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!