would kneel down, or walk for yards on his
hind legs, its fore ones pawing the air, or spring and jump like a
gazelle.
But it was on the race-course that the youth more particularly shone.
That exciting pastime, into which the Algerian nobles enter with a
passion not exceeded by our most devoted amateurs of the turf, was his
peculiar element. Mounted on a jet-black steed—a colour he especially
affected, as generally accompanied by superior equine qualities, and as
throwing into relief the whiteness of his burnous—he was the cynosure of
every eye.
His apparel was plain and simple. His arms alone displayed ornament. His
long Tunisian musket was inlaid with silver; his pistols were encrusted
with mother-of-pearl and coral; and his Damascus blade encased in a
sheath of silver gilt. These brilliant appurtenances, combined with the
partial gifts which Nature had lavished on his person, threw an
inexpressible charm around his appearance.
His countenance, of the purest classic mould, was singularly attractive
from its expressive and yet almost feminine beauty. His nose—middling-
sized and delicately shaped—a pleasing mean between the Grecian and the
Roman type; his lips, finely chiseled and slightly compressed, bespoke
dignified reserve and firmness of purpose; while large, lustrous hazel
eyes beamed from beneath a massive forehead of marble whiteness with
subdued and melancholy softness, or flashed with the rays of genius and
intelligence.
Once the race engaged, his whole hearing and demeanour exhibited the
most perfect coolness and self-possession. Distancing his numerous
competitors, he would often reach the goal alone, amidst shouts of
applause, clapping of hands, and the exhilarating shouts of hundreds of
female voices bursting out into the _zulagheel_—that shrill and piercing
cry of joy and welcome amongst the Arabs, which is so cheering to the
triumphant warrior.
Thus, when at a later period of his life he performed those marvellous
courses which astonished and confounded his enemies—never sleeping for
weeks together under cover, and rarely ungirdling his sword—it was truly
said of him that “his saddle was his throne.”
In Algeria, the nobility is divided into two distinct classes—the
Marabouts and the Djouads. The former derive their position from
religion; the other from the sword. These respective representatives of
moral influence and physical strength regard each other with mutual
scorn and jealousy. The Djouads accuse the Marabouts of ill-disguised
ambition, and of a greedy covetousness after wealth and power, veiled
under the specious pretext that every fresh acquisition they make was
solely for the service of religion. The Marabouts taunt the Djouads with
their violence, licentiousness, and love of rapine.
The Djied devotes himself entirely to the chase. He delights in all the
bracing recreations which call forth skill and courage. His pride is to
excel in falconry, in hunting the gazelle, the ostrich, the panther, and
the wild boar. These violent pursuits, the thrilling excitement of which
calls forth all the energies of body and mind, prepare him for the more
serious encounters of war. The chase is the school for the razzia.
Abdel Kader, although he certainly never contemplated the possibility of
ever being engaged in a razzia, and altogether repudiated such a mode of
warfare (based as it generally was on the mere love of plunder), as
equally contrary to his principles and his inclination, yet engaged
ardently in field sports. His favourite diversion was to hunt the wild
boar. Carefully avoiding the ostentatious display of the Djouads, as
they sallied forth with their long train of adherents, their falcons,
and their greyhounds, he privately mounted his horse, and taking only
two or three domestics, plunged into the depths of the forest. On his
return from his sporting excursions, he betook himself to his studies
with renewed ardour.
It is not surprising that one so highly gifted by nature, and so earnest
in the task of self-culture and improvement, should have gradually
obtained a considerable ascendancy over all around him. Abdel Kader,
indeed, already shared the unbounded respect, confidence, and affection
which the Arabs of Oran had so long extended to his father. The latter,
overjoyed to see his fondest hopes thus realised, could not perform a
duty, or enjoy a social pleasure, without the presence of his favourite
son. In his public audiences, his plans and projects, his lesser
journeyings, or his more distant visits to the Turkish beys in the town,
and the Arab tribes in the Tell or Sahara, Abdel Kader was his unfailing
confidant and companion.
According to Moslem usage, and the law of the Koran, Abdel Kader married
young. “Marry young,” says the Prophet, “marriage subdues the man’s look
and regulates the maiden’s conduct.” At that period of life when the
passions first agitate the breast, Abdel Kader was, in an especial
manner, the object of his father’s solicitude. Faithful and trustworthy
servants accompanied him wherever he went. He was never allowed to be
alone. Temptations were thus avoided which might have endangered the
purity of his morals. At the age of fifteen he married his cousin, Leila
Heira, who was alike remarkable for her beauty and her moral
attractions.
The time at length arrived when Mehi-ed-deen, now in his fiftieth year,
felt it his duty to perform a pilgrimage to Mecca. Large preparations
were made for the solemn event. Many were the entreaties on the part of
his sons and retainers to be allowed the boon of sharing the dangers and
the honours of the journey. None could endure the thought of being left
behind. Mehi-ed-deen, embarrassed by such applications, declared his
intention of going alone. The next day an exception was made in favour
of Abdel Kader. All, though with mournful hearts, were obliged to submit
to the final mandate; and father and son left the ketna, in October,
1823.
