Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Vol. 68, No 420, October 1850

At Milianah the French officers had a club, a pleasant pavilion in the middle of a garden. A library and a coffee house were attached to it. For evening amusement there was the theatre. Ay, a theatre at Milianah! How could Frenchmen, even in the heart of Algeria, exist without a vaudeville? The soldiers were actors. The vivandières lent their caps and gowns to dress up the female characters. "I well remember," says M. de Castellane, "seeing Le Caporal et la Payse played at Milianah. The Dejazet of the company, a mettlesome Artémise, excited the laughter of the whole audience, even that of General Changarnier, who often attended the performance, in his box of painted paper. It is impossible to say how much these amusements, which some may deem futile, contributed to keep up the spirits of the troops, and to dispel those gloomy ideas which in Africa are often the forerunners of nostalgia and death."

Not all these diversions and resources, however, could reconcile M. de Castellane to a fortnight's halt at Milianah. He beguiled his anxiety for action by researches into the history of certain Arab tribes. The three principal families of Milianah were those of Omar, Sidi-Embarek, and Ouled-ben-Yousef. At that time, Sidi-Embarek was organising amongst the Kabyles a vigorous resistance to the French, to whom Omar was friendly. The recent annals of the Omars are highly curious, and form a chapter of the purest Oriental romance. In the valley of the Cheliff, "at Oued-Boutan, the new Hakem of the town of Milianah, Omar Pacha, of the illustrious family of the pacha of that name, was waiting for us. There we had a fresh proof of the deep traces the Turks have left in this country. After more than thirteen years, the remembrance of them is still so lively amongst the people, that the son of the Pacha Omar was surrounded by the respect of all these chiefs as in the day of his family's power."

"The most celebrated of the Omars was one of those Turkish soldiers, each one of whom may say, when he dons the uniform – 'If it is written, I shall be a pacha!' Mehemet Ali, putting into Metelin on his way to Egypt, met Omar, whose brother had for some years past held high office under the Pacha of Algiers. Mehemet Ali and Omar formed a close friendship, and set out together to seek their fortune, but scarcely had they reached Egypt when Omar received a letter from his brother Mahomed, summoning him to his side. The two friends parted, with a vow that the first who succeeded in life should share his prosperity with the other. At Oran, where his brother had become Caliphate of the Bey, Omar's fine figure, his eye, whose gaze none could endure, his long black mustaches, and his brilliant beauty, procured him the surname of chaous. Soon afterwards, the daughter of a Turk of Milianah, named Jemna, whom all cited as a marvel of loveliness, became his wife. But Omar's prosperity was of short duration. His brother Mahomed, whose credit with the Pacha of Algiers gave umbrage to the Bey of Oran, was thrown into prison, and the Bey ordered his death. Omar was compelled to share his brother's dungeon, and when the executioner entered, he would have defended him; but Mahomed prevented it. 'The hour of my death is come,' he said. 'It is not given to man to resist the power of the Most High; but pray to him daily that he may choose thee as my avenger; and bear in mind that you are the husband of my wife and the father of my children.' Thenceforward, revenge was Omar's sole thought; and when, by the Pacha's order, the Bey sent him to Algiers, he used all his efforts to elevate himself, in order to hasten the hour of retaliation. Soon he became Caïd of the Arabs; and his wife Jemna, who at first had been prevented leaving Oran, managed to join him, through a thousand dangers, escorted by her father, Si-Hassan, and by a faithful servant, Baba-Djelloull.

"The troops of Tunis marched against Algiers; a battle took place, and the Turks were giving way, when Omar, dashing forward with thirty horsemen, made a daring charge, rallied the army by his example, and decided the victory. On his return to Algiers, the troops clamorously demanded him as their Aga. Meanwhile, Mehemet Ali's fortune had also made progress. The massacre of the Mamelukes consolidated his power, and he testified his recollection of his friend, by sending him a magnificent tent.

