1835.
Count D’Erlon visited Oran in the month of June, 1835. Abdel Kader wrote
to compliment him on his arrival, and anxiously awaited overtures. The
Governor-General was desirous of inviting him to a personal interview.
Trezel firmly and successfully pointed out the impolicy of such a step.
He maintained that, so far from Abdel Kader being willing to see, much
more to aid in, the extension of French dominion in Algeria, he was, in
fact, adroitly making the French Government the instrument for his own
exaltation, and that to enter into closer relations with him would be
tantamount to an approval of his late conduct.
Such, indeed, was the indignation of that uncompromising soldier at the
facility with which Abdel Kader was achieving his own ends at the
expense, as he conceived, of French honour, and to the great scandal of
French common sense and discrimination, that he had more than once been
tempted to march against him on his own responsibility. D’Erlon, on the
contrary, strongly impressed by this time with the importance and
necessity of Abdel Kader’s support, would not hear of any steps being
taken that might possibly lead to a rupture; and on returning to
Algiers, ordered Trezel carefully to cultivate his friendship and
alliance.
Such, however, in a short time, became the state of affairs in the
province of Oran, that Trezel had only before him the choice of two
courses—either to submit to Abdel Kader’s dictation, and await his
sovereign pleasure in all things connected with the interior, or to
place himself in such a position as to be enabled to act independently.
The Douairs and Zmelas had resumed a friendly intercourse with the
French. Abdel Kader threatened to take them back forcibly to Tlemsen.
Those tribes, rather than abandon their crops and be deprived of a
profitable traffic, at once demanded French protection. Trezel granted
their request; and, hearing that Abdel Kader’s officers were engaged in
harassing them with forcible measures—seizing their cattle and carrying
off some of their Sheiks—he sent a brigade to their camping ground near
Miserghin. On the 16th June, 1835, a treaty, containing eleven articles,
was signed by both parties, in which the Douairs and Zmelas were
declared French subjects.
Abdel Kader was still desirous to avert hostilities, and even so anxious
to avoid any pretext which might lead to them, that he had issued strict
orders that no Arab was, under any circumstances, to fire on a Frenchman
except in self-defence. He therefore simply wrote to Trezel, strongly
protesting against a step which he looked on as a glaring infraction of
the treaty of Desmichels, by which the French engaged not to harbour
refugees from the tribes, and to send back Arab deserters.
Trezel answered him that he was quite willing to abide by that treaty;
but argued that the word “deserter” applied only to individuals, and
could never have been intended to extend to whole tribes who preferred
French rule to his. Viewing the sense of the treaty in that light, he
said, he could never deprive the Douairs and Zmelas of the rights they
had obtained.
This notification drew from Abdel Kader the following letter:—
“You know the conditions which Desmichels made with me before you came
to Oran, and to which you yourself promised to adhere. By those
conditions, every Arab who commits a misdemeanour or crime, and flies to
you for refuge and protection, is to be sent back to me, even when it is
a question of more than one individual. How much stronger becomes my
claim on this point, when it is a question of whole tribes deserting and
going over to you!
“The Douairs and Zmelas are my subjects; and according to our law, I
have a right to do with them as I please. If you withdraw your
protection from them, and let them obey me, as heretofore, it is well.
If, on the contrary, you persist in breaking your engagements, recall at
once your consul from Mascara; for even should the Douairs and Zmelas
enter within the walls of Oran, I will not withdraw my hand from them
until they repent and atone for their fault. Moreover, my religion
prohibits me from allowing a Mussulman to be under the dominion of a
Christian. See what suits you best; otherwise the God of Battles must
decide between us.”
Trezel could only reply to such a tone by the sound of cannon. Indeed,
hostilities had, in some degree, already begun. A few days previously,
the French cavalry, being short of forage, had cut down the crops of the
Hashem Gharabas. Abdel Kader, on hearing of this irruption on his family
tribe, had moved up 2,000 horse and 800 foot to their vicinity, near the
river Sig. Trezel now determined to attack this force before it assumed
any greater development. On the 26th of June, 1835, he led out a column
for that purpose, consisting of 5,000 infantry, a regiment of Chasseurs
d’Afrique, 4 mountain pieces, and 20 waggons for provisions, besides the
ordinary ambulance.
