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Title: The French in Algiers - The Soldier of the Foreign Legion and The Prisoners of Abd-el-Kader
Author: Alby, François Antoine, Lamping, Clemens
Language: English
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THE
FRENCH IN ALGIERS.
THE
SOLDIER OF THE FOREIGN LEGION;
AND THE
PRISONERS OF ABD-EL-KADER.
TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN AND FRENCH BY
LADY DUFF GORDON.
_NEW EDITION._
LONDON:
JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET.
1855.
PREFACE.
Clemens Lamping, the author of the first part of this little volume,
is a young lieutenant in the Oldenburg service, who, tired of the
monotonous life of a garrison, resigned his commission in July, 1839,
and went to Spain to win his spurs under Espartero. Unfortunately he
was detained by contrary winds, and arrived just as the treaty of
Bergara had put an end to the war.
After spending six months at Madrid in abortive attempts to join
the army in Arragon, then the seat of war, he resolved to go to
Africa, and take part in the French crusade against the infidels.
He accordingly went to Cadiz, encountering many adventures on his
way through La Mancha and Andaluzia, and thence to Algiers, where he
entered the foreign legion as a volunteer.
After two years of danger and hardship, the author returned to
Oldenburg, having lost many illusions, and gained some experience.
His sovereign restored him to his former grade in the service of
Oldenburg, where he sits at his ease by his own fireside, and relates
his adventures to his friends.
Lieutenant Lamping’s Reminiscences are followed by the abridgement
of a narrative of five months’ captivity among the Arabs, by M. de
France, a lieutenant in the French navy. The author modestly assures
his readers that he is better skilled in the management of a ship than
of his pen, and that his book would never have been published but
at the request of his friends. It has nevertheless reached a second
edition in France.
L. D. G.
CONTENTS.
————
THE SOLDIER OF THE FOREIGN LEGION.
CHAPTER I.
Page
Coleah—Arab Coffee-houses—The Hakim’s—Court of Justice—Arab Women
and Domestic Life—Marriages—False alarm—Sofi the Modern
Hâfiz—Grief for the departed glory of the Moors—Abubekr’s piety
rewarded 1
CHAPTER II.
Algiers—The Poetry of the Galleys—Bath—Palace at Mustapha
Superieur—General Von Hulsen—I join the Foreign Legion—French
colonization in Africa—Hassan, the coffee-house keeper 15
CHAPTER III.
Dschigeli—The Foreign Legion—Climate—Attack of the Kabyles on the
Blockhouses—Massacre of a Kabyle Village—Samoom—Homeric Fight—Death
of my Friend—Fort Duquesne—Formidable Starfish—Shipwreck—Engagement
with the Kabyles—Escape of the Prisoners—Burial of their Dead 22
CHAPTER IV.
Budschia—Monkeys—March to Buterback—General Bugeaud—Algiers—Lord
Exmouth and the Dey—Progress of civilization and jollity among the
Arabs of both sexes—Songs 34
CHAPTER V.
March to Delhi Ibrahim—Horrible scene—Blidah—_Colonne
Expéditionnaire_—Dukes of Nemours and Aumale—Pass of the Col de
Mussaia—Medeah—Arab burial-grounds—Marabout in the mountains—Taking
of Callah—March through the Desert—Destruction of Abd-el-Kader’s
castle—Milianah—Night march—Sight of the Sea 41
CHAPTER VI.
Arab Valour—Abd-el-Kader—Snakes—Burning the Crops—Roman Bridge—The
Duke of Aumale falls sick—Plundering of a Kabyle Village—The
Prisoners—The Queen’s Tomb—Her royal crown—Inexpediency of turning
the sword into a ploughshare 64
CHAPTER VII.
Inspection of our Regiment—Military intendants—_Hôpital du Dey_—Its
inmates—Eastern Garden 76
CHAPTER VIII.
Voyage to Mostaganem—Storm—Funeral at sea—Landing—Bivouac
Matamon—Bey of Mostaganem—Arabic music—Captain Lièvre—African
spring—French and Arab Soldiers 79
THE PRISONERS OF ABD-EL-KADER.
CHAPTER I.
Page
Life on board the brig—Expedition up the country—Am noosed by the
Arabs—They contend for the pleasure of cutting off my head—Adda
sends me to Abd-el-Kader—The head—Painful journey—Arrival at
Abd-el-Kader’s camp 93
CHAPTER II.
Reception at Abd-el-Kader’s camp—Description of Abd-el-Kader—His
tent—Unexpected meeting with M. Meurice—Abd-el-Kader’s officers 100
CHAPTER III.
Meurice’s story—The camp and the soldiery—The Adventures of a
German renegade—Arab horses—Prayers—The Sultan’s band of music 106
CHAPTER IV.
French deserters—Sardinian prisoners—Their story—Letter to
Algiers—Raising the camp—Abd-el-Kader—The only cannon—The Bey of
Mostaganem—Return to El-Kaala 113
CHAPTER V.
Method of cooling a tent—Abd-el-Kader’s munificence—Tribute paid
in kind—A good dinner—Coffee—Supplies from Morocco—Letter from
General Létang—Arab foray—Prisoners—The beautiful black slave girl
120
CHAPTER VI.
Revolt of Abd-el-Kader’s uncle—His letter—Jews—Attack on the
Beni-Flitas and Houledscherifs—Horrible execution of a
prisoner—Vermin—Tekedemta—Letter from the Arab prisoners at
Marseilles 127
CHAPTER VII.
Ruins of Tekedemta—Abd-el-Kader’s schemes—Attempt to convert
me—More tribute—Terms of Exchange—Tumblers and Singers—Restoration
of Tekedemta 134
CHAPTER VIII.
Marches—The five marabouts—Cards and chess—Night March—The
Sultan’s arrival at the camp—His wife—Female camp—Raka the
cup-bearer—Abd-el-Kader’s Court of Justice 141
CHAPTER IX.
Offers of exchange—Report of the death of the King of
France—Festivities—Sham fight—Two French soldiers—M.
Lanternier—Meurice gets worse—Baths at Mascara—Lanternier’s
prison—His wife and daughter sent to the Emperor of Morocco—Little
Benedicto 149
CHAPTER X.
Prison at Mascara—Death of Meurice—Lanternier joins us—Four new
prisoners—Their adventures—Our way of passing our time—Conversation
of the Prisoners—Fourteen heads—The Italians 158
CHAPTER XI.
Departure from Mascara—Striking scene—Milianah—Moussa the
renegade—His letter—The Rhamadan—Delays—The Bey of Milianah—Setting
out for Algiers—The Bey’s daughters—First sight of Algiers—Fresh
delays and disappointments—The Hakem’s hospitality—Arrival at
Algiers—Benedicto—The Arab prisoners at Marseilles 165
THE FRENCH IN ALGIERS.
================
CHAPTER I.
Coleah—Arab Coffee-houses—The Hakim’s—Court of Justice—Arab Women and
Domestic Life—Marriages—False Alarm—Sofi the Modern Hâfiz—Grief for
the Departed Glory of the Moors—Abubekr’s Piety rewarded.
Coleah, September, 1841.
At last, my dear friend, after so many hardships and such various
wanderings, I have leisure to write to you; and I have much, very
much, to tell. The events of my life have lately followed each other
in such rapid succession, that the dangers and sorrows of the noble,
much-enduring Odysseus, nay, even the immortal adventures of the
valiant Knight of La Mancha, are mere child’s play in comparison with
my own.
Since the month of April we have scarce had time to take breath; so
rapidly did expedition follow expedition, and _razzia razzia_. The
new Governor, Bugeaud, naturally enough wishes to show that he is
equal to his post. His predecessor, Vallée, drew upon himself the
imputation of indolence, but no one can deny to Bugeaud the possession
of great energy and untiring activity. He encounters the Arabs with
their own weapons, harassing them with incessant attacks, and burning
and plundering the whole country. We have made two very important
expeditions; the first against Thaza, a strong fortress belonging to
Abd-el-Kader, situated on the borders of the desert. After destroying
this place, we returned through the iron gates (_portes de fer_) to
our own camp; this expedition occupied about four weeks. A few days
afterwards we started again to throw provisions into Milianah, and
to lay waste the plains of the Chellif with fire and sword. It was
exactly harvest time. In order to cut off from the Bedouins all means
of existence, it was of course necessary to drive away their cattle
and to burn their corn. Before long the whole plain looked like a sea
of fire.
These expeditions, sent out in the very hottest season of the year,
had such an effect upon the health of the soldiers, that the Governor
was compelled to allow them a short rest. The regiment to which
I belonged had scarcely a third part fit for service, the other
two-thirds were either dead or in the hospital. We were accordingly
sent to Coleah to recruit our strength.
You will have a tolerably correct idea of our recruiting quarters when
I tell you that one day is passed on guard, another in reconnoitring
the enemy for several hours, and the third in working at the dry ditch
(a sort of _pendant_ to the great wall of China) intended to defend
the plain of the Metidja against any sudden attacks of the Hadjutes.
I assure you, however, that we think this life vastly agreeable, and
consider ourselves as well off as if we were in Abraham’s bosom. There
was a time, indeed, when I should not have been quite so contented
with my lot, but every thing is relative in this best of all possible
worlds.
Coleah is a true Arab town, which stands on the south-eastern
declivity of the Sahel range of mountains, in a charming little nook,
and is well supplied with water.
We are only twelve leagues from Algiers and about three from the sea,
the proximity to which makes the place extremely healthy. The constant
sea breeze renders the heat even of this season quite tolerable.
At our feet is stretched the vast plain of the Metidja bounded by the
blue hills of the lesser Atlas range. We are quartered in a fortified
camp outside the town, on a small eminence which commands it. Of
course all the gates of the town and the market-place are guarded by
our troops. My leisure hours, which, indeed, are not too many, are
generally passed in sauntering about the streets.
The inhabitants of Coleah are pure descendants of the Moors, and still
retain some traces of their former refinement; you must not confound
them with the Bedouins and Kabyles, who always have been, and still
are the lowest in point of civilisation. I have nowhere found the Arab
so polished and so attractive as at Coleah, not even at Algiers and
Oran; in those towns, their intercourse with the French has called
forth all their rapacity, and spoiled the simplicity of their manners.
It is a remarkable fact that in all these towns near the sea the
Spanish language is still spoken, of course in a most corrupt dialect;
a proof that some connection with Spain has constantly existed—often,
no doubt, a very reluctant one on their parts: as in the reign of
Charles V., who conquered great part of this coast.
To me this is very welcome, as it enables me to talk with the Arabs;
it is not however easy to enter into conversation with them, as they
are almost always silent and reserved towards strangers. In order to
get them to talk it is necessary first to inspire confidence.
All my spare time is passed in the Arab coffee-house, the resort of
the fashion and aristocracy of Coleah, and I have already succeeded
in making some acquaintances. I have even obtained marks of evident
goodwill from them by my earnest and sympathising attention to
their singers and story-tellers, who never fail to attend the best
coffee-houses.
The clerk of the Hakim (the chief magistrate) is a great friend of
mine. He is an exceedingly well-informed man, and with you he would be
called “Mr. Secretary.” He knows the whole Koran by heart, besides a
host of Persian poems.
Like every man of sense he is exceedingly modest, lamenting his
ignorance, and inquiring diligently into our European habits and
manners. I have occasionally had the pleasure of seeing my friend Ben
Jussuf (for that is his name) occupied in the fulfilment of his duties
as clerk. Every Friday is kept by the Arabs as a holiday on which
markets are held and judgments given. On this day the Hakim sits in
the public place before the great coffee-house, and holds his court;
on his right hand stands his clerk who commits his judgments to paper,
and on his left the executioner who inflicts the punishments awarded
by the Hakim on the spot. This generally consists in some fifty or
hundred strokes of the bastinado, and sometimes even in death; the
latter, however, only for political offences, such as treasonable
correspondence with the enemy, &c. Should the case be doubtful, the
Hakim orders a certain number of strokes of the bastinado to be given
to both parties, and takes to himself the object of contention,
generally a sheep or a donkey—a proceeding only differing from our
own inasmuch as it has the great advantage of being more summary.
If any one is too profuse in his excuses, the Hakim says to the
executioner, “Give my comrade (among the Arabs every one is a comrade)
some thirty strokes of the bastinado, to teach him not to confuse me
any more with his ingenious evasions.” In this country, you see, an
advocate’s fees would not be very high.
Coleah is held in great reverence by the Arabs as it contains
Abd-el-Kader’s vault, in which are deposited the bodies of several
members of his family. The French have spared this tomb, in
consideration of which Abd-el-Kader has vowed never to attack the town
or its immediate neighbourhood.
The Hakim belongs to the family of the Emir, and is very rich: the
sheath and handle of his yataghan are of pure gold, and his horses
the finest I ever saw. He is the ideal of a noble Arab—terrible to
his enemies, hospitable and munificent to his friends, and especially
charitable to the poor. I have seen him during the great fast, when
the Mahomedans may eat nothing till after sunset, call together some
thirty beggars every evening before his door, bring them food, and
wait upon them himself with the help of his three grown up sons.
The beggars feasted upon kuskussu (porridge made with barley meal)
and baked mutton with great dignity and grace; and when they were
satisfied they rose, kissed the Hakim on the shoulders and cheeks,
and departed. The most contradictory qualities are often united in
the Arab nature—harshness and benevolence, cruelty and generosity,
rapacity and munificence: we should beware how we condemn them without
further knowledge of their character, and we must on no account
measure them by our Christian and European standard.
The great fast of the Mahomedans, which lasts forty days, began a
few days ago. During all this time the Arabs eat nothing during the
whole day, and are especially enjoined by the Prophet to be constant
in devotion and to give freely to the poor:—and the Arab is a very
strict observer of all his religious duties. Three times a day, at
the hours of sunrise, mid-day, and sunset, the loud voice of the
marabout, or priest, is heard from the minaret of the mosque summoning
the faithful to prayer.
The moment the Arab hears the call of the marabout he throws himself
upon the earth, wherever he may chance to be, and touches the ground
with his brow, then rising again he stretches his arms toward heaven
with his face turned in the direction of Mecca. His white flowing
bernouse and his long beard give him a venerable and patriarchal air.
Thus, surely, did Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob worship their God. The
Arab has no hesitation in performing his devotions in the presence
of the crowd, and is totally without either the false shame or the
religious hypocrisy of an European.
Most Mahomedans wear a rosary of beads, which they tell while
repeating sentences out of the Koran; to this is usually appended
a large brass comb, with which they comb their beards during their
orisons with the most solemn earnestness. The impression produced by
this on Europeans is highly comical, but to the Mahomedan it seems
natural enough, as any purification of the body, such as combing and
washing, are to him in themselves religious acts.
They are by no means behind us in superstition, and frequently hang,
as an amulet round the neck of a favourite horse, a leathern bag
containing some verses out of the Koran, to protect them from evil
machinations.
The Arab is great and admirable at the hour of death. I have seen many
Arabs die, but never did I see one beg his life or utter any unmanly
complaint. When his hour is come he recommends his soul to Mahomed,
and dies.
They have physicians only for external injuries or for fevers
incidental to the climate: when one of them is attacked by an internal
disorder or by the decrepitude of age, his relations quietly leave him
to his fate, and no one troubles his head about him again.
It was but a few days ago that I saw an Arab die thus on the threshold
of his own house: he had already lain there some days with his
bernouse drawn over his head. When he felt the approach of death he
exclaimed with a loud voice, “Mahomed! Mahomed!” and died.
The burial is conducted much in the same manner as with us. The
corpse, rolled in a mantle, and with the face uncovered, is borne to
the grave by four men. The priest who walks before it sings a song
to which the others respond in chorus: but their song is cheerful,
and their step quick; for the departed has quitted the hardships
and sorrows of this life, and now rests in Paradise beside a shady
fountain, served by women whose beauty is unfading.
After the corpse has been lowered into it, the tomb is carefully
bricked up, in order to prevent the jackals and hyænas from scratching
up the body. The mourners then sit round the grave, and one of the
near relations of the deceased gives to every one present a piece of
bread and some fruit.
* * * * *
The fair sex is not altogether fair here, at least in my opinion. No
one can deny that the Arab women have graceful figures and regular
features, but they want those essential requisites of beauty—a soul
and individual expression. They are all exactly alike, and their faces
express but two passions—love and hate; all nicer shades of feeling
are wanting. How, indeed, would it be possible for them to acquire
intellectual or bodily cultivation, when the greater part of their
time is spent seated cross-legged grinding corn in a hand-mill, or
asleep?
The married women are seldom seen out of their houses, and then only
closely veiled. The young girls, on the contrary, are to be found
every morning at sunrise outside the gate of the town, standing by the
fountain, at which they assemble with stone jars on their shoulders,
to fetch water for the day’s consumption. This truly Eastern scene
calls to mind Rebecca at the well, drawing water for her father’s
flocks.
If a stranger asks a daughter of the town to give him a draught of
water (_alma_), the maiden reaches him the jar with a kindly nod; but
when he has slaked his thirst she pours away the remainder and draws
fresh water, for the lips of the infidel have polluted it.
The Arab women wear a white woollen garment confined under the breast
by a girdle, and a white cloth twisted round the head. Their ornaments
generally consist in rings in their ears and on their ankles, which
are invariably naked. One cannot deny the efficiency of this graceful
manner of calling attention to the beauty of their feet, which are
truly exquisite. These rings, among women of the lower class, are of
silver; among those of the higher class (and here, as in every other
country, there are distinctions of class), they are of gold.
A few days ago my friend Ben Jussuf invited me to go with him to his
house. I, of course, seized with joy this opportunity of seeing him in
his domestic circle.
He knocked at the door, which is invariably kept shut by day and by
night in all Arab houses, a woman shortly appeared and inquired who
was there; at Ben Jussuf’s answer the door was opened, but when the
woman saw me with her husband she instantly concealed her face, and
was about to run away; my friend, however, commanded her to remain.
She was his wife, and besides her he had two others, who were seated
cross-legged in the court, one of them grinding corn in a hand-mill,
the other combing the hair of a boy about five or six years old. I
should have guessed them all three to be at least forty, but Ben
Jussuf assured me that they were all under five-and-twenty; their
faces and figures were withered, and the bloom of youth quite gone,
their eyes alone still retained their fire. At twenty the Arab women
begin to fade, and at thirty they are old matrons.
They all seemed to live in perfect harmony, and the manner of the
women towards their lord and master was obliging even to servility. To
judge by appearances, it must be easier to keep house with three wives
than with one; perhaps the rule “_divide et impera_” holds good in
love as well as in politics, I must however confess that I do not envy
the Mahomedan gentlemen their frigid joys, nor do they seem to find
much satisfaction in them themselves.
The women here are mere slaves; of that chivalrous homage paid by the
Spanish Moors to their women no traces are left save in the songs and
poems of the Arabs.
The children are educated by women up to their seventh year; on
reaching that age the boy is put in possession of a bernouse and
a pony, and is no longer allowed to eat with the women; should his
father be away he has supreme authority over the whole household, not
excepting his own mother.
The manner of arranging a marriage is very simple among the Arabs. A
man takes a sum of money or any article of value, and offers it to
whomsoever he happens to meet with, saying, “Comrade! I hear you have
a marriageable daughter, give her to me as a wife, and take this as
a marriage gift.” If the other thinks the match a suitable one, he
replies, “Yes: here she is, take her with you;” and the marriage is
concluded. The father must, however, warrant her to be a maid; and
if the husband finds she is not, he takes her home next morning and
demands his present back again.
* * * * *
Yesterday we made one of the most interesting reconnoitring
expeditions in which I have been engaged. These expeditions occupy
several hours, and are undertaken for the purpose of driving the
Hadjutes out of the _rayons_ of the blockhouses, and the gardens
belonging to the town. The Hadjutes inhabit the Sahel mountains to
the westward of Coleah, and are notoriously the most thievish set of
fellows in all Africa. They are the people who, on the 1st of May, cut
off the heads of about forty of our regiment at Delhi Ibrahim.
We set out before sunrise, and marched down towards the Metidja. I
was detached on one side with a dozen others, to search the thicket
with which all this country is covered. We followed a track trodden
by wild beasts, for a human foot rarely wanders in this place. We
suddenly emerged into an open space of about thirty square feet, and
as we stepped out of the thicket a large panther stood before us, at
about twenty feet distance, and gazed at us with a look of mingled
wonder and indignation as though he would say, “What seek ye in my
kingdom?” We, however, appealed to the right of the strongest—two
or three muskets were instantly levelled and discharged at him, but
with one bound the panther disappeared among the bushes. A ball or two
must have reached him, but if they do not happen to hit him on the
head, which is his only tender point, he takes no heed of them. These
beasts, and still more hyænas and jackals, abound in this district,
as is shown from the ridiculously small price which is asked by the
Arabs for the skins of these animals.
The Arab chiefs consider the skin of the tiger and the panther as one
of their principal ornaments. The head of the animal is generally
fastened to the saddle-bow, (the head and teeth are essential,) and
the skin waves to and fro with every motion of the horse, so that at a
distance one might almost imagine that some wild beast had just taken
a deadly spring upon the rider.
But to return to my reconnoitring expedition. On coming near the plain
we turned westward, to pass the gorge in which Coleah lies. As there
is no lack of water here, the most abundant vegetation prevails, and
we were delighted and astonished at the extreme richness of the scene.
The luxuriant aloe sends up its blossoms to a height of twenty feet,
and a species of sedgy rush grows as high as a moderate house.
From thence we turned towards our dry ditch, which is nearly finished,
and climbed past it up to the very top of the chain of mountains,
from whence the sea is visible. Here we found plenty of fruit trees,
on some of which the fruit was quite ripe; the pomegranates and the
figs were delicious. In this spot the commander ordered his troops to
halt. After the necessary precautions had been taken, we were allowed
to gather the fruit, and were soon scattered about the gardens in all
directions, filling our _shackos_ and pocket handkerchiefs.
After plucking some fine pomegranates, I lay down under a shady
pomegranate tree, and looked out over the sea.
I could clearly discern on the blue surface of the sea a ship whose
prow was directed towards Europe, and whose sails were filled by a
favourable breeze; the thought involuntarily occurred to me, “Would
I were on board that ship, sailing towards my own home.” This indeed
looks a little like home-sickness, but I know not why any one should
be ashamed of the feeling. Even Odysseus, the wisest of mortals, was
not ashamed to weep aloud, and to long after his paternal hearth,
his wife, and his child; and why should not I—who am the least wise
of men—honestly confess that there are moments when I also long for
those who are dear to me? Besides, I have seen nearly all there is to
see in Algeria, the future can but be a repetition of the past.
I was on the point of beginning a touching monologue—a failing I
have long been subject to—when I was startled out of my dreams by
several shots, and a cry of “_Aux armes! Aux armes!_” We all ran
to our muskets, and were ready in a moment, but the alarm proved a
false one. Some twenty Hadjutes, who were lying in ambuscade behind
a neighbouring hill, had fired several shots at our sentinels, who
thought a considerable force must be concealed there. But the moment
we showed ourselves the Hadjutes fled towards the open country, chased
by a squadron of our horse: the Arabs, however, got clear off, and the
only damage done was to my monologue, and to the ripe pomegranates
which I threw away in the hurry and confusion. It was not till about
nine o’clock, just before the oppressive heat of the day, that we
returned to Coleah.
The chief wealth of the inhabitants of this town consists in large
herds of cattle and fruit-tree gardens; it is surrounded by the most
magnificent fruit trees as far as the eye can reach. The figs and
pomegranates are now ripe, and we feast on them luxuriously. I say
we, for the most complete community of goods prevails among the Arabs
and ourselves. The soldier and the beggar are born communists. I must
say, however, that the Arabs do not seem much to relish this same
communism, for we have several times missed some of our soldiers; it
is true we found them again in the gardens, but without their heads.
The fruit here is at times extremely dangerous to the head, and when
eaten immoderately, it is equally injurious to the stomach; this is
particularly the case with the figs which produce violent thirst,
and if this is allayed with draughts of water fever and diarrhœa are
the inevitable consequences. The fig trees bear fruit three times a
year, but one of the crops is usually of inferior quality: the natives
generally gather this crop and press it into large cakes; when dry
these are exceedingly wholesome, and form, throughout the year, a
favourite dish at the Arab’s table. The pomegranate is a delicious
fruit, and much less unwholesome. The oranges are so wholesome that
any one may eat twenty a day with impunity. Unfortunately it is not
till November that they are ripe.
The wild laurel grows in great quantities near the town, and attains a
very considerable height; I can boast of having tasted the fruit of
the laurel as well as its leaf. It is about the size of a strawberry
and very sweet. The sight of a laurel tree always recalls to my mind
that noble Roman folded in his imperial mantle, with the laurel
wreathed round his bald head. Time was when I would have given the
last drop of my blood for but one leaf from this same laurel wreath;
but I have now begun to perceive that when one is no emperor but a
mere corporal of _voltigeurs_ the laurel is only good in soup.
* * * * *
All Arabs of any education or wealth assemble at the coffee-house.
To them it supplies the place of theatres and concerts, balls and
tea-parties. There they spend the whole day, sometimes staying till
past midnight. The coffee-house, like almost all other houses in the
south, is built round a square court paved with white marble, in the
middle of which plays a fountain. Round the court are two rows of
pillars supporting the women’s apartments; the rooms all look into the
court: on the outside nothing is to be seen but high dismal walls, for
the Arab does not choose that inquisitive eyes should peer into his
holy of holies.
The vine or ivy is generally trained up the house so as to shade
the whole court, and keep out the oppressive rays of the sun. Under
this natural arcade the sons of Ishmael sit on soft carpets lazily
splashing with their naked feet in the water which flows from the
fountain over the marble floor.
Here they imbibe coffee, sherbet, songs, and tales: in short, it is
a foretaste of Paradise. The coffee is not bad, only that they drink
it black and have the bad taste to reckon the grounds the best part
of the coffee. Before the slave hands one the cup, he stirs it with a
reed for fear the dregs should sink to the bottom.
The Arab is a passionate lover of music and poetry: the coffee-houses
are, therefore, never without their poets and story-tellers. Their
songs are monotonous, and they accompany them with the mandoline, as
in Andalusia. Coleah possesses the best story-teller and singer in all
Africa, so celebrated for the melody of his voice as to be called the
second Hâfiz.
I must confess that fame has not said too much in his favour. His
name is Sofi; at the age of thirteen he had the misfortune to lose
a leg in an encounter with the Hadjutes, and since that time he has
devoted himself entirely to singing and poetry. I never saw an Arab
whose countenance wore so noble an expression, or whose features
so clearly reflected the feelings of his soul. He does not usually
come to the coffee-house till after sunset: as soon as he is seated
the Arabs place themselves in a half-circle round him, with their
eyes attentively fixed upon him. After striking a few notes on the
mandoline, he began one day to recite a ballad of the great deeds and
of the downfall of the Moorish kings. It was always the same measure,
the same tune, sung now in a louder, now in a lower tone, and one
would have expected its monotony to weary the hearers: but not so;
the longer one listened, the more fascinating it became. First he
sang the conquest of Spain, the battle of Xeres, and the death of
Don Rodrigo. He then struck the cords of the mandoline more loudly,
and sang the victories of Abd-el-Rahman, and the pomp and glory of
Cordova, till the eyes of his hearers glistened. By slow degrees the
notes became softer, and his voice trembled as he sang the death of
the Abencerrages, and the shameful flight of Boabdil, the last king of
Granada. The sounds of his mandoline died away, the Arabs hung their
heads upon their breasts, and the pipes fell from their hands.
The unfeigned grief of the Moors touched me to the heart. I told my
friend Ben Jussuf, who sat next to me, that I had visited the scenes
of their former greatness, the palace of their kings—the Alhambra,
and the mosque of Cordova, the Kaaba of the west.
Scarcely had he told this to the others, when they crowded round me
begging me to tell all I had seen, and I thus became an involuntary
story-teller, with Ben Jussuf for my interpreter. I gave them an
account of the grandeur and beauty of the mosque of Cordova, its
thirteen hundred columns, and the tombs of their kings. I described
to them the Alhambra, the marble lions who keep watch at the palace
gates, the splendid hall where the Abencerrages held their feasts, and
where they were barbarously murdered. I told them that I myself had
seen the traces of their noble blood which time itself had been unable
to efface from the polished marble floor.
Overcome by the remembrance of the tragical fate of their most heroic
race, the Arabs covered their faces with their bernouses. “Young man,”
said the Hakim, kissing my forehead, “thank the Prophet that he hath
vouchsafed to thee the sight of these marvels.”
After a pause the Hakim said, “Friend Sofi, know you not some pleasant
story which may dissipate the melancholy of our comrades, who still
sit with drooping heads?” and Sofi, without further entreaty, began
the following tale.
“Far beyond Milianah, on the banks of the Mina, there once lived an
Emir, on whom Allah had bestowed every blessing. His life was pure
and blameless. He gave the fourth part of all he possessed to the
poor, and the hour of prayer was more welcome to him than the hour
of feasting. This Emir, whose name was Abubekr, had a mare which he
loved above all other things; she was white, without spot or blemish,
and more swift than the wind of the desert, and she could travel for
three days without drinking a single drop of water. One evening before
sun set, Abubekr stood by the brook cleaning his favourite mare. He
washed her neck and her haunches, addressing her by the most endearing
names, and the mare looked in his face with her soft expressive eyes
as though she understood every word he said. At this moment the
marabout called the hour of prayer from the minaret, but Abubekr heard
him not. At last the sun sank down behind mount Atlas, and the Emir
knew that the hour of prayer was past. In despair he cast himself upon
the ground and cried, ‘Woe is me, I have forgotten thee, O Lord the
creator, for the creature; have mercy upon me, and graciously accept
this sacrifice as a token of my repentance.’ Having said this, he took
his spear and plunged it into the breast of his mare, and she fell to
the earth and died. Sorrowful, but conscious of having done aright,
Abubekr returned to his dwelling, folded his bernouse about him, and
slept. And Allah appeared to him in a dream and spake to him thus,
‘Abubekr, I have proved thy heart, and have seen that thou walkest
before me justly. I desire not the sacrifices of the just, but their
good deeds, for I am gracious. Arise, thy mare liveth.’ The Emir
started up rejoicing and hastened to the door—there stood his darling
mare, and neighed joyfully at the sight of him. Abubekr prostrated
himself and touched the dust with his forehead, exclaiming, ‘Allah,
thy wisdom is infinite, but thy mercy is yet greater than thy wisdom!’”
Farewell. Next week our regiment will march to Algiers, whence it will
embark for Oran.
This letter is accompanied by a brief account of my adventures from
the day on which I landed in Africa until now.
CHAPTER II.
Algiers—The Poetry of the Galleys—Bath—Palace at Mustapha
Superieur—General Von Hulsen—I join the Foreign Legion—French
Colonisation in Africa—Hassan, the Coffee-house Keeper.
Mustapha Superieur, August, 1840.
We came in sight of the coast of Africa on the 8th of August at nine
in the morning. This was the second time I had seen it; the first was
in the straits of Gibraltar. But I now beheld it with far different
feelings. I was about to tread the land of the Bedouin and of the
Kabyle in the full enjoyment of my strength and liberty—perhaps never
to return.
The first step in life is a man’s own choice, the second is no longer
within his control but subject to foreign and often hostile influences.
You may well shake your head, dear friend, reproach me as usual with
Quixotism, and wonder how it is that the experience gained in Spain
has not cooled my ardour. I allow it is cooled, but not chilled. I
have still ardour enough left to venture—a true Don Quixote of the
nineteenth century—a crusade for civilisation and freedom. Forward,
then, and let me pass the Rubicon, without hesitation.
The steamboat strove onwards with might and main, the coast rose
higher out of the sea every moment, and before very long the glorious
bay in which lies Algiers, and the Sahel range of mountains lay clear
before us. The town itself is built in the shape of an amphitheatre
on the declivity of the Sahel hills, and when seen from a distance
looks like a huge white pyramid, for the town forms a triangle the
highest point of which is crowned by the Casabah—the former residence
of the Dey. The bay presents an enchanting scene for a few miles
eastward of Algiers. The sides of the mountains are crowded with
beautiful gardens and villas built in the noble Moorish style. On the
very ridge of the Sahel is a semicircular chain of fortified camps
and blockhouses intended to protect this fruitful district against
the inroads of the Berbers. The harbour is so small that only a few
ships can ride there, and the greater part are compelled to lie at
anchor outside in the roads. We had scarce dropped one anchor when a
number of small boats surrounded the ship to convey us ashore. The
rowers were galley slaves who, in a melancholy air, kept time to the
stroke of their oars. The subject of the song was as follows:—“An
aged galley slave, with the faded ribbon of the legion of honour on
his breast, stands on the pier and looks gloomily down upon the sea
as though he would fathom its depths with his chains. A Marshal of
France passes by and sees the ribbon on his breast. ‘Where,’ he asks,
‘did you deserve it?’ The slave answers gloomily, ‘I won it in such a
battle;’ and the Marshal recognises the man who once saved his life.
Filled with gratitude, he entreats the pardon of the king for the
unhappy prisoner, and it is granted.” This song made an indelible
impression on my mind, and convinced me that even the galleys have a
poetry of their own.
The lower part of the town which surrounds the port has already
acquired a completely European character. The streets of Babazoun
and of the Marine are as handsome and as elegant as the Boulevards
of Paris. The upper town retains its Arab colour, and is exclusively
inhabited by Moors and Jews. The streets are so narrow that it is
with difficulty that two horses can pass in them; and the Arabs have
no kind of carriages. I was beyond measure surprised at the motley
crowd with which I suddenly found myself surrounded, and fancied that
I must be in a masquerade; Arabs and Frenchmen, Jews and Italians,
Spaniards and Negroes were mixed in picturesque confusion. Next door
to an elegant French milliner, an Arab barber was shaving the heads
of his fellow-countrymen, and an Italian _restaurant_, who extolled
his maccaroni to every passer-by, was the neighbour of a Moorish
slipper-maker. Everything wore a martial aspect, troops were landing,
and horse-soldiers galloping about the streets; in short, I soon
perceived that the gay scene around me was no carnival merry-making.
In order to get rid of the uncomfortable feelings left by a sea
voyage I wished to take a bath, and asked the first man I met where
one was to be found. A good-natured, talkative Frenchman pointed out
a Moorish bath to me in the very next street and on my way thither
told me his whole life and adventures, _en passant_, which I have
been so fortunate as to forget. The bath was excellent, and cost
only one franc from first to last. After bathing me for some time in
lukewarm water, a couple of sturdy Arabs scrubbed me with brushes
and kneaded me with their fists in such a manner that I expected the
fellows would break every bone in my body. They next rubbed me with
perfumed oil, wrapped me in a bernouse, and gave me a cup of black
coffee and a pipe; the latter was lost upon me, as I do not smoke.
I departed feeling like one newly born, and resumed my ramble about
the streets. After wandering about for some time without any settled
purpose, I began to feel a certain longing after I knew not what, an
inward yearning which I would fain have satisfied; at last, just as
I was passing the shop of an Italian _restaurant_ which sent forth a
most seductive odour of fried fish, the happy thought struck me that I
perhaps was hungry. I accordingly went in and ordered a dish of fish,
which made their appearance very well fried in oil, and a bottle of
Spanish wine. My sensations were soon so agreeable that I forgot all
my good and evil fortunes, nay, almost even the reason of my presence
here. As the _restaurant_, a Neapolitan, also let lodgings, I hired a
room there for a few days, to reconnoitre the ground a little before
taking any further steps.
After having satisfied my curiosity for the present with looking at
this strange scene, I went out at the gate Babazoun (Eastern gate)
towards Mustapha Superieur, which was formerly the palace of the
Dey’s son, but now serves for a depôt of the Foreign Legion. It is
built on a declivity of the Sahel, about a league from Algiers, and
is surrounded by most exquisite fruit gardens. Traces of the former
splendor of this palace still remained, notwithstanding the ravages of
the soldiery. It is built round two large courts, the smaller of which
is adorned with sixty-four marble columns supporting most splendid
rooms, which were formerly inhabited by the Prince’s seraglio, but
are now turned into workshops for a whole company of shoemakers and
tailors.
As soon as possible I presented myself before General Von Hulsen, who
commanded the Foreign Legion, and related my former life to him. After
quietly listening to my story and my determination to enter the Legion
as a volunteer, he plainly told me that I was about to commit a great
piece of folly and to sacrifice my health and life to no purpose.
His words have proved but too true; but, unfortunately, I am not
one of those who can profit by the experience of others: I must see
everything with my own eyes and touch everything with my own hands.
The General, seeing that I was determined to stay, promised to protect
me as far as lay in his power.
Unfortunately he was killed three months after, while we were throwing
provisions into Fonduk: far too soon for me and for the Legion. He
belonged to the Pomeranian family Von Hulsen, and had served in the
French army under Napoleon.
Hulsen’s was a true German character, bold and straightforward even
to roughness; he was the only one who had the courage to protect the
interests of the Foreign Legion against the French general officers.
I was asked whether I knew how to load and fire, and on my replying
in the affirmative, I was, without further question, transferred
to the third battalion of the Legion, at that moment quartered at
Dschigeli, for which spot a transport was to sail in a few days.
Until then I was my own master, and employed these few, and possibly
last hours of liberty in strolling about the town and the surrounding
country to satisfy my curiosity. Although these were the hottest and
most unhealthy months of the year, I did not find the heat nearly so
oppressive as I had expected. The whole northern declivity of the
Sahel mountains enjoys a temperate and agreeable climate, owing to its
proximity to the sea. We hear of scarcely any illness here.
The whole coast, from Algiers as far as the fortified camp of Kouba,
was formerly inhabited by the most wealthy Turks and Moors, who spent
here in Oriental ease and voluptuous idleness the riches they obtained
by piracy. Their country houses, built in a noble style of Moorish
architecture, are proofs of the wealth of their former possessors.
These are still in good repair, and are inhabited by Frenchmen and
Spaniards who have bought them for a trifle for the sake of the
gardens of fruit and vegetables. The soil is wonderfully productive
owing to the numerous springs which rise in the mountains and water
the ground throughout the year. Traces are still found both of the
Roman and the Moorish method of irrigation. The bold arches of the
Romans have long since fallen to decay, while the modest and simple
earthen pipes of the Moors, which creep below the surface of the
earth, still convey a fresh and plentiful supply of water. These few
square miles on the Sahel form nearly the whole of the boasted French
colony in Africa; _cafés_ and canteens are their only possessions
beyond the fortified camps and the range of the blockhouses, even near
the largest towns, such as Medeah, Milianah, Mascara, &c., and these
are only supported by the military, and may therefore be said to draw
their resources from France.