The rumour of Mehi-ed-deen’s movement soon spread through the province
of Oran. Suddenly, a sympathetic impulse seemed to inspire the Arabs in
all directions. All remembered they had a pilgrimage to perform. “To
Mecca, to Mecca!” resounded on every side. Parties were made, mules
procured, tents prepared.
On his first day’s halt, Mehi-ed-deen saw his place of encampment
invaded by hundreds of Arabs claiming the privilege of joining him on
his pious errand. On the second day they increased to thousands. On the
fourth, a sea of tents surged around him. Gentle remonstrance and stern
refusal were equally unavailing. Mehi-ed-deen was their Marabout, their
chief, their saint, and doubly blessed would those be who under such
auspices should kiss the Holy Shrine. On the sixth evening the vast
pilgrimage had assembled on the banks of the Ejdowia, in the valley of
the Cheliff.
At dead of night a Turkish horseman rode up at full gallop, and
dismounted at the tent of Mehi-ed-deen. He was the bearer of a dispatch
from Hussein Bey, the governor of Oran. The missive was hastily opened
by Abdel Kader, and found to contain a courteous summons to his father
to repair to that seat of government. Before daybreak Mehi-ed-deen had
finished his arrangements for a return to Oran, in obedience to his
chief’s commands.
Great was the consternation which seized the Arabs when the news of this
unexpected summons got abroad; not only were all their hopes damped and
frustrated, but their liveliest fears were awakened for their beloved
leader. Numbers thronged around him. Some clung to his person, others
seized his horse; others again flung themselves despairingly across the
horse’s path—all entreating and imploring him not to heed the message.
To all these ardent demonstrations of attachment Mehi-ed-deen, with that
sense of loyalty which never forsook him, calmly replied, “My children,
it is my duty to obey, and I go, though it cost me my head.”
Having thus spoken, and bidden the friends around him farewell, he took
his course with Abdel Kader to the spot to which he was summoned.
The reception given them by Hussein Bey was apparently frank and
cordial. Addressing himself to Mehi-ed-deen, he said, “You know, my
friend, how high you stand in my favour and esteem. Deeply has it
grieved me to hear the malicious reports which have been spread about
you. Your enemies are numerous. I dreaded lest you should fall into the
hands of the Dey of Algiers, whose territory you have just entered in a
way which, I know, has excited his suspicions. I sent for you, to save
you from impending danger. My heart was filled with anxiety on your
account.”
“And it was to save you anxiety,” mildly and sarcastically replied Mehi-
ed-deen, “that I obeyed your summons.”
There is no doubt, in fact, that Hussein Bey was himself actuated by
those very feelings of jealousy and suspicion which he had described as
peculiar to his colleague at Algiers. The strange and unusual gathering
of the Arabs around Mehi-ed-deen had alarmed him. He knew and hated the
great Marabout’s popularity. He dreaded lest it might one day raise him
into the position of a rival power. Any overt acts of hostility against
the man he feared, he was well aware, were dangerous, if not fruitless.
But now he had succeeded, under the garb of friendship, in getting this
very man into his power. His subsequent proceedings soon revealed his
real intentions. Scarcely had Mehi-ed-deen and Abdel Kader gone to their
lodgings ere a Turkish guard was placed over them. Wherever they went
they were escorted by soldiers. Soldiers entered with them into the
houses of their friends. Soldiers stood by them in the mosque. They were
prisoners of state.
This irksome position of things continued with unabated rigour for two
years. Mehi-ed-deen never made a remonstrance. Profiting by their forced
seclusion, he and Abdel Kader ardently pursued their favourite studies.
They awaited with stoic resignation the issue of their tyrant’s caprice.
At last Hussein Bey, awakened to the folly of his fears, sent for Mehi-
ed-deen and gave him permission to resume his pilgrimage.
Resolving not to return to the ketna, even to bid adieu once more to his
family, lest such steps should produce a similar manifestation to that
which had previously caused them so much embarrassment, Mehi-ed-deen and
Abdel Kader left Oran with the greatest privacy, in November, 1825.
Passing through Medea and Constantine, they reached Tunis, where they
joined a company of 2,000 pilgrims who were awaiting a favourable
occasion to proceed by sea to Alexandria. The whole party shortly
afterwards embarked in a vessel bound for that port. But they were
overtaken by a violent storm, and were obliged to put back. A more
prosperous result attended their next essay; and after beating about for
a fortnight they reached their destination.
After stopping a few days at Alexandria, Mehi-ed-deen and Abdel Kader
went on to Cairo, and pitched their tents near the town. Here for the
first and only time Abdel Kader saw Mohammed Ali. Little did the
youthful pilgrim imagine, while gazing on that successful soldier, that
he himself was already destined to outrival him, before many more years
had past, in military prowess, in administrative ability, and in deeds
of wide-world renown.