Shortly after entering the wood of Muley Ismail, the leading companies
opened fire on what they conceived to be a straggling party of the
Arabs. The fire was vigorously returned. Presently cavalry appeared. It
was Abdel Kader’s advanced guard, coming from the Sig. In a few minutes
the French were furiously attacked in front and on their flanks.
The suddenness of the onset, the thickness of the wood, and the
undulating nature of the ground, which tended to conceal the real number
of the enemy, combined with the shouts and cries by which the Arabs
sought to magnify their number, all contributed to shake the steadiness
of the French column. In vain were certain changes in its formation
attempted: the rear battalions ordered to close up, the centre
compacted, and the cavalry thrown out. In a short time the whole body
was thrown into confusion, the cavalry was driven in, and the infantry
and artillery were only able to fire their discharges at random.
For a while the Arab attack seemed to relent. The French now broke from
their ranks. The provision waggons were seized and emptied; the wine
casks were staved in. All eat and drank ravenously. At length, by the
greatest exertions on the part of the officers, some sort of order was
restored, and an onward movement was effected. The banks of the Sig were
reached about sunset; and there the French column encamped in solid
square.
Fortunately for the French, the main body of Abdel Kader’s army,
approaching by forced marches from Tlemsen, had been obliged to halt for
a short repose some two leagues higher up the stream. The French, for
that night, had a respite. At dawn of day, Trezel commenced a retreat;
but Abdel Kader had not been inactive. By a rapid night march he had
succeeded in placing himself on the enemy’s line of communication with
Oran. Trezel was in no condition to fight his way, and took the
direction of the seaport town of Arzew. Knowing the difficulties of a
direct movement in that point—part of the intervening country being
almost impassable to waggons and artillery carriages—he determined to
turn the Hamian Mountains, and to emerge on the plain of Arzew by the
defile of the Habra, where that river Habra changes its name to that of
the Macta.
Abdel Kader, seeing the direction the French were taking, at once
devised their object. If he could only occupy the defile of the Habra
before they reached it, he knew they would be at his mercy. But the
distance was too great for infantry to accomplish in time to effect his
object. Selecting a thousand horsemen, he ordered each rider to mount a
foot soldier behind him, and gallop to the spot. This lucky inspiration
was crowned with complete success. The French, after patiently toiling
across the plain of Ceirat, harassed all the way by the Arab cavalry,
entered the defile about mid-day.
To their surprise they found the slopes on either side of them bristling
with arms. As they proceeded, huge pieces of rock were hurled down upon
them. While the French skirmishers were occupied during two hours in
bravely but slowly opening a way, Abdel Kader with his whole army closed
in upon them from behind. Their rear guard, fearing to be cut off,
pushed on confusedly to the front.
Part of the ambulance and artillery took ground to the right, and got
swamped in a marsh. The artillerymen cut their traces and fled.
Regiments got intermingled. Companies and sections of companies rushed
here and there for places of shelter or escape. Luckily for them, the
Arabs were too much occupied in plundering and stripping and slaying the
wounded, to follow them into the nooks and corners in which they had
sought for refuge. Many, trying to swim the river, were carried away by
the stream and drowned. Night came on. The crushed and mutilated mass
dropped away towards Arzew in disjointed fragments of helpless and
bewildered fugitives.
The Arabs knew no bounds to their exultation. Shouts of joy resounded,
and the glare of torches flashed to and fro in the defile all through
the night. An aerial spectator might have seen one part of it occupied
with busy architects. Drawing near, he would have seen something growing
up from the ground, like a pyramid. Bending down and listening, he would
have heard frantic cries of “more heads, more heads!” A closer
inspection of this work of art would have revealed to the astonished
gaze hundreds of French heads, piled up promiscuously.
Abdel Kader rode towards the place about midnight. He reined up, and
paused for awhile in silent and painful contemplation. His soul revolted
at the ghastly trophy. For the moment he was powerless; but as he passed
on, he resolved in his mind that this should be the last of such
barbarities.
Such was the terrible episode of the Macta. France was electrified at
the news of the disaster. The nation, with one accord, demanded
investigation, punishment, and vengeance. D’Erlon was recalled; the
brave but unfortunate Trezel was replaced by General D’Arlanges. Marshal
Clausel was sent to inaugurate a new era in what was now called the
African colony of France; but his new weapons were destined to break in
his hands.