During the first years of the French occupation a considerable tract
of the plains of Metidja came under cultivation. But the bad policy
and worse system of defence of the French soon ruined the colonists.
One morning, in the year 1839, Abd-el-Kader and his hordes poured down
from the lesser Atlas range and destroyed everything with fire and
sword. Those who escaped death were dragged into captivity. Since then
the colonists have lost all confidence in the Government, and it will
be very long before they recover it.
Agriculture requires perfect security of property and, above all,
personal security. Setting aside the precarious condition of the
colonists, the French are thoroughly bad settlers, and only know how
to set up _cafés_. The few good agriculturists to be found here are
either Germans or Spaniards. It is remarkable that the Spaniards, who
in their own country are so lazy that they had rather starve than
work, are here the very best agricultural labourers. Their diligence
and economy almost amount to avarice.
My favourite walk is to the Plane Tree _café_, so called from a group
of beautiful plane trees which overshadow it. A plentiful spring of
water gushes out of a rock close by, and tumbles down the hill on its
way to the sea; so that nothing is wanting to the enjoyment of an
inhabitant of the south. The house stands under Mustapha Superieur
and affords a magnificent view over the sea and the bay of Algiers.
On this spot some dozen Turks and Arabs dream away the greater part
of their lives. The owner of the _café_ is an old Turk who formerly
served among the mamelukes of the Dey. He passed some years of his
life a prisoner in Spain, where, besides corrupt and broken Spanish,
he learned to drink and swear. It was comical enough to hear this
“malignant and turbaned Turk” introduce a _caramba_ between every
other word. He told me some very remarkable facts relating to the
Dey’s government. It seems that the tribes could only be kept in any
obedience by means of a strong body of cavalry continually scouring
the country. Whenever a tribe delayed the payment of its tribute
the mamelukes came down upon them in the dead of the night, cut
down all the men and carried off the women and cattle. He was by no
means satisfied with the French mode of warfare and maintained that
they ought to have more cavalry, and that the infantry, for which he
entertained a profound contempt, were far too slow in their movements.
“The first thing in war,” said he, with a volley of Spanish oaths, “is
quickness: the French always arrive too late.” You see that my friend
the Turk is a very distinguished strategist; and I almost think it
must have been from him that Bugeaud afterwards took the hint of the
_razzia_ and the _colonne mobile_.
The old greybeard is a devoted admirer of Spanish women and Spanish
wine; when talking of either his eyes sparkled. He generally kept a
keg of Malaga hidden in his house and took a good pull at it from time
to time. When in a good humour he gave me a wink and we drank to the
health of the Spanish women. He thoroughly despised his Arab guests,
whom he called “brutos” (beasts), who were fit for nothing but to
count their beads and smoke their pipes.
You perceive that my friend Hassan is a freethinker, who has shaken
off all the restraints of the Koran. Had the Arabs suspected this
but for a moment, they would have spat in his face, and never set
foot over his threshold again; for they are strict observers of their
religious duties.
As we are under orders to start at a moment’s notice for Dschigeli, I
took leave of the Turk yesterday. He gave me his blessing and a glass
of Malaga, recommending me, above all things not to trust those dogs
of Arabs, and to beware of eating figs and drinking water.
To-morrow we embark on board a steamer bound for Bona.
CHAPTER III.
Dschigeli—The Foreign Legion—Climate—Attack of the Kabyles on the
Blockhouses—Massacre of a Kabyle Village—Samoom—Homeric Fight—Death of
my Friend—Fort Duquesne—Formidable Starfish—Shipwreck—Engagement with
the Kabyles—Escape of the Prisoners—Burial of their Dead.
Dschigeli, August, 25.
We reached Dschigeli on the 15th, after a most prosperous voyage of
thirty-six hours, which included a short stay at Budschia.
During the summer the surface of the Mediterranean is almost always
as smooth as a mirror. The blue transparent water looks so gentle and
harmless that one can scarce believe in the terrific powers which
slumber in its bosom. In the later autumn it entirely alters its
character; storms, and frequently even hurricanes, render the African
coasts the most dangerous in the world; the more so, since the whole
territory occupied by the French does not contain a single safe and
capacious harbour of refuge. Last year, the French lost in the roads
before Stora, a short distance from hence, no less than forty vessels
in one night.
The Government has endeavoured to remedy this evil by constructing
artificial harbours, and has, at an enormous cost, somewhat enlarged
that of Algiers by sinking blocks of stone and a species of cement
into the sea; but of course little can be effected in this manner.
Dschigeli, which also has only a small roadstead, is built on a rock
rising out of the sea; it belongs to the province of Constantina and
lies between Budschia and Philippeville. It is inhabited by Turks and
Arabs, who formerly drove a thriving trade in piracy. Although the
town looks like a mere heap of stones, it is said still to contain
much hidden treasure. The soldiers are already hoping for an outbreak
among the population which may afford them an excuse for pillaging
the town. This does not, however, seem very likely, as the Arabs are
on very good terms with the garrison, and not without reason, for the
Kabyles who dwell in the neighbouring mountains would not treat them
so well as the French do.
The whole district between Algiers and Dschigeli, along which runs the
high range of the Aphronne mountains, is the proper country of the
Kabyles.
The French possess no more of it than what they have enclosed within a
line of blockhouses, that is, about half a square mile. Our battalion,
the third of the Foreign Legion, forms the whole garrison: it is
commanded by Lieutenant-Colonel Picolou, a Frenchman. Like the rest
of the Legion, this battalion is composed of men of all nations and
all ranks: Spaniards and Italians, Germans and Belgians, Dutchmen
and Poles, only no English. Most of them have joined the service out
of mere folly, some from political or civil offences, and a few from
misfortune.
These men are for the most part brutal and undisciplined, but ready to
encounter anything. They form a band who, under an energetic leader,
might do great things. Like all hirelings, our corps has much of the
character of Wallenstein’s camp. At first I thought that my fate was a
very tragical one, but even this comfort was soon taken from me. There
is not one among us who has not the history and adventures of his life
to tell, and the worst of all is that one is forced to confess that
there is nothing tragical which has not its comic side. I may safely
assert that I have heard more biographies in one day here than are to
be found in all Plutarch.
Nearly all the commissions in the Legion are held by Frenchmen who
look upon this as a short cut to advancement. Among the officers are
also a few Poles and Swiss; the latter of whom have joined the service
since the revolution of July. But, in general, it is very difficult
for a foreigner to attain to the rank of an officer.
Although Dschigeli lies under nearly the same latitude as Algiers, it
is far hotter and more unhealthy. Nearly half the garrison is rendered
unfit for service by fever, which makes the duty of those who are well
doubly severe. The oppressive heat has a very remarkable effect upon
all new comers, whose strength leaves them from day to day; and men,
as strong as lions before, creep about with pale yellow faces and with
voices as small as those of children. Every morning before daybreak
seven or eight corpses are secretly carried out of the town. Hitherto
I have resisted the influence of the climate, but I take more care
of myself than the rest, and do not indulge in eating fruit, &c. The
first rule of health is to follow as nearly as possible the manner of
life of the natives of foreign countries, for one may fairly presume
that they have good reasons for adhering to particular customs from
generation to generation. Most inhabitants of the north of Europe ruin
their health by persisting in the same habits abroad which they follow
in their own country.
* * * * *
September, 1840.
We spend alternately fourteen days in the town, and fourteen in
the blockhouses: the latter is by far the most interesting. The
blockhouses, placed in a semicircle on the heights surrounding the
town, are built of oak planks imported from France and of sufficient
thickness to turn a bullet. They are generally two stories high, and
are protected by a wall and a ditch. The largest are provided with two
cannons and some wall-pieces, which are of great service.
To prevent time from hanging heavy on our hands, our friends the
Kabyles come down from the neighbouring mountains to pay their
respects to us. They greet us from afar with a torrent of friendly
epithets, such as “hahluf” (swine), &c., which is quickly followed by
a shower of balls. We are no less civil in our turn, allowing them to
approach within a short distance, when we treat them to a volley of
musketry and a few discharges from the field-pieces; whereupon they
usually retire somewhat tranquillized but still vehement in abuse. We
of course have much the best of it behind our walls and ditches, but
from time to time some of us are wounded or killed.
A few days ago they attacked us with unusual fury and pertinacity.
Some time before sunrise we saw a large party of Kabyles coming
down from the mountains: as far as the eye could reach the place
swarmed with white bernouses. Every blockhouse was attacked at the
same moment. Our well-directed fire was insufficient to keep off an
enemy which pressed upon us in dense masses, and in a moment they were
close under the walls. Here they could no longer do us any damage
with their shots; but in their rage they threw huge stones over the
walls upon our heads. We made a rapid retreat into our blockhouses and
barricadoed the doors. In one moment the Kabyles climbed the outer
walls, and attempted in their blind fury to storm the blockhouses.
Some of them tried, but in vain, to throw the cannon over the walls;
and they now had the worst of the fight.
The half of our party who were in the upper story removed a plank
which was left loose for the purpose, and poured their fire down upon
the heads of the Kabyles, while some cannoneers who were with us threw
a number of hand-grenades, of which we had good store, among them.
This was rather more than they could bear, and they dispersed in all
directions, yelling fearfully; they however carried off their dead and
wounded, for the Mohamedan never leaves his comrades in the hands of
the foe.
They did not repeat their visit for several days after this.
The Kabyles, who are a strong and courageous race, inhabit fixed
dwellings, and employ themselves in agriculture as well as in
cattle-breeding. They always fight on foot, armed with a yataghan and
a long rifle which will carry almost as far as our wall-pieces.
They hardly ever attack by night, for one of the precepts of the
Koran is—neither to wander nor to wage war by night, and this they
pretty scrupulously obey; and indeed they are altogether far better
Mohamedans than we are Christians.
I need not add that on these occasions every one does his duty, for
each fights for that which he most values, namely his head. He who
falls into the hands of the Kabyles is born under no lucky planet—his
head is instantly cut off and borne away as a trophy.
The Commandant marched up into the mountains one night with the whole
garrison, to chastise the Kabyles for their insolence. We started
at midnight under the guidance of some Arabs who knew the country
and marched, without stopping and in deep silence, up hill and down
dale until just before daybreak, when the crowing of cocks and the
baying of dogs gave us notice that we were close upon a tribe. We were
ordered to halt, and two companies with a few field-pieces were left
behind on an eminence.
After a short rest we started again, and the first glimmer of light
showed the huts of the tribe straight before us. An old Kabyle was at
that moment going out with a pair of oxen to plough; as soon as he
saw us he uttered a fearful howl and fled, but a few well-directed
shots brought him down. In one moment the grenadiers and _voltigeurs_,
who were in advance, broke through the hedge of prickly pear which
generally surrounds a Kabyle village, and the massacre began. Strict
orders had been given to kill all the men and only to take the women
and children prisoners: for we followed the precept of “an eye for an
eye, a tooth for a tooth.”
A few men only reeled half awake out of their huts, but most of them
still lay fast asleep; not one escaped death. The women and children
rushed, howling and screaming, out of their burning huts in time
to see their husbands and brothers butchered. One young woman with
an infant at her breast started back at the sight of strange men
exclaiming “Mohamed! Mohamed!” and ran into her burning hut. Some
soldiers sprang forward to save her, but the roof had already fallen
in and she and her child perished in the flames.
We then returned with our booty, and it was high time, for other
tribes of Kabyles came flocking together from every side, attracted by
the noise. We were forced to retreat in such haste that we left the
greater part of the cattle behind. The fire of the companies we had
stationed in our rear with the field-pieces at last gained us time to
breathe. We however had but few killed and wounded.
A few days after, a deputation was sent by the survivors with
proposals for the exchange of the women and children against cattle,
which was accepted. It is a point of honour with the Kabyles not
to leave their women and children in the enemies’ hands. They most
conscientiously ransomed even the old women whom we would willingly
have given them gratis.
For several days we have been suffering severely from the wind of
the desert (samoom) which prevails here during the months of August
and September. This wind is scorching and impregnated with minute
particles of sand. At its approach all are filled with terror, large
drops of sweat stand on one’s brow, and the only means of escape is to
lie flat on one’s face and to hold one’s breath. Those who inhale the
air die in twenty minutes.
Fortunately the samoom only lasts from a quarter of an hour to twenty
minutes, but it returns several times a day. During its prevalence
all hostilities cease; for the natives and the very wild beasts are
subject to its influence. When surprised by this wind during a march,
all instantly halt. Camels, horses, and mules, instinctively turn
their backs to the wind and hold their noses close to the ground until
the danger is past.
* * * * *
The day before yesterday we had a hot encounter with the Kabyles,
after a fashion truly Homeric, in defence of our oxen. Our company was
ordered to escort the cattle, which are numerous, to the water.
The incessant heat had already dried up all the fountains and springs
within the line of the blockhouses, so that we were forced to drive
the cattle beyond it to a stream which flows from the mountains
and never fails. We advanced as usual _en tiralleurs_ to cover the
watering-place, but we had scarcely reached the further side of the
stream when we were greeted on all sides by yells and bullets. The
Kabyles had hidden themselves in the brushwood close by, and occupied
an eminence opposite to us. In order to make use of our strongest
weapon, the bayonet, which is much dreaded by the Kabyles, we advanced
up the hill with levelled bayonets and took it at the first attack.
But scarce had we reached the top when we received a heavy fire from
all sides, the Kabyles having surrounded us in a semicircle. In a
moment we had several killed and wounded and were forced to retreat
faster than we had advanced, the Kabyles pressing furiously on our
rear. The commanding officer exclaimed: “_Sauvez les blessés! Sauvez
les blessés!_”
A non-commissioned officer close beside me had been shot through
the jaw; he had completely lost his senses, and was reeling round
and round like a drunken man. I seized him under the arm and
dragged him towards the nearest blockhouse into which the company
retreated. We were the very last, and the Kabyles yelled wildly close
behind us while their bullets whistled in our ears; I was not hit
however, and succeeded in bringing my charge safely home, conscious
of having done my duty as a soldier and as a man. We had but just
reached the blockhouse when the _Commandant Superieur_ came up with
a reinforcement of several companies, and sent us all out again
to rescue the cattle, which by this time had all but fallen into
the enemy’s hands. The beasts were so deeply engaged in the noble
occupation of drinking that it was almost impossible to move them from
the spot.
We now repulsed the Kabyles, and at length the horsemen succeeded
in driving off the cattle. After this we came to a sort of tacit
understanding with the enemy to leave each other in peace at the
stream, for they too had to water their cattle there and might have
been seriously incommoded by us from the blockhouse.
This was my first battle in the open field, and I cannot say that it
made much impression upon me. My imagination had pictured the terrors
of the scene so vividly to me that the reality fell far short of it.
I was moreover prepared for it by all manner of perils which I had
encountered by land and by sea. I have frequently observed that men
of lively imagination (and accordingly most southerns) have a greater
dread of fancied than of real dangers. Before the decisive moment
arrives they have exhausted all the terrors of death and are prepared
for the worst. The cold phlegmatic northern, on the contrary, goes
with greater coolness into battle, but often finds it worse than he
expected.
* * * * *
I have suffered a severe loss; the only friend I had found here died
a few days ago. Similar tastes and a like fate had drawn us together.
He was of a good family at Berlin, as the high cultivation of his mind
sufficiently proved; but an unfortunate longing for excitement and
adventure had driven him from home. I am convinced that he died of
home-sickness. He had never served before, and could not, therefore,
brook this brutal and savage life so well as I could, and a fever
hastened his death. He had written to his father for money to obtain
his discharge, under the conviction that he could not endure his life
here, and was in the daily expectation of an answer. His imagination
already transported him back to his family; but he grew weaker every
day and at length had to be carried to the hospital, where I visited
him daily when my turn of service did not prevent me. When I went
yesterday and inquired after him, one of the attendants pointed to his
bed: on approaching it I found him dead. No one, not even his next
neighbour, had heard him die. He was buried next morning with no kind
of ceremony, and I followed him to the grave alone. It is well for him
that he is at peace! His spirit was too gentle to bear the sight of
all this cruelty and wretchedness. One must case one’s heart in triple
brass to bear existence here at all.
* * * * *
Since the 1st of December our company has been quartered in Fort
Duquesne, which stands upon the sea and defends the south-eastern side
of the town. This fort is built upon a rock rising so abruptly from
the sea that a few half-bastions towards the land are sufficient for
its defence. A wooden shed has been erected to shelter the garrison
from the weather.
We are uncommonly well off here, for the duty is not severe: most of
our time is spent in fishing. The coasts of Africa abound with various
sorts of fish which, to us at least, appear excellent; but indeed many
circumstances combine to make us think so. A small kind of oyster,
which is also met with in Spain, and sea-hedgehogs are particularly
abundant. We only have to take them off the rocks, to open and eat
them.
The starfish too are common here, and I have a strange tale to tell
of one. During the month of August the soldiers were in the habit of
bathing in the sea every evening, and from time to time several of
them disappeared, no one knew how. Bathing was in consequence strictly
forbidden, in spite of which several men went into the water one
evening; suddenly one of them screamed for help, and when several
others rushed to his assistance they found that a huge starfish had
seized him by the leg with four of its limbs, whilst it clung to the
rock by the fifth. The soldiers brought the monster home with them,
and out of revenge they broiled it alive and ate it. This adventure
sufficiently accounted for the disappearance of the other soldiers.
The rainy season, which generally lasts three or four months, has
already set in accompanied by hurricanes of extraordinary violence,
which fortunately last but a short time, though indeed quite long
enough to cause the death and ruin of countless sailors. A few days
ago a vessel was dashed to pieces against the very rock upon which the
fort stands. It turned out to be a French merchant brig, which had
anchored in the roads to avoid the raging of the elements. Another
night, while I was on watch, the storm increased by degrees to a
perfect hurricane; the rain came down in torrents, and the darkness
was such that it was impossible to see a yard before one’s face. In
a moment the wooden shed was unroofed, and the waves dashed over the
very top of the rock. Next morning the fragments of a vessel lay at
our feet; the roaring of the wind and waves had entirely overpowered
the crash of the shipwreck. Every soul on board had perished except
a little dog which stood wet and trembling on a jutting cliff and
was with difficulty induced to come to us: he appeared to be still
expecting his master.
The Mediterranean has scarce any tide, but the north or south wind
affects the ebb or flow on the African coast though only to the depth
of a few feet. After a few days of calm its blue waters are so clear
that the fish and seaweed, some hundred feet below, look as though one
might touch them. There is a peculiar charm in thus looking down into
the secrets of Neptune’s kingdom. I often lie for hours on a jutting
cliff, watching the crowd of fish sporting below, and the tortoises,
those drones of the sea, lazily basking on the surface of the waves.
My mind involuntarily reverted to my childhood, and to my mother’s
story of the enchanted prince whom a beautiful mermaid imprisoned in
her crystal palace deep under the sea. After a hundred years, which
passed like a few months, the charm was broken and the prince returned
upon the earth to ascend the throne of his forefathers. But, alas!
all was changed—his race was extinct and there was none that knew
him; he himself had long since forgotten the language of men. Then he
longed to return to his crystal prison and cast himself headlong into
the waves.
At times I can scarce refrain from following the example of the
enchanted prince and going to lead a harmless peaceful life with the
fish, far from the rapacious envious race of men. But even this were
vain, for under the water too there is strife, and greediness, and
ambition—every thing, in short, save calumny.
* * * * *
February, 1841.
For nearly two months we have not once been disturbed by the Kabyles,
and we should have enjoyed a state of the most tranquil peace and
content had it not been for the fleas. These bloodthirsty monsters
are indeed the most terrible enemies we have in Africa—nothing can
protect us from their hostilities. I assure you that Kabyles and
panthers, nay, even tight boots, or a bad conscience, are not to
be compared to them. They are worst in the wooden barracks and the
blockhouses. One must be worn out with fatigue in order to sleep there
at all, and then one wakes covered from head to foot with specks of
blood.
On the night of the 4th of February, contrary to their usual custom,
the Kabyles paid us a very well-meant visit. We lay in our barracks,
not dreaming of any danger, when we were awakened at eleven o’clock
at night by repeated shots, and by some bullets which came through
the deal boards of our barracks. In an instant we were dressed; each
man snatched up his musket, and went out. The shots came from a rock
to the westward of the town and only separated from it by a small arm
of the sea. By some strange neglect no blockhouse had been built on
this spot, which commanded the town. The Kabyles had stolen through
the line of blockhouses in the dark, and from this rock they now fired
into the town with their long rifles with some effect. The companies
soon fell into rank. Lieutenant-Colonel Picolou, a cool determined
officer, made his appearance immediately, and placed all the sentinels
of the town on a battery exactly opposite the rock, to answer the
fire of the Kabyles and thus to make them believe that the whole
garrison was there: in the meantime we marched out at the gate in
perfect silence, reached the rock unobserved, and fell suddenly upon
their rear. At the very moment when they saw us and raised their wild
howl, we gave them a volley and charged them with the bayonet. As the
Kabyles are totally unacquainted with the use of it, they could offer
us no effectual resistance although they were double our number. Those
who were not killed threw themselves into the sea, for, being mostly
good swimmers, they chose rather to trust to the tender mercies of
the waves than to ours. But even the very elements conspired against
them. The sea was very rough, and the waves dashed the poor fellows to
pieces against the rocks. But few escaped to tell the mournful tale to
their kinsfolk. We remained on the rock till the following morning.
We had only taken three prisoners, for in the heat of the skirmish the
soldiers cut down every one. Some, indeed, had even cut off the heads
of the wounded with their own yataghans. The _Commandant Superieur_
rewarded these heroes with five franc pieces, and stuck the heads
over the city gates, where they remained until the stench became
intolerable. Truly I almost begin to think that we have learned more
of the barbarous manners of the Kabyles, than they of our humanity and
civilisation.
In two days, a few old men belonging to the almost annihilated tribe
came to implore peace and the permission to remove and bury their
dead, which latter request was granted. They also wished to ransom
the three prisoners, one of whom was the son of their chief, and
offered forty oxen for them, but the Commandant demanded eighty and
the negotiators were forced to depart without them. Greatly to the
annoyance of the Commandant and the astonishment of us all, one fine
day the prisoners had disappeared. They had been confined in a dry
cistern close to the sea and had, with inconceivable difficulty,
worked their way through to it in one night, let themselves down
into the water by means of their long woollen girdles, and swum to
the other side. This was no slight matter, as the coast is tolerably
distant and one of the prisoners had his thigh shattered by a bullet.
They then escaped safely through all the outposts. For eight whole
days the Kabyles kept coming to fetch the dead bodies of their
relations. Their joyful songs contrasted sadly with their melancholy
faces. They were entirely crushed by this last blow, which they looked
upon as a chastisement from Allah, because they had transgressed his
command to wage no war by night. Most of the corpses had to be fished
up out of the sea.
I watched them one morning at this employment. The Kabyles stood round
a body they had just found, and drew the mantle from off the head.
Scarce had an old Kabyle seen the features of the corpse, than he
turned away his face to hide his tears; perhaps it was his son. And
the soldiers who stood by jeered him!
Truly war is wild work; especially a war to the knife, such as this.
It is lucky for us that custom renders us indifferent to our own
dangers and miseries, but then we often grow equally indifferent to
the woes of others.
* * * * *
March, 1841.
We have just heard that we are to have a new Governor; no other than
General Bugeaud who made the treaty with Abd-el-Kader, at Tafna. He is
a vigorous, enterprising man, and great things are expected from him.
An expedition into the interior against the Bedouins is talked of,
in which we are to take part; and we have already received orders to
embark in a steamer for Algiers in a few days. Well, I shall not be
sorry to make acquaintance with those houseless, wandering sons of the
desert.
CHAPTER IV.
Budschia—Monkeys—March to Buterback—General Bugeaud—Algiers—Lord
Exmouth and the Dey—Progress of Civilisation and Jollity among the
Arabs of both Sexes—Songs.
Buterback, April, 1841.
We reached the bay of Algiers in the evening of the 29th of March.
The voyage was favourable, but I cannot say that it was pleasant; six
hundred of us were squeezed together on the deck of a steamer. I am
perfectly convinced that a pickled herring has more space allotted to
it in the barrel than a soldier on board a French steamboat. In the
Mediterranean, troops are always conveyed on deck, in the steamers at
least.
The air here is mild enough for this, even in winter; but during the
often-continued rains, one sometimes cannot help sighing for one’s own
fireside.
The coast is uninteresting all the way from Dschigeli to Algiers.
There is nothing to be seen but hills—some covered with brushwood,
and others quite bare. There are but few valleys or streams, and
scarce any human dwellings.
Near Budschia you discover from the sea a beautiful and fruitful vale
watered by the river Summam. This is occupied by some of the most
powerful Kabyle tribes, which give a good deal of trouble to the
French garrison at Budschia. The town stands on an eminence commanding
the mouth of the river and great part of the valley, and is enclosed
by a line of blockhouses. Budschia is one of the oldest towns in
Africa, as is proved by a Roman fort in tolerable preservation, and
the remains of walls. There is a small bay here which affords good
anchorage for vessels and protection against the south and west winds.
A species of monkey, as large as a pointer, abounds in these
mountains. While we lay at anchor in the roadstead for a few hours, we
had ample opportunity of observing the conduct of several families of
these apes on a neighbouring rock. Curiosity drew many of them very
near to us, and we were vastly amused by their strange antics; but as
soon as any on board made the motion of shooting they skipped away,
evidently well aware of its meaning. In one moment the fond mothers
flung their sons across their backs, and disappeared behind the rocks.
It is very difficult to get at these monkeys, as they live in caves
which no human foot can reach, and their whole system of defence is
excellent; their service of sentinels is as regularly organised as
that of the Kabyles.
At about five leagues from Algiers the Atlas mountains gradually
recede and give place to the great plain of Metidja, which is watered
by the Arrasch and the Messafren. This plain is divided from the
mountain in a peculiarly abrupt manner; it has not the undulating
surface of other valleys, but is as flat as a table from the foot of
the Atlas to the base of the Sahel range. The Metidja, varying from
three to five leagues in breadth, forms a semicircle of about fifteen
leagues, and touches the sea twice, at _Maison Carrée_, and just below
Cherchell. It would be one of the most fruitful districts in the world
if it had but more water; but the rivers get low even in the month
of June, and the earth is so parched by the rays of the sun that all
vegetation withers, and only begins to revive in October with the
autumn rains. Close to the foot of the mountain and near the river,
where the soil is kept moist by artificial means, the earth yields two
crops of corn and three of vegetables in the year.
We landed immediately and marched the same evening to Buterback,
whence I now have the honour of writing to you. Buterback was formerly
the castle of a Moorish grandee; it stands on the topmost ridge of the
Sahel, not far from the camp of Kouba. We have a glorious view of the
sea on one side, and of the Metidja and the lesser Atlas on the other.
Nearly every evening we see, on the Atlas mountains, the watch-fires
of the wandering Bedouins, with whom we hope soon to make a nearer
acquaintance. We are already preparing for a grand expedition into the
interior.
The new Governor, Bugeaud, is determined, it is said, either to
subjugate or destroy all the hostile tribes. The greatest excitement
prevails. Fresh troops are landed every day. The Foreign Legion has
been reorganised: the four battalions of infantry are increased to
six, and divided into two regiments. Our battalion, the third of
the first regiment, is commanded by Colonel Von Mollenbeck who has
succeeded Colonel Von Hulsen. Our new Colonel is a German who has been
long in the French service. He is brave, but seventy years of age is
too old for expeditions in Africa. Our regiment has got new muskets
with percussion locks instead of the old ones.
The Governor came a few days ago to inspect us, and was very gracious.
He appears to be about fifty, and has an air of great determination
and coolness. He is of the middle size and strongly built; his face
is much sun-burnt, but pleasing; and he would be taken for younger
than he is, did not his snow-white hair betray his age. Bugeaud is
a man of restless activity, and keeps every one on the alert by his
continual presence. At three every morning he gives audience, to which
all who have any complaint to make are admitted. Expeditions are to be
made from several different quarters at once; one from Oran, another
from Mostaganem, and a third from hence. The Governor will probably
lead the expedition from Oran himself, and ours will be commanded by
General Baraguai d’Hilliers, whom the soldiers call the Stumped Arm,
because he lost the use of his left arm by a shot.
It is said that we shall stay here some time longer, and a short rest
will indeed be most welcome to us. When not on duty, I wander about
in the neighbourhood, for within the range of the blockhouses one
is tolerably safe. Every inch of soil is most carefully cultivated,
chiefly by Spaniards and Arabs; there are also a few Germans who sell
the produce of their labour, generally fruit and vegetables, for high
prices at Algiers. The Germans, who are chiefly from Alsatia and
Rhenish Bavaria, do very well, as they need only work one quarter
the time they would do in their own country to secure an existence.
Wherever there is water they can grow three crops of vegetables in
the year, especially of potatoes which cost more here than figs and
oranges.
The day before yesterday I paid my friend Hassan a visit at the Plane
Tree _café_, which is only a mile or two from Buterback. He was
greatly rejoiced to see me again. We retired to his little garden
behind the house, and, with a smile, he brought out a few bottles of
Malaga, which we proceeded to pour down our throats whilst we sat on
the ground after the Eastern fashion conversing most philosophically.
I had to recount to him all my adventures at Dschigeli, which caused
him to stroke his beard fiercely, whilst he muttered one _caramba_
after another.
* * * * *
I have been several times to Algiers, which is about a league and a
half from Buterback, to take a nearer view of the curiosities there.
The upper, which is the old part of the town, bears a striking
resemblance to the old Moorish cities of Andaluzia, such as Cordova
and Eccija. The streets are very narrow, and the houses have but few
windows looking into the streets, and those few are defended by close
gratings. All the houses are built round a spacious court, which,
in the dwellings of the rich, is paved with marble and adorned with
a fountain. The only difference is, that the Spanish cities were
evidently built during the most flourishing times of the Moors, as the
style of the houses in Spain is far grander and more ornate than of
those in Africa.
Algiers contains a population of about forty or fifty thousand souls,
two-thirds of which are Jews and Arabs, and the rest Frenchmen,
Spaniards, and Italians. The habits of the Jews differ but little from
those of the Arabs, and one may still perceive that they are children
of the same forefather. But the sons of Ishmael now seem disposed
to consider themselves as the lawful descendants of Abraham, and to
treat the Jews as bastards. The Jews are distinguishable from the
Arabs by their gayer clothes, and the unveiled faces of their women.
The Jewesses are far more beautiful than the Arab women, because they
are not treated as mere domestic animals, and therefore have an air
of greater refinement. Their dress is simple but pleasing, usually a
blue or brown garment confined under the breast with a girdle; their
long black hair is held together by a circlet of gold or silver, or by
a ribbon; their arms and feet are bare. Their deep jet-black eyes are
wonderfully beautiful, and though their intense brilliancy is somewhat
softened by the long silken eyelashes, yet woe to him who looks too
deeply into them.
I toiled through the narrow streets up to the Casabah, the former
residence of the Dey, the road to which is so steep that steps had to
be cut in it. As I did not know the shortest path, it was at least two
hours before I reached the top.
The Casabah stands on a _plateau_ commanding the whole town.
Gloomy-looking battlemented walls surround the palace, and are so
high, as entirely to conceal the building within them; one fine tall
palm tree alone overtops the wall. The palace contains a beautiful
marble court and some splendid rooms, in which two French battalions
are now quartered.
The Casabah itself is commanded by a fort built by Charles V. on a
height above the town. The French were fortunate enough to carry this
fort by a _coup de main_, whereupon the Casabah and the town were
forced to capitulate. The Dey was living there in the most perfect
security; all his treasures were deposited in the palace, and he
was convinced that the high walls of the city would defy all the
endeavours of the French to take what had already baffled the English
and the Dutch.
The English, under Lord Exmouth, had taken one of the forts upon the
sea, which they evacuated after twenty-four hours’ possession, upon a
treaty with the Dey. It is still called _Fort Vingt-quatre Heures_.
At the time of the French occupation, Algiers was strongly fortified;
besides the thick ramparts, which in some places are double, the town
was defended by several bastions and three forts, which were in a
very good state of defence. More especially the batteries on the sea,
which protect the harbour, were exceedingly strong, and the French
have since made considerable additions to all the fortifications. The
town itself, however, from its shape and position, must always remain
exposed to a bombardment from the sea. The Turks cared but little for
this contingency, partly because the town contained but few handsome
houses, and partly because most of the inhabitants were Jews and
Arabs. The Dey is said to have asked the English Consul, after its
bombardment by Lord Exmouth, how much it had cost us; and on hearing
it put at some millions (of francs?) he frankly replied, that he would
willingly have done it himself for half the sum.
After satisfying my curiosity here, I went into the lower town, and on
turning down a fresh street I was met by the sound of a mandoline and
of singing, accompanied by peals of laughter, which issued from the
second story of one of the houses; the songs were Arab, the laughter
might be Arab, French, or German, I knew not which, but at all events
it was most hearty. Of course I walked in, ascended the stairs,
and found myself in the midst of a mixed company of Arabs, Jews,
Frenchmen, and Italians, all seated together on cushions against the
walls of a spacious room.
On a sort of platform near the window sat two Arabs singing, with two
Arab girls beside them accompanying their songs on the mandoline. They
were at that moment singing a love song, the constant burthen of which
was “Nanina”; the whole company was in the most joyous mood. Every man
had one or more bottles of wine before him, and it seemed as if they
had all drunk repeated bumpers. I was astonished at this wonderful
advance in civilisation and good fellowship. On either side of me
I saw Arabs filled with wine, and Arab women with unveiled faces,
returning the wanton glances of Christians with still more wanton
eyes. Truly this change does honour to the French.
I sat down by an Arab soldier of the French allied cavalry, whose
burning cheek betrayed that he had transgressed the commandment of
the Prophet. He immediately drank to me in the most familiar manner,
saying, with a laugh, “_Scherap bueno, jaule_.” (The wine is good,
comrade.) “_Bueno_,” answered I; for it was generous Spanish wine,
such as is chiefly drunk here. He then asked me in broken French,
whether the women of Europe were equal to its wine? As in duty bound,
I answered in the affirmative, and described to him the charms and
the excellence of my countrywomen until my Arab friend seemed well
inclined to visit Europe. But when I told him that Allah bestowed but
one wife on us Europeans, he shook his head, saying, “_Macasch_.”
(Nay, nay.) By this time it was late, and as I had to be at Buterback
before night I took my leave. The gate Babazoun was soon far behind
me, and I hastened on towards my destination, for the sun was fast
declining towards the sea; but the boisterous laughter, and the
long-drawn burthen of “Na-ni-na” were ringing in my ears the whole way
home.
CHAPTER V.
March to Delhi Ibrahim—Horrible Scene—Blidah—_Colonne
Expéditionnaire_—Dukes of Nemours and Aumale—Pass of the
Col de Mussaia—Medeah—Arab Burial Grounds—Marabout in the
Mountains—Taking of Callah—March through the Desert—Destruction of
Abd-el-Kader’s Castle—Milianah—Night March—Sight of the Sea.
Duera, May, 1841.
Our battalion has been eight days at Duera, a fortified camp on the
southern declivity of the Sahel, and we expect every moment to start
on some great expedition. But even here we do not want occupation; for
nearly every day we have to escort a transport of provisions, intended
for Blidah, from Delhi Ibrahim to Buffarik.
Buffarik is another fortified camp and small village, which stands on
the river Arrasch in the middle of the plain of Metidja. The soil is
very productive, but the air so unhealthy that the village has been
depopulated more than once.
We also frequently have to reconnoitre the neighbourhood, and to clear
it of the Hadjutes. These fellows live in the western part of the
Sahel, and are notorious for their audacious robberies which they are
so bold as to extend to within a few leagues of Algiers. A few days
ago they gave us a strong instance of their daring. On the 1st of
May, just as we were going to hear mass, in honour of the saint’s-day
of Louis Philippe, two of the native _gendarmes maures_, who are
employed as guides, came gallopping up at full speed, their horses’
flanks bleeding with the spur, and made some communication to the
Commander of the camp. A general march was immediately sounded, and
in the course of five minutes our battalion was on its way towards a
blockhouse to the left of Delhi Ibrahim. There was no beaten track,
and we had to force our way through brushwood as high as ourselves
with which the mountains are almost everywhere covered—by no means
an agreeable occupation. We had marched about two leagues and a half
without stopping, at a pace more like a trot than a walk, when we
reached a blockhouse occupied by a company of the first battalion of
our regiment. Here we halted. Lieutenant Colonel Picolou exchanged
a few words with the officer in command at the blockhouse, and we
started again immediately. After crossing a deep ravine about a mile
beyond the blockhouse, the horsemen at the head of our advanced guard
suddenly drew up and their horses snorted and refused to advance. On
coming up with them, we saw the cause. About fifty dead bodies, all
naked and headless, were scattered about. This massacre had evidently
but just taken place, as the blood was still streaming from their
necks.
Some thirty Hadjutes had lured the Captain in command of the
blockhouse, a Swiss of the name of Müller, to leave it in pursuit
of them, at the head of fifty of the garrison. At his approach the
Hadjutes retreated across the ravine, and he was imprudent enough to
follow them to a spot where he could receive no assistance from the
blockhouse. He had scarcely reached the other side of the ravine when
he was surrounded by above six hundred well-mounted Hadjutes. Captain
Müller and his handful of men defended themselves to the last; many
of them were separated and cut down singly; but their leader and
about half of his people instantly formed into a square, and resolved
to sell their lives as dearly as possible. Their destruction was of
course inevitable; and their bodies still lay as they fell, side by
side, and there was not one among them that had not received several
wounds. The number of dead and wounded horses scattered around showed
how bravely they had fought. The Hadjutes had, as usual, carried
away their fallen comrades. Of the fifty soldiers who had left the
blockhouse one only escaped who, having been wounded at the beginning
of the fight, had fallen among some thick brushwood, where he had lain
concealed until the departure of the Hadjutes. He had thus been a
spectator of the whole of this horrid scene, and had been forced to
look on whilst the Hadjutes massacred his comrades and finally cut off
their heads, which they bore away as trophies hanging to their saddle
bows.
It cannot be denied that Captain Müller caused the destruction of his
company by his rashness, but he paid for his fault with his life.
Peace be to his ashes, for he met his death like a man. This scene
of blood made a deep impression on me, as on all my comrades, whose
countenances were some burning with rage and thirst for revenge, and
others pale with terror and disgust. The corpses were immediately
buried on the spot, the blockhouse garrisoned by a fresh company, and
we marched back again.