"The country flourished under the administration of the new Aga. Stone bridges were built over the Isser and the Cheliff. In the words of the Arab chronicle, victory everywhere accompanied Omar. His name was a terror to his enemies, and he was blessed by all the people, when the Bey of Oran, still detesting the brother of Mahomed, and dreading this new power, persuaded the Pacha of Algiers that Omar was planning to usurp his throne. Fortunately, an intercepted letter warned Omar, who hurried to the barracks, and assembled the troops. 'It is you who have raised me,' he said, 'and in none others do I recognise the right to cast me down. I place myself in your hands; either kill me or deliver me from my enemies.' The furious soldiery ran to the Pacha's palace, stabbed him, (1810) and would have named Omar in his stead; but Omar refused, and the khrasnadji, or treasurer, was then elected. All-powerful, Omar saw the hour of revenge at hand. The Bey of Oran having revolted, he marched against him, took his enemy prisoner, and had him flayed alive. In the province of Oran you are still told of Bey el messeloug, the flayed Bey.

"In 1816, fearing the Coulouglis,20 the Pacha planned their massacre, and confided his project to Omar, who, far from countenancing it, had the Pacha stifled in his bath. This time he was obliged to accept the Pachalik. When sending the customary present to the Porte, he intrusted Si-Hassan and his son Mahomed with rich presents for Mehemet Ali, who was named Pacha almost at the same time. For the space of two years, Omar made head against all manner of misfortunes – against the plague, the locusts, and Lord Exmouth's bombardment; but poor Jemna had lost her peace of mind, for she knew that all Deys die a violent death. In 1818, she was in the pains of childbed when she heard discharges of artillery. Seized with alarm, she desired to see Omar, and, contrary to etiquette, she sent her faithful attendant, old Baba-Djelloull, to seek him; but the old man soon returned, and returned alone. Jemna understood, and swooned away. At the same instant, numerous blows were struck on the door of her apartments. It was the chaous of the new Dey, coming to take possession of Omar's treasures."

The treasures were enormous in amount. M. Roche, the French consul-general at Tangiers, to whom M. de Castellane declares himself indebted for this very interesting history of the Omar family, derived his account of them from a son of Jemna, apparently that one whose birth she was hourly expecting when she was shocked by the intelligence of her husband's violent death. "Omar's palace contained a hundred negroes, three hundred negresses, ten Georgians, twenty Abyssinians, forty thoroughbred horses, ten mares from the Desert. The entire furniture of one saloon was of gold and silver, adorned with precious stones; another room was full of chests of gold and silver coin, silk brocade, and cloth of gold. Jemna changed her dress every week, and attached to each costume was a complete set of diamonds, consisting of a diadem, an aigret and earrings, a collar of fifteen rows of pearls, two clasps, bracelets, twelve rings for the fingers and two for the ankles, and a tunic of cloth-of-gold, studded with precious stones." Omar's murderer and successor would fain have wedded his widow, but she spurned his offer. He then seized her treasures, and, in the moment of good-humour which their great amount occasioned him, he allowed her to retire with her children to Milianah, where her father had property. After a few months' sway, the new Pacha was assassinated in his turn, and his successor, Hadj-Mohamed, went to inhabit the Casbah palace, in defiance of a prophetic inscription announcing an invasion by Christians during the reign of a Pacha whose residence should be the Casbah.

He died of the plague; and Hassan, who succeeded him, and who had been an iman under Omar, showed his gratitude to his former master by magnificent presents to his widow, and great kindness to his sons. Jemna had almost forgotten past sorrows in present happiness, when the arrival of the French brought her fresh disasters and sufferings. Her sons allied themselves with the invaders, thereby incurring hatred and persecution from Abd-el-Kader. They were stripped of all they possessed: Omar, the youngest of them, was loaded with fetters, and placed in a dungeon; Jemna escaped the bastinado only by the mercy of an executioner, who inflicted it upon a negress in her stead. At last the intervention of some Arab chiefs procured the liberty of both mother and son, and the progress of the French enabled them to take up their residence in safety at Milianah, where Omar was appointed hakem, an office equivalent to mayor. In 1843, M. de Castellane was present at an interview between Marshal Bugeaud and Jemna, whose countenance, in spite of lapse of years and many sorrows, still retained traces of great beauty.