The usual route to Mecca, by Suez and Djedda, was performed without any
incident worthy of notice. Having performed their devotions at the
Caaba, Mehi-ed-deen and Abdel Kader separated from their companions and
went to Damascus. In that city they remained for some months. They there
made the acquaintance of the principal Ulemahs, and spent most of their
time in the great mosque, engaged in religious readings.
They now set out on another pilgrimage, scarcely less sacred in their
eyes than the one to Mecca,—that to the tomb of the famous Abdel Kader
il Djellali, the patron saint of Algeria. They reached Bagdad in thirty
days, by the Palmyra route. Belonging as they did to a family well known
for the costly presents which many of its members had laid upon the
sacred tomb, they received a most hospitable reception from the cadi of
the city, Mohammed il Zachariah, who was himself a descendant of the
great saint. Mehi-ed-deen contributed a bag full of gold. To doubt the
miraculous powers of Abdel Kader il Djellali would have been as great a
sin in the eyes of the Marabout as to have doubted the apostolic
mission.
His father Mustapha had thrice performed the pilgrimage to Bagdad, and
had at each time been favoured with peculiar manifestations. Once when
returning, and while yet eight days from Damascus, he got separated from
the caravan and lost his way. Bewildered and benighted, he found himself
alone in the desert. Suddenly a negro appeared by his side, and offered
to conduct him to the city. At break of day he saw the minarets. The
muezzin’s call to prayer struck upon his ears. In a few hours, time and
space had been annihilated.
At another time, when at Cairo, he was desirous of buying a book, but he
had no money for the purchase. A stranger all at once advanced towards
him, placed some coins in his hand, and disappeared. Such, according to
the belief of Mehi-ed-deen, were the rewards of a firm and unshaken
faith in Abdel Kader il Djellali.
This Moslem saint flourished in the twelfth century. There are cenotaphs
to his memory all over the East. In Algeria the operations of the
physical world are believed to be under his control. No journey is ever
undertaken without prayers for his protection; none are terminated
without a festival in his honour. The Arabs attribute the success and
good fortune of Abdel Kader to the patronage of his mighty namesake. But
whenever Abdel Kader was questioned as to his own belief in such a
superstition, he invariably replied, with finger pointed up to heaven,
“My trust was in God alone.”
Many stories have been circulated about mysterious indications given to
Abdel Kader, while at Bagdad, of his future greatness. They are all
without foundation. It is true Mehi-ed-deen had a dream. An angelic
being appeared to him, and putting a key into his hand, told him to
hasten back to Oran. On demanding what he was to do with the key, the
spirit replied to him, “God will direct you.” The dream made an
impression at the time on the two pilgrims, for it was noted down, and
long remembered; but it only excited curiosity, without fostering
delusion.
After spending three months at Bagdad, father and son returned to Mecca.
Their funds were exhausted. For the remainder of their journey, they
depended on the resources of their fellow-travellers, pilgrims like
themselves, who were going back to Algeria. They took the land route the
entire way, and reached home early in 1828, after an absence of more
than two years.
Great were the rejoicings which celebrated their safe arrival at the
ketna. The first and most prominent in the round of festivities was a
great banquet in honour of Abdel Kader il Djellali. Fifteen oxen and
eighty sheep were sacrificed. Guests of every rank and class hourly
arrived from all parts, spontaneously and uninvited. Some were superbly
mounted and splendidly attired, followed by trains of slaves and
domestics; others of the middle classes came riding on mules and
donkeys, whilst hundreds of the lower orders kept pouring in, eagerly
anticipating the princely fare of their revered Marabout.
Mehi-ed-deen, whose hospitality was proverbial, would hear of no limits
to this costly profusion; and thus week after week rolled on, and still
fresh guests were perpetually arriving to swell the general tide of
festivity. Nor was it till nearly all the Arabs of the province of Oran,
and numerous deputations from the tribes of the Sahara, had paid their
tribute of homage and congratulation to the respected chief of the
Hashem, that the Wady Hammam resumed its wonted aspect of quiet and
repose.
Abdel Kader was now once more a peaceful dweller at the paternal ketna.
He made a vow of religious seclusion. No visions of human greatness rose
before him. No worldly aspirations agitated his breast. He scorned the
allurements of ambition. His whole time was given up to close and
unremitting study. No cloistered monk ever shunned more carefully all
contact with his fellow-men. From sunrise to sunset he rarely left his
room. His only interruptions were his meals and the sacred intervals of
prayer.
The works of Plato, Pythagoras, Aristotle, treatises by the most famous
authors of the Arabian Caliphates, on ancient and modern history,
philosophy, philology, astronomy, geography, and even works on medicine,
were eagerly perused by the enthusiastic student. His library
accumulated. The master-spirits were around him. He would not have
exchanged his communion with them for all the thrones in the universe.
But a change was about to come.
The mysterious power which regulates the human will, and makes every
mortal career subservient to its all-wise, all-comprehensive and
resistless fiat, was exercising its invisible influence. Abdel Kader had
renounced the world. He was ere long to appear one of its foremost
actors. He hated battle—yet was he soon to shine mightiest in the
battle’s front.