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.