The chief of the Sidi-Embarek, a family which, although of Arab race, had enjoyed great respect and influence in the country for some centuries before Turkish rule was terminated by French usurpation, had actively stimulated the persecution of the family of Omar, whose personal enemy he was. M. de Castellane gives the following account of the founder of the Sidi-Embarek: – "In 1580, a man of the Hachems of the west, named Si-Embarek, left his tribe, with two servants, and went to Milianah. There, on account of his poverty, he discharged his servants, who settled upon the banks of the Cheliff, and gave birth to the tribe of Hachems still existing there. Sidi-Embarek then went to Coleah, and engaged himself as rhamès (a sort of subordinate farmer) to a certain Ismael; but, instead of working, he slept; and meanwhile, marvellous to relate, the yoke of oxen intrusted to him ploughed by themselves, and, at the close of day, he had done more work than anybody else. This prodigy was reported to Ismael, who, desirous of witnessing it with his own eyes, hid himself one day, and saw Embarek sleeping under a tree whilst the oxen ploughed. Thereupon Ismael knelt before him, and exclaimed – 'You are the elect of God; 'tis I who am your servant, and you are my master;' and, taking him home, he treated him with profound respect. Embarek's reputation for holiness spread far and wide; multitudes thronged to solicit his prayers and make him offerings, and he speedily acquired great riches." The grandson, many times removed, of this miraculous ploughman, was a Marabout or saint by right of descent; but he was also a very considerable fighting man, and a most efficient lieutenant of Abd-el-Kader. We make his acquaintance under very striking circumstances, in the course of M. de Castellane's curious account of the Spahis of Mascara. The corps of Spahis had its origin in the necessities of African service. Excellent and most efficient as are the regiments of light dragoons known as Chasseurs d'Afrique, they were not all that was wanted in the way of cavalry. It was found expedient to make Arab fight Arab. Knowledge of the country, and of the habits of the foe, was as essential as good soldiership. The prospect of gain brought abundant recruits; the discipline exacted was less rigid than in French regiments; the sole uniform was a red burnous, stripped off in an instant, when desirable to conceal the military character of the wearer. Europeans not being excluded from the corps, many roving and desultory blades, tempted by the adventurous nature of the service, and to whom the routine and strict discipline of a more regular one would have been irksome, have, at different periods, served in the ranks of the Spahis, and sometimes sabred their way to a commission – "strange adventurers," says M. de Castellane, "whose lives resembled some tale of former days cut out of an old book." And he gives an account of two such persons whom he met with in the Mascara squadron, with which his own was for some time brigaded. One was a French maréchal-de-logis or sergeant, named Alfred Siquot, a man of good family and eccentric character, – a great humourist, whose gloomy air and silent laugh had procured him from his comrades the surname of Jovial. There does not appear, however, to have been mystery in his previous life, which was open to all, nor any particular romance or adventures in its incidents previously to his service in Africa. The case was very different with his comrade, Mohamed-Ould-Caïd-Osman, who had the rank of native officer. "The Arab name concealed a Prussian one, and an agitated life, full of duels and adventures – of condemnations to death, and executions in effigy. Clever and well-informed, there was a great charm in his bluntness of manner, and his bravery, justly celebrated, procured him the respect of all. He was the very type of the officer of fortune – of the lansquenet of former days. His double-barrelled gun, as much dreaded by the Arabs as by the partridges – his dog Tom – his sorrel charger, a beast of famous bottom – were his sole friends in the field. In garrison, a fourth affection found a place in his heart – a little Spanish girl, who never opened her mouth, and was as devoted to him as his dog. Tom, the Chica, the Caïd, made but one. Their life, with its joys and sorrows, was in common. Now and then Siquot went and smoked his pipe in the midst of the three friends.

"As to the Caïd's African life, it was well known, and its accidents had more than once beguiled the leisure of the bivouac. He had been twice seen at Algiers, but in very different circumstances. The first time, in all his splendour, he was travelling with Prince Puckler-Muskau, who speaks of him in his Letters, designating him by his initials. The second time, in 1840, he had assumed the knapsack of the infantry soldier, and was marching to the defile of Mouzaia, in the ranks of the foreign legion."

The ruined gentleman, however, could not accustom himself to walking, and after a severe campaign, in which three-fourths of his company perished, he procured a substitute and left the legion. Once more a free agent, his roving propensities were checked for a while by the fascinations of a fair Moor. "Halfway up the hill leading to Mustapha, stood a cheerful white house, embowered in foliage and commanding a splendid view of the Bay of Algiers. The Armida of that enchanting spot was named Aïcha, and never did Eastern poet dream of a more charming creature. What wonder, then, if beneath these shades six months of peace, calm, and repose elapsed. Each morning the smiling beauty seated herself at Osman's feet, whilst he wrote, upon a little Arab table, in the midst of perfumes and flowers, the life of a Protestant missionary whom he had met in one of his rambles."21 The Rinaldo of the foreign legion might, one would think, have been well content to linger long in such a retreat and such society. Aïcha was fond and constant, and was rapidly acquiring German. But after six months of this Capuan existence, the vagabond again got the upper-hand in the restless soul of the Caïd. Like the celebrated Lord Lovel, he loved and he rode away; the horse, in this case, being represented by a steamer, which carried him off westwards one fine morning, his gun on his shoulder, and in his pocket a letter of recommendation, now two years old, for General Lamoricière, whom he had formerly known in command of a battalion of Zouaves. What became of Aïcha – whether she cried her eyes out, or took arsenic, or another lover – the little dog, as Mr Commissary Capsicum would say, forgot to mention.