During the whole way home I did not hear a single song nor one coarse
jest, of which there were generally no lack; even the roughest and
most hardened characters were shaken by that which they had just
seen.[1] Every one reflected that the fate of their comrades might one
day be their own.
The blockhouse is about three leagues from Algiers, and one from Delhi
Ibrahim; so you may judge tolerably well of what is meant by the
French territory.
* * * * *
Blidah, June.
On the sixth of May we left Duera for Blidah, the rendezvous appointed
for the troops which were to form the _colonne expéditionnaire_. For
several days troops of every description, and an infinite number of
mules laden with provisions had been passing through Duera.
After a march of two hours we left the Sahel mountains and descended
into the plains of Metidja, where we proceeded, much at our ease,
along a broad road which had been made as far as Blidah for the
traffic of waggons. The lesser Atlas appeared to lie so close before
us that we expected to arrive in a few hours at Blidah, the end of
our day’s march, which lies at the foot of that range. But the great
height of the mountains deceived us, and it was noon before we reached
Buffarik which is only half way; here we rested for two hours. Towards
evening we at last saw Blidah just before us. A thick grove of orange
trees had till then concealed it from our sight. The white cupolas of
the numerous mosques, lighted up by the last rays of the setting sun,
rose from among the bright green foliage of the oranges.
By the time we reached the town it was nearly dark, and we bivouacked
under some old olive trees. I lay all night in a sort of waking dream
and found it impossible to sleep. The soft air of the south, the
intoxicating perfume of the orange flowers, the death-like stillness,
rarely disturbed by the neighing of horses and the challenge of the
sentinels—all this had such a magical effect on my senses, that I
felt as though I was in the midst of one of the Arabian nights—it was
not till near morning that I fell asleep, and when I awoke the sun
was already high in the heavens. As we were to wait there a whole day
for the arrival of the cavalry, I did not fail to take a nearer view
of Blidah, which the Arabs justly call the Paradise of Africa. The
town lies at the very foot of the Atlas, and for miles westward there
extends a beautiful orange grove, the largest I ever saw, not even
excepting that of Seville. Eastward, on the slope of the mountain, are
fig and olive trees, interspersed with cedars which rival those of
Mount Lebanon. Plentiful streams of water gush out of a ravine, and
are conveyed in numerous channels through the streets of the town. The
Arab sits beneath the arcade of his house, protected from the rays of
the sun, bathing his feet in the cool spring water, and blesses Allah
and the Prophet for his existence; and well he may, for his days glide
tranquilly on, like the brook at his feet. Doubts and inward struggles
are unknown to him; the Arab has but one God, one sword, and one
horse, and wants nothing more.
In good and evil fortune he equally says, “The will of Allah be done,”
and bows his head to the dust. When I compared myself, a restless son
of the north, to this Arab, truly, for the first time in my life, I
was envious. But I soon reflected that it is impossible to retrace
the path I have entered, and that, at the end of the dangers and
difficulties which beset it, I too may rest beside a cool spring under
a spreading tree.
In the plain, not very far to the west of Blidah, are the remains of a
wall which evidently surrounded a town of considerable size. There is
a tradition that it was destroyed by the Normans. I could never learn
its name.
On the next morning at sunrise the whole column, consisting of about
twelve thousand men, was in marching order, and the Governor, who had
arrived with the cavalry the day before, entrusted the command to
General Baraguai d’Hilliers, and returned to Algiers from whence he
was to proceed to Oran.
Our cavalry consisted, in several squadrons of the native _gendarmes
maures_, besides a regiment and a half of French _chasseurs
d’Afrique_; the latter were all mounted on native horses, as European
horses are quite worn out in the first half-year. The fourth regiment
of _chasseurs_, who had just arrived from Bona, were mounted on Tunis
horses which the Dey had sold to the French for a very moderate price;
and nothing can be imagined more beautiful than this regiment. We had
besides several field-pieces; for granades and grape-shot do more
execution among masses of cavalry than round-shot: each piece was
served by four men and drawn by four mules. In the plain they were
drawn by two mules, but in the mountain districts they were taken to
pieces, and one mule carried the barrel, another the carriage, and the
other two the ammunition. It requires only a few minutes to take the
cannon to pieces and to put it together again.
We crossed the plain as far as the foot of the Col de Mussaia, which
is about four leagues from Blidah, in three columns, surrounded by
flying squadrons of French and native horse. The baggage, which was
considerable, was placed in the middle.
Besides what was loaded on mules, each soldier carried nine days’
provisions, consisting of ship-biscuit, rice, coffee, and sugar.
Bread and wine are not given on a campaign, owing to the very limited
means of transport, for it would be impossible to use waggons, and the
number of mules and donkeys required to carry the provisions for a
march of five weeks is great enough as it is. Cattle are driven, and
during an expedition each soldier is allowed double rations, that is,
one pound of meat daily.
Besides his provisions, which are replaced from time to time, each
soldier carries sixty rounds of ammunition, and a linen sack into
which he creeps at night, and which stands him in stead of both an
upper and under sheet. His only outer garment is the grey _capote_,
which protects him against the summer’s heat and the winter’s rain;
his stock of shirts is usually limited to the one on his back,
which he washes in the first stream near his bivouac, and which is
considered dry in ten minutes. The French set but little store by
other articles of dress, but before they set out on a march they take
care that each soldier be provided with a pair of good shoes; for
shoes and arms are the first necessaries of the soldier on active
service. One may almost say, that to be well shod is even more
essential than to be well armed; for the soldier can make no use of
his weapons until he has reached the field of battle. The bravest
troops are useless if they arrive too late, or leave one-third or half
of their men lagging behind. It is impossible to lay too much stress
upon the good marching order of the soldier. Marshal Saxe used to say,
“_C’est dans les jambes qu’est tout le secret des manœuvres et des
combats: c’est aux jambes qu’il faut s’appliquer_;” and he was quite
right.
The Dukes of Nemours and Aumale were with the column; the first
as Brigadier-General, the latter as Lieutenant-Colonel of the
twenty-fourth regiment of the line; both are tall and well made.
The Duke of Nemours generally wears the uniform of the _chasseurs
d’Afrique_, which suits him admirably, and follows the African fashion
of wearing a thick beard round his mouth and chin; his younger brother
has not yet followed this laudable example, most likely for the best
of all reasons.
They are both much respected by the army as brave officers; and,
indeed, they do their duty, on all occasions, even better than the
other superior officers. The Duke of Nemours, however, is not so
much beloved as the Duke of Orleans, as he is thought proud and
aristocratic, whether justly or not I had no opportunity of telling.
The enemy did not attempt to molest us in the plain, although near the
hills to our left we had constant glimpses of the white bernouses of
the Bedouins, who, though too weak to make a regular attack, followed
the column like jackals, and fell upon all that lagged too far in the
rear.
For two years the Metidja has lain waste, but it is still covered
with ruined dwellings and self-sown corn-fields, the traces of former
cultivation.
With the exception of a few groups of olive trees, little wood is to
be seen here; only the banks of a small stream called the Schiffa, are
covered with laurels. We rested for some hours at the foot of the Col
de Mussaia, before the column began to ascend the mountain.
This is the only pass in all this part of the lesser Atlas. The
defiles in this narrow pass had been occupied by a few battalions of
infantry the day before, as, without this precaution, the Bedouins
might have crushed the whole army by merely throwing blocks of stone
down the perpendicular rocks upon the troops defiling along the narrow
path below.
The mountain scenery here is most wildly romantic: on the left are
towering rocks, on the right a dizzy precipice; as far as the eye can
reach there is nothing but tall brushwood, with a few olive trees and
cedars wherever the soil is deep enough. No trace of human habitations
was to be seen, the place appeared to be the abode of vultures and
jackals, both of which abound. However, we afterwards learnt that
the huts of the Kabyles are thickly scattered in all the defiles and
glens, but they are so small and dingy as not to be visible from a
distance.
From the foot of the Col de Mussaia up to its highest point is fully
seven hours’ march; and as the day was intensely hot, we shed many a
drop of sweat.
Our battalion, which was the only one of the Foreign Legion engaged in
this expedition, formed the rear guard, and we did not reach the top
of the mountain until long after sunset.
The other troops had already encamped for the night, and we were sent
on as outposts to the _Fontaine de la Croix_, a full league further,
on the other declivity of the mountain. We went forward, limping and
cursing. To make matters still worse, a guide was sent with us who did
not know the way. At length, some time past midnight, the sound of
rushing waters announced to us that we had reached our destination.
This _Fontaine de la Croix_ derives its name from a huge cross cut
into the living rock, probably by the Spaniards, as a pious memorial
of their conquest. We had not much time for rest, as the signal for
marching was given before sunrise. We were now the first of the
advanced guard, and on we went, up hill and down dale. The Bedouins
made an attempt to fire upon the column in a large olive grove,
through which we had to pass at the foot of the Col, but our scouts
and sharp-shooters soon drove them off.
* * * * *
Medeah.
We reached Medeah, the end of our day’s march, before noon. This city,
one of the oldest in Africa, stands on a _plateau_, which terminates
on two sides in an abrupt precipice, and is therefore easily defended.
The town is surrounded by the most splendid fruit gardens; a Roman
aqueduct still in good preservation, conveys water to it from a
neighbouring mountain, and proves the high antiquity of the town. It
is inhabited by Jews and Arabs, who seem devoted to the French—a
disposition greatly encouraged by the presence of a French garrison
of two battalions. Medeah was formerly the capital of the Beylick of
Titteri, and the residence of the Bey.
We pitched our tents close to the town, beside a brook, where
exquisite oranges, out of a garden close by, offered us some
compensation for the fatigues we had undergone.
In spite of positive commands to the contrary, the soldiers proceeded
to cut down the orange and almond trees for fuel, although there were
plenty of large olive trees in the neighbourhood; but destruction is
the proper element of the soldier.
Our bivouac usually forms a perfect square, modified of course by the
ground; the infantry, who are outside, lie in double file behind their
piled arms. Each battalion sends out one company as an advanced post,
and another company remains within the lines as a picket. The baggage,
artillery, and cavalry, are placed in the middle. The cavalry do not
furnish any outposts, as horsemen, especially in broken ground, are
too much exposed to the fire of the Bedouins and Kabyles, who steal
singly towards us. The infantry, on the contrary, can more easily hide
themselves, and by laying their faces close to the ground can hear the
slightest sound. This is essential, as the Bedouins and Kabyles creep
on all fours like wild beasts and fall upon single outposts, or shoot
them from a distance when they can see them; for which reason the
outposts change their ground after dark, to deceive the enemy. They
generally draw back a little, leaving their watch-fires burning, which
enables them to see whatever passes between them and the fire. To our
great satisfaction we stayed the whole of the next day at Medeah, as
the General had directed many military stores and other matters to be
forwarded thither. As it was Sunday, a solemn mass was celebrated on
an eminence in the middle of the camp, by a priest who accompanied
us, and who afterwards preached a very edifying sermon on peace. We
were unfortunately so far from the priest that we heard nothing of the
whole mass but an occasional solemn strain of military music.
We started next morning before sunrise, and continued our route due
south. We marched several days without exchanging a single shot with
the Bedouins. Our road lay always up or down hill; the heat was
excessive and our marches were at the rate of from four to six leagues
a-day.
In Africa it is, of course, impossible to say where or when the troops
are to bivouac, as it depends upon finding wood and water. In case of
need the wood can be dispensed with, as there is almost always enough
to be found for cooking; but water is absolutely necessary for the
cattle and the beasts of burden, which die if they get none after a
long march; men can bear the want of it better. Of course, the General
has several native guides who know the country, which is the more
essential as the French have never been in this part of Africa before.
Had we not seen well-cultivated corn, barley, and rice fields in the
valleys, we should have supposed that the whole of this district was
uninhabited. As far as our cavalry scoured the country they found no
traces of human beings save a few miserable little hovels made of
rushes and skins of beasts, which we should have thought too wretched
for a dog to live in. The owners, of course, were nowhere to be found.
In former days this tract of country must have been thickly peopled,
judging from the cemeteries which we saw from time to time. These
were generally near the tomb of a marabout, and of enormous extent:
they might truly be called cities of the dead. The graves were all
exactly alike; no distinction seemed to exist among the dead. All were
carefully covered with masonry, to keep the jackals from scratching up
the bodies; and indeed no one can wonder that the Bedouins should wish
to rest undisturbed in death after such restless wandering lives. Each
grave was marked by a large upright stone, but no date told the dying
day of him who lay beneath it, no escutcheon proclaimed his birth and
descent.
The Bedouins, who are nomadic here as elsewhere, are too poor to buy
tents, and accordingly they build for themselves in a few days the
wretched hovels I have already mentioned. And the French make war
upon these wretched houseless tribes! Truly, they might as well march
against the jackals.
The Bedouins had placed vedettes on the tops of all the mountains
to give notice of our approach. We could distinctly perceive on the
distant hills, single horsemen in white bernouses who retreated as we
drew near them.
We were now in the province of Titteri, among the mountains of
the second Atlas range, which at this point is not divided by any
considerable rivers or valleys from the lesser Atlas. It is impossible
to tell where the one ceases and the other begins: all is mountain.
Farther west, on the contrary, the extensive plain watered by the
Schellif forms the natural division.
After several days’ march the mountains which had hitherto been
covered with mere brushwood became more wooded and romantic in their
appearance. We passed through immense forests of olives, firs, and
junipers, the latter of which grew to a considerable height. A great
fire must have raged in one part of the forest, as nearly all the
trees about it were black and charred. Some of them, however, still
had so much vital power left that they had shot out afresh at top. Our
column followed a caravan track through the wood.
It is remarkable that on the very highest point of all these
mountains there stands a marabout. These marabouts are at the same
time the temples and the mausoleums of the Bedouin priests, who are
also called marabouts. They are usually small,—from thirty or forty
feet square,—surmounted by a cupola, and commonly built of rough
stone and whitewashed. Thus these houseless children of the desert,
who have no abiding-place for themselves, yet build a house for their
God.
One day our company was detached in order to cover the right flank; we
were separated as sharp-shooters, and our road lay near one of these
marabouts. The door was open, and curiosity impelled me and a few
others to enter. We stepped in, and saw an old man in a white bernouse
prostrate on the ground praying. It was indeed a spot well fitted for
prayer and meditation; here, on the graves of his forefathers, so near
to heaven, everything proclaimed the transitory nature of earthly
things and the greatness and majesty of the Eternal.
As some of us approached him and made a noise, the priest arose and
motioned us back with his hand, saying, “_No bueno Romis_” (not well
Christians). We involuntarily drew back. The whole appearance of this
man was that of an inspired prophet. We afterwards joked about it, but
no one could conceive how this man came to be in a place so far from
all human habitations. The Arabs and Bedouins call all Christians and
Europeans by the name of Romis, _i. e._ Romans.
I do not know whether the jackals are particularly numerous in this
district, or whether it is that they follow our column, but every
evening after sunset they serenade us most melodiously. The jackal
is not unlike our European fox, but it feeds chiefly on corpses and
carrion, and is therefore dangerous only to the dead.
It is curious that the hoarse croaking bark of the hyæna is always
heard together with the howling of the jackal. The natives assert
that every pack of jackals is led by a hyæna. These serenades are not
very enlivening. But though the howling of hyænas and jackals was my
regular lullabye, and my knapsack my only pillow, I did not sleep a
whit the less soundly after a good day’s march.
By degrees the country grew more and more desert and treeless. The
hills were bare and the valleys afforded but little water, and that
little was fetid. The streams were already dried up; in the deepest
places a little water was still standing, but it was so bitter that it
could scarcely be used for cooking. It was only here and there that
we found fresh springs. We suffered cruelly from heat and thirst:
each man filled his flask every morning, but the water was soon drunk
during a forced march, and it is not every one that knows how to make
the most of it. During the first part of the day as little as possible
should be drunk, and even later a very small quantity, and that only
while at rest; much drinking merely heats and weakens. When we halted
at mid-day and found water we generally made some coffee, which even
without sugar or milk was most refreshing. Before starting in the
morning we usually drink coffee, in which we soak our biscuit. In the
evening we make soup of the meat which is given out; so, you see, we
cannot be accused of gluttony at any rate. But, indeed, this heat
takes away all appetite, and one longs for nothing but a shady tree
and a gushing fountain; all else is vain.
It is strange to see the efforts made by every creature when we are
coming near a spring or a brook to reach it quickly. The weary faces
of the soldiers resume their animation; the horses and mules who smell
the water half a league off begin to neigh: and on reaching the water
both men and beasts plunge into it, to satisfy their burning thirst.
General orders and sentinels are of no avail; what is punishment or
even death to the soldier at such a moment! He would much rather die
by a bullet than by thirst. Most of them lose all self-control, and
drink till they are literally full. I have seen some of them drink
with a small tin can called a _quart_, which each soldier carries
hanging to his button-hole, as much as five or six pints at a time.
It is extraordinary that more do not die of it; but the water is
generally warmed by the sun, and the subsequent marching brings on
profuse perspiration.
* * * * *
Callah.
Here, where one would least expect to find human beings, the Bedouins
have begun to show themselves in great numbers, and to attack the
flanks and the rear of the column. Perhaps they have been retreating
before us all this time, and now that we draw near the lesser desert
they are determined to retreat no further. By degrees their numbers
increased, and without offering any resistance to the head of the
column they hovered round us all day, greeting us with wild yells of
“_Lu, lu_,” which probably meant “Allah.”
They gallop without any order, and singly, to within eighty or a
hundred paces of our sharp shooters, and discharge their rifles at
full speed. The horse then turns of his own accord, and the rider
loads his piece as he retreats; and this is repeated again and again
all day long.
The Bedouins never wait for a close encounter hand to hand when
charged by our cavalry; they disperse in all directions, but instantly
return. The only difference between them and the Numidians, of whom
Sallust says, “They fight flying, and retreat, only to return more
numerous than before,” is, that the Numidians of old fought with bows
and the Bedouins have rifles.
This kind of fighting is equally dangerous and fatiguing to us. It is
no joke to be firing in all directions from sunrise till sunset, and
to march at the same time, for we seldom halt to fight at our ease.
The General only orders a halt when the rear-guard is so fiercely
attacked as to require reinforcement. Any soldier of the rear-guard
who is wounded or tired has the pleasant prospect of falling into the
hands of the Bedouins and having his head cut off by them. One comfort
is, that this operation is speedily performed: two or three strokes
with the yataghan are a lasting cure for all pains and sorrows.
There are, it is true, a certain number of mules and litters to carry
the sick and wounded; but on so long an expedition as this the number
of the sick increases to such a degree that in the end every means
of conveyance is overloaded. The only resource, then, is to unload
the provision mules, and to distribute rations for eight or ten days
more among the soldiers. In the end, however, both men and mules are
dead beat, and every one must shift for himself. It requires long
habit, and much suffering, before a man can bear to see his comrades
butchered before his eyes without being able to help them.
For several successive days we were attacked with such pertinacity by
the Bedouins, and their allies the Kabyles, that we supposed we must
be coming upon their den, and so indeed it turned out. One evening,
after a hot forced march, we saw on a mountain top, which formed a
_plateau_, a great heap of stones which we knew to be a town. In two
hours we were close upon it. Our battalion and several others climbed
the steep hill, in order to enter the town from above, while the rest
of the column attacked it from below. We were driving the Bedouins
before us all the time. At length we reached the walls, which were low
and battlemented, but to our astonishment no one appeared to defend
them, and the gates stood wide open. Suspecting a stratagem, some of
us climbed to the top of the walls to look into the town. The nest was
empty, and the birds flown; as usual we had come just too late. The
whole column poured into the town, which was I think called Callah,
and the soldiers eagerly ransacked the houses. The owners could not
have been gone long, for the kuskussu on the hearth was still hot.
A few fowls, cats, and lambs, which the Kabyles had left behind in
their hurry, and two rusty cannons, were all the spoil. A far greater
god-send was a fine spring of water near the city gates. Here we made
up for the thirst we had endured all day.
After taking as much wood as was wanted to cook our supper, we set
fire to the town. We then bivouacked on an eminence at a distance,
where we slept as soundly as if we had performed some glorious action.
The soldiers began to grow impatient; we were now close to the lesser
desert, without apparently being a bit the nearer to Abd-el-Kader’s
castle, which was the object of the expedition. They began as usual
to invent the most extraordinary theories, some asserting that the
General had sold us to Abd-el-Kader, others that we were in a few days
to fight a battle against the Emperor of Morocco, although we were
then further from Morocco than from Algiers.
* * * * *
The Lesser Desert.
One morning before leaving our bivouac, we were ordered to fill our
kettles with water, and to carry some wood upon our knapsacks, as we
should have to pass the night in the desert. After two hours’ march
the desert lay before us, and a most cheerless prospect did it afford.
To the south nothing was to be seen but an undulating surface of
shifting sand: on the east and west alone, the Atlas range was still
visible.
The palm grows better than any other tree in this scorching soil; but
it was only from time to time that we found one, and then so stunted
and withered was it that it could afford no shelter to the weary
wanderer. The palm is seldom found in groups, generally single, or at
most in twos and threes, for which reason the natives call the palm
tree the hermit.
We had of course no idea how far the desert might extend, and felt as
desolate and fearful as the young sailor who for the first time sees
his native shore fade from his sight. To our great joy we soon turned
westward, always following the track of a caravan. The march was
excessively fatiguing, as no breath of air tempered the burning heat
under which we toiled alone, up to the ancles in sand. I was so tired,
that I could have exclaimed with King Richard, “A horse! a horse! my
kingdom for a horse.” Towards evening we reached a spot which the
Bedouins had but lately quitted, as we saw by the traces of tents and
herds. To our great joy we found several deep cisterns containing some
water, not indeed fit to drink, but good enough for cattle and for
cooking. These cisterns are filled during the rainy season, and some
water remains in them till far into the summer. Next day we turned
still more to the west, and towards evening we reached the foot of the
mountains, where we bivouacked beside a brook, whose waters had called
forth luxuriant vegetation. We were not a little rejoiced to escape
from the accursed desert. Many of us had already bidden adieu to life,
and fancied that we saw our bones lie bleaching on the burning sand.
The green banks of this small stream where we lay seemed to us a
perfect paradise. On the following morning we followed the course
of the brook upwards with more than usual speed, preceded at some
distance by the cavalry, whence we supposed something must be in
store for us. Towards mid-day some Bedouins showed themselves one by
one on our right flank, and discharged their rifles at the column.
As the whole body of cavalry had been sent forward, sharp-shooters
were detached, who succeeded in keeping the Bedouins at a respectful
distance. By degrees, however, they came in greater numbers, and grew
bolder, so that our sharp-shooters had to be constantly reinforced and
relieved. It is most fortunate for us that the Bedouins have such
a holy horror of the bayonet. The sharp-shooter may feel perfectly
secure against an attack hand to hand with the yataghan from any
single Bedouin.
They confine themselves to swearing and shooting at him, both always
at full gallop; and as the aim of a horseman is far less certain than
that of a foot soldier, the sharp-shooter has the advantage. The
Bedouins fight hand to hand only when they are greatly superior in
numbers, or when a small band is cut off from the main body; then,
indeed, the danger is very great.
* * * * *
Thaza.
Towards evening we at length saw on a height before us the castle of
Abd-el-Kader, the object of our expedition. It was a large square
building in the European style, surrounded with high walls.
Close to it blazed a village which the Bedouins had fired with their
own hands. The cavalry had taken the castle without a single blow, for
the Arabs had just deserted it.
Every soul had fled, leaving nothing but bare walls. We had again
arrived too late, and I thought of the words of my friend Hassan,
“Quickness is the soul of war.” I am convinced that we are very
deficient in cavalry, more especially in native horsemen, who know
every hole and corner in the defiles, and whose horses can scramble
anywhere. Our cavalry is not nearly strong enough to act for several
days independently of infantry and artillery. Possibly, too, the
General was not particularly well served by his spies and guides, or
some one of those thousand accidents may have occurred which cause the
failure of even the best laid plans.
We bivouacked immediately under the castle walls, for it was late, and
both men and horses were too tired to pursue the enemy. We all rushed
into the castle to see the inside, and, if possible, to plunder; but
nothing was left except a good many sheepskins and a few carpets.
The whole construction of the castle plainly showed that it had
been built under the direction of European architects. The rooms of
the Emir alone were arranged in the Arabian manner. The European
prisoners had been confined in the vaults below, where we found the
names of people of all nations written on the walls. Some bewailed
that we should come too late, and that they were to be transferred to
some other dungeon, they knew not where. Many prisoners of condition
had been shut up there; among others, a French _Sous Intendant_,
who had been seized by a horde of Bedouins near Duera, not far from
Algiers. This man was afterwards sent back without ransom, upon the
intercession of the Bishop of Algiers, who wrote to Abd-el-Kader
about him. It is but just to add, that the prisoners of Abd-el-Kader,
who were subsequently released, said that he had treated them very
humanely. It is true that they worked at his buildings, but they had
enough to eat, and were not beaten. As soon however as the Emir was
gone on a distant expedition, they were shamefully ill-used, and after
a hard day’s work got only a handful of barley and a little oil,—a
poor repast for those accustomed to the strong meat of the north. I
have since met with a Dutchman who had passed three years in this
slavery, at the end of which he was exchanged: hunger and misery had
rendered him completely imbecile. He had lost all sense of taste and
smell, and swallowed indiscriminately everything that was placed
before him, whether good or bad.
We stayed here the following day to rest. The cavalry went out to
reconnoitre whether any of the Bedouins still lay hidden in the
defiles and valleys, but returned without having found any traces of
them. These people have a peculiar art of driving away large herds of
cattle with incredible rapidity. The engineers completely destroyed
the castle by blowing up the walls, and setting all the wood that was
in it on fire.
To the great joy of us all, a march back to Milianah was ordered. But
before reaching the plains of the Schellif we had to cross the arm of
the Uanseris mountains, at the cost of infinite suffering and fatigue.
On the second day we came to a defile, at least five leagues in
length, and so narrow that in many places we had to march in single
file. On either hand rose lofty and precipitous rocks, which the
infantry were forced to occupy and defend.
Before daybreak these positions were taken without much difficulty,
for the Bedouins had already deserted them. The infantry and cavalry,
posted on the heights on either side of the pass, covered the advance
of the column, and the main body and the artillery began to defile
through; this took so much time that the head of the column had
already debouched before the rear had begun to move. It is scarcely
conceivable how, with the column drawn out over at least five leagues
of ground, we escaped without a mishap.
Considerable masses of cavalry showed themselves on our right flank,
and made several attacks on us, but all so feeble and unconnected that
they were easily repulsed. We bivouacked upon a _plateau_ on the side
of the defile, but the rear-guard did not reach the spot until late
in the evening. In a few days more we reached the Schellif, which
the natives call the great river,—a name it by no means deserves at
this place, where it is small and insignificant; but the youthful
impetuosity with which it dashes over rocks and hollows gives promise
of its future size. We followed its course for several days, marching
sometimes on the right, sometimes on the left bank, on account of the
narrowness of the valley; and having no pontoons with us, we had the
pleasure of wading through the stream several times a day.
The rivers in Africa are seldom so deep as not to be fordable; but
the health of the soldiers is destroyed by constantly marching in wet
clothes, more especially in the morning and evening when they do not
soon dry. I am convinced that many illnesses, particularly fevers and
diarrhœa, are brought on by this. Besides, the soldiers’ feet suffer
terribly from the softening of the skin and the hardening of the shoes.
By dint of scouring the country in all directions, our cavalry at last
succeeded in surprising a tribe and taking two or three prisoners and
a few hundred sheep, which barely supplied us with meat for one day.
It was fortunate that we had such a quantity of live stock with us,
for we must otherwise have died of hunger. As it was, our poor oxen
were grown so thin, owing to forced marches and want of food, that
Pharaoh’s lean kine would have seemed fat in comparison.
By-and-by we reached the end of the Uanseris mountains, where the
valley of the Schellif widens into an extensive plain which we found
covered with corn, although no tents or huts were to be seen. As the
wheat and barley were still too green to burn, the column deployed to
its utmost breadth, so as at all events to trample down the crops as
much as possible.
* * * * *
Milianah.
The further side of the plain is skirted by the lesser Atlas range, on
the southern declivity of which stands Milianah, whose white walls and
mosques we distinctly saw from afar.
Towards evening we reached the foot of these mountains, and bivouacked
immediately under Milianah. On the following day, whatever ammunition
and provisions we had remaining, about eight days’ supply, were sent
into the town. Immediately above Milianah is the highest point of the
lesser Atlas, and the town is built half way up the mountain, on a
_plateau_, which falls abruptly on three sides. This was formerly the
residence of Abd-el-Kader, who showed great judgment in the choice of
a spot so easily defensible and commanding the fruitful plain of the
Schellif. A beautiful clear stream which gushes out of a hollow above
the town, runs through the streets, and serves to work the powder
mills and manufactories established by Abd-el-Kader.
In 1840, when the war broke out between Abd-el-Kader and the
French, Milianah was besieged and taken by the latter. One half of
the besiegers assailed the town from below, while the rest having
succeeded in planting some cannon on a height commanding the town,
poured their shot down upon it. When Abd-el-Kader saw that he could
hold the place no longer, he determined to retreat by the only gate
which was still free, and first rode sword in hand through the
streets, cutting down every one that would not follow him. Nearly all
effected their retreat in safety, and most of the families settled
on the northern slope of the lesser Atlas. The town contains few
buildings worth looking at, except the palace of the Emir. The French
have repaired and considerably strengthened the fortifications of the
place.
With Milianah Abd-el-Kader lost the valley of the Schellif, and was
compelled to retire as far as the Mina. He transported his wives and
children and his most valued property to Tekedemta, a rocky fastness
in the greater Atlas, beyond Mascara.
From Milianah the column marched towards the Col de Mussaia, which
we had to pass again. Next morning, when we were still about twenty
leagues from this accursed Col, General Changarnier was sent in
advance with four battalions of infantry, of which ours was one, some
cavalry, and a few field-pieces to occupy the positions in the pass.
Those who were not in good walking order were left behind with the
column. We started at four in the morning, and marched the whole day,
only halting for ten minutes at a time, till we reached the _Plateau
des Reguliers_, (so called from Abd-el-Kader’s regular troops, who
often encamp there,) which lies at the foot of the Col. Evening had
already begun to close in. The day had been excessively hot, and the
forced march had fatigued us so much, that it was absolutely necessary
to halt and to give the soldiers time to cook their soup and to
recover a little. In two hours we were to start afresh. The soldiers
were indignant at such an unusually long and rapid march, and railed
at the harshness and cruelty of the General, who they said sacrificed
his men to a mere caprice.
The soldiers, of course, could not see the need for such excessive
haste; some poor fellows moreover had been left on the road for want
of mules to carry them. I several times heard the exclamation, “I wish
that the Bedouins would grow out of the ground by millions and put an
end to us all.” The fatigues and hardships of this kind of war at last
produce perfect indifference to life, which becomes a mere burden.
Indeed it is an old saying, “That nothing is better calculated to
render the soldier careless of danger than fatigue and privation.”
When Sylla was made commander of the Roman forces against Mithridates,
he found the Roman legions so enervated by ease and luxury that they
were afraid to face the enemy; but Sylla worked them and marched them
about till they besought him to lead them to battle. He then attacked
the enemy and beat them.
General Changarnier, who commanded us, is known by the whole army as a
brave soldier who exacts the very utmost from others as well as from
himself, and who accordingly most often succeeds in his enterprises.
He is more feared than loved by the men; who say, “_C’est un homme dur
ce Changarnier_.” He appears to be a few years above fifty, powerfully
built, but with a head somewhat weather-beaten by the storms of life.
He has been fighting in Africa ever since the first occupation.
After two hours’ rest, when night had completely closed in, we started
again in perfect silence, and left our watch-fires burning to make
the enemy believe that we were going to bivouac on the _plateau_; we
wound up the mountain, which is far steeper on this side than even on
the other. This night was one of the most painful of my whole life.
The oppressive heat and forced march had so exhausted us that we
marched more asleep than awake, and were only roused by striking our
feet against a stone, or our noses against the knapsack of the man
before us. From time to time we were reminded of our danger by the
order “_Serrez! serrez!_” and indeed it was necessary to keep close,
for whoever lagged behind was lost. We all dropped down asleep during
the short stoppages which inevitably took place at the difficult
passages; and without doubt we left behind us many sleepers, who were
not perceived by the rear-guard and instantly fell a prey to the
Bedouins. About four o’clock in the morning we passed the _Fontaine de
la Croix_, where we bivouacked on our former march; thus we still had
a league to march before reaching the highest point of the Col. From
this spot the battalions separated, in order to ascend the various
heights. By five we were at the top, almost without firing a shot.
These positions are so impregnable that the Bedouins could have driven
us back merely with stones if they had had any resolution. I am
convinced that the Kabyles of Budschia and Dschigeli would have sent
us home in a fine plight. As we had to wait for the arrival of the
main body, we established ourselves on the mountain top as well as we
could. Greatly to our annoyance, however, no water was to be found in
the neighbourhood, and we were obliged to fetch it a whole league from
the _Fontaine de la Croix_.
Towards mid-day, when the fog cleared off, we discovered the blue
Mediterranean beyond the plain of Metidja and the Sahel mountains. We
greeted it as our second home, with loud cheers and cries of “Land,”
for the sea was to us what the harbour is to the sailor after a long
and perilous voyage. From this point, one of the highest of the lesser
Atlas, we enjoyed the most glorious prospect. On one side we saw the
vast plain of Metidja and the sea beyond it; on the other, several
small valleys, where pastures still green proved the fruitfulness
of the soil. In one of these little valleys we espied a few huts
and a flock of sheep grazing in peaceful ignorance of their danger.
This time the poor inhabitants of the hovels were protected by their
poverty: had the prey been better worth taking, a division of cavalry
would soon have been down upon them.
The sharp and broken outlines of the mountains and the dark foliage
of the olives, pines, and cedars, which clothe their sides, give a
singularly wild and sombre character to the Atlas range. The air at
this height is sharp and piercing even in summer; and while we could
scarcely breathe for the heat below, we here buttoned our capotes
up to our very chins. This appeared to be the land of vultures and
eagles, which soared and screamed around us by hundreds, apparently
highly offended at their unexpected guests. They came so near to us
that several of them were shot by the soldiers with split bullets;
but they were a perverse and stiff-necked generation, which even when
mortally wounded did not cease from biting and clawing.
The main body arrived towards evening, and on the following morning we
continued our march towards the Metidja, with great alacrity and good
humour. Our knapsacks were light, and the prospect of making up at
Blidah for the hardships we had undergone infused new life into all of
us.
At noon we were already at the foot of the mountains, and a few hours
later the mosques and orange groves of Blidah lay before us.
It was indeed high time for us to return to the camp, for the number
of sick had increased frightfully of late; horses, mules, and donkeys
were all overloaded with them, and many a one who would long since
have been given over by the physicians in Europe still crawled in
our ranks. Our shoes and clothes were in rags; many even had wound
pieces of ox hide about their feet in default of shoes. We bivouacked
close by the town on the bank of a small brook. All the people in
the town came out to see us and to convince themselves that we were
still alive, for it had been reported several times that the column
was utterly destroyed. They lifted up their hands in amazement at
our deplorable appearance; and it was only on comparing ourselves
with these sleek and well-fed citizens that we perceived how wild and
wretched we looked, and that our faces were dingy yellow, and our
bodies dried up like so many mummies. I am convinced, that except on
the persons of the attendants on the sick, and some of the superior
officers, not even Shylock himself could have cut one pound of flesh
out of the whole column.
Arabs, Jews, and Christians vied with each other in offering us wine,
fruit, bread, &c., at very sufficient prices, for in Africa nothing is
gratis.
All discipline was now at an end: the officers were soon dispersed
among the various _cafés_ and _restaurants_, and the soldiers bought
as much bread, fruit, and wine as they could get for their few _sous_,
and seated themselves under the first shady tree they could find,
where they drank till all the miseries of life were forgotten.
[1] We are tempted to quote from “Two Years Before the Mast,”
a passage describing the effect produced by the sad spectacle
of a man overboard:—“Death is at all times solemn, but never
so much so as at sea; a man dies on shore, his body remains
with his friends, and ‘the mourners go about the streets;’ but
when a man falls overboard at sea and is lost, there is a
suddenness in the event, and a difficulty in realizing it,
which gives it an air of awful mystery. * * * All these things
make such a death particularly solemn, and the effect of it
remains upon the crew for some time. _There is more kindness
shown by the officers to the crew, and by the crew to one
another. There is more quietness and seriousness. The oath and
the loud laugh are gone._”—Page 12.—Trans.
CHAPTER VI.
Arab Valour—Abd-el-Kader—Snakes—Burning the Crops—Roman
Bridge—The Duke of Aumale falls sick—Plundering of a
Kabyle Village—The Prisoners—The Queen’s Tomb—Her Royal
Crown—Inexpediency of turning the Sword into a Ploughshare.
After stopping eight days to repair the state of our arms and shoes,
the column marched again to provision Milianah, and to lay waste the
plains of the Schellif with fire and sword. All the cavalry, save two
squadrons, were dismounted, and their horses loaded with all sorts of
provisions, rice, meal, coffee, sugar, &c. As we left Blidah rather
late, we were forced to pass the night on this side of the Col de
Mussaia, in an olive grove at the foot of the mountain. In all my life
I never saw so many small birds as in this grove; it was positively
alive with them. They twittered and warbled in all tongues; the
bullfinches especially delighted me with a melody so like that which
they sing in my own country, that I fancied I recognised some old
acquaintances among them. The soldiers contrived to catch a number
of young birds, who, dreaming of no danger had ventured out of their
nests, and to cook them for supper.
On the following day we ascended the Col; not indeed without fatigue,
but with infinitely less than the first time, for we were already
steeled by habit. We bivouacked on the _Plateau des Reguliers_, at the
opposite foot of the mountain.
We reached the plains of the Schellif in two days without molestation.
The heat began to be intolerable to us in this region, bare of
trees, and surrounded by high mountains, which shut out every breath
of air. Towards mid-day we could scarcely breathe, and many of our
number perished from thirst and fatigue, some died on the spot; they
suddenly fell down backwards, foaming at the mouth, and clenching
their hands convulsively, and in ten minutes they were dead. To add
to our distresses, a body of three or four thousand Arab horsemen
appeared on our left flank, headed by Abd-el-Kader in person. We were
in the most awkward position in the world; all our cavalry, save two
squadrons, was dismounted, and the column scattered over a space of
at least two leagues. I am convinced that if Abd-el-Kader had made a
determined attack upon us at that moment he might have annihilated
the whole column. Instead of this, only a few irregular parties of
horsemen galloped towards us, discharged their rifles, and retreated.