In the session of 1835, M. Thiers spoke powerfully in the French
Chambers on the subject of the system which had, up to that time, been
pursued in Algeria. “It is not colonisation,” he said. “It is not
occupation on a large scale; it is not occupation on a small scale. It
is not peace; it is not war. It is war badly made.” Roused by this
taunt, so bitterly justified by the late deplorable event on the Macta,
the French Government at last threw some energy into its mode of action,
augmented the army in Algeria, ordered the vigorous prosecution of the
war with Abdel Kader, and decreed the occupation of Mascara. It was
thought that the seizure of his capital would bring the aspiring young
Sultan to terms.
Marshal Clausel arrived at Algiers August 10th, 1835. A pompous
proclamation which he issued boastfully announced the speedy submission
of the whole regency. A map was at the same time published, showing the
colony divided into beylicks, with the names of the native beys
appointed to govern them. Abdel Kader was held to be a thing of the
past, or, if existing, to be easily disposed of.
This highly satisfactory arrangement, however, never extended beyond the
domain of imagination. The marshal’s military deeds were destined to
contrast awkwardly with his military dreams. Expeditions to Medea, to
Miliana, to Cherchell, all returned with sad tales of humiliation and
reverse. “In two months,” he had ostentatiously declared, “the Hadjouts
shall cease to be.” The marshal theorised; Abdel Kader performed.
His Khalifa at Miliana descended, by his orders, into the Metija with
5,000 cavalry and infantry, rallied these very Hadjouts, swept the
plains of Algiers of all the French colonists, and blockaded Algiers
itself. On the other hand, D’Arlanges and the garrison of Oran were
reduced to the greatest straits. They were little more than prisoners of
war. Abdel Kader had almost realised his threat that not a bird should
fly over the towns occupied by the infidels without his leave.
The French everywhere writhed in their fetters. The army breathed fury
and indignation, and almost mutinied. From the general to the drummer,
all loudly demanded to be led out against the daring and successful Arab
who was thus setting them at defiance and enveloping them in the toils
of his fearless and enterprising genius. On the 21st of November, 1835,
Clausel went to Oran, and prepared to take the field with 12,000 men.
Abdel Kader was already on the alert. His available force, to meet the
coming shock, was 8,000 cavalry, 2,000 infantry, and four pieces of
cannon. With these he proposed to check, harass, and perhaps scatter,
the French army on its line of march. To defend Mascara never entered
into his plan; his was not a siege power.
Clausel quitted Oran November 27th. The wood of Muley Ismael was passed,
and the fording of the Sig effected without opposition. As the column
drew near to the Habra, the Arabs were seen moving in a parallel
direction along the adjacent heights. Abdel Kader was watching the
moment when a break in the French lines would offer him a favourable
point of attack. Clausel, penetrating this intention, halted, closed up,
and, making face to his right, advanced against the Arabs, in _échelons_
of battalions from his left.
Abdel Kader refused battle. Leaving his adversary to enjoy the barren
fruits of his change of front, he pushed on rapidly, and placed himself
across the main road leading to Mascara. His left was posted on an
eminence, where he placed his artillery; his right was protected by a
wood. His selection of ground would have done honour to a European
general.
An able commander may seize a strategical point in such a manner as to
decide the fate of a campaign. He may overbear, and even turn to a good
account, obstacles apparently insuperable, by tactical skill; he may
make time and space subservient to his designs; but he cannot give
irregulars the firmness requisite to hold the part assigned to them in a
regular order of battle. It was the fate of Abdel Kader to discover now,
that, in attempting to realise the theories of European military science
in the open field, and on a given ground, with the levies under his
command, the elements he wielded were below the requirements of his
genius.
Four chapels, dedicated to Sidi Embarek, were occupied by his advanced
posts. These the French quickly drove in. The Arab cavalry charged in
various places; but they were broken and dispersed by shells and
rockets. Abdel Kader directed in person the fire of his artillery. Some
well-directed shots had thrown a French brigade into confusion.
Immediately he led on his infantry against it. Animated by his presence,
his Arabs and Kabyles went in valiantly. But they measured themselves in
vain against the courage and obstinacy of French infantry. The struggle
on their part was desperate but fruitless, and they retreated in
confusion.