"The province of Oran, in 1841, was far from tranquil; a stout heart and a strong arm had then abundant opportunities of distinction. Mohamed-Ould-Caïd-Osman, inscribed under this Arab name on the muster-roll of the Spahis, and Siquot, who enlisted at the same period, did not miss such opportunities. Soon afterwards, Siquot was wounded, the Caïd had his horse killed under him, and their names appeared in the orders of the army. Heroes, whether illustrious or unknown, always find enviers; take as an example Sergeant Froidefond, a grumbling old trooper, who thought proper to tell the Caïd he was good for nothing but cleaning his nails. On their return to Mascara, they fought at twelve paces: Froidefond fired first, and the Caïd fell, shot through the buttock. The seconds ran forward to pick him up. 'Stop!' he cried, 'it is my turn to fire;' and raising himself on his elbow, he shot Froidefond dead. He himself was then carried to the hospital, where he found Siquot, who was getting cured of a wound. On hearing what had happened, the Chica – who had then been about a year mixed up in his existence, without very well knowing why, like the dogs who attach themselves to a squadron – hastened to the hospital to nurse him, and in three months he was on his legs again."

The Caïd had returned to his duty when, in 1813, M. de Castellane's regiment entered Mascara with trumpets sounding, escorting Marshal Bugeaud. Abd-el-Kader was at no great distance, and Generals Lamoricière and Tempoure had been operating against him until the cavalry of the province had great need of repose to recruit and remount. One night a Spanish deserter came over from the Emir, and gave Marshal Bugeaud important information, fully confirming the reports of the spies. An hour later, orders were given for an expedition in pursuit of Abd-el-Kader's battalions of regulars, of whom Sidi-Embarek had just taken the command. General Tempoure had charge of the column, which consisted of two battalions of infantry, four hundred and fifty French dragoons, fifty Spahis, including Siquot and the Caïd Osman, and a few irregular horse.