Once or twice a considerable number of Arabs assembled together, as
if preparing to attack us. But our General immediately ordered some
grenades to be thrown among them out of a few field-pieces, and the
whole body was scattered like chaff before the wind. This want of
resolution in our enemies was extraordinary, for Abd-el-Kader must
have known our position, and even if he had not a single spy, he
could perceive it with his own eyes. We saw him several times within
musket-shot, galloping about with his attendants, to give orders. I
believe that this inaction was owing to no want of courage or capacity
in him, but to the character of the Bedouins, and to their peculiar
mode of warfare, which nothing can induce them to alter. They never
attack _en masse_, except when they can overwhelm the enemy with their
numbers. By this practice the Bedouins have drawn upon themselves the
reproach of cowardice from the French; whether with justice is not for
me to decide; but I think that much might be said on behalf of the
Bedouins.
It is quite true that they have no courage collectively. The reason
is, that they want those ties by which masses are held together,—a
higher degree of civilisation, and a leading idea,—either love of
a common country, or religious enthusiasm. The former is unknown to
the Bedouin, whose tribe is his country, and whose next neighbour is
often his bitterest foe: he is never, like the Arab, deeply imbued
with religion; to him Allah is a mere god of plundering and murder.
To these causes is added the custom of a thousand years; these tribes
have known no other mode of warfare since the days of the Numidians.
The Bedouin conception of bravery and of cowardice is totally unlike
ours. He sees no cowardice in retreating before a superior force,
and returning to the charge at a more favourable opportunity, but
necessary prudence—a quality which stands as high in his estimation
as valour. The Bedouin would never shrink from the European in single
combat, and frequently surpasses him in endurance of privations, and
even of death, which he meets with the resignation of a philosopher.
We afterwards heard that Abd-el-Kader had endeavoured by every means
in his power to induce the chiefs to make a regular and organised
attack upon the column, but all in vain. That very evening we reached
the foot of the mountains just below Milianah, and the favourable
moment for attacking us was past.
Abd-el-Kader is a handsome man of about thirty-seven or thirty-eight.
Although dressed in the common Bedouin bernouse and turban, he was
easily distinguishable from his attendants by the splendor of his arms
and of his horses. Even from a distance I thought I could trace on his
dark and bearded countenance the intrepidity and religious enthusiasm
by which he is distinguished. His bearing was proud and noble. I could
not help watching this man with a certain degree of admiration, for he
alone is the soul of the whole resistance to the French; without him
no three tribes would act in common. I heartily wished him a better
fate; for his lot will be either to fall in battle, or to be betrayed
by his friends, like Jugurtha, to whom he may well be compared,
although to equal courage and perseverance he unites an elevation
of character not ascribed to the Numidian of old by historians, who
indeed were nowise impartial.
Abd-el-Kader has strictly forbidden his soldiers to kill the prisoners
in cold blood, and in order to put a stop to this practice among the
Bedouins, he pays ten Spanish dollars for every living captive. The
Emir received an almost European education from his father, who was
a marabout highly venerated by the people, and who lived for several
years in Italy, where he became acquainted with European habits and
manners.
Abd-el-Kader exercises great influence over both the Bedouins and the
Arabs, from being their ecclesiastical as well as temporal ruler: he
is the Khaleefeh (Vicegerent of the Prophet). I have seen one of the
Arabs of our own allied cavalry reverentially touch the earth with
his brow on hearing the name of Abd-el-Kader; but his veneration
would nowise have deterred him from murdering or taking prisoner the
Khaleefeh and his whole zemala.
The column bivouacked at the foot of the mountain, where we had one
whole day’s rest, while the provisions and ammunition intended for
Milianah were being carried up into the town. It was the turn of our
company to furnish outposts,—a service which recurred every sixth
day, and I was sent with twelve others to the outermost line.
At the foot of these mountains there is an abundance of water such as
is rarely seen in Asia. Streams gushed out of the ravines and covered
the surrounding country with the most luxuriant vegetation. There was
an equal abundance of snakes, which we could well have spared. We
had established ourselves behind a clump of wild olives to protect
ourselves from the scorching rays of the sun, and I had formed a sort
of small arbour and lain down under it to sleep, so as to be fresh
for the night, when of course rest was out of the question. Scarce
had I fallen asleep when I was roughly shaken and called by my name.
I jumped up and seized my arms, thinking that at the very least
Abd-el-Kader and his whole army were upon us, when my comrades showed
me a huge snake coiled up behind my knapsack. It gazed enquiringly
at us with its wise-looking eyes, and glided away into the bushes as
soon as we attempted to seize it. We now held a council of war; for
although the snake had as yet behaved with great propriety, we thought
the presence of such guests during the night highly unwelcome. We
accordingly resolved to set fire to the brushwood, and before long it
was in a blaze. Presently our friend slipped out in haste and tried
to take refuge in some bushes close by; but we fell upon it with
sabres and muskets, and one of us at last succeeded in pinning it to
the earth with his bayonet just behind the head. The creature hissed
and lashed fiercely with its tail, but all in vain, its last hour was
come. Its head was severed with a sabre from its body, which continued
to move for several hours. When we left the spot in the morning the
chief matador hung the snake round his neck as a trophy, and it was so
long as nearly to touch the ground on both sides, so that it measured
eight or nine feet at least.
We had not marched far over some marshy ground covered with rushes
and withered grass, when the battalions just before us separated as
if by word of command, and another snake darted in long curves down
the middle. We instantly made way for it to pass. The snake seemed
in a great hurry and instantly disappeared among the rushes. One of
the chief discomforts of Africa is the number of creeping things,
poisonous as well as harmless, and of wild beasts. They are all,
however, far less dangerous to man than is generally supposed. At any
rate bodies of men have nothing to fear from them, as they invariably
retreat before an advancing column. They only attack human beings when
urged by the utmost necessity, either of self-defence or of hunger. I
can only remember two instances of solitary sentinels being attacked
and torn in pieces in the night by hyænas, which are indeed the most
dangerous of all animals, as they kill for the mere pleasure of
killing, and not from hunger. There is also a great plenty of lizards,
scorpions, tarantulas, and all such vermin. The scorpions generally
lurk under the small stones; and great care should always be taken in
lying down to sleep, not to move them and thus disturb the scorpions,
which might then crawl over one’s hands or face and sting them. Land
tortoises abound in the marshy spots where the soldiers hunt for them
during the march and eat them for supper. They afford an excellent
soup and their flesh is as tender as chicken.
We marched only about two leagues and then bivouacked on the further
bank of the Schellif, in the very middle of a fine wheat field. The
whole left bank, as far as the foot of the mountains, was covered with
wheat and barley just ripe for the sickle.
We saw nothing more of Abd-el-Kader, who had marched westward along
the left bank of the Schellif the day before with all his cavalry.
From our bivouac we could trace his route by the clouds of dust. He,
probably, perceived that he had missed the favourable opportunity of
attacking us.
The column remained three days on the same spot, diligently employed
in cutting as much corn as possible, and in conveying it to Milianah
on every available horse, mule, and donkey in the camp. The harvest
was so abundant as to supply the town for a whole year. On the fourth
day we followed the course of the Schellif, burning the standing corn
as we went. We did not, like Samson, set fire to the corn fields of
the Philistines by driving into them three hundred foxes, with burning
torches tied to their tails. We had the advantage of the experience
of ages, and the noble inventions of modern times over the Israelite
hero. Lucifer matches were distributed among the rear-guard, with
which the crops were fired. We were once very near suffering from this
proceeding. Some roving Arabs had thoughtlessly set fire to the corn
on one side of the column: the wind blew from that quarter, and in
a moment the whole column was enveloped in flames. Fearful disorder
ensued, the terrified beasts of burden ran in all directions, and the
smoke was so thick as to prevent our seeing the troops before us.
A resolute enemy might at that moment have cut the whole column to
pieces.
After a march of two days we crossed back again to the right bank
of the Schellif, over the only bridge we ever found in the interior
of Africa. It had five arches, and appeared to be Roman, was built
of hewn stone, and as perfect as if only finished yesterday. At the
distance of one day’s march beyond this bridge the valley of the
Schellif becomes exceedingly narrow; the river pent between high
mountains, rushes like a torrent: ten or twelve leagues further the
valley again widens into a plain.
We bivouacked upon a _plateau_ on the right bank of the river. The
heights around us were covered with wild olives and dwarf oaks, and
the valleys with the finest ripe corn. As the General had reason to
suspect that we were near some rich Kabyle tribes, we remained on this
spot for several days, during which the cavalry and some chosen bodies
of infantry made excursions into the surrounding country every morning
before dawn, and returned triumphant and loaded with booty every day.
During all this time the number of sick increased fearfully: the
forced marches, the excessive heat, and the quantity of meat which the
soldiers ate without any other food but bad sea-biscuit, undermined
their health. Diarrhœa and fever prevailed in every division.
The mules were soon so loaded that many who could no longer drag
themselves along were rejected and left to die on the road.
The troops were so thoroughly disheartened that many of the soldiers
destroyed themselves for fear of falling into the hands of the
Bedouins. One of our battalion, who had been ill for some time,
actually killed himself on a day of rest. On the pretext of cleaning
his musket he went down to the river side and blew out his brains.
From this point we turned back by the same route, across the bridge
and along the left bank of the Schellif, and then following the foot
of the mountains, we resumed our incendiary labours. This time,
however, we were not left so entirely unmolested, for on the second
day Abd-el-Kader’s horsemen galloped down from the mountains and
attacked the right flank and the rear of the column with so much
vigour, that the General was obliged to halt several times in order
to send reinforcements to the rear-guard. Thus, with the thermometer
at 100°, in a plain entirely bare of trees, the July sun darting its
scorching rays full upon our heads, we had to return the incessant
fire of the Bedouins, enveloped in the smoke and flames of the burning
corn, and without a drop of water to quench our thirst! Truly, if
purgatory be half so hot, one year’s penance would suffice to wipe out
more sins than I have committed in all my life.
The Bedouins pursued us as far as the eastern boundary of the plain,
where they left us by degrees. The number of the sick had increased
so terribly that the General now resolved to send them to Blidah,
and then to march with the rest of the column into the mountains of
Cherchell. Among the sick was the Duke of Aumale, who had been carried
in a litter for several days, and, indeed, this was probably the true
reason for sending the sick to the hospital. General Bedeau, who had
been made _Maréchal-de-Camp_ during this expedition, commanded the
convoy of sick. The Duke of Aumale[2] succeeded General Bedeau in the
command of the 17th light regiment, which had distinguished itself
most honourably in every expedition.
From this point the column marched to Medeah in one day, a distance of
at least sixteen leagues. We stayed two days in that town to rest the
weary soldiers.
Our cavalry had the good fortune to surprise a hostile tribe concealed
in a neighbouring valley, and to take a great number of cattle. On
leaving Medeah we crossed the main ridge of the lesser Atlas to the
westward of the Col de Mussaia, through some defiles which took the
whole day to pass. We had not, however, such a height to climb as
at the Col. We followed the course of a mountain torrent which forms
several considerable waterfalls. The heights on either side were
covered with the finest pine and olive trees, and the whole scene was
wildly beautiful.
We reached the northern slope of the lesser Atlas on the second
evening, and bivouacked in a small olive grove. Directly after
midnight our cavalry started in deep silence, and the rest of the
column followed before daybreak. We marched westward into the
mountains, between Milianah and Cherchell, the abode of several
considerable Kabyle tribes, among which the Beni-Manasser is the most
powerful. We marched very rapidly, only halting ten or fifteen minutes
at a time, till four o’clock P.M., when we heard several
shots just before us, which re-echoed a thousand times among the high
mountains. As we concluded that our cavalry were already engaged with
the hostile tribes, we hastened our march, and were soon met in a
valley by a tribe of Kabyles,—men, women, and children, and countless
herds of cattle, flying before our cavalry. After a short resistance,
most of the men able to bear arms,—some on horseback, and some on
foot,—fled in all directions, and hid themselves in the mountains.
The old men, women and children, and twelve or fifteen thousand head
of beasts, consisting of sheep, goats, two thousand cows, and a few
camels, fell into our hands. Many of the goats had four horns.
As our bivouac was not far from some Kabyle villages, we of course
went to look at them. They lay almost hidden at the foot of the
mountains, and high hedges of prickly pear surrounded and nearly
concealed from sight the low huts built of rough stone, and covered
with a flat roof of rushes. Most of these hovels had already been set
on fire by our cavalry. Some of the soldiers searched the burning huts
at the peril of their lives, but found nothing save a few sheep skins,
a pot of honey, and some cats, who seemed unwilling to leave their
homes.
We made a sortie on each of the two following days, but came too late
on both. The tribes were informed of what had happened, and we found
nothing but their empty huts.
The prisoners, chiefly old men, women and children, were driven with
the cattle, under a special guard, in the middle of the column; it
was heart-rending to see women and children, unaccustomed to walking
and barefooted, compelled to follow the rapid march of the column,
over rocks and briars. Their feet were soon torn and bleeding, and
they dragged themselves along with the greatest difficulty. They
seldom made any complaint: only when one of their number dropped from
fatigue, and was left behind, they all uttered a loud wail.
We now left the mountain and turned back towards the plains of the
Metidja, where we encountered all the horrors of an African summer.
Every trace of vegetation had disappeared; the burning sun had so
parched the soil that it was full of clefts large enough for a man to
hide in. The dark green of the few scattered olive trees was changed
to a dirty yellow; in short, a northern winter with its snowy mantle,
is a cheering sight when compared to the desert and melancholy aspect
of an African summer.
During the summer months the nights are as cold as the days are hot;
the change of temperature is felt at sunset, and towards daybreak a
heavy dew falls, as penetrating as rain, and very dangerous to the
health; it frequently produces diseases of the eyes which end in
blindness. The natives invariably draw their bernouses over their
heads at night to protect them from the bad effects of the dew; we
have adopted this custom, and the soldiers seldom lie down at night
without a cap or a handkerchief over their faces.
We marched towards Blidah across the plain at the foot of the Sahel
mountains. This ridge of the chain is low at this point; it is highest
near Algiers. It contains most beautiful and fruitful vales, in which
are forsaken gardens and villas which once belonged to the Moors. The
heights are covered with dwarf oaks and other shrubs which shelter
numbers of wild boars, smaller and less fierce than those of Europe:
the soldiers often kill them with their bayonets. The natives assert
that the Spaniards brought these unclean animals into the country out
of spite. As swine are an abomination to the Mahomedan, and may not
be eaten, the breed increases rapidly. The strongest expression of
contempt that an Arab can use to an European is “Haluf,” (swine).
At about three leagues from Coleah, on some high table land in the
Sahel mountains, stands a gigantic African monument, which both the
Arab and the French call the Queen’s Tomb. It is in the form of a
marabout, built of rough stone, and has every appearance of great
antiquity. The natives attach the following legend to it. Once upon
a time a Spanish Queen landed on this coast with an army of fifty
thousand men, in order to conquer the country; but even at her landing
an evil omen foretold her failure: as she left her vessel the crown
fell from her head into the sea, and could never be found again.
A great battle was fought on the very spot where the marabout now
stands, the Queen was beaten and destroyed with her whole army, and
the tomb was raised by the Arabs as a memorial of their victory. The
Arabs still seek the lost crown on this coast, and it is said that
from time to time pearls of prodigious size and beauty are found upon
the beach. Some of the better informed among the Arabs have told me
that the monument contains graves of the Numidian Kings, which seems
rather more probable: at any rate it is of high antiquity. Nor do I
remember to have read of any Spanish or other Queen who ever invaded
this country.
Not very far from Blidah, we came upon several French regiments of
the line bivouacking on the plain, and at work upon a ditch and
breastwork which the Governor had commanded to be thrown up the whole
way from the sea to Blidah,—a distance of ten leagues,—in order to
protect the Metidja from the attacks of the Bedouins. The ditch is
about ten feet deep by twenty wide, with a breastwork in proportion,
strengthened with palisades; small blockhouses are built at intervals
of a thousand paces to command the ditch.
This work will very much impede, if it does not totally prevent, the
nocturnal forays of the Bedouins; it will, at any rate, put a stop
to their coming on horseback, and in great troops. If a few should
even steal in on foot between the blockhouses, they would not be able
to drive away their prey, such as cattle, &c., which is their chief
object. The completion of this eighth wonder of the world is much to
be desired, for the protection of the lives and properties of the
unfortunate colonists in the plain, and as an inducement to others to
settle there, for colonisation has made very little progress hitherto.
Buffarik, a small village chiefly inhabited by Germans, is the only
colony in the plain.
Coleah, Duera, and Delhi Ibrahim are the only colonies of any
importance in the Sahel, and even there the whole colonisation
consists of _cafés_, canteens, and a few kitchen gardens.
At Coleah they have begun to form a colony of old worn out soldiers,
but I have great doubts of its success. These veterans, it is true,
have the double advantage of being tolerably well used to the climate
and of knowing how to conduct themselves with prudence and coolness
when attacked by the enemy; on the other hand, an old soldier
generally makes a very bad peasant, and is ten times more patient of
the dangers and hardships of war than of daily work with spade and
plough. He usually takes unto himself some profligate woman not at all
likely to attach him to his home, and then of course, neglects his
farm, and soon dissipates the small sum allowed him by the Government,
and the end of it all is, that he sells his oxen and his plough, turns
off his female companion and enlists for a few years more. And now
the old fellow who used to curse the service heartily, finds it quite
a decent and comfortable way of life, and it is amusing to hear with
what indignation he speaks of the life of a colonist.
The only means of establishing a permanent colony in Africa would be
for the French Government to send over, at some expense it is true,
a number of real agricultural families from the north of France, or,
better still, from Germany. The southern Frenchmen are totally unfit
for colonists. The only kind of agriculture which they would be able
to pursue with any profit is the cultivation of the grape, and this is
strictly prohibited, for fear of injuring the mother country. Hitherto
the Government never seems to have been really in earnest about the
colonisation of Africa.
The column returned to Algiers through Blidah, Buffarik, and Duera.
From Algiers we are to be distributed into summer quarters: winter
quarters do not exist here. One battalion is to be sent, for the
present, to Mustapha Superieur, the depôt of the Foreign Legion; and
we shall soon go to Coleah, a town in the Sahel mountains, in a most
healthy situation, to recruit after our fatigues and losses.
[2] The Duke of Aumale has since made his entry into Paris at
the head of this regiment. ’Tis a pity that it was not then in
the same plight to which it was reduced by this expedition,
that the Parisians might have formed some idea of what the war
in Africa really is.
CHAPTER VII.
Inspection of our Regiment—Military Intendants—_Hôpital du Dey_—Its
Inmates—Eastern Garden.
Algiers, September, 1841.
Our regiment has lain eight days under the walls of Algiers, between
the Casabah and _Fort l’Empereur_, on the very highest point of the
whole town. Some wooden sheds have been assigned to us as quarters.
We marched hither from Coleah in two days without great exertion: and
are in daily expectation of embarking to join the column at Mostaganem.
A few days ago our regiment was inspected by the Military Intendant
and the Inspector-General, whose duty it is to examine the state
of the troops every three months: but as we have been constantly
in active service, this is the first time since I have joined the
Legion that a review has taken place. These officers are supposed
to assure themselves that the troops and materials of war are in
efficient condition, and to see that the men have everything to which
they are entitled. The whole affair is however a mere formality.
The two gentlemen walk through the ranks, look at the reports, and
ask here and there a soldier whether he has any complaints to make:
after which they get into their carriage, complimenting the Commander
in the most flattering terms, on the admirable condition of his
regiment. Reclamations made by the soldiers are satisfied in the
most summary manner by arrest for groundless complaints. There is
unfortunately often cause enough for complaint in all the regiments,
but the means of appeal are so complicated that a soldier has the
greatest difficulty in making his grievance known. Any commissioned
or non-commissioned officer who ventured to assist him would never be
forgiven, and must give up all hopes of advancement as long as he
lives. Nothing is so odious to the French as a _reclameur_.
I do not think that the Military Intendants answer the purpose for
which they were intended,—that of preventing abuses. If the soldiers
have no confidence in their superior officers, they will have still
less in these Intendants, who are not at all more infallible, and who
in case of any abuse only go shares with the former. At all events the
Intendants are universally hated by the soldiers. They are generally
sent here by favour and protection, to recruit their broken fortunes;
as the Roman Prætors and Proconsuls were sent into the conquered
provinces. They know nothing of the soldiers, and care nothing about
them. That their office is a very lucrative one, is sufficiently
proved by the luxurious lives which most of them lead. A harem of
women of all nations, balls and dinners, compensate these gentlemen
for the want of the Parisian _salons_.
I walked to the great hospital called _l’Hôpital du Dey_ to visit a
sick friend. This building stands on the western side of the city, in
the gardens formerly belonging to the Dey, and its position on the
slope of the Sahel, open to the refreshing sea breeze, is equally
healthy and delightful. The Dey’s palace is converted into apartments
for sick officers, and for those connected with the administration
of the hospital, while as many as fifty or sixty wooden sheds have
been erected in the vast garden, and constitute the actual hospital.
These are capable of containing eight thousand men, and yet they are
sometimes insufficient for the number of sick who pour in from all
sides. They are well built and provided with beds, but not solid
enough to keep out the heat of summer. The treatment and care of the
patients are not bad for Africa. The soldiers, indeed, complain that
they are starved, and that all their diseases are doctored with rice
water and tisane; but these are good remedies for diarrhœa and fevers,
which are the prevailing disorders. Besides, discontent is one of the
characteristics of the soldier. At any rate, the hospitals are much
improved since Bugeaud’s arrival. In several places they have begun
to build strong massive hospitals, to replace the wooden sheds; and
the frequent personal visits of the Governor have done much towards
abolishing the prevailing abuses and the rough treatment of the
surgeons.
With considerable difficulty I found my friend, who was already
convalescent; as he was just starting for a walk along the winding
paths of the garden, I accompanied him. Everything had been done
here to satisfy the southern longing after shade and water. Earthen
pipes conveyed the freshest water the whole way from the mountains
to various parts of the garden in which it gushed forth, and thick
winding alleys of magnificent orange and almond trees afforded the
most refreshing shade. All the sick who were able to leave their beds
were assembled in these shady walks enjoying the cool sea breeze; this
host of ghostlike beings crawling slowly along in their grey capotes
and white night-caps had a most singular appearance; their glazed eyes
looked sadly out of their sallow emaciated faces, all of which bore
traces of misery, and most of melancholy and home-sickness.
It was easy to guess the character and station of the invalids from
the nature of their conversation or amusements. Some lay on the ground
playing at cards or with dice: these were old veterans who had long
given up all idea of a peaceable domestic life, and whose only object
was to kill time.
Others walked up and down relating their exploits and occasionally
criticizing their generals and officers;—these still had a remnant of
enthusiasm for their calling. Others again sat on the benches around
with drooping heads, and talked of their homes and of the mistresses
they had left behind. Several times I heard the mournful exclamation,
“_Ma belle France!_” Poor devils! many of them will never see fair
France again.
I took leave of my friend with a melancholy feeling, methought I had,
like Odysseus, gone down living into the world of shadows.
CHAPTER VIII.
Voyage to Mostaganem—Storm—Funeral at
Sea—Landing—Bivouac—Matamon—Bey of Mostaganem—Arabic
Music—Captain Lièvre—African Spring—French and Arab Soldiers.
Mostaganem, October, 1841.
On the 4th instant our battalion went on board a brig-of-war, of
fourteen guns, which was to take us from Algiers to Mostaganem. We
sailed under the most favourable auspices: a gentle easterly breeze
filled our sails and we soon lost sight of Algiers. At noon we passed
La Torre Chica where the French landed in 1830, and from whence they
marched upon Algiers. It is the best landing-place on the whole coast.
Towards evening when we were nearly opposite Cherchell the wind fell
and was succeeded by a dead calm which lasted all night. The night was
such as can only be seen and felt on the Mediterranean: the air was so
warm that I could not endure the heat between decks, and accordingly
brought up my blanket and lay down upon deck. The sky was deep blue
and the stars seemed larger and nearer to me than I had ever seen them
before. The ship floated like a nutshell on the boundless and glassy
surface of the sea.
This ominous calm was followed by a fearful storm. The day broke
with the most threatening appearances: the sun rose blood-red and
evidently with no good intentions. Numbers of sea fowl gathered
round the ship screeching with hunger; a quantity of small fish
sprang terror-stricken out of the water, in which they were pursued
by the larger ones; and on reaching the surface they were instantly
devoured by the gulls: for even the brute creation acknowledges but
one right—that of the strongest. In the distance we saw a shoal of
porpoises tumbling head over heels towards the south-west. These signs
made the old sailors shake their heads and prophecy a bad night;—nor
were they deceived. Towards evening we saw the sea heaving from the
south-west, as if urged by some unknown power. The Captain ordered the
sails to be shortened, and at the shrill whistle of the boatswain some
twenty sailors ran up the rigging. The top-sails were scarce reefed
before the storm was upon us. The ship reeled so much under the shock
of the gale that our masts nearly touched the water: a loud crack was
suddenly heard, and one of the sails flew like a seagull through the
air; the bolt-ropes had given way. The good ship now righted. In a
moment all but a try-sail was made snug, and the head of the vessel
was turned to meet the blast.
We retreated before the beating waves, but only step by step, like a
brave warrior. By this time night had closed in with a sky as dark and
dreary as old chaos; the sea alone was bright and clear, as if the
better to show its yawning depths. At one moment the ship hovered on
the top of a towering wave, and at the next she plunged so deep that
the first rolling wave threatened to swallow us up.
I leaned against the mast, holding by a rope for fear of being washed
overboard, entranced by the sight of the raging sea, and astonished
at its beauty. Beautiful as is the sea in repose, it is far more
beautiful in anger. The calm fills us with dreary melancholy, while
the storm inspires us with the full feeling of our own power and
activity. In such moments as these I never think of danger.
On the following morning we saw the Balearic Isles just behind us, and
were losing ground. The dark olive woods of the island of Majorca rose
higher and higher out of the sea, and we had the agreeable prospect of
becoming very closely acquainted with the jagged rocky shore of the
island, and of trying the hardness of our skulls against that of its
stones.
Most fortunately the storm somewhat abated, and the wind veered round
to the northward, so that we could set a few of our sails and steer
our old course towards Mostaganem.
Although the north wind favoured us, we made very little way that day,
as the sea ran very high from the south-west and the ship laboured
violently and was tossed like a ball on the ocean. During the night
the sea went down a little, and we continued our course with a
moderate north-wind.
One of our battalion died this morning: the body was lashed upon a
board and lowered into the sea without further ceremony. “_Vois tu,
Pierre, comme il nous regarde_,” said an old sailor to one of his
messmates, pointing to the already distant corpse. “To be sure,”
answered the other “they all do so as long as the ship is in sight.”
I looked after him, and true enough, each time the dead man rose and
sunk with the waves, he turned his pale face towards the vessel. No
class of men are more superstitious than sailors, unless indeed it be
soldiers.
Towards evening we saw the coast of Mostaganem, and on the top of
a high rock the town with its fort and surrounding blockhouses.
Mostaganem has no proper harbour, only a roadstead which cannot be
used except in calm weather. It was night when we cast anchor, and as
the sea was then smooth and might possibly become rough, the captain
sent us ashore in his boats. As he was assisted in this operation by
several larger boats which came from the shore, the battalion was soon
landed. It was too late to march up to the town, so we took up our
well-known quarters in the _Hôtel à la Belle Etoile_. Our bed was soon
made; every one wrapped himself as well as he could in his blanket,
laid his head on his knapsack, and was soon lulled to sleep by the
regular murmur of the waves.
In a short time I woke again; the deepest silence reigned around me,
and the stars looked down upon me as bright and calm and cheerful as
if they had never known grief, nor troubled themselves in the least
about the miseries of the unfortunate dwellers upon earth. The solemn
silence of nature was only broken by the chafing of the waves against
the rocks. I lay and watched wave after wave break at my feet, till
I gradually sunk into a most pleasing reverie. In spite of all the
hardships and distresses it has inflicted upon me,—in spite of sea
biscuit and sea sickness, I still love the sea. When a boy, my secret
and favourite scheme was to build me a castle on the sea shore,
therein to end my days, and at last to die like the king of Thule:
“There drank the old carouser
His last—last spirit’s glow,
Then flung the hallowed wine cup
Down to the flood below.
“He saw it falling, filling,
And sinking in the main;
For him—his eyes were sinking—
He never drank again.”[3]
That was indeed a jovial and glorious death! I could not wish a better.
After daybreak we marched to Mostaganem, which stands half a league
from the sea, and took up our quarters in some wooden sheds under the
walls of Matamor.
Matamor is a small Moorish fort built on a rock commanding the town.
Here the Spaniards formerly won a great victory over the Moors, and
thence the name Matamoros (kill the Moors).
Mostaganem is separated from this fort by a considerable brook, which
rises at about two leagues up the mountain. The town is accessible
only from the south, by one solitary gate; on every other side
it is surrounded by a deep ravine at the bottom of which roars a
mountain torrent, or by lofty and precipitous walls of rock. It would
therefore seem easy enough to defend Mostaganem against any attack,
but unfortunately Fort Matamor, which should protect the town, itself
needs protection, as it is commanded by a neighbouring height, and its
walls are not of sufficient strength to resist heavy ordnance; and
thus it was that the French obtained possession first of the fort and
subsequently of the town.
Mostaganem contains four or five thousand inhabitants, Arabs,
Spaniards and Jews, besides the French regiment in garrison. The town
must formerly have been much larger, as is shown by the number of
ruins scattered without the walls; but, with the exception of a few
mosques, there is no building of any importance. The former citadel,
the Casabah, is in ruins, and is only garrisoned by some fifty or
sixty pairs of storks who have founded a colony on the extensive walls.
Almost as much Spanish is spoken here as French or Arabic. Nearly
all the natives speak a corrupt Spanish, a kind of _lingua franca_,
which prevails in all the towns on the coast of Africa. The younger
generation, however,—boys from 10 to 14—speak French with tolerable
fluency, but somewhat marred by their deep guttural tone. The ease
with which Arabs and Bedouins continue to imitate whatever they have
but once seen or heard is very remarkable. Nature seems to have
bestowed this gift of imitation on half-savage nations to compensate
them for the want of original invention.
The General lives in the town, where some of the best houses have been
arranged for him and his staff; the troops are quartered in wooden
sheds, partly in the town and partly under the walls of Matamor.
These sheds would hold as many as fifteen thousand men, but the
actual number is nine thousand, including the allied cavalry, which
is composed of from two to three thousand Arabs and Bedouins under
the command of a native leader, called the Bey of Mostaganem. He is
a fine handsome man of about forty, and was formerly a friend and
devoted adherent of Abd-el-Kader, in which capacity he gave the French
much trouble. He once proposed to Abd-el-Kader to make an attempt
to recover his lost town of Mascara which the French had taken and
then left, ill provisioned and worse garrisoned: the Emir did not
enter into the scheme with sufficient alacrity to please the Bey who
denounced Abd-el-Kader as a coward, and threatened to desert him and
to join the French. This was no sooner said than done. He and his two
or three thousand horsemen went over to the French, and he has been
their most faithful ally ever since. The General treats him with the
greatest distinction, and his own people reverence him as a prince.
He never goes out without a considerable suite; on his left rides a
marabout, and on his right the officer whose duty is to shelter him
from the sun with a huge yellow umbrella; he is preceded by musicians
beating the tam tam, a large drum, accompanied by pipes and cymbals.
They always play the same tune, which seems to be a triumphal march,
discordant enough to European ears, but delightful to Arab ones. The
moment the tam tam sounds, the Arabs rock themselves to and fro in
their saddles with pleasure; and I must confess, that diabolical as I
thought this music at first, I grew fond of it in time, and something
seemed wanting to me if the Arab march was not played on entering or
leaving the bivouac; so true is it that old familiar tunes affect us
most powerfully. Most likely it is less the music itself than the
crowd of images and recollections which it awakens in our minds that
exercises such magic power over us. For this reason every regiment
should have a march of its own, to be played on particular occasions,
as is the case with most regiments here. When the well-known tones of
the regimental march strike upon the ear of the weary and exhausted
men, the effect is magical: their wan faces brighten up, their muscles
acquire fresh strength, and they march forwards with renewed vigour,
perhaps even humming a song.
It is said that the French Government pays the Bey as much as forty
thousand francs a year for his services. Each Arab soldier receives a
franc a day, out of which he has to maintain himself and his horse;
besides this pay he has his share of the razzia money. The booty made
on these expeditions is distributed, or should be so legally, among
the officers and soldiers according to their rank; but the common
soldiers complain, and perhaps not quite without reason, that the
higher powers are apt to keep the lion’s share for themselves. The
Bey and the superior officers lodge in the town; the rest of the Arab
cavalry is encamped without the walls on the southern side of the
brook. Each soldier has his own tent, where his wife or wives manage
his household; his horse stands picketed and usually ready saddled at
his door, both summer and winter. A few minutes suffice to prepare
this body of cavalry for action. At the sight of the colours flying on
the top of the mosque, and at the sound of the tam tam, the Arabs jump
on their horses and follow their leader. A few days ago a report was
suddenly spread that Abd-el-Kader had seized our cattle at pasture in
a valley about a league hence; the general march was beat, the colours
were hoisted on the top of the mosque, and the warlike tam tam was
sounded. In one moment all were under arms, and each division marched
as it was ready: the Arabs started off singly and galloped to the
scene of action, spurring their bleeding horses to their utmost speed;
they swung their long rifles round their heads as if they had been
javelins, crying aloud, “_Phantasia! Phantasia!_” in their joy and
eagerness for battle. It is not possible to conceive a wilder or more
beautiful picture of war. Before we could reach the spot, panting and
heated from running, the action was over. Our herds and their guards
had been attacked by a few bold robbers belonging to a neighbouring
tribe, who had fled at the approach of our Arab cavalry: a chase
ensued, but without success, for the robbers were as well mounted as
their pursuers, and had a considerable start and no inconsiderable
fear in their favour.
Most of our Arab horsemen are mounted on Bedouin horses, which are a
neglected variety of the Barbary breed; they are small and lean, but
of wonderful speed and endurance: with very short intervals of rest
they can keep up a sort of long gallop up and down hill, over any sort
of broken ground for the whole day, and they are as sure-footed as
goats.
The Arabs ride with matchless boldness down the precipitous and broken
sides of the mountains. Often, when we have been pursued by the enemy
and left them as we thought on the very top of the mountain, in a few
minutes we have been astonished by their bullets whistling about our
ears.
Besides the Bey’s horsemen, several considerable tribes of Arabs and
Bedouins near Mostaganem and Oran have submitted to the French, and
come daily to the town with their camels and horses to bring fruit,
corn, vegetables, cattle, &c., to market. They cannot fail to discover
in time that they derive the most solid advantages from the French
dominion, under which their lives and properties are far more secure
than they ever were before, and their produce is trebled in value.
The latter circumstance they are especially able to appreciate, for,
barbarians as they are, they well know the value of money; indeed, I
never saw men so rapacious as the Bedouins; perhaps their avarice is
called forth by the contact with Europeans.
It is highly entertaining to see the soldiers haggling with the
Bedouins for fruit, eggs, &c. The soldier comes with the full
intention of overreaching the Bedouin (_lui tirer une carotte_), and
of robbing him by force or fraud, of a fowl or of some eggs, for in
Africa everything is a lawful prize. The Bedouin, on the other hand,
who most likely has been cheated two or three times before, stands
resolutely on the defensive and never parts with anything until the
money is paid into his hand. This provokes abuse, in which, however,
the Bedouin far excels even the Frenchman, and blows not unfrequently
follow; but the Bedouin would rather lose his life than the smallest
fraction of his property, and the fight continues till a _Sergent de
police_ comes up and puts an end to it.
The hundreds of Bedouins mounted on camels and horses, and the
quantity of Arab cavalry interspersed with soldiers in various
uniforms, give a very peculiar air to Mostaganem. It is a perfect
picture of a camp, where in spite of want, misery, and of danger past,
present, and future, the childish, careless joyousness of the soldiers
is everywhere apparent.
About a league from here is Fort Massagran, famous for the heroic
defence by Captain Lièvre. I have heard an account of this whole
affair from eye-witnesses, and am fully persuaded that the defence
was one of the most gallant actions of the whole war, although it was
somewhat exaggerated by the French newspapers. The fort, the walls of
which are tolerably high and strong, stands on a _plateau_ which falls
precipitously on the northern side, rendering the fort inaccessible in
that quarter. The village of Massagran lies somewhat lower down and
could only be defended indirectly.
Captain Lièvre had under him a hundred and fifty _disciplinaires_
and a few cannon, while for several days in succession the fort was
assailed by a host of six or eight thousand Bedouins, on foot and on
horseback, who made several attempts to carry the place by storm. All
their attacks were repulsed with the most determined coolness, until
at length the fort was relieved by troops sent from Mostaganem. It
is true that the garrison had the advantage of high walls and some
artillery, but any one who knows how powerfully so overwhelming a mass
of assailants affects men’s minds, can estimate the extraordinary
experience and intrepidity required in order to retain thorough
self-possession. The whole company of _disciplinaires_ who had formed
the garrison, were immediately reinstated among the regiments of the
line, and each soldier received a medal struck for the occasion.
Captain Lièvre was made a _Commandant_ and received the cross of the
Legion of Honour.
Commandant Lièvre has the reputation of a brave and distinguished
officer; he commanded a battalion of the fifty-third regiment, (if I
am not mistaken,) which formed part of our _colonne mobile_, and of
almost every expedition up to July 1842.[4]
Mostaganem and Oran have been for centuries the ports to which all
the caravans from the interior of Africa have come to exchange
their produce with that of the north. The towns of Mascara and
Tlemsen, which are but a few days’ march from hence, served them as
resting-places and warehouses; and they have lost the source of their
wealth and importance since the French occupation has driven the
caravan trade to Morocco.
The district south of Mostaganem may be called the home of the
Bedouins, if indeed these wanderers have a home. There the richest and
most powerful tribes fix their tents, sow and reap their corn, and
feed their flocks, purposes for which the country is well adapted. The
large plains between Mostaganem, Mascara, and Oran, and the fertile
valleys of the Schellif and the Mina, afford these nomades excellent
pasture for their numerous herds, and an unlimited run for their
horses and camels. During the whole winter, and till the month of
June, which is their harvest time, the Bedouins camp in these places;
but when the heat has burnt up whatever pasture was left, they retreat
into the valleys and defiles of the Atlas, where food of some sort,
though scanty, is still to be found for their flocks and herds.