The French had in the meantime, and after some hours’ hard fighting,
possessed themselves of the wood on the right of the Arab position,
whilst their artillery had pushed well up the main road. The Arabs
abandoned the field at all points. Abdel Kader vainly endeavoured to
preserve some order in the retreat. That night, his regular infantry
disbanded. Of the cavalry of the tribes, some went to their homes;
others hurried off to Mascara, and began to plunder the place. He
himself withdrew to Cachero, his family property, about two leagues
beyond that town.
The army of Abdel Kader had melted away like a wreath of snow. It was
evident that the French would soon be in Mascara. Tlemsen might even
fall into their hands in a brief space of time. Whole tribes, as a
probable consequence, would seek safety by submission. Some of his
chiefs, on whom Abdel Kader most relied, had already deserted him. His
case seemed to be hopeless. But he calmly awaited the time when the
panic should subside; he felt assured that it would be only transient.
He was mortified and indignant at the stain which had been put upon his
fame and reputation by the weakness and pusillanimity of some, and the
treason of others. Yet he never uttered an invective or a reproach.
The few followers who remained with Abdel Kader anxiously endeavoured to
read his thoughts. The alarmists he re-assured; the faint-hearted he
encouraged; to his mother, who, with womanly tenderness and compassion,
now approached him to pour words of comfort and consolation in his ear,
he calmly replied, taking her hand in his, “Women, mother, have need of
pity, not men.”
Clausel entered Mascara December 6, 1835. A miserable crowd of Jews was
all that remained of its population. They came out of their dens to
crouch at the feet of the victorious French. All masters were alike to
these exiles from the Land of Promise. The Mohammedans had disdained to
allow them to accompany them in their flight. On the 7th, flames burst
forth in various parts of the town, but were soon extinguished. The
French were just beginning to repose from their fatigues, and were
contemplating a permanent occupation, when, to their surprise and
disgust, they got orders to prepare for leaving. On the 8th December,
Mascara was evacuated.
The next day, a horseman appeared before its gates. It was Abdel Kader.
Rumours of his presence spread rapidly. Some Arabs made their appearance
before him; they looked abashed and mistrustful. El Aoura, Aga of the
Hashems, was amongst the number. In the flight, he had carried off the
royal parasol. He now produced it. “Keep it for yourself,” said Abdel
Kader, with a sarcastic smile; “you may, one of these days, be Sultan.”
As the day wore on, some of the fugitive chiefs came dropping in. Abdel
Kader eyed them contemptuously. At last, one ventured to ask him, if he
had any orders to give them. “My orders!” he exclaimed. “Yes, my orders
are, that you instantly relieve me from the burden you imposed upon me,
and which the interests of religion alone have enabled me to support, up
to this hour. Let the tribes make choice of my successor, and inform Il
Hadj Djellali of the result. I am going with my family to Morocco.”
By a common impulse, chiefs and men prostrated themselves before him,
kissed his hands, his feet, his burnous, imploring pardon and
forgiveness for the past, and promising fidelity and constancy for the
future. “He was their father, their Sultan, the chosen of God to lead on
the Djehad; their lives were his; if he left them, they had nought to do
but surrender to the infidels.” At these last words, Abdel Kader turned
round abruptly. The blood mantled to his cheeks. They had struck the
only chord to which his heart responded—the sense of duty. “God’s will
be done,” he exclaimed; “but remember, I swear never to enter Mascara
except to go to the Mosque, until you have avenged your ignominious
defeat. I see traitors amongst you; Mamoor yonder is one; let him be
hung.” The unfortunate culprit was seized and executed forthwith.
The master spirit had prevailed; confidence was restored. That night,
from the royal tent, dispatches went forth to all the tribes, summoning
them to renewed action. On the morrow, Abdel Kader, buoyant and cheerful
as ever, towering above misfortune, mighty in disaster, dauntless where
all desponded, arresting victory in her flight from the very depths of
humiliation and defeat, sallied forth, sword in hand, at the head of
6,000 cavalry, to attack and harass the French column, as, wrapped in
tempest, drenched with rain, and benumbed with cold, it pursued its
incomprehensible retreat on Mostaganem.