"If the official reports in the Moniteur were not there to confirm its truth, the narrative of this expedition would risk being deemed a fable. Cavalry and infantry marched three days and three nights: in the morning they halted for one hour and a half – at night, from six o'clock till midnight. From the moment when the trail of the enemy was first struck, the drum was not once beaten. They followed the scent, like dogs pursuing their prey. Thirty Spahis, with some horsemen belonging to the Arab office at Mascara, preceded the column; they read the earth during the night. What all exciting time that was! We came to bivouacs whose fires were still burning; the enemy had left them only that morning, and in all haste we resumed our march. At last, after forty-eight hours, our Arab scouts, hovering round the flanks of the column, captured two Arabs of the tribe of Djaffra. These refused at first to speak; but a musket-muzzle, applied to their heads, untied their tongues, and we learned that the regulars were at Taouira on the previous evening. We were on the right road, therefore, and should end by overtaking them. The march was resumed, the Spahis still leading. Not a pipe was alight; profound silence was observed, broken only by the noise of a fall, when some sleepy foot-soldier stumbled over an obstacle. Day broke, and a slight smoke was seen; the fires had just expired, the regulars were gone. The hope which had hitherto sustained the soldiers' strength suddenly abandoned them; nothing was heard but cries and maledictions. Everyone grumbled at the general. The morning halt was called in a hollow, and whilst the soldiers ate, the scouts reported that the traces of the enemy were quite fresh. For a second General Tempoure hesitated; then his decision was taken, and the order for instant march given. A great clamour arose in the bivouac. 'He wants to kill us all!' cried the soldiers, who during seventy hours had had but a few moments of repose. They obeyed, however, and the march was resumed. In an hour's time, the track turned southwards. In that direction there was no certainty of water. No matter, advance we must. But the traces grew fresher and fresher: here a horse had been abandoned; a little farther, a jackass. 'We have got the rascals!' said the soldiers, and their strength revived. At last, towards eleven o'clock, whilst the column was passing through a deep ravine, a thick smoke was seen behind a hill. This time the enemy was assuredly there. Fatigue vanished as by enchantment. In an instant cloaks were rolled, priming renewed, horses girthed up; all was ready, and the troops formed for the attack. Three hundred infantry supported three columns of cavalry; the centre was commanded by Colonel Tartas of the 4th Chasseurs. The advance began; just then there was the report of a musket; it was a vedette whom our scouts had been unable to surprise. The Arab galloped up the hill, waving his burnous. At the same moment, the drums of the regulars beat to arms; there was a stir in our ranks. The cavalry broke into a trot; the infantry, forgetting forced marches, followed at a run, and from the top of the hill we saw the two battalions of regulars, who had been unable to reach the opposite summit, halt half way up. Away went the cavalry, sabre in hand, horses at a gallop, Colonel Tartas at their head. They were met by a volley of musketry; some fell, but the avalanche broke through the obstacle, and the Arabs were cut down on all sides. Their horsemen try to escape – some flying to the left, others straight forward. They are pursued by all whose horses are not yet knocked up; and the Caïd Osman rolls over with his charger, which is hit in the head. M. de Caulaincourt, admirably mounted, continues the race; he kills one of the Emir's horsemen; but, separated by a ridge of ground from his soldiers, whom he has outstripped, he is surrounded by enemies. Without losing his presence of mind, he spurred his horse and broke through the circle, sabre in hand; when, just as he was about to rejoin his men, an Arab, issuing from a glade, shot him with a pistol, close to the eye. The horse galloped on, and carried back the wounded officer to his troop. The blood streamed, the flesh hung in shreds; M. do Caulaincourt, however, was still conscious. Lifted from his horse, a soldier took him on his back and carried him to the surgeon, traversing the scene of the combat, a true field of the dead. In a narrow space lay five hundred corpses, nearly all frightfully mutilated by the sabres of our chasseurs.

"A steep bank of rock had checked the progress of those horsemen who had fled to the left. Several alighted, and, jerking their horses with the bridle, surmounted the obstacle. Only one of them rode at a walk along the foot of this rocky wall. The whiteness of his garments and beauty of his equipments marked him as a chief. Siquot, a corporal of chasseurs, and Captain Cassaignoles, rode after him. The ground was very bad, full of impediments. The corporal was the first to reach him; just as his horse's nose touched the crupper of the Arab's charger, the horseman, turned round with the utmost coolness, took aim, and laid him dead on the spot. At the same moment Siquot came up and wounded the Arab, but received a pistol-ball through his left arm, the same shot killing the horse of Captain Cassaignoles, who was a little lower down the slope. The tall cavalier then rose in his stirrups, and struck Siquot on the head with his heavy pistol-butt, when Corporal Gerard of the Chasseurs, riding up on the top of the bank, shot him through the breast. The horse was caught; it was a splendid animal, which a wound in the shoulder had alone prevented from saving its master's life. 'See if that Arab is blind of an eye,' cried Captain Cassaignoles. They looked; an eye was wanting. 'It is Sidi-Embarek; let his head be cut off.' And Gerard, with a knife, separated the head from the body, that the Arabs might not have a doubt of his death. Then all obeyed the recall, which was sounding. The chase was over; the regulars were broken and destroyed; cruel fatigue had been rewarded by complete success. General Tempoure returned to Mascara, and a month later each man received, according to the Arab expression, the testimony of blood, the cross so glorious to the soldier.

"The chances of war then separated us from the Caïd: I also learned the return of Siquot to France, where, by an odd coincidence, he received from his Paris friends the same surname as from his African comrades. As to the German lansquenet, he marked every corner of the province of Oran by some daring feat, and always fortunate, invariably escaped unhurt. Within three years of service, he was five times named in orders, and passed through the noncommissioned grades to the rank of cornet. When I next met with him in 1846, Tom, the horse, the Chica, formed, as before, his whole family. Poor Chica, who in all her life had never had but one ambition, that of wearing a silk dress! In garrison, Tom was purveyor; he and his master started at daybreak and returned at night, weary but content, and with a well-filled game-bag. The Chica, who had passed the day singing, laid the table, and the three friends supped together.