Many of the tribes near Mostaganem and Oran have submitted to the
French; thanks to the zeal and activity of General Lamoricière, the
Governor of the province of Oran. They prefer paying a moderate
tribute and feeding their herds in peace, to seeing their property,
their wives and their children continually exposed to the unexpected
attack of a _colonne mobile_.
* * * * *
Middle of October.
Nature is just beginning to shake off the lethargy produced by the
deadly, parching heat of summer. A few rainy days are sufficient
to call into existence, as it were by magic, the most luxuriant
vegetation: the richest verdure has sprung up beneath the withered
grass, the leaves of the trees have lost their sickly yellow hue, the
buds have begun to burst, and the birds to sing their spring songs. In
short, this is the African spring, but I must assert my preference for
the real spring in Germany.
The revival of nature in the north is more powerful and all-pervading,
though not so sudden. In a northern climate every creature greets
with a more heartfelt gratitude the glorious freshness and beauty of
the woods and fields when their icy winter clothing has been stripped
off by the returning sun. A more joyful thrill runs through us when
the first lark rises towards heaven, pouring out its shrill hymn of
praise, and the confiding swallow builds her nest under the eaves
of our houses. It is far different here: it is true the song of the
birds still pleases me, and the green carpet of nature is refreshing
to my eyes. But not as in Europe. It may be, indeed, that the change
does not lie in nature but in myself: the experience of a few hard
years has, perhaps, blunted my feelings, and made me less capable of
enjoying her beauties.
The burst of vegetation was strongest in the valley which divides the
fort from the town, and which is watered by a stream. Every inch of
ground there is turned to the profit of man: magnificent fruit trees,
pomegranates, figs, and oranges, and the most various vegetables cover
the ground, and Spaniards, Arabs, Jews, and Frenchmen are diligently
employed in cultivating the fruitful soil. The soldier alone thinks
this manual labour beneath his dignity, and lies at full length under
a shady fig tree smoking a cigar and drinking his last sou’s-worth
of Spanish wine. Others are washing their shirts and gaiters at the
brook: “_Mort de ma vie_,” cries one; “How much better my Suzette
would wash these shirts!” Another bitterly regrets the three sous he
has expended in soap, which might have been so much better laid out
on a pint of Spanish wine. These sallies produce general and joyous
laughter. Poor fellows! these few days of rest and relaxation can
scarce be grudged them.
The cavalry of the Bey, who lie at a little distance in strange,
picturesque groups, form a remarkable contrast to the active, restless
European soldiers. The Arab lies whole days before his tent, wrapped
in his bernouse and leaning his head on his hand. His horse stands
ready saddled, listlessly hanging his head almost to the ground, and
occasionally casting sympathising glances on his master. The African
might then be supposed phlegmatic and passionless, but for the
occasional flash of his wild dark eye, which gleams from under his
bushy brows. His rest is like that of the Numidian lion which, when
satisfied, stretches itself beneath a shady palm tree,—but beware of
waking him. Like the beasts of the desert and forest, and like all
nature in his own land, the Arab is hurried from one extreme to the
other,—from the deepest repose to the most restless activity. At the
first sound of the tam tam his foot is in the stirrup, his hand on his
rifle, and he is no longer the same man. He rides day and night, bears
every privation, and braves every danger, in order to make a prize of
some sheep, or ass, or of some enemy’s head. Such men as these are
hard to conquer, and harder still to govern: were they united into
one people, they would form a nation which could not only repulse the
French but bid defiance to the whole world. Unhappily for them every
tribe is at enmity with the rest; and this must ultimately lead to
their destruction, for the French have already learnt to match African
against African.
[3] I have borrowed these lines from a translation of Goethe’s
well-known ballad, “Der König in Thule,” by the Rev. Dr.
Hawtrey, published in his “Auswahl von Goethe’s Lyrischen
Gedichten.”—_Trans._
[4] I saw, at Paris, a caricature of the defence of Massagran.
A hare, in full uniform, stands on the walls in the act of
devouring several Bedouins; thousands more are at the foot of
the wall, filled with horror and amazement at this unheard-of
proceeding. Underneath is written— “Le Lièvre est un fameux
lapin.”
THE
PRISONERS OF ABD-EL-KADER:
OR,
FIVE MONTHS’ CAPTIVITY AMONG THE ARABS.
BY M. A. DE FRANCE,
LIEUTENANT IN THE FRENCH NAVY.
THE
PRISONERS OF ABD-EL-KADER.
———————————
CHAPTER I.
Life on board the brig—Expedition up the country—Am noosed by the
Arabs—They contend for the pleasure of cutting off my head—Adda
sends me to Abd-el-Kader—The head—Painful journey—Arrival at
Abd-el-Kader’s camp.
The brig Loiret had lain off Arzew for five months: I was serving on
board this vessel commanded by Lieutenant Roland de Chabert. It is
easy to conceive the dulness of our life on a desert coast devoid
of all interest or amusement. Our only pleasure was a walk upon the
beach, and even that was necessarily confined within the outposts,
as the Arabs were incessantly lurking about the few houses which the
French have built at Arzew, watching for an opportunity to carry off
the cattle. They had already tried more than one _coup-de-main_, but
hitherto had always been repulsed with loss.
On the 11th of August, 1836, we received orders to be ready next day,
with forty of our crew, to reconnoitre a well about two leagues beyond
our outposts, accompanied by part of the garrison. I was one of those
selected to form part of the expedition, and went to bed at midnight,
after my watch, overjoyed at the thoughts of next day’s excursion up
the country.
On the 12th, at four in the morning, M. Roland de Chabert, the
Commander of the Loiret, Dr. Clinchard, M. Bravois, and myself,
with forty of our crew, all armed, went on shore, and found Captain
Reveroni, the Commandant of the place, who informed us, that General
Létang had given orders to suspend the expedition till he could send
us reinforcements.
As we had made all the necessary arrangements on board for our
campaign, which we expected would occupy the whole day, we determined
to turn our freedom to account.
The Commander and the officers of the Loiret proposed to go and pick
up the balls, which our gunners had fired in yesterday’s practice.
We consulted the Commandant as to the feasibility of our scheme, and
the danger we might incur in going beyond the outposts. M. Reveroni
approved very much of our resolution, and assured us that there would
be no danger in passing the outposts, provided we did not go too
far. We accordingly took leave of M. Reveroni, and advanced into the
plain: at about a hundred yards beyond the outposts we halted, and
stationed some of our men on a height to give the alarm in case we
were surprised by the Arabs. Having taken this precaution, we began
to seek for our balls, and to measure the range of our guns; I was
thus occupied, at a distance of about two musket-shots from the rest
of the troop with the Commander, Dr. Clinchard, and two sailors, when
suddenly I espied a partridge close at hand, and after pointing it out
to Dr. Clinchard, I ran after it, taking aim.
I had gone only a few steps, when a troop of Arabs suddenly poured out
of a ravine, came down upon us at full gallop and surrounded us on all
sides. They advanced towards me, crying, “_Semi! Semi!_” (Friends!
Friends!) Deceived by these exclamations, I turned to explain them
to the Doctor, when one of the Arabs snatched at the musket which I
held in my hand; this showed me their real intentions, and I instantly
fired at the Arab who had tried to seize the musket, and broke his
shoulder. He dropped his gun, which was loaded, and was forced to
throw his arm round the neck of his horse to prevent falling off. I
darted at the gun, but two Arabs took aim at my head, and as I turned
away to avoid their fire, one ball gave me a slight wound on the head,
and the other passed through my shirt and grazed my breast.
I had not lost sight of the wounded Arab’s gun, and stooped again to
pick it up, when something rough slipped over my face; I raised my
hands to it, and felt a rope round my neck; at the same moment, a
violent jerk brought me to the ground, and an Arab, who had the other
end of the rope fastened to his saddle-bow, set off at full gallop.
My cries and entreaties were all in vain, the Arab spurred on his
horse, and I was dragged half strangled through rocks and briars.
This horrible torture lasted some minutes, until the horse was forced
by steep and stony ground to slacken his pace, when I got on my feet
again. In spite of the wounds with which my face, hands, and legs
were covered, and the stunning effects of such a shock, I still had
strength to seize the cord so as to keep myself from being strangled,
and to run forward and catch hold of the horse’s tail.
But as soon as the other Arabs, who had been dispersed by the sailors
sent to our assistance, rejoined their companions, I was loaded with
abuse and stripped nearly naked. Our misfortune had been seen from the
brig, which immediately fired upon the Arabs: but every shot cost me a
fresh shower of blows, and the horse to which I was tied took fright
at the noise and started forward, and I again fell to the ground;
the Arabs ran after me beating me all the time, and if by chance I
succeeded in getting on my feet, my pitiless persecutor set off again
at a gallop, casting looks of contempt upon me.
The incessant galloping of the horse and the violent jerks of the cord
which dragged and rolled me among the rocks and briars, leaving a
track of blood behind me—the abuse and the blows of the Arabs, lasted
a quarter of an hour: this sounds but a short time, but it seemed very
long to me.
As soon as the Arabs thought themselves out of reach of pursuit, they
halted in order to cut off my head. The rope was taken off my neck, my
hands bound behind my back, and I was tied to a dwarf palm tree. I was
so tired, that I lay down upon the ground perfectly indifferent to the
fate which I knew awaited all prisoners taken by the Arabs. I had but
one sad thought, of my family and my poor sister, but this was soon
driven away by the near approach of death and the animated scene in
which I, though chained and silent, was the principal person.
A violent discussion had arisen among the Arabs: they brandished their
sabres over my head, and each claimed the pleasure of cutting it off,
all crying at once, “I took him, I have a right to cut off his head;”
and each to prove the truth of his assertion showed a fragment of my
shirt or of my coat. The Arabs were already taking aim at one another,
and exclaiming, “I ought to cut off his head, and I will kill you
if you don’t let me enjoy my rights,” when a horseman galloped up
and threw into my lap the head of Jonquié, one of the sailors; as
I turned away in disgust at this horrible spectacle, I saw the Arab
whom I had wounded lying on the ground about fifty paces off. He could
scarcely support himself, and was endeavouring to aim at me with a
pistol which he held in his left hand. But horsemen were every instant
passing to and fro before him, and he dropped his hand, patiently
awaiting the favorable moment to fire.
I was expecting the end of this horrible discussion with some
impatience, when the arrival of another horseman changed the
determination of the Arabs. This was Adda, a spy of Abd-el-Kader,
who had often visited us at Arzew, where he feigned an intention of
establishing himself, and allayed any suspicion we might entertain
of him by assuring us that his frequent visits were for the purpose
of selecting some favourable spot for the settlement of his tribe.
Delighted at the goodwill he manifested towards us, we had frequently
invited him to dinner. But the traitor had far different designs. He
made use of his visits to mark the exact spot to which our cattle were
driven: he had determined to seize them, and it was with that object
that he had hidden himself in the ravine with the troop which had
taken me prisoner.
When Adda saw them furiously disputing who should kill me, he
exclaimed that I was an officer, and that Abd-el-Kader would give them
much more for my head if it was left upon my shoulders, and would
willingly replace the three horses they had lost if I were taken to
him alive.
But the Arabs still continued to brandish their yataghans over my
head, with the most horrible imprecations against the dog of a
Christian.
Adda used still stronger arguments; and when the dying Arab had
been removed, it was decided that I should be presented alive to
Abd-el-Kader, who was to choose the manner of my death, after paying
my ransom and replacing the horses which our men had shot.
I was then released from the tree, and a rope was passed through the
cord which bound my arms. An Arab took hold of either end, and we
started for Old Arzew.
After a march of two hours we reached Old Arzew. I was worn out
with fatigue and suffering—naked, wounded, covered with dust and
sweat, and dying of thirst: and I expected that my body would be
left without burial at Arzew, while my head would serve to adorn
Abd-el-Kader’s tent.
As I was with the advanced guard of the Arabs, I was one of the first
to arrive at Old Arzew. I threw myself upon the ground beside a
fountain, and counted the troop which had attacked us as it defiled
past me: there were about two hundred men. We halted for a quarter
of an hour to rest the horses and to let the men eat a little. I was
unable to swallow anything but a few figs and a little water, and had
just dropped asleep when the chief gave the signal for departure, and
I started under a guard of twenty-seven horsemen.
Just as we were setting off, an Arab brought me a straw hat with
poor Jonquié’s head in it, and bade me carry it. I refused, and was
instantly assailed on all sides by blows and abuse, and cries of
“Carry the head, dog of a Christian.”
“I will die first,” said I, throwing myself on the ground; and the
Arabs were about to dispatch me with the butt ends of their rifles,
when Adda, who was very anxious to deliver me alive to Abd-el-Kader,
interposed. The head was hung to the saddle-bow of one of the Arabs,
and after venting their ill-humour on me by more blows, we started.
During our journey across the plain of Macta, we stopped at three
successive wells, where several Arabs of the neighbouring tribes met
us and drew water for our men and horses. I went towards the well to
drink, but the Arab who held the bucket spat in my face, saying, “This
water is not for a dog of a Christian like thee.”
I made no answer, and went on to the next well, but there too the Arab
who was drawing water spat in my face, and said, “This water is not
for a dog of a Christian like thee.”
Again I bore it with patience, but the Arab at the third well, not
content with spitting in my face and addressing the same compliment to
me as his predecessors had done, dashed a bucket full of water in my
face. I was bathed in perspiration, and no doubt such treatment would
have brought on an inflammation in my chest if I had had time to be
ill. As it was, I shivered and threw myself on the ground, (always my
last resource,) crying “You may kill me if you please; I will not move
another step, I am dying of thirst.” This was no more than the truth,
for my tongue and my mouth were like a piece of dry cork, and I was
fainting from thirst. At length Adda went himself, drew some water and
brought it to me.
We resumed our journey through a country in which the barley harvest
was going on, and every time we passed any Arabs at work in the
fields or a party of horsemen, my guards called out “Come and see the
Christian dog;” and they all came and spat in my face, and fired off
their muskets close to my head, so that the balls whizzed about my
ears. I must confess that these demonstrations of joy alarmed me a
good deal until I got used to them.
During the course of our day’s journey we had to ford several rivers;
but though I was often up to my middle in the water, these barbarians
would not allow me to take a little in the palm of my hand, till at
last, in spite of their threats and blows, I flung myself down in the
bed of the river and drank deep draughts: this refreshed me but for
a short time, and at every fresh river I had to resort to the same
expedient.
At length I fell, exhausted with fatigue. It was three o’clock, and
I had walked since five in the morning, and my feet were torn and
bleeding. The Arabs mounted me on one of their horses, but in a
quarter of an hour the owner of it dragged me off its back by my leg.
I walked for two hours more, and then rode again. At length we arrived
about nightfall at the camp of the Borgiá tribe.
Here I was exposed to the blows, insults, and spittings of men, women,
and children. A tent was pitched for my guards into which I was but
half admitted, and I lay on the earth beyond the carpet.
Our party had chickens boiled with kuskussu for supper, which they
ate voraciously; I should have been very glad of a bit, but they
considered me unworthy of such a dainty, and flung me a handful of
kuskussu, which I could not swallow, as it was dry and bad, and my
throat was so sore.
After supper the Arabs returned my shirt to me and sent a negro to put
irons on my feet. My legs were so swollen that the pain of forcing
the irons to shut brought tears into my eyes: this treatment was as
useless as it was cruel, for I was not able to stand, much less to run
away. I stretched myself on the bare ground and slept soundly till
the next morning, when the brutal negro woke me by giving a violent
shake to the irons on my feet, which hurt me dreadfully.
I endeavoured to rise but instantly fell again; my feet were lacerated
and swollen, and all my wounds ached with cold and fatigue. The Arabs
seeing that if they compelled me to walk I should soon expire by the
road side, at length gave me a horse to ride, and we continued our
journey towards Abd-el-Kader’s camp, which was not above ten leagues
off. But for fear I should be too comfortable they hung poor Jonquié’s
head at my saddle-bow: it was already in a state of putrefaction, and
the Arabs seeing the horror and loathing with which it inspired me,
amused themselves by piercing it with their swords and yataghans to
increase the smell by exposing the brains to the action of the sun and
air.
We were travelling the road from Mascara to Mostaganem, and my heart
beat for joy at the sight of the tracks of the French cannon. I hoped
that we might fall in with some French outpost, and for a moment I
forgot all my misery, and even the putrid and bloody head before me,
and fancied myself on board the brig and in the arms of my friends
and relations, or firing a broadside at the Arabs. I was rather
roughly waked out of my reverie by a shower of blows which the Arabs
gave me in order to hasten my horse’s pace. In a few minutes I urged
the animal on, and immediately they beat me violently, crying, “A
Christian dog like thee may not dare to strike the horse of an Arab.”
We continued our journey in this manner for six hours, at the end of
which the Arabs began to shout for joy, and Adda told me that we had
reached Abd-el-Kader’s camp, which is close to the town of Kaala. It
was not without emotion that I passed the first tents of the man who
was to decide my fate.
CHAPTER II.
Arrival at Abd-el-Kader’s camp—His reception—Description
of Abd-el-Kader—His tent—Unexpected meeting with M.
Meurice—Abd-el-Kader’s officers.
Abd-el-Kader’s camp stood in a grove of fig trees, on the road from
Mascara to Mostaganem, and the tracks of the wheels of the French
artillery were still visible in the very midst of it. On arriving at
the first tent my guards forced me to dismount, and in a moment I was
surrounded by a host of Arabs of every age and both sexes, shouting
and screaming—“Son of dog,” “Dog of a Christian,” “Cut off his head,”
&c., with the usual accompaniment of blows and spitting.
Presently the chaous came to my rescue, and by dint of vigorous blows
they at last succeeded in delivering me from the hands of these
savages, and conducted me to Abd-el-Kader’s tent. My first reception
in the camp had not been of a kind fitted to dispel the fears with
which I went into his presence. But as soon as Abd-el-Kader saw the
pallor of my face he smiled and motioned me to sit, saying, “As long
as thou art with me fear neither insult nor ill usage.”
Emboldened by this gracious reception I asked him for something to
drink, as, thanks to my guards, I had not drank since the day before.
Abd-el-Kader immediately ordered me to be conducted to the tent which
served as a store-house, and there I received a melon, some grapes,
white bread, and water. The melon was so good, the water so cool,
and Abd-el-Kader’s manner had been so humane, that my hopes and my
appetite revived. After devouring the melon and drinking a whole jar
of water, I was again led into the Sultan’s presence. His tent is the
most magnificent in the camp: it is thirty feet long and eleven feet
high; the inside is lined with hangings of various colours, covered
with arabesques and crescents in red, blue, green, and yellow. A
woollen curtain divides it into two unequal parts, in the furthermost
and smaller of which is a mattress on which the Sultan sleeps. At the
further end is a small entrance for the service of the tent and the
slaves especially attached to the person of the Sultan: these are Ben
Abu and Ben Faka, of whom I shall have to say more hereafter. During
the day the tent remains open and accessible to all.
On the ground in one corner lie four silken flags rolled up: these
are borne before Abd-el-Kader on every march by four horsemen; the
first flag, belonging to the cavalry, is red; the second, that of the
infantry, has a horizontal yellow stripe between two blue ones; the
third, two horizontal stripes—one green and the other white; and
the fourth is half red and half yellow. Every Friday these flags are
unfurled in front of the Sultan’s tent. There is also a small mattress
covered with a carpet, on which lie two red silk cushions; at each
end of the mattress is a chest, and behind it two other chests; the
whole is then covered with a carpet and forms Abd-el-Kader’s sofa: the
chests contain his clothes and money. A carpet is spread on the ground
for strangers. These things, together with a high footstool, covered
with red silk, which serves the Sultan as a horseblock, constitutes
all the furniture of the Sultan’s tent. The tent is always guarded by
thirty negroes, who are never relieved and have no other bed than the
earth. A good many chaous are always in attendance, ready to obey the
commands of their ruler.
I will now endeavour to describe a man of whom at present very little
is known. From all that I had heard, I expected to find a bloodthirsty
barbarian, always ready to cut off heads: my expectations were false
indeed.
Abd-el-Kader is twenty-eight years of age and very small, his face is
long and deadly pale, his large black eyes are soft and languishing,
his mouth small and delicate, and his nose rather aquiline; his beard
is thin but jet black, and he wears a small mustachio, which gives
a martial character to his soft and delicate face, and becomes him
vastly. His hands are small and exquisitely formed, and his feet
equally beautiful; the care he takes of them is quite coquetish: he
is constantly washing them, and paring and filing his nails with a
small knife with a beautifully-carved mother-of-pearl handle, which he
holds all the while as he sits crouching on his cushions with his toes
clasped between his fingers.
His dress is distinguished by the most studied simplicity; there is
not a vestige of gold or embroidery on any part of it. He wears a
shirt of very fine linen, the seams of which are covered with a silk
braid terminating in a small silk tassel. Over the shirt is a haick,
and over the haick two white bernouses; the uppermost garment is a
black bernouse. A few silk tassels are the only ornaments about his
dress; he wears no arms in his girdle, his head is shaved, and covered
by three or four scull-caps one within the other, over which he draws
the hood of his bernouse.
Abd-el-Kader’s father, who died about two years ago, was a marabout
called Mahadin, who by means of his fortune, his intelligence, and his
character for sanctity, had acquired very great fame and influence
among the Arabs. Twice in his life he had made the pilgrimage to
Mecca, and prostrated himself before the tomb of the Prophet. In his
second journey he was accompanied by his son, who was but eight years
old. Young as he was, Abd-el-Kader acquired a great deal of useful
experience, and learned Italian: he could already read and write
Arabic. After returning from their pious journey, Mahadin instructed
his son in the difficult study of the Koran, and at the same time
taught him the conduct of affairs.
As soon as we had concluded a peace with the Arabs after the taking
of Algiers, Abd-el-Kader employed himself in exciting the tribes to
revolt, in feeding and exasperating their animosity towards us, in
stirring up their religious fanaticism, and above all in endeavouring
to obtain the sovereign power over them. This, the talent, the energy,
the bravery, and the cunning of the young marabout soon procured for
him; he quickly became their chief, and is now their Sultan.
The second time that I went to the Sultan’s tent he was seated on
some cushions with his Secretaries and some marabouts crouching
in a semicircle on either side of him: his smiling and graceful
countenance contrasted charmingly with the stupid savage faces around
him. The Chief Secretary first attracted my attention by his Tartuffe
expression, and the rogue has always persuaded Abd-el-Kader to ask a
large sum for my ransom.
The Sultan, with a smile of the greatest kindness, bade me be seated,
and asked me, in Arabic, my name and where I was taken, and on my
answering his questions, told me to fear nothing so long as I was with
him.
He then began to talk about our Generals who have commanded in Africa,
and was very curious to know what had become of them all. On hearing
the name of General Trézel, he flew into a violent rage, and cried,
“He was author of all our misfortunes; it was he who broke the peace
and caused such endless disasters!” I saw that he alluded to the
battle of Tafna, by which General Bugeaud made up for the defeat at
Macta, where we lost five hundred men.
“How many horsemen did you lose at Tafna?” asked I.
“How many?” cried he, furiously. “How many? What is that to thee? The
Arabs were not killed at Tafna as the French were at Macta; you have
never retrieved my great victory over you there. Five hundred of our
men did not return from Tafna.”
Now as the Arabs are the greatest liars in the world, one may fairly
presume that General Bugeaud killed at least twelve hundred of them at
Tafna; but I took very good care to make no further remark; and after
a few moments of silence the Sultan smiled again and said—
“Dost thou desire anything more to-day?”
“I am quite naked, give me some clothes,” said I, and immediately, at
a sign from Abd-el-Kader, I was taken to the store tent and furnished
with a scull-cap, a very thin haick, a shirt, and a pair of slippers:
my trowsers were also returned to me and I put them on, though all in
rags, as no others were to be had.
No sooner was I dressed, than I was accosted by a man, or rather a
phantom, wrapped in a ragged haick, pale and emaciated, with a long
uncombed beard, naked chest and meagre legs, and every appearance of
having endured long and cruel misery; a smile lit up his wan dejected
countenance as he said—
“Don’t you recognise me, Sir?”
“No, Sir, I am not aware that I ever saw you before,” said I.
“Oh, that is because I have suffered so much since we met. I hear that
you are a prisoner, and for your sake I am very sorry for it, for you
do not yet know all the torments that await you; but I cannot conceal
from you the joy your presence gives me. I shall no longer be alone;
I shall have a companion who will share my sufferings, and to whom I
can talk of my country and of my sorrows, and I shall suffer less. But
have you really forgotten me, M. De France? I met you at dinner at M.
Lafont’s.”
“At M. Lafont’s? Good heavens! are you M. Meurice?”
The unfortunate man wrung my hand, and his eyes filled with tears.
I said everything I could think of to encourage and cheer him; but
while I talked hopefully and gladly, my thoughts were occupied with
poor Meurice’s wretched appearance: his face disfigured by pain, his
extreme thinness, the feebleness of his limbs, and the dejection of
his spirits, gave me the idea of a dying man. When I saw him at M.
Lafont’s dinner at Algiers, he was a stout healthy man of about forty,
good-looking, lively, and agreeable; but ill-usage and suffering
had stupified him, destroyed all his energy and powers of mind, and
unhinged his whole frame; he was now weak, credulous, almost imbecile.
He had endured unheard-of tortures which I had escaped, and he had
not, like me, been inured to hardships and privations by a sailor’s
life.
The tent in which we were lodged was as large as that of Abd-el-Kader,
but not nearly so handsome: it served as a general magazine for
victuals and ammunition. Near it was another which was used as the
Sultan’s kitchen, and where, besides, all the barley and kuskussu for
the troops was kept. A third tent contained all sorts of military
stores and clothing, and the provisions of oil and butter.
An old negro, called Ben Faka, was the governor of our tent: he was
formerly a slave of Abd-el-Kader’s father; he has known the Sultan
from his birth, and is extremely attached to him; with us he would be
called the Commissary General.
The Sultan’s Treasurer is Ben Abu his old tutor: he has the care of
Abd-el-Kader’s tent and treasure during the battle, and enjoys his
entire confidence. Ben Abu stammers, owing to a shot which carried
away half his teeth and half his tongue. He and Ben Faka are charged
with the especial care of the Sultan’s person. The Commander of the
troops is called Milud-ben-Arrach: he is always grave and solemn,
and never smiles. His Lieutenant is an Arab called Muftar, who has
especial command over the horse. During the peace Muftar frequently
came to Oran, where he saw the manœuvres of the French cavalry, and he
has been trying ever since to discipline his Arabs in the same manner
but totally without success, as the Arabs can never understand the
possibility of keeping the line while charging at full speed.
I took care to impress the features of these different officers on
my memory, in the hope that I might one day have an opportunity of
repaying them their blows, insults, and odious persecutions with
lashes, and the most cruel among them with bullets.
The Sultan has in his camp about two hundred and fifty horsemen
and five hundred foot soldiers, who are paid and clothed at his
expense; among the Arabs the cavalry are lodged in the centre of
the camp, surrounded and guarded by the infantry. The Califah, or
General-in-Chief, is encamped near Tlemsen with as many more, and
it is with this handful of men that Abd-el-Kader drives all the
neighbouring tribes to battle.
CHAPTER III.
Meurice’s story—The camp and the soldiery—The adventures of a German
renegade—Arab horses—Prayers—The Sultan’s band of music.
Meurice begged me to give him an account of my capture and subsequent
adventures. I had just finished it, and requested to hear his story in
return, when a negro brought us some kuskussu for supper. It was quite
dark, and he lit a taper of yellow wax, about the size of a farthing
rushlight, stuck it on a bit of stick which he poked into the earth,
and bade us lie down. We stretched ourselves upon the bare ground and
the negro went away.
I wish I were as well skilled in the management of my pen as in that
of a vessel, so that I might be able to bring vividly before my
readers a picture of the dark savage tent filled with strange-looking
packages, and in it the two prisoners lying on the ground; Meurice,
pale and livid, with his long matted beard and dim eyes, telling in a
sad and weary voice, the unhappy adventure which had suddenly snatched
him from a life of ease and enjoyment, and plunged him into the most
frightful and degrading misery. I will give his story, as nearly as I
can remember, in his own words.
“I was compelled,” said he, “to leave Paris after the Revolution of
1830, by losses in trade. I settled at Algiers with my young wife, and
exercised the profession of a land surveyor, in which I had plenty of
employment. My life, though rather monotonous, was very agreeable,
thanks to Clarissa’s incessant attentions to my comfort, and to her
charming disposition. Poor thing! she is so pretty, so amiable, you
shall read her letters. Alas! perhaps I may never see her again.
“On the 25th of April, 1836, I had been to inspect an estate near
the Metidja, and was returning in company with M. Muller, a civil
engineer, M. D—— and his sister. I was on horseback, M. Muller on
a mule, and M. and Mlle. D—— in a carriage. On a sudden we were
surrounded by a troop of Arabs: we were all totally unarmed, except
M. D——, who had a gun; but he was so terrified, that without even
firing it off, he darted out of the carriage, took to his heels and
hid himself in a marsh, where the horsemen could not follow him. M.
Muller received a ball in his thigh which hurt him severely, and
was instantly taken prisoner. The Arabs next seized Mlle. D—— and
endeavoured to force her to comply with their brutal desires, but
threats, blows, and pistols held to her breast, failed to overcome
her heroic resistance, and the noble girl was actually cut to pieces
before our eyes without uttering a single cry.
“The Arabs dragged M. Muller and myself away with them, but were soon
obliged to leave M. Muller behind with the Hadjutes, seeing that
he must inevitably sink under the fatigues of the journey. He was
soon exchanged for three Arab prisoners. They resolved to sell me to
Abd-el-Kader, and set out to join him at his camp. I was exposed to
every possible kind of ill-usage on the road, blows, threats, insults,
and degrading tortures of every kind. To give you one instance among
many:—At the camp of one of the tribes on the plain, the Arabs
stripped me entirely naked, tied my hands behind my back and fastened
me to a tree, whereupon the women and children amused themselves the
whole day with flinging stones at me and smearing my face with the
most loathsome filth; you can form no idea of my sufferings, the
intolerable stench of the filth, the incessant blow’s inflicted by the
stones they threw at me; the children who pinched and bit my thighs
all combined to make my torments unbearable.
“After staying some time at Mascara we went to Abd-el-Kader’s camp,
which was then in the neighbourhood of Tafna. The Sultan received
me kindly and bought me of my captors. He was very melancholy and
completely cast down by his recent defeat by General Bugeaud at
Shikak. He had confidently predicted his own victory, founding his
prophecy upon a passage of the Koran, which foretold the defeat of the
Christians during the seventh year of their settlement in Africa.
“Defeat destroyed all his influence; the Arabs forsook their Sultan
and denied his authority; several of the tribes declared that they
would no longer fight under his orders, but would undertake their
own defence. They fled in all directions and destroyed everything
that lay in their way; they did not even respect Abd-el-Kader’s camp,
where they cut off and carried away half his tent and pillaged the
provisions. It is a great pity that we had no light cavalry at that
time, for it would have enabled us to seize Abd-el-Kader’s camp.
“Immediately after this defeat, the Sultan threw himself into Mascara
with fifty horse and a hundred foot, all inhabitants of the town and
the sole remnants of his army. A report of a counter-march of General
Bugeaud’s had spread a panic. Abd-el-Kader’s stores were pillaged, and
he would never have recovered the blow but for the subsidies of all
kinds which he constantly receives from Muley Abd-el-Rachman, Emperor
of Morocco, without whose assistance he would be utterly unable to
support an army.
“When he saw that the Arabs, who but the day before had blindly
submitted to his command, were now prepared to shake off his
authority, the Sultan knew that the prisoners who remained in his camp
were doomed to destruction. He resolved to save them, and commanded
the thirty negroes who guard his tent to escort M. Lanternier a
colonist, his wife a woman of forty, his daughter a lovely girl of
fifteen, a German lady of about forty, another of about twenty who
was taller and as handsome as Mlle. Lanternier, and myself, as far
as Droma, and to protect us from the violence or the insults of the
tribes we should pass on our way.
“We started full of gratitude towards Abd-el-Kader, and of confidence
in our negro guard, but scarcely had we gone five hundred yards, when
the negroes suddenly halted, seized M. Lanternier, and myself, and
bound us to a tree with our hands tied behind our backs. The scene
which we were then compelled to witness is too hideous to describe;
suffice to say, that the four wretched women became the victims of
the brutal desires of our negro guard. Even now I often hear in my
sleep our imprecations and cries of rage, the howls of the savages,
and the sobs of the wretched women. Such is the obedience shown to the
commands of the powerful Abd-el-Kader.
“On arriving at Droma, M. Lanternier and I were thrown into a
loathsome dungeon, and the four half-dead despairing women into
another.
“On the 31st July, Abd-el-Kader sent for me to Mascara, and thence to
his camp; his manner towards me was as kind as before, and he again
promised me a speedy release by exchange; he also desired me to send
for my wife, adding the most solemn protestations, and for a moment
the desire of seeing her again almost overcame me, but when I imagined
her exposed to blows, threats, and insults, I immediately abandoned
the selfish idea of dragging my Clarissa into the misery I was then
enduring, and I refused the Sultan’s offer with many thanks. He then
told me his motive for sending for me from Droma, and dictated to me
several letters to Algiers and to Oran. I have only been in the camp a
fortnight, and I am far better off here than in the prisons of Droma,
or the tents of the tribes. The Sultan puts some restraint upon the
hatred of the Arabs towards the Christians, and now your presence
will console me under my misfortunes. Besides, you will easily gain
the goodwill of Abd-el-Kader, and thus alleviate our hardships, and
the Governor will be anxious to ransom you, and your deliverance will
entail mine. And now good night, if you are cold draw near to me and
we shall keep each other warm.”
We were awakened very early next morning by the roll of a drum very
ill beaten; I instantly rose and spent the whole day in wandering
about the camp, and observing the habits and the discipline of
Abd-el-Kader’s soldiery.
The tents of the infantry are pitched in a circle which encloses those
of the cavalry; each tent contains fifteen or twenty men whose horses
are tethered outside with ropes tied round their fore-feet.
The Sultan’s tent stands in the very centre of the camp with an open
space before it for his horses and those of his attendants: he always
has eight or ten horses ready for his own use. A straight avenue is
left from the front of his tent to the very edge of the camp where a
cannon is placed with its muzzle turned towards the plain. This is
the Sultan’s whole artillery, and in very bad order it is. When I was
there it was mounted on a broken French carriage, and the touch-hole
was so large that the powder flew out from it in a perfect stream of
fire, and burned the hands of the Arabs who fired it. It was only used
for salutes and rejoicings. Close to the cannon is the gunner’s tent.
Behind Abd-el-Kader’s tent is that of the muleteers, and round it are
picketed the mules which carry the baggage.
Near the kitchen tent are a hundred camels which carry the barley and
the biscuits for the soldiers, and a flock of sheep and goats, one of
which is given to each tent every Friday. Each tent furnishes two men
every night to guard the camp,—one watches from sunset till midnight,
the other from midnight till daybreak. During the day there are no
guards.
As soon as it dawns the drum beats and the watch is relieved. A small
quantity of detestable biscuit, full of dust and straw, is given to
each soldier, and the horsemen give a measure of barley to their
horses; they only let them drink once a day at five o’clock, P.M. At
four P.M. the soldiers have a meal of boiled barley, and the chiefs
of kuskussu.
The soldiers have nothing whatever to do, except that from time
to time the Aga of the infantry, following the example of Muftar,
endeavours to teach them the drill, in which he was formerly assisted
by a German deserter from our Foreign Legion.
The adventures of this German are strange enough. For a year after his
desertion he was employed by Abd-el-Kader to drill his infantry, but
in spite of his zeal and fidelity in the service of his new master, he
every day heard the Arabs say that they would shoot him in the first
battle, for that they would not submit to be commanded by a Christian
hound. The German who did not think proper to await the execution
of these threats, took advantage of the peace to go to Oran and
present himself to our General. But the General wishing to conciliate
Abd-el-Kader, wrote to inform him that he might send for the deserter
and do with him as he pleased. Accordingly some chaous were sent
to Oran, the deserter was given up to them, and they bound him and
dragged him off. On the road they fell in with some French soldiers
who were mending it, and the poor fellow began to call out lustily,
“Help, my friends! you surely won’t let these rascals carry off your
comrade who has fought them with you: help! they are going to cut off
my head.” Hereupon the soldiers threw down their pickaxes, snatched up
their muskets, and would certainly have effected a rescue but for a
_gendarme_ who was sent to protect the chaous against any attempt of
the kind.
The poor fellow was taken to Mascara where he lay in chains a whole
year. In his exasperation at the conduct of the French authorities he
turned Mussulman, and was let out of prison; he refused to resume his
employment of drill-sergeant, and took to manufacturing gunpowder at
Mascara, but finding this trade insufficient for his support he went
to Morocco, from whence he hopes to go to Italy.
Since then the Aga has laboured to teach his ragged and unruly
soldiers himself, but with very small success: the little ragamuffins
in the streets of Paris go through the exercise far better than
Abd-el-Kader’s soldiers.
The Arab cavalry now wear a red jacket and Turkish trowsers of the
same colour, with a haick and a bernouse over them, and slippers
on their feet; they have a rifle, a sabre, and a dozen cartridges
in a box slung over the shoulder with a belt, which never leaves
them. Their saddles are made of wood, with a loose cover of morocco
leather, and so high before and behind that the rider sits as in a
box; the stirrup leathers are very short and the stirrups very large,
with sharp points which serve for spurs: they, however, wear spurs
besides, which are mere iron spikes about eight or ten inches long.
Only the horses belonging to merchants and destined for long journeys
are shod, but none of Abd-el-Kader’s. The horsemen put six or eight
coarse blankets on their horses’ backs to keep the wooden saddle from
wounding them. In spite of this precaution, however, nearly all the
Arab horses are galled on the back: they are never groomed but merely
have some water dashed all over them when they are taken to drink;
they are exposed by day and by night to rain, heat, and cold; and
accordingly an Arab horse seldom lasts more than six years.
The infantry wear a woollen vest, Turkish trowsers, a black jacket
with a hood, and slippers: like the cavalry, they have a rifle, a
cartridge box, and a knife at their girdle; the richest among them add
to this a dagger, pistols, and a yataghan.
In the camp as well as in all other places the Arabs pray six times a
day,—at three, six, and eight in the morning, at noon, and at four
and eight in the evening: at the hours of devotion the marabouts
turn to the four cardinal points and call the faithful to prayer
with a slow and solemn voice, saying “God is God, and Mahomed is his
prophet; come and worship them.” A marabout then recites the prayer in
each tent. The faithful begin by rubbing their hands and faces with
dust; they respond to every act of devotion of the marabout with an
inclination at the words “God is great,” and kiss the ground in token
of humility; as soon as the prayer is ended they wash their faces.
The band plays three times a day before Abd-el-Kader’s tent: three
musicians standing, play the hautboy, three others, also standing,
beat the tambourine with a stick, and three seated on the ground, play
with small sticks upon bowls covered with goatskin. Their _repertoire_
is very scanty. I never heard more than three tunes, which they
perform till the Sultan is tired and dismisses them by a sign.
Each chief has a coffee-maker in his retinue. These coffee-makers
erect a tent to which the Arabs go to drink coffee and smoke very bad
green tobacco.
CHAPTER IV.
French deserters—Sardinian prisoners—Their story—Letter to
Algiers—Raising the camp—Abd-el-Kader—The only cannon—The Bey of
Mostaganem—Return to El-Kaala.
Meurice and I were not the only Europeans in the camp, there were
three Sardinian prisoners and two French deserters. The latter
described to me in the strongest terms the misery they had to endure.
In spite of their goodwill and their services the Arabs nearly starved
them to death and treated them with the utmost contempt. They bitterly
repented having forsaken their flag, and would have been overjoyed to
return to it could they have been assured against being shot. One of
the deserters, called Jean Mardulin, had rendered all kinds of good
offices to Meurice; and indeed the poor fellow well deserved pardon,
for the cruel treatment of the Arabs had punished him quite enough for
his desertion.
The three Sardinian prisoners appeared more wretched still. I begged
one of them to give me an account of the manner in which he and his
two companions had fallen into the hands of the Arabs, which he did as
follows, after we had stretched ourselves on the ground in the tent.
“Early in July 1836 the three Sardinian coral boats the St. John
Baptist, the Conception, and the Jesus and Mary, arrived at a small
uninhabited island or rather rock, situated at a few thousand yards
from the shore between Cherchell and Mostaganem, near which the owner
of the St. John Baptist and the Conception had discovered a rich bank
of coral. We all three served as coral fishers on board these vessels.
On arriving at the little island we found two barks, one stranded and
the other afloat, the latter was manned by six Moors from Cherchell
whom we had formerly known at Algiers.
“We were delighted to fall in with people we knew, and immediately
asked the Moors whether we had anything to fear from the Arabs at
Ténez. The Moors told us we need fear nothing, as the Arabs had no
boats of their own and could not get to the island; they might,
indeed, the Moors said, make use of their boats to come and attack
us if they found out what we were doing; and in order to prevent any
danger of such an event the Moors promised not to leave the island all
the time our fishery lasted, on condition that we should supply them
with provisions. We closed with their offer without hesitation, as we
thought we had honest men to deal with, and had often taken a pipe
and a cup of coffee with them at Algiers. Accordingly we shared our
biscuit and brandy with them and began our fishery, which proved so
abundant that in five days we had already got nearly a hundred pounds’
worth of coral. We told the Moors how well pleased we were with the
success of our fishery, and from that moment their manner was no
longer so friendly towards us, and their faces betrayed agitation and
disquiet.
“Angelo Floria, the master of the St. John Baptist, was the first to
remark the change that had taken place in the Moors, whose prolonged
stay on a desert rock had already excited his suspicions. He had long
frequented this coast, and knew how much he had to be on his guard
against the Arabs: he therefore warned us not to trust our pretended
friends too implicitly. Floria’s warning made a deep impression on the
crews of the three boats, and on the morning of the sixth day we all
resolved to leave our anchorage under the island and to withdraw to
the westward of the Cape of Ténez, where we knew of a safe anchorage.
Unfortunately the wind rose during the day, and the Conception and the
Jesus and Mary were unable to double the cape and forced to return
to the island. The master of the St. John Baptist had reached the
anchorage, but when he found that the other two boats did not join
him he came back to the island to look for them. Meanwhile, after
anchoring the Conception and the Jesus and Mary, some of us landed
on the island, where we were immediately assailed by a shower of
balls, and a troop of Arabs, who had been brought by the Moors from
Ténez, rushed upon us, brandishing their yataghans. Laurentio Figari,
the master of the Jesus and Mary, was the first who fell by their
shot, and his head was instantly cut off with a yataghan. My two
fellow-prisoners, a little boy, and myself fell into the hands of the
Arabs. I received eight wounds from their yataghans while endeavouring
to revenge myself on the rascals who had so basely betrayed us. The
rest of the crew jumped into the sea and were shot by the Arabs, who
then pillaged and burnt the Jesus and Mary and the Conception.
“After sharing the plunder, the Arabs set out for Ténez. They
halted about half way and deliberated whether they should kill us
or not; after a long discussion they determined to take us alive to
Abd-el-Kader, in hopes of getting some more money from him.
“We stopped two days at Ténez, where the generous kindness of the
inhabitants made up for the sufferings and privations of our journey.
The Kait of Ténez visited us continually, and asked us numberless
questions about the coral fishery: our account of it amused him very
much, and he took great interest in our fate, and prevented the Arabs
from beating us. I shall never forget the kindness of the women of
Ténez, who never left me the whole time I was there, nor ceased from
rubbing my wounds with butter and honey; they also gave us white
bread and fruit, and overwhelmed the poor little boy with caresses. I
could hardly believe that I was not at Genoa, instead of in a heathen
country, so great was their charity.
“We left Ténez on the third day and soon arrived at Abd-el-Kader’s
camp, where we have been prisoners for a month. We do not know whether
we shall be ransomed or exchanged, and we suffer continual misery and
ill-usage, notwithstanding which my wounds are quite healed, and we
all three hope that, with the assistance of the Blessed Virgin and the
French Governor, we shall in the end recover our freedom and return
home.
“Abd-el-Kader sent the little boy to his wife, who is just as kind to
him as the Arabs are cruel to us men. The Arab women will soon coax
the poor child into forgetting the Blessed Virgin, his own country,
and his mother, and they will teach him their prayers and make a
Mahomedan of him. We have not seen him since we came here, but,
perhaps, when Abd-el-Kader shifts his camp we may meet him somewhere.
“I hope, Sir, that when you write to the Generals at Oran or Algiers
you will not forget to say a word in favour of us three poor
Christians.”
I assured them that I would say as much for them as for myself,
whereupon they took their leave.
I had already asked the Sultan’s permission to write to Algiers and
Oran, to acquaint the authorities with my captivity, and my arrival
at Abd-el-Kader’s camp. At eight o’clock that evening I was conducted
to his tent, where he gave me his own pen, made of a reed, a bit of
coarse paper about the size of my hand, and his inkstand, which was
made of brass, of an oblong shape, with an inkbottle at one end and a
drawer for the pens at the other. A slave brought a brass candlestick,
such as stand on the altar of a village church in France. I lay on
the ground, and with the Sultan’s jewel-box for a table, I wrote one
letter to Admiral Dufresne, and another to General Rapatel, describing
the sufferings of Abd-el-Kader’s captives, and entreating them to
negotiate our exchange as quickly as possible. I then delivered the
two letters to Abd-el-Kader, who promised to forward them next day.
We were awakened very early in the morning by the chief of our tent
shouting, “Dogs of Christians, sons of dogs, get up! the tent is
coming down, for the Sultan has ordered the camp to be raised.” Scarce
were the words out of his mouth than the whole tent came tumbling down
upon Meurice and myself. This was one of the thousand pleasantries
with which the Arabs continually entertained us. We were still
struggling to disentangle ourselves from the tent, in which we lay
caught like fish in a net, when a drum beat the _reveille_, which was
followed in a few minutes by the signal of march for the infantry,
which accordingly started. The camels, mules, and pack horses were
immediately loaded with all the camp equipage, stowed in panniers
woven of the leaves of the dwarf palm. A third beat of the drum gave
the signal of departure to the muleteers and camel drivers. Meurice
and I were placed in the centre of this detatchment, which was under
the command of Ben Faka. In obedience to the Sultan’s order, we were
mounted on the two mules which carry Abd-el-Kader’s own coffers; the
Italian sailors were worse off,—they rode on camels. Among the
baggage I observed eight very ill-joined chests; these contained the
reserve cartridges.
Whenever the camp is raised Abd-el-Kader, who, like every other Arab,
begins his prayers at three in the morning, does not cease from them
until all the other tents are struck, and it is time for the slaves to
strike his, he then quits it, and seats himself at a short distance on
a silken cushion surrounded by the marabouts and chiefs. Meanwhile the
horsemen assemble, and place themselves in a line on his right hand,
with Muftar at their head, and the thirty negro slaves are drawn up
in a line on his left. The chiefs and the marabouts next mount their
horses, and as soon as the baggage has passed the limits of what was
the camp, a slave comes forward leading the Sultan’s horse, followed
by another bearing the footstool which he uses as a horseblock.
Abd-el-Kader’s favourite horse is a magnificent black charger; he
is the best rider I ever saw among the Arabs; and as his legs are
disproportionately short for the length of his body, the Arab fashion
of short stirrups, by concealing this defect, sets off his figure to
great advantage, and his appearance on horseback is at once graceful
and imposing. As soon as the Sultan is mounted, the chiefs give the
signal of departure; the nine musicians ride at the head of the
column, followed by eight Arabs bearing long rifles in red cloth
cases; I have often asked leave to examine them, but the Arabs always
answered, “They are the arms of the Sultan; a dog of a Christian like
thee is not worthy to behold them.” Next come four more horsemen
bearing the four flags which I have already described, and then
Abd-el-Kader, in the centre of a line of horsemen: behind him are the
thirty negroes, and they are followed by all the rest of the cavalry
pell mell. The Arabs never set out on an expedition until the sun has
risen.
No order or discipline is kept on their marches; thus, if a soldier
sees a fruit tree or a solitary tent he leaves the line to strip the
one or pillage the other.
Two strangely-harnessed mules, more lean and broken-winded than
hackney coach horses, drag the solitary cannon. Not a day passes on
which it is not overturned and half buried in the mud. I hope, for the
sake of the poor gunners, that it will at last be left behind fast
stuck, which will save them a vast deal of useless trouble and burning
of their fingers.
We left El Kaala on the 17th of August, and reached the plain of
Mostaganem at one o’clock the same day, where we encamped, at a
distance of four leagues from the town. The Arabs always turn their
tents with the opening towards the east, and such accuracy do they
acquire by habit, that at whatever time they pitch their tents they
are invariably greeted by the first rays of the rising sun. Ben Faka
determines the situation of the camp, and superintends in person the
erection of the Sultan’s tent and the watering of the ground all about
it. These arrangements are scarcely completed when the screeching of
the music announces the approach of Abd-el-Kader. A number of horsemen
detatch themselves from the main body, which they precede by about
ten minutes, and gallop to the camp, where they suddenly wheel round,
and return at full speed to meet the advancing column, aiming their
rifles full at the Sultan all the while. When they are within shot
of him they turn their guns a little aside, and send their bullets
whistling about his ears. This salute goes on till he is within the
camp, when the horsemen range themselves in a line on the right of the
tent, and the thirty negroes on the left, the band plays as loud as
ever it can, and the cannon announces the arrival of Abd-el-Kader to
the neighbouring tribes: the Sultan makes his horse prance along the
line formed by his cavalry, and glances proudly around him, two slaves
open the curtains of the tent, the horse rears and neighs violently as
he enters it and tramples upon the carpet, while the Arabs stand in
open-mouthed admiration of the grace and activity of their Sultan; the
faithful Ben Faka offers his back to assist his lord in dismounting,
and a slave leads away the horse and walks him up and down before the
tent for ten minutes; the marabouts and chiefs surround Abd-el-Kader,
who orders the drums to beat, upon which the ranks are broken and men
and horses repair to the tents, which the baggage attendants have
already pitched for them.
The chiefs of the neighbouring tribes on hearing the sound of the
cannon hasten to pay their respects to the Sultan; they crowd pell
mell into his tent, rush upon Abd-el-Kader, who is seated on his sofa,
and kiss his hand, the hood formed by the folds of his haick, and the
skirts of his bernouse; in return he makes the motion of kissing their
hands.
On this occasion very few of the neighbouring Arabs came to salute
him, as most of them were allied with the French; and in the evening
only a little kuskussu was brought to feed his troops.
In the middle of the night the drums beat a _reveille_, everybody
jumped up, and the report was spread that Ibrahim, Bey of Mostaganem,
had made a sortie with his troops, and was about to attack
Abd-el-Kader. The Sultan left the camp at the head of all his cavalry
to reconnoitre the movements of the Bey. I lay down behind a package,
very indifferent to all the confusion and excitement which prevailed
in the camp, and slept soundly while poor Meurice vainly sought for
me in all directions, and at last, fancying I had made my escape,
was in perfect despair, and wandered about mentally accusing me of
unkindness, until I awoke and put an end to his distress.
Abd-el-Kader returned to the camp at daybreak, without having fallen
in with Ibrahim, and brought back the news that the French troops had
left Oran four days before. As he was by no means reassured as to
the Bey’s movements, he ordered the camp to be raised, and by eleven
o’clock the same morning we were back again within five minutes’ walk
of El-Kaala.
The inhabitants of the town, whose resources were already exhausted by
the support of his troops, were so ill-pleased at the Sultan’s return
that none of them came to pay their respects to him, and the Turks
living in the town fled into the mountains carrying with them all
their money. As soon as the Sultan became aware of their disaffection,
he repaired to Kaala with fifty horsemen, and soon returned with a
cargo of carpets and other articles which had been taken by main force
from the most refractory of the citizens, who now fired a salute to
testify the joy they felt at the Sultan’s presence, while their goods
were being distributed before Abd-el-Kader’s tent.
CHAPTER V.
Method of cooling a tent—Abd-el-Kader’s munificence—Tribute paid
in kind—A good dinner—Coffee—Supplies from Morocco—Letter from
General Létang—Arab foray—Prisoners—The beautiful black slave girl.
On the 23rd of August, at five in the morning, we again left Kaala,
and marched northward; after a march of seven hours, we encamped on
the very edge of the plain of Mostaganem, near the river Scheliff.
Our camp stood in a grove of ilexes and gum trees on the top of a
mountain, commanding the plain; just such a spot as was selected by
knights of old to build their castles on, for the better convenience
of robbing travellers, oppressing their serfs, and defending
themselves against their neighbours.
Abd-el-Kader’s tent was pitched near a fresh and abundant spring, and
the weather being oppressively hot, Zaka, the Sultan’s cup-bearer,
ordered the slaves to dig two little channels to convey the water
to the tent, where it was received into trenches immediately under
the hangings, which were raised just enough to admit a current of
air cooled by the water which surrounded the tent, and gave it the
appearance of an island.
I am too poor a hand at my pen, to attempt a description of the
beautiful and fertile plain which lay at our feet covered with crops
of various kinds, fruit trees, herds, flocks and tents. In spite of my
position I could not help sharing the general satisfaction inspired by
this delightful scene which promised such plentiful supplies to the
troops. Abd-el-Kader, in a fit of generosity and good humour, sent me
twelve pieces of eight moussounés each, (almost four shillings,) which
I was to share with Meurice. This munificent and public manifestation
of goodwill raised my spirits, and filled me with the hope of a speedy
deliverance, which was strengthened by the knowledge that the Arabs,
whom General Bugeaud had carried as prisoners to Marseilles, were as
impatient as myself to be restored to freedom and to their country.
In the morning a supply of melons, peaches, figs, and grapes arrived
at the camp, and we feasted on what fell to our share; the grapes were
better than the very best in France. I spent a few hours in wandering
about and admiring the beauty of the scenery, and then stretched
myself in the shade and indulged in a reverie, out of which I was
awakened at about four in the afternoon by the arrival of all the
surrounding tribes, who came to bring their subsidies. Each tribe was
preceded by its Kait, on horseback and armed only with a stick, then
came all the tribe—men, women, and children, two and two, bearing
on their heads dishes filled with kuskussu; the richest Arabs walked
apart from the line carrying whole sheep, spitted and roasted on a
stake. When they had reached Abd-el-Kader’s tent, the chief of each
tribe stepped forward and informed him that they had brought the
tribute, the Arabs set their dishes on the ground before the tent
and thrust the points of the spits on which the sheep were impaled
into the ground. These dishes of kuskussu crowned, some with honey,
some with hard eggs, some with raisins, others with boiled fowls or
quarters of mutton, wore a most varied and tempting appearance. The
Arabs then rushed into the tent to present their respects to the
Sultan, while several of them took advantage of the confusion to
steal the viands spread upon the earth, and it was only by the most
vigorous application of their sticks that the Kaits could succeed in
maintaining tolerable order. Abd-el-Kader then cast a glance upon the
dishes disposed before his tent, and Ben Faka distributed them among
the troops.
When the Sultan had finished his repast, Ben Faka, who always serves
it, brought the remains to our tent. A piece of leather was spread
in the centre of the carpet, and a dish of kuskussu which had been
begun by the Sultan was placed upon it. Ben Faka and several marabouts
squatted in a circle round the leathern tablecloth, and began to
devour the kuskussu and a sheep which we had for supper, without any
bread, tearing the mutton with their fingers, and throwing the bones
and scraps back into the dish, as the Sultan had done before them.
When they had eaten their fill, the dish passed into third hands,
and formed the supper of Abd-el-Kader’s slaves, who gnawed the bones
and scraps of meat like so many dogs. During this last stage of the
repast Ben Faka called Meurice and me and threw us a piece of meat,
which we ate in the Arab fashion with our fingers and without bread:
he also bestowed upon us a handful or so of kuskussu. The water was
brought in goat skins, and all the guests drank out of the same bowl
which was never washed. I need not add that the prisoners were always
served last. In spite of all this we thought our dinner excellent, and
in order worthily to conclude a repast in which we had eaten meat, I
asked Ben Faka’s leave to have coffee brought to us.
“Coffee for a Christian hound!” said he; “and who is to pay for it?”
“Did not the Sultan give me six pieces (two shillings), this morning?”
replied I; “and shall I not whenever I am exchanged proclaim his
munificence to my fellow-countrymen?”
These words softened the hard heart of Ben Faka, and he ordered his
coffee-maker to bring us some coffee. He then began to boast to us of
the power and the wealth of his master and of his own influence with
him, and exhibited, with the greatest pride, a snuff-box with a little
mirror in the lid,—a treasure which excited indescribable envy and
admiration among all the Arabs who were present. We soon perceived
that the drift of his conversation was to induce us to solicit his
protection and to offer him presents, and poor Meurice, who was always
on the watch for an opportunity of conciliating his tormentors,
immediately promised to send him a gold snuff-box from Algiers as soon
as he was set free. The delight of this Arab minister of finance, and
his promises of kindness to the dog of a Christian, may easily be
conceived.
The slave of Ben Faka’s coffee-maker interrupted our conversation by
bringing the coffee in two little earthenware cups on a tin tray: the
cups have no handles, but are fixed in small brass saucers; the coffee
seemed to me delicious—it was served with the grounds; and the two
cups sweetened with brown sugar, and a couple of pipes to smoke, cost
a penny.
Even now I cannot think of that day without emotion: it was so unlike
all the rest of my captivity; we suffered neither ill usage, cold,
nor hunger; the weather was beautiful, we had plenty of fruits, and
Abd-el-Kader and Ben Faka were even kind to us: in short, to us it was
a day of positive enjoyment.
It has been asserted that Abd-el-Kader received no supplies from
Morocco; this statement is contradicted by facts which I myself
witnessed. On the 7th of August, 1836, a convoy arrived at the
Sultan’s camp, from Morocco, bringing flints, scull-caps, slippers,
trowsers, and cloaks enough for six hundred men. On the 15th of
August there came fifteen camels loaded with powder and ball, also
from Morocco. On the 25th of August Abd-el-Kader received from
Morocco a store of biscuits and saltpetre. Every time that these
supplies arrived at the camp the Arabs testified the greatest joy and
exultation, and received the chief of the convoy with the same honours
that they pay to Abd-el-Kader.
On the 28th of August two Arab spies came to the camp, one of them
bringing a number of gun-flints which he had bought at Oran, and the
other some despatches entrusted to him by the French authorities at
Tlemsen for the Commandant at Oran, and to which he was to take back
an answer.
Abd-el-Kader unsealed them, and having sent for Meurice, ordered him
to read them. Meurice obeyed, and the Sultan resealed and sent them on
to their address.
A few days after, the same Arab filling the double office of courier
to the French and spy to Abd-el-Kader, returned to the camp with the
answer from General Létang the Commandant of Oran, to the Commandant
of Tlemsen. Abd-el-Kader sent for me, and after very carefully
unsealing General Létang’s letters, he ordered me to read them aloud.
In them the General informed the Commandant of Tlemsen, that he had
returned from his expedition against the Beni Amers, having achieved
it without striking a single blow, and that he had plundered the
silos[5] of the Arabs.
The officers of the brig Loiret, added General Létang, were foolish
enough to go out shooting at Arzew, and Lieutenant De France fell into
the hands of the Arabs.
I took very good care not to read the first part of the letter, but
only what related to myself.
“Is that all?” said the Sultan; “surely thou hast deceived me?”
“Read it yourself,” said I, “and you will see.”
I was certain he could not read French, although he speaks it pretty
well. I was then dismissed, and on returning to the tent I informed
Meurice of what had just happened; and it was fortunate for me that I
did so, for scarce had I finished my story when a marabout came in and
summoned him to appear before the Sultan, and had he read what I had
passed over, no doubt the chaous would soon have disabled me from ever
telling that Abd-el-Kader opens the despatches of our generals.
* * * * *
On the 29th of August the camp was again broken up, and after a march
of six hours we halted on the banks of the Ouet Mina, a narrow but
very rapid stream which rises to the east of Tekedemta and falls into
the Schellif at about six leagues from the coast. The Schellif, which
is the principal river of the country, rises among the mountains to
the south of Milianah, runs from east to west, and falls into the sea
near Cape Ivi, between the Cape of Ténez and the Gulf of Arzew.
Ben Faka placed the camp on a hill adjoining the chain of mountains
which overlooks the western part of the plain of Milianah. The site
was as beautiful as the one we had just left: not far from our tent
was a lofty cascade, the waters of which fell into the plain below,
where they soon disappeared. If they were received in a basin and
thence carried in small channels over the plain, the parched earth
would soon be changed into green meadows which would afford far better
food for the cows and horses of the Arabs than the weeds and briars
which they are now forced to eat; and the harvests of wheat and barley
would be very abundant; for though the Arab plough only scratches the
very surface of the earth, I have seen one grain of wheat produce six
or eight stalks. This province generally has very few trees, but the
mountains which surround it are covered with ilexes and gum trees.
Abd-el-Kader laid a double tax upon the surrounding tribes to punish
them for having given a favourable reception to Ibrahim, Bey of
Mostaganem. Every day the horsemen brought to the camp great booty in
horses, sheep, and oxen; and in Abd-el-Kader’s tent the whole day
was passed in counting the money which had been seized: this does not
imply that the sums were immense, but that the Arabs count over their
money ten or fifteen times. The Chief Secretary, whom by virtue of his
office I am bound to consider as the most enlightened man in the camp,
used frequently to come into our tent, and crouching behind a bale of
goods, entirely hidden under his haick, count and recount his money
for hours together.
In spite of the most stringent measures and of the zeal displayed by
the Kaits in collecting the tribute, it was hard to make the Arabs
pay it, and Abd-el-Kader sent a party of horsemen to their tents, who
returned in the evening laden with every kind of booty, and driving
before them herds of horses, cattle, sheep, women, children, and
negroes.
At the news of the arrival of these prisoners a number of Arabs came
to the camp, in order to see whether they might not be able to buy a
few negroes, or a woman or so, a bargain. If, after casting a rapid
glance over the slaves who were crouching on the ground, the buyer saw
one whose appearance struck his fancy, he made him rise and examined
all his limbs, as we examine a horse or a bull, made him open his
mouth, and, if it was a woman, pressed her breasts to see whether
there was milk in them. The unfortunate wretches bore it all with
the most perfect indifference, and when the bargain was struck, they
followed their new masters with an air of utter insensibility.
Among the prisoners for sale who were in our tent, was a beautiful
black girl of about fourteen; she had large soft black eyes, lips like
coral, and teeth like the pearls set in the handle of a yataghan;
her legs were like those of a race horse, and her feet and hands
smaller than those of a Spanish woman; her shape was perfect, and the
slenderness of her waist contrasted beautifully with the fulness of
her hips; for the poor girl, contrary to the custom of the women of
this country, had confined her white haick round her middle with a red
worsted cord. Her beauty and the fineness and cleanliness of her dress
clearly showed that she had been the property of wealthy people. The
poor girl laid herself on the ground beside me, weeping and lamenting,
and refused the food that was offered to her.
Seeing her so beautiful and so unhappy, I tried to comfort her; but
she said, “I was so happy in the tent from which they robbed me, and
now I shall be made to sleep outside with the horses: I shall have no
kuskussu to eat, and I shall wear a torn and dirty haick;” and she
wept again.
Before long, a chief of the Garrabas came into the tent: he had
brought the head of a French soldier whom he had surprised that
morning in a field near Mostaganem, so that he was welcome in the
camp. He was rich and wanted to buy slaves. At the sight of the young
negress his eyes brightened with pleasure, and he ordered her to rise.
The slave obeyed, she was subjected to the most minute examination
and found faultless. The Garraba turned to Ben Faka, and said, “Fifty
boutjous?”
“I must have eighty boutjous (_10l._) for her,” said Ben Faka.
“She is not worth them.”
“Did’st thou ever see so beautiful a negress?—Open thy mouth.”
The slave obeyed.
“Look, what teeth! there is not one missing!—Walk.”
The slave walked.
“What hips! what a firm and graceful step! She is a virgin too.—Open
thy haick and thy shift.”
The slave did as she was commanded.
“Press her breasts; she has no more milk than a new-born lamb. Don’t
weep slave, or the chaous shall dry thy tears with his stick.”
The girl wiped her eyes.
“Eighty boutjous.”
“Sixty. She is not strong; she will not be able to carry the dung out
of the stable.”
“In two years she will carry the dung of all the horses belonging to
thy tent. Eighty boutjous.”
“Seventy.”
“Her hands are delicate; she has never worked. Eighty boutjous. Yea or
nay? the Sultan waits for me.”
The Garraba paid them and bade his slave follow him; the poor girl
left the tent fixing on me her eyes bathed in tears. I saw the Garraba
stop at the Sultan’s tent to receive the price of the Frenchman’s
head, and in a few minutes they left the camp, and I lost sight of the
poor black girl.
[5] The Arab subterraneous granaries and barns, which are
carefully covered with lime, and excavated with so much art as
to exclude all moisture, and preserve the contents for years;
the only access to them is through a funnel-shaped hole at the
top, barely large enough to admit a man.
CHAPTER VI.
Revolt of Abd-el-Kader’s uncle—His letter—Jews—Attack on
the Beni-Flitas and Houledscherifs—Horrible execution of a
prisoner—Vermin—Tekedemta—Letter from the Arab prisoners at
Marseilles.
On the 2nd of September the courier from Tlemsen brought several
letters which Abd-el-Kader opened, read, sealed, and sent to their
destination.
The energetic measures taken by Abd-el-Kader against the neighbouring
tribes had failed in reducing them to complete submission; they
only waited for an opportunity to shake off his authority. One of
Abd-el-Kader’s uncles, a marabout, declared himself independent of the
Sultan, and refused to pay the tribute: he was immediately joined by
the Beni-Flitas and Houledscherifs, two numerous, rich, and powerful
tribes which inhabit a part of the country watered by the Ouet Mina
and the adjoining mountains. They refused any longer to acknowledge
Abd-el-Kader as their Sultan, and submitted to the authority of his
uncle.
The Sultan again sent a party of horsemen to claim the tribute from
his uncle, who instead of paying it, sent the following answer:—
“Thou wert nothing before the coming of the French; thou wert nothing
until thou hadst made a peace with those unbelievers. I was greater
and holier than thou; and it was in the hope of usurping my authority,
O Abd-el-Kader, that thou madest a treaty with the Christians; to them
thou owest thy greatness and thy power. When thou thoughtest thyself
great enough, thou brakest the treaty with the French, and now thou
wilt that we should acknowledge thee as our Sultan. But I have ever
been greater and holier than thou, and never will I bow before thee.
Neither will I pay the tribute which thy horsemen demand in thy name.”
This letter, of which I remember only the most striking passages,
threw Abd-el-Kader into a state of melancholy and indecision which
lasted several days, and spread general consternation in the camp. The
Arabs saw with horror that they would perhaps be compelled to turn
their weapons against their brethren, and they felt that a civil war
among themselves would secure for ever the dominion of the French.
Abd-el-Kader sent courier upon courier to his uncle to persuade him to
submission, but the marabout was deaf to all his arguments, and always
returned the same answer—“I have ever been greater and holier than
thou, O Abd-el-Kader, and never will I acknowledge thee as my Sultan.
Send no more horsemen unto me for I will not pay tribute to thee.”
While these negotiations were going on, Abd-el-Kader called together
all the tribes on the banks of the Ouet Mina and the Schellif, but
they were unwilling to involve themselves in hostilities with their
neighbours. Scarce a hundred horsemen answered the summons, and these
nearly all took flight after the first day: those who remained were
watched and kept within the camp.
Desertion had already begun among the Sultan’s regular troops, and
a spirit of bitter discontent and depression reigned throughout the
camp. Several of the tribes, when threatened by Abd-el-Kader, replied
that they knew the way to Mostaganem, and that if he molested them
they would go and place themselves under the protection of the French.
Hereupon Abd-el-Kader seized the principal chiefs: four of them were
kept in the camp with their feet in irons; four others, chained
together by the neck, were thrown into prison at Mascara.
On the 8th of September a troop of horsemen brought nine Jews whom
they had seized in the environs of Mostaganem, and the heads of three
Turks whom they had killed. The Jews had been cruelly treated by the
Arabs; they were chained together by the throat, their feet were torn
and bruised, and their bodies covered with wounds. When they were
brought before the Sultan they resorted to a lie, (if indeed it be a
lie to deceive an enemy in order to save one’s life,) and said that
when the French took Mostaganem they had fled to Mascara with their
families and their possessions, that the French had forced them to
return to Mostaganem, and that they were again trying to escape to
Mascara when the horsemen seized them. The Sultan upon hearing this
bade them send for their property and their families, and return to
Mascara; adding, that if they obeyed, no harm should befall them, but
if not, that their heads should keep company with those of the three
Turks.
“Abd-el-Kader is great, powerful, and holy,” said the poor Jews; “and
we will go and dwell in Mascara with our wives, our children, and our
goods.”
The three Turks’ heads and that of the French soldier which the
Garraba had brought, were exhibited in front of the Sultan’s tent for
two days; on the third the children had them to play with, after which
they were thrown outside the camp to the birds of prey.
On the morning of the 10th of September Abd-el-Kader started, with
all his forces and the solitary cannon, to attack the Flitas and
Houledscherifs, leaving one man to each tent to guard the camp. The
insurgent tribes, who were prepared for an attack, had already sent
their women, children, and cattle up into the mountains, and the
Sultan found them drawn up in order of battle on the high mountain
which skirts the plain of Milianah, at the marabout nearest to the
Ouet Mina and the Schellif. The fight lasted the whole day, and the
cannon was fired seven or eight times, loaded with stones in default
of balls. In the evening Abd-el-Kader returned to the camp, bringing
back twelve dead and eight wounded. I never could obtain any precise
account of the result of the battle, but the dejection of the Sultan
and his troops plainly showed that they had not been victorious. The
horsemen brought back five heads and drove before them a troop of
women and children who had not been able to reach the mountains: the
unfortunate creatures were all thrown into the prisons of Mascara. One
man had been taken alive: he was brought before the Sultan as soon as
the latter had dismounted.
“Thou wert taken among the rebels?”
“I was.”
“What hast thou to say in thy defence?”
“I was compelled to fight against thee.”
“Thou shouldest then have fled to my camp.”
“But”—
“Enough.”
Abd-el-Kader raised his hand, and the unhappy man was dragged away by
the chaous. One of the chaous had lost his son in the battle, and had
seen his head hanging to the saddle-bow of a Beni-Flita: with tears
and lamentations he now implored the other chaous to grant him the
favour of putting the prisoner to death with his own unaided hand. He
at last obtained it, and immediately rushed upon the Beni-Flita, and
cut off his hands and feet with his yataghan. The children shouted
for joy at this horrid sight, and the revengeful father watched with
delight the hideous contortions of the victim who rolled in the dust
at his feet, shrieking with rage and pain, and imploring his tormenter
to cut off his head. When the Beni-Flita at length fainted from loss
of blood, the chaous passed a rope round his middle, and dragged him
by it outside the enclosure of the camp; the children brought together
a quantity of brushwood and dry branches, and set fire to them, and on
this pile the chaous threw the still living Beni-Flita.
It was night, and the flames threw a lurid glare upon the dark tents:
the piercing shrieks of the Beni-Flita long sounded through the camp.
I covered my head with my haick, and groaned when I thought that only
a few leagues from this savage camp were the outposts of a noble and
generous nation.
Within a few days of my arrival at Abd-el-Kader’s camp I was covered
with the lice with which the Arabs are infested. The Sultan himself
in the midst of the most serious discussion picks them off his haick,
rolls them gravely between his finger and thumb, and throws them upon
the carpet. These vermin are of a monstrous size, white with a black
stripe along the back, which swells with the blood they suck from
their unhappy victims. Fortunately for us, they did not much frequent
our hair and beards, but they laid their eggs in the seams of our
clothes, and were hatched upon us in myriads. The Arabs are so used
to them that they treated us with the greatest scorn when they saw
our efforts to rid ourselves of these tormenters. One day we asked
Abd-el-Kader to allow us to bathe in the Ouet Mina, in order to wash
off the vermin and the dust with which our bodies were covered. The
Sultan granted our request, and sent one of his negroes to protect us
against the Arabs. I cannot describe the pleasure of stretching our
weary and heated limbs in the clear cool water; but in two days the
dust and the lice were as bad as ever. We slept on the bare ground,
and as the nights were intensely cold we crept close to each other,
but as soon as the blood began to circulate at all in our benumbed
bodies the lice resumed their attacks, and we again sought the cold to
escape from their intolerable pricking.
On the day after the battle, the 11th of September, the camp was
raised at daybreak, and from sunrise till three o’clock, p.m., we
marched towards the south-east along horrible roads, over mountains
covered with gum trees, beeches, junipers, and ilexes.
Ben Faka pitched the camp on a fine _plateau_, from whence we could
see the traces of the habitations of the Beni-Flitas, who had joined
Abd-el-Kader’s uncle. As soon as the usual salute had been fired, the
horsemen, without even giving their horses time to breathe, started
in all directions, to plunder the silos of the Beni-Flitas. They soon
returned laden with wheat, barley, and straw, but no roast mutton or
kuskussu was brought that evening.
When Abd-el-Kader found that all the inhabitants of the district had
left it and joined the refractory marabout in the mountains, and that
he was in danger of wanting provisions, he determined to move the camp
again, and accordingly we marched for some days through a perfectly
deserted country.
At length, on the 17th of September, after a southward march of eight
hours, we came to an inhabited district. A few tribes brought some
horses and a little money to the Sultan, but these supplies were few
and scanty. An Arab came from Mascara with the news that General
Létang had left Oran, and that the Garrabas had taken a great number
of cattle and sheep from the Douairs. The loss sustained by the
Douairs caused great rejoicing in our camp, and the horsemen galloped
about firing their rifles in honour of the victorious Garrabas.
On the 19th of September the tents were again struck, and after five
hours’ march Ben Faka halted on the slope of a mountain just below a
marabout which was flanked by a tower at each corner. The surrounding
country was well peopled, and the fields covered with wheat and
barley. From the heights above us, one could see the tents of the
tribes dotted about the plain and the slope of the mountain.
At about six hours’ march from this place are the ruins of the ancient
city of Tekedemta, which Abd-el-Kader had long wished to rebuild; and,
with the view of obtaining from the neighbouring tribes provisions and
assistance of all kinds towards this undertaking, he now remitted to
them the payment of tribute, at the same time telling the Kaits that
he should expect to receive at Tekedemta all that they would otherwise
have brought to him now.
Next day, the 20th of September, we left the marabout with the four
towers and marched to the neighbourhood of Tekedemta. While the troops
were employed in preparing the tents, Abd-el-Kader mounted a fresh
horse, and went to visit the ruins, accompanied by a few marabouts.
We were now in the midst of high mountains covered with gum trees,
beeches, ilexes, and junipers, which by their size and number clearly
proved that it was very long since the Arabs inhabited this country;
for they soon destroy all the trees within their reach, partly by the
quantity of wood which they use both for cooking and for the bonfires
which they burn all night to keep off the wild beasts and to warm the
sentinels, and partly by their custom of clearing a path through the
forest by setting fire to the trees as they stand.
Several Moors from Mascara arrived on the same day as ourselves, with
fifty asses carrying baskets, pickaxes, shovels, and all kinds of
implements for building, and as soon as the Sultan returned to the
camp, he dispatched all the muleteers and some of his negroes to clear
the ground on which the ancient Casabah of Tekedemta had stood. On the
following day he sent a number of soldiers to go on with the clearing
and to build a redoubt.
All these workmen were unpaid, and ill-will and discontent soon
appeared among them, they went grumbling to their work, and the Sultan
was forced to superintend them in person, or nothing was done.
On the 26th an Arab courier brought Abd-el-Kader a letter from the
prisoners who had been taken at Trara-Sickak by General Bugeaud and
conveyed to France. The contents of the letter produced a great
sensation, and joy was painted on every face. The Sultan sent for me,
and said, “I have received a letter from my Arabs at Marseilles; the
Christians treat them kindly.”
“How then,” said I, “can a Sultan so great and holy as thou suffer us
to be treated so ill? The nights are cold among these mountains, and
whilst thy Arabs at Marseilles sleep on good mattresses, wrapped in
warm blankets, we have not even a rug to lie upon at night.”
Abd-el-Kader smiled graciously, and sent for Ben Faka, whom he
commanded to give us whatever we asked for, and first of all a rug to
sleep on at night.
CHAPTER VII.
Ruins of Tekedemta—Abd-el-Kader’s schemes—Attempt to convert
me—More tribute—Terms of exchange—Tumblers and Singers—Restoration
of Tekedemta.
On the morning of the 29th I begged the Sultan to allow Meurice and
myself to go and see the ruins of Tekedemta, and the works carried on
there by his troops. He told us to go without fear, and ordered one of
his negroes to accompany us. We accordingly started, and after walking
for half an hour we reached the ruins of Tekedemta. The ground on
which the city stood is very broken and without a trace of vegetation;
part of the wall of a fort was still standing, it was about ten feet
thick at the base, and a few feet from the ground it fell back to
the thickness of about seven feet. The wall was defended by nine
towers, the foundations of which were still to be seen: they were
without the line of the wall, but joined to it. The whole enclosure
is one thousand eight hundred feet long, by one thousand one hundred
and fifty feet broad. The remains within the fort prove that it was
filled with streets, shops, and houses. On a hill a few hundred yards
from the citadel, may be traced the foundation of the ancient Casabah
or Bey’s palace, surrounded by fortifications: on these foundations
Abd-el-Kader is going to build a new one. At the foot of the hill,
about ten minutes’ walk from these ruins, flows the Ouet Mina. The
site of the town is commanded by lofty mountains on every side, except
towards the west, where a gentle ascent leads up to it. A road runs
from hence to Mascara.
After examining the ruins, we went towards a redoubt which
Abd-el-Kader was constructing at a distance of two hundred yards to
the eastward of the Casabah, and there we found the Sultan with his
Chief Secretary, Ben Abu, and Milud-Ben-Arrach, reclining on the
earth, which had been thrown up in digging a ditch. There was nothing
in his costume to distinguish him from the common labourers: he wore a
huge hat plaited of the leaves of the dwarf palm tree, with brims full
three feet in circumference fastened with a worsted cord and tassels
to the crown, which was at least a foot and a half high and pointed at
the top.
He greeted us kindly, and motioned us to sit beside him: encouraged by
this gracious reception I ventured to ask him what were his projects
in rebuilding Tekedemta.
“My predecessors, who dwelt in this city,” replied he, “ruled from
Tunis to Morocco, and I will restore it to its ancient splendour;
I will gather together the tribes in this place, where we shall be
secure from the attacks of the French, and when all my forces are
collected I will descend from this steep rock like a vulture from his
nest, and drive the Christians out of Algiers, Oran and Bona: if,
indeed, you were content with those three cities I would suffer you
to remain there, for the sea is not mine and I have no ships; but you
want our plains and our inland cities and our mountains; nay, you even
covet our horses, our tents, our camels, and our women, and you leave
your own country to come and take that in which Mahomed has placed his
people. But your Sultan is not a saint and a horseman as I am, and
your horses will stumble and fall on our mountains, for they are not
sure-footed like our horses, and your soldiers will die of sickness,
and those whom the pestilence has spared will fall by the bullets of
the Arab horsemen, for you are dogs who never pray to God.”
I made no reply to this pompous harangue, but went to look at the
works. The men were digging a ditch to enclose an area of about fifty
square yards: they carried the earth which they dug out towards the
spot on which the redoubt was to stand, as we do in throwing up
blockhouses. This fort was intended to receive a garrison for the
protection of the workmen. It stands on a slope and is commanded by
the ruins of the ancient citadel and by a hill, so that even without
cannon the garrison might easily be forced to evacuate.
After taking a cursory view of these works, we returned to the
ruins of the citadel, still accompanied by the negro, who could not
understand what pleasure we could find in walking about among old
stones, and who kept muttering that we were “dogs” and “asses” all the
time that we were exploring.
At sunset we returned to the camp, where we heard a great uproar, and
soon discovered a crowd of Arabs fighting and struggling in the midst
of a dense cloud of dust: they were all rolling on the ground and
wrestling together, screaming, swearing, and abusing each other, while
the chaous were showering blows to the right and to the left upon them.
We hastened to our tent somewhat alarmed at the scuffle, and on asking
the cause of it, we heard that the chaous had been distributing barley
among the horsemen, and that a few measures had been left over: the
Arabs instantly rushed upon them, and in their efforts to seize a few
handfuls of barley they made the riot we had seen.
I was sitting in the tent waiting for supper, when one of
Abd-el-Kader’s cousins, a marabout, hastily entered. “I am sent by the
Sultan,” said he, “to ask whether thou wilt embrace the true faith and
remain among us, and to tell thee that if thou wilt, he will make thee
as powerful as himself.”
I replied, that I wished to return to my own people.
“Thou shalt have women, horses, arms, and plenty of powder, and thou
shalt be as rich, as great, and as powerful as the Sultan himself.”
“If,” said I, “the Sultan will give me the command of a ship I will
become a Mahomedan, and I will go to the coast of Cherchell to fish
for coral with the Italian prisoners, and we will enrich the Sultan.”
I suppose the marabout guessed where I should really go if my
conditions were accepted, for he left the tent without saying another
word.
While we were at the ruins, the tribes who dwelt at half a day’s
march from Tekedemta had brought kuskussu and a roasted sheep, and
the people of Milianah, all kinds of fruit. Ben Faka regaled us
sumptuously with white bread, fruit, and a roast leg of mutton. The
white loaves were brought to the camp every day by the tribes, and
were the only pay given to Abd-el-Kader’s workmen.
Just as I was ending my splendid repast, Ben Faka came to me with
Abd-el-Kader’s command to go his tent. I hastened to obey the
summons, full of the hope of liberty. The Sultan received me as usual,
with enquiries after my health, after which he commanded me to write
to General Rapatel, and to ask him whether he would give in exchange
for me three of the Arab prisoners at Marseilles, to be selected by
Abd-el-Kader. I refused to write unless the Sultan would at the same
time name a ransom for my fellow-prisoners, and for Lanternier and
the four women at Droma. After a very long discussion he agreed to
exchange Meurice, the three Italians and myself, against twenty Arabs,
but he refused to give up the women at all, and as I knew that poor
Lanternier would not thank me for separating him from his wife and
daughter I did not mention him in my letter to the General. When I
had finished it the Sultan asked me whether I would not write to my
family, and perceiving my hesitation, he assured me that I might write
without fear for that no one should read my letter. I accordingly put
both letters into the same cover, sealed them with a huge seal, and
saw the Sultan give them to a man from Milianah, with orders to take
them straight to Algiers.
I returned to the tent in high spirits to tell Meurice what I had
done; the poor fellow laughed, wept, and thanked me all at once: we
talked of our country and of our friends, and promised to stand by
each other in good as well as in evil fortune, for we already looked
upon our deliverance as certain. We were about to lie down to sleep,
full of these delightful thoughts, when we found that our rug was
gone. I should have complained to Abd-el-Kader, but he was at his
prayers, so we were forced to stretch ourselves on the bare ground.
The cold was piercing, and in the middle of the night a violent storm
came on, so that before morning we were soaked to the skin.
On the 29th, Abd-el-Kader sent Milud-Ben-Arrach with the cavalry
towards Mostaganem to reconnoitre, and gave us leave to revisit the
ruins of Tekedemta. Some of the workmen were carting stones to build
the Casabah, others preparing clay to serve as mortar, and others
again finishing the redoubt. The neighbouring tribes came every day
with provisions and oxen laden with wood, and a party of Moors was
sent to burn lime at the nearest spot at which it could be found,
about half a day’s journey from Tekedemta. At about a hundred and
fifty paces to the east of the Casabah, some soldiers were busied
in clearing a very large old vaulted cistern, which Abd-el-Kader
has since turned into a general ammunition store; in order to avert
suspicion, he has bricked up the door and built a sort of guardroom
on the top. The tools were all very bad, with the exception of a few
picks and shovels that had been stolen from us. The ditch varied
in breadth and depth, and the slopes were uneven; and although the
redoubt stood on a declivity, there was no opening to carry off the
water; the earth was only bound together with branches of gum tree and
oleander, and as the winters are very severe in these mountains it is
more than probable that by this time the rain has washed the slopes
into the ditch and that the Sultan’s redoubt is reduced to a heap of
mud.
We saw the three Italians at work here, upon which I expostulated
with the Sultan, and represented to him that they were sailors and
not labourers, and that moreover he was not at war with the nation
to which they belonged; but he replied that they must earn their
food, and that he was at war with every nation, for that as he had
no seaports their friendship was useless to him, and that he was the
greatest and most powerful of all Sultans, and feared no one.
On returning to the camp we found that a party of tumblers had arrived
there and were performing for the amusement of the soldiers, who
watched them with great attention. But we had other diversions besides
this; every evening an Arab crouching in front of Abd-el-Kader’s tent,
sang for hour after hour. I never could catch all the words, but the
following phrases were constantly repeated to a monotonous tune—
“The Sultan is great, but Mahomed is yet greater.”
“The Sultan is very great, he is generous, brave, and holy.”
“The marabouts of Mecca are very great and holy.”
“The Sultan has fine horses; the Sultan has many horses, and they are
all excellent.”
“The Sultan has immense treasures and much powder.”
“The Arabs have fruitful plains; they have mountains covered with
trees, and many rivers flow from them.”
“We have beautiful women.”
“Our horses are fleet: no other horses can keep up with them.”
“Our camels are very strong; we have great herds of cattle and sheep.”
“Our guns are very good.”
“We have powder—plenty of powder.”
“Let us pray that all Christian dogs may perish.”
“Plenty of powder.”
The soldiers flocked round the singer and listened with deep interest
to this patriotic and religious hymn.
A marabout, a friend of Ben Faka’s, came nearly every evening to our
tent, and sang for hours in the same style; but his voice was so harsh
and shrill, and the burden of his song so tedious, that one of our
chief annoyances was the having our ears assailed for such a length of
time by his deafening psalmody.
On the 2nd of October it froze even within the tents in this
mountainous region, and there was no grass left for the camels near
Tekedemta; accordingly the Sultan sent them to the table land to the
southward where there was excellent pasture. These mountains abound
in game of every kind, which the soldiers caught and ate unknown to
Abd-el-Kader. The market established by the Sultan at Tekedemta is
well supplied with game, and with fish from the Ouet Mina which is
full of them, and of a sort of tortoise which lives in the mud and
is equally disagreeable to the taste and the smell, whereas the land
tortoises, which are nearly as numerous, are delicious when properly
cooked.
Abd-el-Kader carried on the works at the redoubt with great ardour;
fifty workmen were constantly employed upon them. To celebrate the
inauguration of the new Tekedemta, the Sultan had the cannon brought
to the redoubt, where it was loaded with stones and fired off three
times, but so unskilfully that the stones flew into the midst of the
camp to the great peril both of man and beast. At each discharge the
marabouts and the workmen cried out “The Sultan is great!”
Abd-el-Kader has since sent seven cannons from Mascara to Tekedemta:
they were old Spanish six and eight pounders, which had all been
spiked, and were mounted on very bad carriages of Arab manufacture.
Fifteen or twenty families have emigrated from Mascara to Tekedemta,
at the Sultan’s command: but it will not be easy to induce the whole
population of Mascara to leave their habitations and to settle in a
cold, unhealthy spot to which all provisions must be fetched on mules
from the distance of a day’s journey, and where they consequently are
very dear. Abd-el-Kader hopes to breathe new life into these remains
of past greatness and splendor, but the descendants of the men who
founded and built this city are unable to tell the prisoner or the
traveller so much as the very name of the Sultans who had their
capital in these mountains.
CHAPTER VIII.
Marches—The five marabouts—Cards and chess—Night march—The
Sultan’s arrival at the camp—His wife—Female camp—Zaka the
cup-bearer—Abd-el-Kader’s Court of Justice.
On the 30th of September, at sunrise, Abd-el-Kader gave the signal of
departure. After a march of two hours we reached a desert country; the
road was extremely bad, and frequently broken by ravines. To our left
ran a long chain of wooded mountains, which we had not yet left behind
us, when Ben Faka ordered a halt, and pitched the camp on the banks of
the Ouet Mina.
The next day, the 1st of October, whilst I was watching the negroes
who were taking down the Sultan’s tent and loading it on the mules,
I saw Ben Faka with three haicks under his arm, followed by three
Italian prisoners. I went towards them and asked whither they were
going, but before they had time to answer me Ben Faka, in a voice
broken by rage, commanded me to leave them, and to mount my mule. I
was struck with a sinister presentiment as to the fate of the three
unhappy prisoners. From afar I saw Ben Faka give them the haicks, of
which they had long stood in need, as they had nothing to wear but
their ragged shirts. My three companions in misfortune then took the
road to Tekedemta. The Sultan sent them to the works there, and it was
only by his especial orders that Ben Faka had given them the haicks.
At Tekedemta the poor fellows were exposed to every kind of privation
and ill usage; one of them sunk under it. The two survivors afterwards
gave me an account of their sufferings, which would appear incredible
to any one who did not know the Arabs as well as I do. This separation
was most painful to me; we had endured together hunger, cold, insults,
and blows; we had talked together of our sorrows, our hopes, and our
hatred of the Arabs.
We started at daybreak, and marched eastward, still keeping the chain
of mountains on our left. After a march of three hours, Ben Faka
pitched the camp on the left bank of the Ouet Mina, upon a _plateau_
covered with empty silos. Not a tent or even a single Arab was to be
seen: the horsemen were obliged to ride for three or four hours in
search of barley for their horses.
On the 4th of October we again struck our camp, and marched to within
half a league of the wooded mountains I have mentioned above. Ben Faka
pitched the camp on a small plain by the side of a stream which runs
into the Ouet Mina. This plain is uncultivated, and in the winter
it is so overflowed by the Ouet Mina as to look like a lake. It is
covered with shrubs resembling the sweet briar, which bear a fruit
like the medlar, only smaller, and containing a kernel. Like all the
shrubs of this country, these swarm with large white snails and slugs
enough to feed an army for some days. Next day we continued our march
westward, bearing a few degrees to the north. We quitted the banks of
the Ouet Mina, but the wooded mountain was still to our left.
After six hours’ march we halted on a _plateau_ covered with heaps of
stones which looked like the ruins of a town: but Abd-el-Kader and his
marabouts told us they had never heard of the existence of one on that
spot.
On the 6th of October, after a march of two hours, the camp was
pitched on a _plateau_ at the eastern extremity of the plain of
Mascara, at a place called Teknifil. Near it, on five hillocks, stand
five marabouts. Here we heard that the French had sent an expedition
from Oran, and that General Létang was marching on El-Borgj, a village
two leagues to the north of Teknifil. Abd-el-Kader immediately went to
El-Borgj with all his cavalry, and forced the inhabitants to abandon
it. Next day the baggage, the flocks, the women, and children of the
Borgia tribe were scattered about the plain, and orders were likewise
sent to the inhabitants of Mascara, which is four leagues from
Teknifil, to abandon the place. We stayed at Teknifil a fortnight,
during which time Abd-el-Kader gathered together all the tribes that
remained faithful to him, and when his army amounted to five or six
thousand he followed the French to the plains of Macta. Every day
couriers arrived at the camp with false news, either that the French
were surrounded on all sides, or that they had been cut to pieces by
the Sultan. The Arabs announced the news to us, and accompanied it by
blows, abuse, and menaces of death. Moreover, we were half starved,
and the hopes with which Abd-el-Kader’s kindness had inspired us were
now turned into despair.
Our days seemed long and gloomy: the Arabs maltreated us, and
separated Meurice and me from the coral fishers. We had talked so
long of our hopes, our home, and our families, that these subjects
were quite worn out. At last, in order to pass the time, I set to
work to make a chess board and a pack of cards. I stole a board from
one of the powder chests (which it was my great amusement to water,
at the risk of my life), and divided it into squares: I then cut some
chess men out of branches of oleander: I also stole a few sheets of
paper, for which Ben Faka beat me with a stick, and made a pack of
cards of them. My knaves were jockeys with pipes in their mouths, and
red, green, and white jackets; the queens were ladies dressed in the
European fashion,—one with a bonnet, another with a foulard, another
with hair dressed _à la Chinoise_, and the fourth with long ringlets
in the English style; the kings had huge crowns on their heads. Ben
Faka and Ben Abu, who had the care of Abd-el-Kader’s tent during his
absence, sent Meurice and me to guard it during great part of the day;
for Christians and slaves as we were, they trusted us far more than
the Arabs. The cushions and the sofa had been removed, and we were
especially commanded to touch nothing in the tent, as the touch of a
Christian would defile anything belonging to the Sultan. We lay on
the carpet of this august and holy dwelling, and played at chess and
picquet. The marabouts, in spite of their horror of any representation
of the human face or figure, were struck with admiration at the
accuracy with which I had copied the European costume in my knaves and
queens. They were very anxious to understand the game of picquet, and
overpowered us with questions about every card we played. Their cards
are quite different to ours, and I have seen draughts in their _cafés_
but no chess boards, though one day when Abd-el-Kader saw me playing
at chess with Meurice, he said, “My grandfather used sometimes to
play with pieces like those on a draught board.”
On the 20th of October, after a halt of fourteen days at the five
marabouts, during which time we were exposed to threats, blows, and
cruel privations, the tents were struck. A courier arrived at the
camp, in the middle of the night, with the news that the French were
marching towards Oran, and that the Sultan would be at Mascara on the
morning of the 21st. In spite of the lateness of the hour (it was
midnight) Ben Faka ordered the troops and the baggage to set out.
There was a thick fog, and we suffered cruelly from the cold and damp,
which I am sure laid the seeds of the illness under which poor Meurice
finally sank. Meurice and I were mounted on the mules which carried
the Sultan’s coffers. Each quarter of an hour we heard the voice of
Ben Faka calling through the darkness, “France! Meurice! are you on
your mules?” “Yes.” “Don’t get down, and above all don’t change with
any of the horsemen.” “Never fear.” Ben Faka’s uneasiness was not
without cause: he was responsible for any disorder that might happen
during the march, and he was always afraid that if we quitted our
mules the soldiers of the escort would pillage the Sultan’s treasure;
for dogs and Christians as we were, Ben Faka knew that we were more
trustworthy than the proud Arab warriors. With the first rays of the
sun, we arrived with all the treasure safe at the pretty town of
Mascara.
The camp was pitched at the foot of the mountain which bounds the
plain of Mascara on the north. A little stream, whose banks were
covered with oleanders, ran through the midst of it. Mascara stands in
the centre of a mountain gorge, on a steep and precipitous hill; the
white and cheerful-looking houses are surrounded by a perfect grove of
fig trees, and a few graceful poplars and slender minarets rise like
lances among them. The view was so charming that I stole a sheet of
paper and went outside the camp to sketch it. But I had scarce begun,
when a mounted chaous rode up to me and gave me a blow with his stick.
To avoid a repetition of it, I ran back to the tent with my unfinished
sketch.
A courier brought the news of Abd-el-Kader’s arrival at the camp, and
the infantry instantly armed and went about ten minutes’ march towards
Mascara, where it drew up in two lines. Presently the cavalry arrived
at full gallop, and was drawn up by Muftar in two bodies behind the
infantry. As soon as Abd-el-Kader had passed them, the last soldiers,
both horse and foot, quitted the line, and ran to place themselves in
two rows before his tent. As he entered it, three discharges of cannon
from Mascara announced the Sultan’s return to the neighbouring tribes.
The soldiers kept up a constant firing in honour of the great victory
which the Sultan had gained over the French.
All that day the camp was in a state of great confusion; horsemen
belonging to the adjacent tribes were continually coming and going,
and feeding their horses in the camp: this, added to the cries of
joy and exultation, and the incessant galloping and firing of the
soldiers, produced an indescribable tumult and clamour.
At sunset Abd-el-Kader mounted his horse, accompanied by a few
marabouts and the thirty negroes, and rode to his wife’s tent, which
is pitched three or four miles to the south of Mascara, on a spot near
which Abd-el-Kader has a garden and a marabout.
The chiefs who accompany the Sultan also have tents for their wives
and families at the same place, where there is a sort of female camp.
That inhabited by Abd-el-Kader’s wife is woven of black camel hair.
The Sultan is said to be a most tender husband, and his conduct proves
the truth of the report, for he has not a single concubine. His wife
is very pretty; her tall slender figure is seen to great advantage
under the graceful folds of her haick, which is girded round her
middle with a red worsted cord. The Arabs usually like large fat
women, but Abd-el-Kader’s taste is different. Though often absent from
his wife for three or four months at a time, his attachment to her
remains unchanged. Even from the banks of the Ouet Mina he frequently
sent her presents of fruit, butter, honey, and other rarities. He
has had one daughter by her; and though it was asserted that she
was delivered of a boy on the very day on which the French entered
Mascara, I do not believe it; for if Abd-el-Kader really had a son I
am sure the Arabs would have told me so. During the night the thirty
negroes keep watch round the tent that nothing may disturb the repose
of Abd-el-Kader and his wife; and during their absence from the camp,
a guard of foot soldiers supplies their place around the Sultan’s tent.
In the middle of the night a man peeped cautiously out of the
Sultan’s tent, darted out, and tried to make his escape; but the
sentinels who were not asleep seized him. It was Zaka, an old negro
slave, and Abd-el-Kader’s cup-bearer. He had long been used to take
advantage of the moments during which the Sultan left his tent to
enter it and rob his treasure. The thirty negroes, either blinded
by the confidence with which his high functions inspired him, or
unwilling to denounce their comrade, had never stopped him, although
they had frequently seen him leave the tent at undue hours, and during
the absence of the Sultan. But the Arab soldiers were much less
accommodating; and when Abd-el-Kader returned to the camp at sunrise
they brought Zaka before him, together with several sultani (a silver
coin) found on his person.
The coffee-sellers deposed, that Zaka had for a long time been in
the habit of spending a great deal of money in their booths, and of
treating his friends there daily. Haicks, bernouses, yataghans, and
splendid pistols were found in his tent; and every one knew that his
means were small and uncertain. Abd-el-Kader ordered him to be put
in irons for an unlimited time; and he was brought to our tent, and
placed under the guard of his friend Ben Faka. As the punishment
promised to last very long, the chaous struck a nail through the bar
which joins the irons, instead of securing it with a padlock.
Ben Faka was presently summoned to his duties in Abd-el-Kader’s tent;
and after his departure Zaka crept to the further extremity of the
tent, threw himself on the ground like a man overcome with fatigue,
and pretended to sleep. Meurice watched all his movements with great
attention, “The negro is trying to escape,” said he. “He is asleep,”
I replied; “besides, both his feet are hampered.” “Say rather, he is
pretending to sleep,” answered Meurice; “only watch his proceedings.”
Zaka took down a rifle which he laid across two bales; he then pulled
off his black bernouse, hung it over the gun, and crouched down
behind it. I left the tent, and soon after saw him slowly cross the
camp, wrapped in his white haick, and hiding his face. As soon as he
had reached the limits of the camp he took to his heels, and soon
disappeared among the fig trees on the mountain.
When Ben Faka returned to the tent, and found that the prisoner for
whom he was personally responsible had escaped, he flew into a
violent passion, and loaded us with blows and abuse, for not having
prevented Zaka’s flight. A hundred horsemen mounted immediately,
and rode in all directions in pursuit of him. Ben Faka was anxious
to conceal the escape of Zaka from the Sultan, as he hoped that the
fugitive would be retaken before the news of his flight could reach
Abd-el-Kader. But the horsemen had not returned when a chaous summoned
him into the presence of the Sultan. As Ben Faka was going towards
the tent he met Zaka in the midst of an escort of horsemen, with his
hands tied behind his back; he took possession of his prisoner, and
went with him to the Sultan’s tent. Without further enquiry, the
Sultan condemned Zaka to be put in irons for an indefinite time, and
to receive six hundred blows a day with a stick, for three successive
days; two hundred at seven in the morning, two hundred at noon, and
two hundred at night; in all one thousand eight hundred blows in three
days. Zaka was instantly brought before our tent, and laid flat upon
his face; two of his friends held the skirts of his bernouse, while
the chaous administered to him the first two hundred blows.
The important post which Zaka had filled, joined to his munificence,
had gained him many friends, to whose zeal he now entirely owed his
life. He could not possibly have survived the one thousand eight
hundred blows well laid on, but the chaous took care not to hit very
hard, and the Arabs who held the skirts of his bernouse stretched them
so tight, as considerably to deaden the force of the blows. When the
chaous had administered the first two hundred, Zaka was brought into
our tent, where his friends busied themselves in kneading and chafing
his whole body, and in warming him; and Ben Faka, who now remembered
nothing but his former friendship, loaded him with attentions and gave
him coffee. By degrees Zaka recovered, but he was not released from
his irons, and at the time of my departure he was still stretched
upon the ground, vainly expecting each day the Sultan’s order for his
release.
The Sultan administers justice in a very simple and expeditious
manner. The contending parties are brought to his tent, where the
accuser first makes his complaint; the witnesses, if there be any,
are then examined, after which the accused makes his defence. Both
accusation and defence, like all Arab explanations, are long-winded
and clamorous. When the pleadings are at an end, the Sultan decides
singly, and without appeal. Without saying a word, he condemns the
guilty to any kind of punishment by signs to the chaous. He raises
his hand, and the accused is carried to prison; he holds it out
horizontally, and the accused is led beyond the limits of the camp,
and his head is cut off by the chaous; he bends his hand towards the
earth, and the accused is dragged away and bound, laid flat upon the
earth, and beaten with a stick. The Sultan usually determines the
number of blows; if he omits to do so, it is left to the discretion of
the chaous.
Most of the complaints and accusations are of thefts, a crime
exceedingly common among the Arabs, and generally treated with great
leniency, especially by Abd-el-Kader, who is neither cruel nor
vindictive.
CHAPTER IX.
Offers of exchange—Report of the death of the King of
France—Festivities—Sham fight—Two French soldiers—M.
Lanternier—Meurice gets worse—Baths at Mascara—Lanternier’s
prison—His wife and daughter sent to the Emperor of Morocco—Little
Benedicto.
One evening at sunset, when Meurice and I returned to our tent, after
spending the day in a garden near the camp, Ben Faka told me that
the Sultan desired to see me. I went to his tent, where he gave me
two letters, one for Meurice and the other from General Rapatel for
myself. I opened the latter, and informed the Sultan of its contents,
which were to this effect: General Rapatel offered Abd-el-Kader the
choice of ten Arab prisoners, in exchange for the six Frenchmen and
Italians, and ten others in exchange for Mahomed Ben Hussein, the
ex-Bey of Medeah; adding, that the European prisoners might be sent
at once to some French town, and that Abd-el-Kader should receive
the Arabs in exchange for them immediately upon their return from
Marseilles.
At this sentence Abd-el-Kader smiled, and said “You shall go as soon
as my Arabs arrive at the camp.”
The Bey of Medeah, who was our ally, had been taken prisoner by the
Bey of Milianah, loaded with chains, and thrown into the dungeons of
Ouchda, a town on the frontier of Morocco, where he still languishes,
exposed to the most cruel treatment, and in constant danger of being
starved to death by his inhuman gaolers.
After consulting the marabouts who surrounded him, Abd-el-Kader
ordered me to write word, that he demanded twenty prisoners in
exchange for the six Europeans, and that he would give up the Bey of
Medeah in exchange for all the prisoners at Marseilles. I remonstrated
with him on the unreasonableness of his terms, and suggested that he
should split the difference, and take fifteen Arabs as ransom for
us. To this he agreed, and I wrote to the General and to my family.
As I was sealing the letters, Abd-el-Kader said, that he hoped I had
written all that I wished to say; and that I should not be deterred
by fear of his displeasure from writing anything that I saw, or from
expressing any opinion upon his manner of treating his prisoners;
“For,” said he, “a Sultan so great and holy as I fears no one upon
earth.”
I hastened to take Meurice his wife’s letter, and to inform him of the
favourable dispositions of Abd-el-Kader; and I had the satisfaction
of seeing him fall asleep with a smile on his face. I crept close to
him to warm his frozen limbs; but the night was so cold, that in the
morning when we wanted to rise Meurice’s legs were benumbed, and he
was forced to lie upon the ground. All his blood had rushed to his
head, which caused him the most violent pain. At about eleven o’clock
I carried him out into the sunshine, in hopes that the warmth might do
him good.
On the 28th of October Abd-el-Kader received a letter from Morocco,
announcing the death of the King of France. I believe that the Emperor
of Morocco meant Charles X., but Abd-el-Kader thought it was Louis
Philippe, and immediately spread a report that the King of the French
had been assassinated, that a civil war had broken out in France, and
that all the troops stationed at Algiers were about to be recalled.
This news excited universal joy; the troops prepared to celebrate
the retreat of the French in a manner worthy of the greatness of the
occasion, and three whole days were spent in festivities, both at
Mascara and in the camp. These consisted chiefly in sham fights, in
which the first division of cavalry, dressed in bluejackets and red
trowsers, and without haicks or bernouses, represented the French, and
were headed by Abd-el-Kader; the second, with their flowing haicks
and bernouses, were the Arabs. The two troops were drawn up at a
considerable distance from each other.
Abd-el-Kader first detached ten of his French corps as skirmishers,
who were met by the same number of the opposite party. The assailants
on both sides started at a foot’s pace, and by degrees urged on their
horses to a gallop. When they were within five-and-twenty paces of
each other, they shouted “Ah! ah! ah!” fired off their rifles, waved
their haicks and bernouses, drew their sabres, and acted a fight hand
to hand. Ten more horsemen were then detached from each troop, and
galloped into the midst of the mêlée, whereupon the first two bands
retreated to their respective posts, while the others continued the
fight. Sometimes the forty horsemen kept up the struggle, until the
arrival of fresh auxiliaries on one side turned the chances against
the other, who then retreated at full gallop, brandishing their
sabres, firing off their rifles, and uttering loud cries. Then a
pursuit was acted, till both parties had galloped enough, and returned
to their stations. At one moment the confusion became excessive; the
mêlée was thick and violent, bernouses fluttered, sabres flashed, and
a cloud of dust concealed the combatants, whose fierce wild shouts
rung in our ears. Suddenly the drums on both sides beat the recall,
and the chiefs restored order; the horsemen gave a few moments of
rest to their horses, and then the racing and struggling, the strange
evolutions and single combats began again with as much vehemence as
ever.
This military spectacle invariably terminates with the defeat of
the French. When Abd-el-Kader thinks it time to put an end to the
exercises, he plunges into the thick of the mêlée; two Arabs then
seize his horse by the bridle, one on each side, and lead the Sultan
away captive to his tent, amid shouts of triumph and enthusiasm.
Abd-el-Kader, casting around him proud glances on his followers wrapt
in admiration of his warlike grace, makes his horse prance and rear
till it stands upright, while the Sultan smiles complacently, as much
as to say “Am not I a horseman indeed?”
“And so you are, my fine Sultan,” said I to myself; “but you would not
be quite so cock-a-hoop on an English saddle, for all that.”
On the third and last day of this warlike exhibition Ben Faka came
to me with a swaggering air and said, “There has been a battle at
Tlemsen; the Kalifah has beaten the French, and taken a great number
of prisoners, whom he is going to send to the Sultan, so you will soon
have plenty of companions.”
“I believe,” said I, “that you are as much deceived now as you were
when you told me that Ahmed Bey had taken Bona.”
Meanwhile, poor Meurice got worse every day, and I spent most of my
time in rubbing his aching limbs, and in endeavouring to warm his
frozen legs and feet against my breast, and to relieve the burning
pain in his head, by wetting my hands, and then laying them on his
forehead. I was thus occupied when Ben Faka returned to the tent, and
said to me with an insulting laugh, “Come and look at the Christian
prisoners whom the Kalifah took at Tlemsen, and has sent to the
Sultan.”
I left the tent without answering Ben Faka, and saw two unfortunate
soldiers, half naked, barefooted, and in a state of indescribable
wretchedness, whom the chaous were driving along with their sticks,
just as a butcher goads the tired beasts to the slaughter-house. They
halted before the Sultan’s tent, and I attempted to approach, in order
to question them, but was immediately driven away by the chaous.
I went back to Meurice, and was telling him what had passed when
Ben Faka brought the two new prisoners into our tent, and gave each
of them a haick. I beckoned them to draw near, and asked them their
names, the regiments to which they belonged, and where they came from.
“My name is Bourgeois,” replied the first; “I am an old soldier in the
eleventh, and my comrade Fleury is an ex-soldier of the sixty-sixth;
we both belong to the battalion at Tlemsen.”
“Has there been a fight there then?” said I.
“None whatever, Sir. I will tell you how it was. The Bedouins had
pressed hard upon the town for some time, and no provisions could be
brought to market, and so you see the garrison was put upon short
commons. One’s appetite grows with eating, they say; but I assure you
it grows much faster with an empty stomach; and one morning, when
Fleury and I were more sharp set than usual, we bethought ourselves
that we would go and forage like the Bedouins. There were plenty of
fruit trees outside the town, and so, without more ado, we went out
to make a meal off them. After eating our fill, we were going back to
the town again; but we had reckoned without our host. The Bedouins
caught us like larks in a snare; and not content with having taken
us prisoners, they have given us the strappado the whole way. They
say, to be sure, that Abd-el-Kader has given orders to take as many
prisoners as possible, and not to cut their heads off, and I suppose
that is the only reason why ours are still upon our shoulders; but
they have treated us brutally. However, now that we are come to
Abd-el-Kader’s royal palace, as you may say, I hope we shall not be
quite so ill-used. But, Lieutenant, if you write to the Governor
please don’t forget just to speak a word for Bourgeois and Fleury, for
these quarters are not at all to our liking.”
I assured my fellow-sufferers that I would not forget them; and that
very evening, with Abd-el-Kader’s permission, I wrote to inform
General Rapatel of their arrival, and to ask for six Arab prisoners in
exchange for them.
Our new companions fully sympathised in my anxiety about Meurice’s
health, and forgot their own sufferings to assist me in nursing him.
On the next morning Ben Faka, in the same conceited and scornful tone
in which he had announced the arrival of the prisoners from Tlemsen,
informed me that another prisoner was being brought before the Sultan.
We went outside the tent, where we saw a French prisoner led past us.
He was about fifty years of age; a long beard and thick moustache of
a light colour hung dirty and matted over his naked breast; a ragged
shirt covered his shoulders, which, with a pair of soldiers trowser’s
full of holes, and a grey hat all crushed and battered, completed
his costume. The blood which dropped from the wounds on his feet and
legs marked his path. A noisy and cruel escort of children, which
had followed him from the outskirts of the town, never ceased from
tormenting him with blows, or with throwing stones: clotted black
gore dropped from several deep cuts in his head. I endeavoured to get
near him, for Meurice, whom we had brought out in front of the tent,
had recognised M. Lanternier, but the chaous drove me back with their
sticks, and the prisoner was hurried past us, and dragged before
Abd-el-Kader, amid the acclamations of the crowd.
At the sight of this unhappy man Abd-el-Kader was touched with pity,
and ordered Ben Faka to give him a haick and a pair of slippers,
and to conduct him to our tent. But the chaous who had escorted him
exclaimed, that the Christian dog had refused to obey their orders,
and that he ought therefore to be sent to prison. In vain did the
unhappy man implore Abd-el-Kader’s mercy, and lament his separation
from his wife and daughter in the most heart-rending words.
Abd-el-Kader, unmoved by his anguish, commanded the chaous to take
him to the prison at Mascara, but to keep him separate from the Arab
prisoners, who might otherwise ill-use him.
The unfortunate man was about to renew his entreaties for mercy, but
his mouth was stopped by a blow. He passed before our tent, but we
were not allowed to address to him a single word of consolation. As
he passed us his eyes filled with tears, and anguish and despair were
painted in his countenance. He slackened his pace for a moment to look
at us; but the chaous beat him, and the children attacked him with
abuse and with stones, one of which made a deep wound in his head—the
blood gushed forth in a torrent, and the poor victim staggered; but
his pitiless tormentors drove him on before them. I withdrew into the
tent to hide my tears, and was soon followed by the other prisoners:
we all wept together.
Meurice’s state became more alarming every day. Bourgeois and Fleury
chafed his limbs, and laid rags soaked in cold water upon his burning
temples, whilst I went to the tent of Ben Faka’s coffee-maker, where I
heated his slippers and some of his rags, which I placed upon his legs
and feet while still hot. With inconceivable difficulty we made him
some barley-water, but he drank it with disgust, because it was not
sweetened. He wished to go to Mascara, to take a vapour bath, which he
fancied would cure him; and I accordingly obtained an interview with
Abd-el-Kader, and asked his permission to allow me to accompany him
thither, which he granted for the next day. I then asked him for some
sugar for Meurice, which he immediately ordered Ben Faka to give me.
Next morning Abd-el-Kader lent us one of his baggage mules and a negro
called Hassan, to take Meurice to Mascara. I led the mule by the
bridle, and Hassan got up behind the sick man, and supported him in
his arms. We were also accompanied by the army surgeon, called Tussis,
who had studied medicine at Tunis, though not to much purpose, for he
was extremely ignorant.
I went into the bath with Meurice, and undressed him, for he was
unable to move. I had intended to take a bath myself, but the dirt
and stench of the place made it impossible to me. I then went to the
Kait of Mascara, and asked leave to see M. Lanternier, which the Kait
refused. On hearing my disappointment, Hassan told me that he would go
and find out his prison, and conduct me to it. I returned to Meurice
in the meantime, and found him in a state of perfect despair, as the
Arabs had refused to shampoo him, for fear of defiling themselves by
touching a Christian. Fortunately Jean Mardulin, a French deserter,
came to his assistance, and shampooed him as well as he was able:
he then dressed him, and wrapped him in two or three rugs, which
the Sultan had given him for the purpose. Meanwhile I went to fetch
Tussis, who was to bleed the sick man; but Tussis referred me to a
barber, who spoke pretty good Spanish. When I had explained to him
what I wanted, he took his basin and razor, a glass, fire, and paper,
and followed us to the baths. He first shaved the back of Meurice’s
head, made several incisions in it with the razor, and then covered it
with a glass, under which he placed several pieces of lighted paper.
The blood flowed freely, and Meurice found himself somewhat relieved.
Tussis watched his proceedings with great attention, and seemed to
me to be taking a lesson in practical surgery, whilst he affected to
consider the operation of too little importance for the exercise of
his own skill.
We were now ordered to leave the bath, as the time appropriated to the
women was come. Mardulin and I wrapped Meurice in the rugs from head
to foot, and carried him to the hospital, where we left him to sleep
till it was time to return to the camp. I had been very hot in the
bath, and on leaving it I felt a chill. As soon as Meurice was asleep
I went out into the public square, and laid myself upon the ground in
the sun. Before long I saw Hassan, who beckoned to me mysteriously to
follow him. We crossed the square, and stopped before a house, the
door of which was open. “That,” said he, “is Lanternier’s prison; but
take care you are not caught, or you will be beaten.”
I have already said, that the door of the house was open; within it
was an iron grating. At the distance of about two feet (_i. e._ the
thickness of the wall) was another door, with a second iron grating,
within which were crowded the Arab prisoners with no air or light but
what the grating admitted. Between the two gratings, like a wild beast
in a cage, was Lanternier, crouching on the ground, covered with
rags, pale and emaciated. The dirt and disorder in his person, and the
expression of stupid despondency in his countenance, showed what he
must have endured. His eyes glared with a sort of feverish brightness.
I drew near, and told him who I was. He described to me his
misfortunes, the sufferings of his wife and daughter, the ill-usage he
had received from the chaous. He said that his prison was horrible;
that it was only cleaned once a week; and that at night, when the
outer door was shut, he was almost suffocated by the stench of the
inner room, from which he was only separated by the grating; that
he received no food but a bit of barley cake in the morning, and a
handful of boiled barley at night; and that he must have died of
hunger, but for the kindness of Mardulin, who brought him a bit of
white bread and some snuff every morning. He implored me to intercede
for him with Abd-el-Kader, that he might be allowed to go to the camp
to the other Christian prisoners.
The sentinel now began to look at me suspiciously, and I departed,
overwhelmed with grief. My mental sufferings, combined with the chill
which had seized me on coming out of the bath made me ill, and I
followed the mule, on which Hassan had placed Meurice, with tottering
steps. When I awoke next morning, I was as ill as Meurice; my legs
were frozen, my head ached violently, and I was unable to stand.
Bourgeois was indefatigable in rendering every assistance in his power
to both of us.
On the 2nd of November some Arabs brought from Mascara three of the
frames upon which are stretched the haicks which hide the Moorish
women when they travel in panniers on the backs of mules. We heard
that these were intended to conceal Lanternier’s wife and daughter and
the two German women, whom Abd-el-Kader was going to send as a present
to Muley Abd-el-Rachman, Emperor of Morocco. These three frames were
each balanced by chests, destined to contain five wild beasts, which,
together with the women, some ostriches, and some carpets, constituted
the Sultan’s present to the Emperor.
One morning, when Abd-el-Kader returned from his wife’s tent, which he
visited every night, he brought back with him Benedicto, the little
Italian sailor-boy, who had been living among the women for several
months. The poor child was very beautiful, and remarkably intelligent.
The Arab women had been very kind to him, in spite of which he had
been left without any other covering than the shirt he wore when taken
prisoner. He had entirely forgotten his mother and his country, and
already spoke Arabic better than Italian. When we asked him where his
mother was, he pointed to the women’s tents; if we enquired what was
his religion, he said he was a Mahomedan; he recited the Mahomedan
prayer perfectly; and the Arab soldiers, who petted him very much,
often made him repeat it fifteen or twenty times in succession.
I had heard that the Sultan intended to remove his camp on the 26th
to the neighbourhood of Tlemsen, I therefore asked leave to speak to
him, and, on obtaining it, was carried into his presence. I again
besought him to send Meurice to Oran, and assured him that if he did
not, the unhappy man would be dead in a week. Abd-el-Kader replied
with his usual smile, “If he is so ill as you say, the journey to
Oran would kill him; but, instead of following my camp, you shall
remain at Mascara, where you shall be lodged in a comfortable house
till you can be exchanged.” He then ordered Ben Faka to give each of
us a haick, and a little vest for the child. I returned to the tent
overwhelmed with grief, and poor Meurice, who had flattered himself
with the hopes of returning to Oran, read the cruel disappointment in
my face, and began to bewail his misfortunes, and to inveigh against
Abd-el-Kader’s barbarity. I tried to comfort him with the prospect of
being sheltered, warmed, and fed at Mascara, and protected against the
brutality of the Arabs; but he answered, “It is all too late!” hid his
head under his haick, and lay on the ground stupified by misery.
CHAPTER X.
Prison at Mascara—Death of Meurice—Lanternier joins us—Four new
prisoners—Their adventures—Our way of passing our time—Conversation
of the prisoners—Fourteen heads—The Italians.
During the afternoon of the 5th a mule was brought to convey Meurice
to Mascara, and I asked for another for myself; but in spite of my
illness it was refused me. I revenged myself by pouring several
pitchers of water into the chests containing cartridges which stood in
our tent; and I flatter myself that I watered them so thoroughly as to
prevent their ever being of much use to my persecutors.
I had no sooner accomplished my revenge than Ben Faka returned
with the Kait of Mascara who was to escort us to the town, and we
immediately started, accompanied by Fleury, Bourgeois, and little
Benedicto. I was so overpowered by illness and fatigue that at length
even the Kait took pity on me, and seeing that I was totally unable to
walk, ordered Bourgeois and Fleury to lift me up on the mule behind
Meurice.
The Kait conducted us to a small house next door to that in which he
administers justice, and informed us that this was to be our dwelling.
It consisted of two small rooms on the ground floor, and one above
which was accessible only by an external staircase in the court. We
took up our quarters in the upper room, as it seemed rather less
damp than the others. It was quite bare of any sort of furniture,
and received a little light and a good deal of cold wind through two
loop-holes looking into the court. A plank about three feet wide,
fixed against the wall, seemed intended to serve as a bed.
The Kait gave us a piece of an old camel hair tent and two rugs to
cover us. The two soldiers had the tent, and Meurice and I the rugs.
The Sultan’s artillery was just passing through Mascara on its road
to Tekedemta, and Jean Mardulin who belonged to it, came to visit us;
he found us so ill and miserable that he proposed to stay and take
care of us,—an offer which we accepted with joy and gratitude. He had
scraped together a little money, which he generously placed at our
disposal.
Meurice begged for an interview with Lanternier, but the Kait replied,
that he had received strict orders from Abd-el-Kader not to allow him
to communicate with the other prisoners. We, however, sent him a share
of our rations every day by Mardulin.
So far were we from recovering our health that I had now entirely lost
the use of my legs, and my headaches daily increased in violence. I
begged the Kait twenty times to let me be bled; and at length he sent
me the same barber who had operated on Meurice. The barber cupped me
on the back of my head, which relieved me very much.
On the morning of the 12th the weather was detestable, the rain fell
in torrents, and we suffered even more than usual from cold and damp.
Meurice stretched out his hand towards me, as we lay side by side; I
took it, and asked him how he felt. He replied that he was no better
and felt very cold. I crept closer to him and offered him my haick;
but he refused it, saying that he did not suffer more than the day
before, but that he felt he had not long to live. “You,” said he, “are
young and strong; you will return to Algiers, where you will see my
wife—poor Clarisse! tell her how much I loved her, and that my last
thought was of her.” He then covered his head with his haick, and for
half an hour uttered not a single groan. At the end of that time I
took hold of his arm and asked him how he felt: he made no answer, and
I uncovered his face—he was dead.
I will not attempt to describe the feelings which crowded upon me as
I lay with Meurice’s body by my side. Night was come, and I called
the other prisoners, and bade them examine whether our poor companion
was really dead. They went to fetch the Kait, who, now that it was
too late, ordered a fire for us. Had this been granted us a few
days earlier, Meurice might have been saved. Bourgeois and Mardulin
undressed the body, rolled it in a rug, and laid it in the opposite
corner of the room. They gave me his clothes. The vermin on the haick
were so thick that it stood on end; but misery by degrees blunts all
our sensibilities, both moral and physical. I rolled myself in his
clothes, and at least was warmer.
The next afternoon Mardulin and Bourgeois, assisted by a couple of
Jews, whom the Kait had appointed for the purpose, removed the body.
They dug a hole just outside the wall of the town, on the road to El
Borgj, sewed the body in a ragged piece of old haick, and buried it
there.
The weather that night was terrific; the rain fell in torrents, and
the wind blew a perfect gale; nevertheless, at sunrise an Arab came
to inform the Kait that the corpse of the Christian was half out of
the earth. In spite of the weather the Arabs had dug up the body, in
order to steal the ragged piece of haick in which Mardulin had sewn
it. The Kait affected to be very angry, and promised us that he would
punish the thieves; but he made no attempt to discover them. Mardulin
immediately went to the spot where he had buried Meurice, enlarged
the hole, and replaced in it our unfortunate companion, whom these
barbarians would not suffer to rest in peace, even after death.
When Abd-el-Kader heard of Meurice’s death, he sent the most positive
orders that we were to have everything we might want; and the
Kait asked me what I wished for. I asked for three fowls, and for
permission for Lanternier to join us. As the Kait wished to keep me
alive, I obtained both my requests. It is impossible to describe
the joy of poor Lanternier, who immediately set about curing me by
continued and violent friction and the application of red-hot bricks
to my legs, which were so completely benumbed that even when the skin
was burnt I did not feel it.
All this time the Sultan was encamped to the south of Oran, at a place
where there are several marabouts and some mineral springs. He had
sent Milud-ben-Arrach with the cavalry to Milianah to collect tribute
from the Hadjutes of the neighbouring tribes. He was to have gone
among the Hadjutes himself during the month of September, but had been
prevented by the revolt of the Beni-Flitas.
I heard one day that a courier had arrived with letters from Algiers,
which he had delivered to the Kait. I got Bourgeois and Mardulin to
carry me to his house, though certainly nothing of less importance
would have induced me to be thus dragged across the public place of
Mascara. The Kait was touched with pity at my deplorable condition.
He told me that the courier brought a letter from Algiers, which, no
doubt, would effect my deliverance. I asked to see it, and my joy was
inexpressible on beholding General Rapatel’s seal. Guess, then, what
was my disappointment when the Kait told me that he dared not open
it, but would send it at once to the Sultan, and that Fleury should
accompany the courier in order to read it, as I was too weak and ill
to bear the fatigue of the journey.
Just as the courier was about to start, four new prisoners arrived;
these were Monsieur Pic a settler, his German servant formerly a
_chasseur_, a _disciplinaire_, and Madame Laurent a _cantinière_.
M. Pic’s servant, who had received a ball in his hip, was left at
Mascara, while the Kait sent his three companions to the Sultan with
the courier and Fleury. I especially charged the latter to ask the
Sultan to exchange the four new prisoners against the four Arabs who
were to have served as ransom for Meurice.
On the 18th thirty Beni-Amers,—men, women, and children, arrived at
Mascara, loaded with chains. They had been taken on the road to Oran,
whither they were going to place themselves under the protection of
the French. Abd-el-Kader ordered the two chiefs to be hung as an
example to others: the rest were thrown into prison.
Fleury returned to Mascara with the other prisoners and a soldier
called Devienne, who had been taken by the Arabs near Tlemsen. The
Arabs who escorted them told them that they must take off the haicks
which had been given to them by the Bey of Milianah, and appear before
the Sultan in their Christian dresses. The prisoners obeyed, and the
haicks disappeared.
After questioning the prisoners, and rewarding the Arabs who had
brought them, Abd-el-Kader gave each of them two bits of money,
and bade them fear nothing. Fleury then read the letter in which
the Governor agreed to give fifteen Arabs in exchange for the six
Christians, and the Sultan promised to send us all to Algiers at once.
He also sent his command to the Kait to clothe us all afresh with red
trowsers and new haicks, which the latter executed as far as he was
able, but the Sultan’s store contained but one piece of cloth, which
was only sufficient for three pairs of trowsers.
The Kait promised that we should set out for Algiers as soon as the
two Italian prisoners, Crescenso and Francesco, had arrived from
Tekedemta, whither he had already sent to fetch them. That evening,
when we were all assembled, I begged the four new prisoners to tell us
how they had fallen into the hands of the Arabs.
M. Pic and his servant were going towards Buffarik with a cartload of
sand, when some Arabs rode towards them, crying “Run! run!” Thinking
that the Arabs meant this as a friendly warning to them to escape
from some impending danger, the servant took to his heels, and M. Pic
was about to follow him when the Arabs fired at them, and wounded the
servant in the hip. They then took the horse out of the cart, mounted
their two prisoners upon it, and carried them to the Bey of Milianah.
The _disciplinaire_ was returning rather drunk, from a merry-making at
a blockhouse near Buffarik, when he was surprised by some Arabs, who
took him to their tribe near the Queen’s Tomb.[6]
Madame Laurent, in company with Madame Lafôret another _cantinière_,
was going to Mahelma to see her husband, when they were seized and
carried to the tents of the same tribe; where for two months they were
subjected to every sort of horrible ill usage, under which they both
fell sick, and Madame Lafôret soon perished.
Madame Laurent got worse and worse, and at last her master sold her to
another Arab, who kept her for two months, at the end of which time,
finding her as ill as ever and utterly unable to work, he took her to
the Bey of Milianah.
The _disciplinaire_ with whom she had never been allowed to have any
communication, had also fallen sick and was carried to the Bey.
On their arrival at Mascara, these prisoners were in the most abject
state of misery and dirt. Fleury cut off Madame Laurent’s long hair
which was covered with vermin, and she bought a comb with the money
the Sultan had given her. The Kait lodged her with his women, but
she soon returned to us in a rage, as the Arab women had struck and
insulted her, and she was forced to take refuge from their malice with
us.
Our days were passed in the following manner. At daybreak Mardulin
woke us, lighted the fire, and went to market to buy with his
own savings figs, eggs, and white bread for us, and snuff for M.
Lanternier. We then breakfasted; after which we cleaned the house
by turns. When the weather was fine we went to sit upon the terrace
of the Casabah, and hunted the vermin on our clothes: only M. Pic’s
servant, whose wound did not heal, stayed within.
One day, while I was discussing with Mardulin how to obtain from the
French Government his pardon and permission to return—a favour he so
well deserved for his devotion and kindness to us, we overheard the
following conversation among the other prisoners. They were talking
about their return to Algiers: and in spite of their rags and vermin
they had forgotten their miserable condition, and already fancied
themselves free. “I hope, gentlemen,” said M. Pic, “that when you
pass through Buffarik on your return to Algiers, you will do me the
honour of stopping to breakfast with me. Madame Pic will be extremely
flattered by the compliment, and should any confusion reign in the
meal, be so good, gentlemen, as not to attribute it to the slightest
indifference on our part to the comfort of our guests, but to the joy
which will no doubt disturb my wife, who of course believes me to be
dead, and will feel considerable emotion at our meeting.”
“Gentlemen,” began M. Lanternier, “I will not be outdone; you must
all give me the pleasure of your company at dinner at my village of
Adel-Ibrahim. It is true, I am old, but to celebrate the day of our
release I will take care that not even the youngest among you shall
eat and drink more than I.”
“_Ah ça_,” broke in Madame Laurent; “I trust, gentlemen, that I
need not put up with the disgrace of being unable to offer you any
civility. But first, I wish to know if there is a carriage road from
Buffarik to Algiers.”
“_Petite mère_,” answered the deserter, “you shall have a car whereon
to make your triumphal entry into Algiers.”
“Be quiet you rogues,—I shall have the honour of receiving you at my
canteen, and of offering each of you a glass of wine. The celebrated
and unfortunate captives of the Bedouins shall have the privilege of
drinking whatever they please gratis, like in the Champs Elysées on
the birthday of Louis XVIII. I shall have the honour of waiting upon
you myself, gentlemen; and I beg you to believe that my dress will be
more carefully arranged and composed of better materials than it is at
this present, most amiable and unfortunate captives of the barbarians.”
“Long live Madame Laurent!” exclaimed all the prisoners at once; “the
amiable captives will all assemble at your canteen at Algiers.” “And
at night,” added M. Lanternier, “we will all sup together with due
honours.” “And you, Lieutenant,” said Madame Laurent turning to me,
“will you do us the honour to be of the party?” “Certainly, _petite
mère_,” replied I; “and long live Madame Laurent.”
This is but one specimen of the conversations which continually arose
on this subject.
After taking a few turns on the terrace we returned to our house,
and as soon as the evening began to close in, Bourgeois brought the
kitchen fire into our room in a chafing dish, and one of the soldiers
went to fetch our supper and oil for our lamp at the house to which
he was directed by one of the Kait’s slaves; for the inhabitants
of the town were forced to supply us by turns: meanwhile some of
the party smoked, and others played at cards or chess with those I
had manufactured. When we had eaten our kuskussu we called on M.
Lanternier for a story, and listened with the deepest interest to Tom
Thumb, Little Red Riding Hood, the Sleeping Beauty in the Wood, or
some other fairy tale, which he told with great fluency and grace. The
_disciplinaire_, who had a very fine voice, sang Provençal songs with
great taste and feeling. One by one we fell asleep, and thus ended our
day.
One afternoon our talk was interrupted by the noise of cannon and
muskets, and of tumultuous voices. We went out to discover the cause,
and were shocked at seeing the heads of fourteen slaughtered Spahis
which the children were kicking about before the door of our house.
They were afterwards put into a sack and sent to adorn Abd-el-Kader’s
tent. This hideous spectacle made me sick.
On the 24th, two of the Italian fishermen, Crescenso and Francesco,
arrived from Tekedemta: Berthoumiau had died of cold and ill usage,
and had been buried there. The account of their sufferings was
terrible. Their first enquiry was after little Benedicto, but the boy
did not remember his friends or his country; only when they mentioned
his mother Maria he seemed to feel some emotion and his memory to
revive. “My mother,” said the boy, “is there,” pointing towards the
tent of Abd-el-Kader’s wife; and away he ran to play with the Arab
children.
[6] Vide page 73.
CHAPTER XI.
Departure from Mascara—Striking scene—Milianah—Moussa
the renegade—His letter—The Rhamadan—Delays—The Bey of
Milianah—Setting out for Algiers—The Bey’s daughters—First
sight of Algiers—Fresh delays and disappointments—The Hakem’s
hospitality—Arrival at Algiers—Benedicto—The Arab prisoners at
Marseilles.
The next day the Kait of Mascara announced to us that we were soon to
proceed to Algiers, and that he had received orders from Abd-el-Kader
to clothe us, which he accordingly did. The following morning we
started amid the threats and insults of the women, children, and
inhabitants of the town, and took Benedicto with us by force. The Kait
had the cruelty to send Mardulin out of the way, so that we could not
press the hand of one who had been our benefactor during our stay at
Mascara.
We had scarce left the town when the Kait ordered a halt and counted
us over three several times: we were twelve Christian prisoners and
three deserters: four of the prisoners were compelled to walk for want
of mules, but were to ride by turns with the others. Together with
several Jews and Arabs who had joined our caravan, we formed a body
of forty, conducted by a Kait from the neighbourhood of Mascara, and
guarded by one of Abd-el-Kader’s horsemen. The Kait then left us after
having enjoined upon the chief of the escort to treat us well.
Soon after mid-day we saw the village of El-Borgj, but we made a
detour to avoid it, as it was market day, and the Kait feared we might
fall victims to the hatred and fury of the assembled Arabs: as it was,
the women and children came running towards us, and loaded us with
threats and abuse. Towards night, after travelling over various hills,
rocks and brushwood, through a savage and uncultivated country, we
reached a little village at a few leagues from the falls of the Ouet
Mina. The situation of this village at the foot of a mountain near
several streams is delicious; rhododendrons, poplars, almond, fig,
peach, and apricot trees, cover the whole plain, and the gardens are
kept fresh and green by a plentiful supply of water.
After some delay we were ushered into a sort of stable, and when the
marabout had recited a prayer some excellent kuskussu was brought to
us. We passed a bad night owing to the smoke. On the following day,
in about four hours, we reached the village of a tribe on the banks
of the Ouet Mina, where we procured some food: we then continued our
journey towards the Schellif, avoiding the mountains inhabited by the
Beni-Flitas who had shaken off Abd-el-Kader’s authority. After several
days’ forced march over a rough country, the tired mules stumbling at
every step and the men on foot suffering acutely, we reached a small
village governed by an Aga of the plain of Milianah: we entered a
large house in the public square, the inside of which was one vast
hall, evidently intended for the reception of travellers.
At one end mats were spread on the ground for our accommodation, at
the other several Arabs sitting cross-legged on rich carpets were
preparing coffee. Presently the slaves brought in some splendid
cushions and a handsome divan, more magnificent than those belonging
to Abd-el-Kader. The Aga, sumptuously dressed, entered, accompanied by
our Kait, the young marabout, and several chiefs, and they began to
drink coffee and smoke long pipes.
I went towards him and said that I was ill, and also a woman who was
with us, and begged him to give us some coffee; upon which he not only
ordered his slaves to bring us two cups, but sent Madame Laurent and
Benedicto to his wife, who treated them with the utmost kindness.
The hall which we occupied presented a most picturesque and striking
scene. In one corner were the Christian prisoners sitting round a
large fire, talking over their miseries and their sufferings, their
livid faces plainly telling the torments they had endured: many were
occupied in dressing their wounds and sores; occasionally plaintive
murmurs and confused groans were audible from among them. A few paces
from us, on gorgeous silken cushions, the Arabs reclined in a circle
round the Aga, who looked like a Sultan in his splendid dress: these
were drinking coffee and smoking. The flickering light made their
pale faces look fiercer and wilder than usual. They were discussing
the projects of Abd-el-Kader, and occasionally, when the conversation
turned upon the Christians, their eyes flashed, rage deformed their
countenances, and one might fancy that one saw before one some of
those nomade tribes who in former ages overran Christian Europe,
defiling the churches and monasteries by planting the crescent on
their steeples and towers.
At the hour of prayer the young marabout rose and recited it: the
Arabs listened with deep devotion; and from my corner I gazed upon
the strange and imposing scene. We then had some kuskussu and half a
roasted sheep.
This delicious repast and a good night’s rest greatly restored our
exhausted frames, and we quitted with regret a village at which we had
been so hospitably treated. Next day we reached Milianah. We received
the usual treatment from the Arab populace, but were at length safely
lodged in the house in which the Bey delivers judgment. The house
consisted of three small rooms on the ground floor: in one of these
the slaves prepared the Bey’s coffee; the second served as a prison
for those Arabs who had taken arms for the French, some of whom
were in irons, and others confined in circular blocks of wood which
prevented them even from rising; the third room, which was dark, cold,
and damp, was our prison. Our food was bad, and we suffered much from
the exposure to damp and cold. Bourgeois, who until now had been in
good health, fell ill, and our days were passed in rubbing him. The
long journey too had irritated the wound of M. Pic’s servant, which
began to be most offensive.
We had been assured that we should start for Algiers after three days’
stay at Milianah, and this had kept us from giving way to despondency.
But when the time fixed for our departure went by, the future appeared
to us in the most gloomy colours, despair seized upon our minds, and
disease and misery wasted our bodies.
The Kait affected not to understand Abd-el-Kader’s directions, and
ordered me to write to Algiers to announce the death of Meurice and
Berthoumiau, and that two other Christian prisoners would be liberated
in their stead. These delays drove us to despair, and we looked
forward with impatience to the arrival of the Bey of Milianah, who
might perhaps hasten our deliverance: but, he never came.
In the midst of these torments we one day received the visit of a
deserter, whose life and position among the Arabs are too curious to
be passed over.
I had seen this man before, but have delayed until now to mention him,
in order to present this episode as a whole. While Abd-el-Kader was
encamped on the borders of the Ouet Mina, a handsome man, dressed in
the uniform of the Spahis, and without a bernouse, passed our tent,
making his horse prance. The Arabs pointed him out to us, saying, “He
is a Christian.”
Shortly afterwards a negro came and told us that Moussa, the
Christian, desired to speak with us. As we did not wish to have any
dealings with deserters we told the negro that if Moussa wished to
speak with us he must come here, as we were not free to go where we
liked.
Scarce had the negro left us, when a tall man with a long flowing
beard and an insolent bearing came to us, saying, “I am amazed that
dogs of Christians such as you refuse to come when one so great and
powerful as Moulin sends for you. Has not my fame reached you; and
know you not that your fate is in my hands?” On my assuring him that I
did not know him, he replied, “I am Moulin: four years ago I quitted
the French, and I now command the armies of the Sultan. It is I who
lead them to victory and carry terror and destruction into the ranks
of the Christian dogs. I am he who returns from every battle with the
heads of four Frenchmen whom I have killed with my own hand hanging at
my saddle-bow.”
“My dear Sir,” replied I, “you must imagine, to judge by your style
of conversation, that you are talking to idiots.” “What do you say,
you wretch?” “I say that our soldiers still believe in the existence
of Moulin whose name even now inspires them with terror, for after an
infamous desertion he was distinguished for courage. But he has been
dead for years, and we do not believe in ghosts.”
“I tell you, dog of a Christian, that I am Moulin; I have taken the
name of Moussa since I have become one of the faithful, and my power
and authority know no bounds. I am now going to the tent of my friend
Abd-el-Kader to determine your fate.”
While this conversation was going on my poor friend Meurice, who was
then alive, told me that he had attentively observed the deserter’s
features, and that they were familiar to him at Paris. He begged me
next time he came to turn the conversation to Paris, in order that he
might observe the impression this produced.
Next day Moussa presented himself with the same presumptuous
assurance; and after a great deal of vapouring on his part I asked
him if he still persisted in passing for Moulin. “Dog of a Christian,
you are most obstinate. Have not the French soldiers after a battle
related that the Arab battalions were commanded by the terrible
Moulin?” We then began to talk about Paris, in praise of which Moussa
was most eloquent. “Do I know Paris?” cried he; “it is the place
where I was born: and the theatres! I went to them every night, more
especially to the Odeon.”
“The Odeon!” said Meurice, with more heat than I had ever seen him
exhibit. “The Odeon! You are an impostor; you are neither Moulin nor
Moussa, but M——. I know you well. You used to come every evening to
the director’s box at the Odeon: many’s the time you have sat on my
knee as a child, and your sister was then a charming actress. My name,
Sir, is Meurice.”
Moussa was struck dumb at this vehement apostrophe, and Meurice
continued, “I have never seen you since, but I have heard of you;
you grew up a good-for-nothing fellow, and entered first the cavalry
and then the infantry: in each your restless temper drew upon you
the reprimands of your superiors; till at length you engaged in the
_Bataillon d’Afrique_, and then in the Spahis, whose uniform you still
wear. I heard of your desertion in the prisons of Mascara. You may
call yourself Moussa, but your name before your infamous apostacy was
the one I pronounced: I do not repeat it out of regard to your family.”
“I can deny nothing, Sir,” said Moussa, with despair painted in his
face. “I am miserable; but believe me that it was only the vexations I
endured which determined me to desert. I long resisted the unfortunate
idea, but I could not bend to injustice; and if I have done amiss I
now expiate my faults most cruelly.”
We talked in this strain for some time, and Moussa appeared truly
penitent, insomuch that we forgot his crimes and his impudence in our
interest in his regrets and sufferings. From this time forward I
did not see him again, as Abd-el-Kader presented him with a horse, a
sabre, and a rifle, and sent him to the Hadjutes, among whom he had
lived since his desertion.
One day during my captivity at Mascara, Moussa came to visit me.
I felt some pleasure at seeing him, and told him how miserable we
were. He promised to do everything in his power, telling me that
he commanded the cavalry of the Hadjutes, and that he was then on
his way to Abd-el-Kader, whom he would press on the subject of our
exchange. He added that he had saved some money, and hoped to escape
to the coast of Spain. Meanwhile he sent me some bread and a shirt,
which I accepted, as I imagined that he was still repentant. It so
happened that during his absence a Hadjute had told me that he himself
had, in the affair of the 3rd November, cut off the heads of three
French officers of the Spahis, which I must have seen at Mascara.
At this moment Moussa came to take leave of us, saying he had been
able to do but little for us, but that on his return he would give us
everything we could desire, as Abd-el-Kader would pay him handsomely
for the three French officers whom he had killed, and whose heads he
had sent him, adding that we should hear of him at Algiers, as he had
written his name with the point of his sword on the back of one of the
officers whose head he had cut off.
We could not restrain our indignation on hearing this wretch
invent lie after lie, and boast of the mischief he had done to our
countrymen. After loading him with opprobrious epithets, we called
back the Hadjute, and told him that Moussa boasted of having cut off
those very heads which he, the Hadjute, claimed as his prize. “What!”
exclaimed the Hadjute; “you say you have cut off the heads of the
three officers? Moussa, you lie in your throat. _You_ cut off the
heads of Christians; you are a coward and a braggart. You fled when
we encountered the Christians. You fled, dog that you are, although
before the battle you boasted of your courage and prowess: you are a
thief and a rascal.” Then turning to us, he said—“What! did he say
he was going to the Sultan, to his friend Abd-el-Kader? His friend,
indeed! The Sultan has sent for him, not to load him with favours,
but to call him to account for the horse, the rifle, and the bernouse
which he gave him, and which this fellow sold at Blidah, and then got
drunk with the money.”
“Sooner or later I will have my revenge,” said Moussa, as we forced
him out of our prison. A few minutes afterwards a negro brought me a
letter from Moussa to the following effect:—
“As I do not choose that a dog of a Christian, such as you, should
keep anything that once belonged to so great and powerful a Mussulman
as myself, I herewith command you to return by the bearer the shirt
which I gave you yesterday. I am going to my friend Abd-el-Kader, and
shall do my best to have your head cut off. At any rate, if I arrive
too late to prevent your being exchanged, you will never see your
friends, as I have given orders to have you all seized as soon as you
have passed Buffarik.
“Upon which I give you my word of honour.
“MOUSSA,
“_Commander-in-Chief of the Sultan’s armies_.”
This letter excited the laughter of my companions, and we burnt the
shirt which the rascal demanded in such insolent and haughty terms.
We never saw the rogue again, but heard that the Bey of Milianah had
sent him to Abd-el-Kader, under the guard of two soldiers, charged
with several offences, and with having sold the horse, the bernouse,
and the rifle, which had been given him by the Sultan, who, doubtless,
condemned him to that death he so richly deserved for his various
crimes.
The fast of Rhamadan at length induced the Bey to return to Milianah;
but his presence brought no alleviation to our sufferings. Our jailer
made the fast a pretext for depriving us of our daily allowance of
boiled barley, and giving us nothing but half a barley cake each.
The weather continued bitterly cold, with continual snow and sleet;
and our dungeon was so dark that we were unable even to catch the
vermin that infested it. We at length grew quite desperate, and most
of us felt convinced that the Sultan had sent us to die of cold and
hunger in the prisons of Milianah, and that he had never intended to
release or exchange us. Fleury, Bourgeois, Crescenso, M. Lanternier,
and the German servant, lay on the cold bare earth sick of the fever,
and their groans and delirious ravings sounded most horrible in the
darkness of our dungeon.
One morning a canopy was raised in front of our prison: magnificent
carpets were spread, upon which were laid cushions covered with
gorgeous brocade; and before long the Bey came and seated himself upon
them, in order to distribute the pay to his soldiers. Some slaves
spread a large round skin of morocco leather at his feet, and emptied
several bags of money upon it, after which the soldiers were called up
by name, and each in succession received his pay.
Mahadin-el-Hadj-el-Schir-ben-Moubarek Bey of Milianah, is a man of
about forty. He is taller than Abd-el-Kader; his face is long, his
eyes small, his lips thick, and his beard grizzled. He wore a haick,
and a bernouse of beautiful crimson and azure cloth, embroidered with
silk and gold, and ornamented with gold tassels. A superb yataghan
glittered at his side. His officers, who stood in a row on either side
of him, were all dressed in red vests and trowsers and white bernouses.
When I perceived that the Bey did not cast a single glance upon our
prison, and appeared to have forgotten our very existence, I came
before him, with General Rapatel’s letters in my hand, and represented
to him the misery we endured, and how opposed his cruel treatment of
us was to Abd-el-Kader’s generous intentions. The Bey answered me
with plenty of fine promises: he then departed, and we heard no more
of him. At length a Hadjute came to announce that we were to start
for the place at which the prisoners were to be exchanged, and in
less than half an hour the list of names of those selected to leave
Milianah that very day was brought to us. It included Madame Laurent,
M. Lanternier, Crescenso, Francesco, Benedicto, and myself.
The weather was terrible; a thick snow was continually falling.
M. Lanternier was so ill that he was unable even to stand, and
must infallibly have dropped dead from his mule in a few hours.
We therefore resolved to leave him, and to take M. Pic’s German
servant instead, who, though exceedingly ill from the effects of his
wound, was able to sit upon his mule. We started amid the groans and
lamentations of our fellow-prisoners, and the frantic complaints of
Lanternier.
A few days after our departure M. Lanternier sunk under his illness,
and was buried outside the gates of Milianah.
We stopped before the palace of the Bey, who was sitting in the
court. He called me to him, and desired me to press General Rapatel to
hasten the exchange of the other prisoners at the rate of three Arabs
for every Christian. “If,” said he, “these terms are complied with, I
will leave your outposts alone for a time; if not, my Hadjutes and I
will not suffer them to rest in peace a single day.”
Madame Laurent and Benedicto were waiting for us before the Bey’s
palace: their condition had been very different from ours. They told
us that the Bey had two charming daughters, whose kindness was equal
to their beauty, and who had never ceased from paying them every sort
of attention. At Madame Laurent’s request these amiable girls had
frequently sent us provisions, but the slaves who were ordered to take
them to us had eaten them themselves. We all mounted our mules except
Crescenso, who was obliged to follow on foot, and we quitted the town
amidst the jeers and yells of the populace, who shouted after us
“There go the Christian dogs.”
At length we were on our way towards home: the day of our release
drew near; but this moment to which we had looked forward with so
much impatience failed to excite in us the joy we had expected to
feel. Sickness and misery had so completely exhausted our strength
and spirits, that we could think of nothing but the sufferings and
fatigue of the present moment. We travelled the whole of the day over
mountains covered with ilexes, gum trees, and cypresses; the roads
were detestable, and it never ceased from snowing. We made no halt
until evening, when we arrived at a tribe in the mountains to the west
of the plain of the Metidja. The Commander of our escort, one of the
officers of the Bey of Milianah, conducted us to a mud hovel. A large
fire was lighted, at which we dried our clothes, which were completely
wetted by the snow. The Arabs of the surrounding tribes crowded to
look at us, and to torment us with blows and abuse. They forced little
Benedicto to repeat the Mahomedan prayer to every new comer, and
the poor child had to say it at least two hundred times that night:
they then commanded us to do the same, and beat us violently when we
refused.
The poor German, whose wound was gangrened, suffered most from the
inhumanity of these people who kicked and struck him on his wound.
We dared not remonstrate against the wanton cruelty of these
Arabs, who would have been too glad of a pretext to kill us all on
the spot. After torturing us for about four hours they left us,
and some detestable kuskussu was brought for our supper. I asked
for some butter and honey to dress the poor German’s wounds, but
it was refused. We lay down and endeavoured to sleep, but found it
impossible; and Francesco and I lay concerting plans of revenge upon
the Arab prisoners at Marseilles, and lamenting the hard fate of the
companions we had lost.
We left this inhospitable tribe before daybreak without breakfasting,
on account of the Rhamadan. By eleven o’clock we had reached the plain
of the Metidja, and our guide pointed out to us on the horizon the
position of Algiers. This sight inspired me with fresh courage. I gave
up my mule to Crescenso, who was weary with walking, and my haick to
Francesco.
The plain of the Metidja was covered with water; in many places it was
up to our knees. My slippers were in a very bad state, and I soon left
them sticking in the mud, and had to continue my journey barefooted.
After a march of two hours we arrived at Blidah; our leader made us
halt at the gates of the town, while he went to fetch the Hakem, a
governor appointed by the French. But the Hakem was gone to Buffarik,
to see whether the Arab prisoners who were to be exchanged for us had
arrived, and the inhabitants of the town not only refused to allow
us to enter it, but drove us away with blows and abuse; and the Kait
of the Hadjutes sent us to the tribe of the Beni-Messaous, half way
up the Atlas, where we remained two days exposed to every sort of
ill-treatment.
At the end of that time we were brought back to Blidah in perfect
despair; we found that the Hakem had returned from Buffarik, and he
received us with great hospitality. Madame Laurent and Benedicto were
lodged with the Hakem’s wives; the other prisoners remained in the
room in which we had been received at first, and the Hakem sent a
chaous to invite me to sup with him. The cookery was very different
from that in Abd-el-Kader’s camp, and for the first time I discovered
that many of the Arab dishes, when well prepared, are excellent.
After supper the Hakem retired, leaving the Kait of the Hadjutes and
myself to sleep in the room where we had supped. I rolled myself in
a rug and was fast asleep in a moment, but I was presently awakened
by the Kait, who came and seated himself by my side, and tried to
persuade me to desert my country and to remain with him. He offered me
the usual inducements of fine horses, beautiful women, rich clothes,
and splendid arms, and above all, plenty of powder. I was too tired to
answer him anything but “Good night: do let me sleep.”
At eight o’clock next morning the Hakem came in and asked me whether I
was satisfied with his reception. On my answering in the affirmative,
he eagerly pressed me to persuade the Governor to raise his salary.
Three mules were prepared for Madame Laurent, the German, and
Francesco, with Benedicto behind him: Crescenso and I followed on
foot. This last journey was as fatiguing and painful as any previous
one; it rained the whole day, and Benedicto cried with cold. As for
us, the outposts of Buffarik were before us, and we felt nothing but
joy.
I will not attempt to describe the reception I met with from my
brother officers, nor my subsequent illness, nor how delightful it was
to be nursed by my countrymen. Francesco, Madame Laurent, the German,
and Crescenso were sent to the hospital at Algiers, where they lay
ill for some time. The other prisoners were soon released, except
the wife and daughter of M. Lanternier, and the two German women who
are still in the possession of the Emperor of Morocco. I obtained
Mardulin’s pardon, and contrived to communicate it to him: he escaped
from Mascara with some orange merchants of Blidah, and is now enrolled
among the Spahis.
As I was on the point of embarking for France I heard myself greeted
on the quay, and on turning round I saw Benedicto dressed in a new
suit of clothes. “Where are you going, Benedicto?” said I. “To my
mother Maria, who has sent me these fine clothes; I am going on board
with Francesco and Crescenso to sail to Genoa, where she is waiting
for me.”
* * * * *
On arriving at Marseilles, I hastened to visit the Arab prisoners,
with the full intention of repaying them some of the cruelty I had
endured from their countrymen. I however confined my revenge to
inviting two of them to dinner: one, who was a marabout, would not
eat, because of the Rhamadan; but the other ate and drank wine and
brandy like any Christian. He pressed me to return to his country,
where he promised to give me quantities of horses and sheep, to
receive me into his tent as his guest, and to watch over me while
I slept. After dinner I took him to the theatre, and ended by
conducting him home to his barracks and helping him to bed, for he had
transgressed the law of the Prophet, and was drunk.
THE END.
London: Printed by W. Clowes and Sons, Duke Street, Stamford Street.
Transcriber’s Notes:
- Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
- Blank pages have been removed.
- Silently corrected typographical errors.
- Spelling and hyphenation variations made consistent.
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