WAR BETWEEN DESERT TRIBES.
A caravan has been plundered—the women of the tribe have been insulted—the right of water and pasturage has been disputed. These are wrongs which no razzia, not even the terrible tehha, can sufficiently avenge. The chiefs, therefore, assemble and decide upon war. Then they write to the chiefs of all their allied tribes, and claim their aid. The allies are loyal and faithful—are they not also enemies of the tribe to be chastised? Have they not the same sympathies, the same interests, as those who summon them? Are they not an integral part of the confederation? Not a single tribe will refuse to send a contingent in proportion to its importance. But the allies are distant. They cannot arrive within a week or ten days, and in the meantime counsels are taken, and the passion of the warriors excited by the proclamations of the chiefs:—
"You are warned, O servants of Allah! that we have to exact vengeance from such a tribe that has offered us such or such an insult. Shoe your horses. Supply yourselves with provisions for a fortnight. Forget not the wheat, the barley, the dried meat, and the butter. You must provide not only for your own wants, but also that you may be able to afford a generous hospitality to the horsemen of such and such tribes that are coming to our assistance. Command your prettiest women to hold themselves in readiness to accompany us, and to array themselves in their finest garments, and adorn their camels and litters to the utmost of their power. Do you yourselves also put on your handsomest dresses, for with us it is a matter of nif [self-love]. Keep your arms in good condition. Supply yourselves with powder, and be assembled on such a day at such a spot. The horseman who owns a mare and does not come, the foot-soldier who possesses a gun and stays at home, shall be fined, the former twenty ewes and the latter ten."
Every able-bodied man, though he should have to go on foot, is bound to join in the expedition. Before setting out, the chiefs confide the flocks, tents, and baggage of the tribe to the care of experienced veterans, who are likewise charged to exercise a sort of police supervision over this assembly of women, children, invalids, and shepherds.
The enemy, on their part, likewise make their preparations. Warned by travellers, by friends, and even by relatives whom they claim in the opposite party, they hasten to write in all directions to assemble their allies. Their flocks, tents, and baggage they place in a secure spot, and then assign a rendez-vous to the horsemen with the least possible delay. To guard against a surprise, they select a position suitable for defence, and await whatever may happen. They have not long to wait. The tribe that has taken up arms to avenge itself is very soon on the march, for it has not lost a single moment. On the evening before their departure, all the auxiliary chiefs join those who have summoned them, and, in the presence of the marabouts, take the following oath on the sacred book of Sidi Abd-Allah:—
"O friends! let us swear by the truth of the sacred book of Sidi Abd-Allah that we are brothers, that all our guns shall be as one, and that, in dying, we will all die by the same sabre. If you call us by day, we will come by day, and if you summon us by night, we will hasten to you by night."
Having taken this oath, they arrange to start on the following morning. At the appointed hour a man of high birth, noble among the noblest, mounts on horseback, orders his women, borne on camels, to follow him, and gives the signal. There is a general movement, and all set out. The eye is dazzled by the strange and picturesque confusion, the many-hued crowd of horses, warriors, and camels bearing rich palanquins in which the women are inclosed. Here are the foot-soldiers, who march by themselves—there the horsemen, who superintend the female procession. Others, again, more impetuous and thoughtless, dash on in front or spread out on the flanks, but rather as hunters than as scouts, and with their greyhounds run down the gazelle, the hare, the antelope, and the ostrich. The chiefs, however, are more serious. Upon their shoulders rests the whole responsibility. To them will accrue the largest share of the plunder, if the expedition succeed; and upon them, also, in the event of failure, will fall imprecations, ruin, and shame. They, therefore, consult together and form their plans. Lastly, come the camels that carry the supplies. Thus the host advances, adapting itself to the irregularities of the ground, all in wild confusion, every one noisy and joyous, thinking much of the adventure, nothing of the fatigue, dreaming of glory, not of danger. The warriors relate their former exploits, while the players on the flute accompany them, inspiriting or interrupting them, and the women utter joyful cries. And above all this uproar are heard the loud reports of fire-arms. The firing ceases, and a young and handsome horseman strikes up one of those love-songs, through which the ardour of their passion scatters strange images and striking colours, and which, in the desert, have always a fresh charm for these chivalrous nations.
My heart burns with fire
For a woman come forth from paradise;
O ye who know not Meryem [Mary],
That miracle of the one Allah,
I will show you her portrait.
Meryem, she is Osman Bey himself
When he appears with his standards,
And the roll of his drums,
And his goums following behind.
Meryem, she is a blood mare
That lives in luxury
In a gilded palace;
And loves the leafy shade,
And drinks limpid water,
And will have negro slaves to wait upon her.
Meryem, she is the moon of stars
That betrays robbers;
Or, rather she is the palm-tree
Of the country of the Beni-Mezab,[[78]]
The fruit of which grows so high
That no one can gather it.
Meryem, rather is she the gazelle,
Bounding in the desert.
The hunter covers her young;
She sees the powder flash,
Leaps forward to receive the ball,
And dies to save its life.
She appointed to meet me
On Monday night.
My heart beat, she came,
All enveloped in silk,
And threw herself into my arms.
Meryem has no sister [no equal]
In the four corners of the world!
She is worth all Tunis and Algiers,
Tlemcen and Mascara,
Their shops, their shop-keepers,
And their perfumed stuffs.
She is worth the vessels
That traverse the azure deep with their sails,
Going in search of the riches
Which Allah has created for us.[[79]]
She is worth five hundred mares
The fortune of a tribe,
When they hasten to the fight
Beneath their proud riders.
She is worth five hundred she-camels
Followed by their little ones,
Besides a hundred negroes of the Soudan,
Stolen by the Touarueg[[80]]
To serve Mahommedans.
She is worth all the wandering Arabs,
Happy and independent,
And those with fixed abodes,
Unhappy victims
Of the caprice of Sultans.
Her head is adorned with pure silk,
Whence escapes in flowing curls
Her black hair perfumed with musk,
Or with amber from Tunis;
Her teeth, you would say they were pearls
Set in the reddest coral,
And her eyes, charged with blood,
Wound like the arrows
Of the savage inhabitants of Bernou.[[81]]
Her saliva, I have tasted it,
Is the sugar of dried grapes,
Or the honey of bees
In the flower of spring time.
Her neck is the mast of a ship
That ploughs the deep seas,
With its white sails
To float along with the wind.
Her throat resembles the peach
Which is seen ripening on the tree;
Her shoulders are like polished ivory,
And her rounded ribs
Are the haughty sabres
Drawn by the Djouad[[82]]
When weary of using their fire-arms.
How many valiant horsemen
Have died for her in battle!
Oh! would that I possessed
The best horse of the desert,
By the side of her white she-camel!
That horse would fill with rage
The young men of the Sahara.
I hunt, I pray, I fast,
And follow the laws of the Prophet:
But, were I forced to go to Mecca,
Never would I forget Meryem.
Yes, Meryem, with thy black lashes
Thou wilt always be beautiful,
And as delightful as a gift.
At the end of a few hours the heat becomes unpleasant, and a halt is called. The tents are pitched, breakfast is prepared, and the horses are unbridled and allowed to graze—and all rest themselves. As the sun goes down, the heat diminishes—it is now between two and three in the afternoon. To your saddles and forward, ye daring cavaliers! Display in a brilliant fantasia the worth of your horses and of yourselves. The women behold you; show them what you can do with a horse and a gun. Ah! more than one of you shall be rewarded for his prowess. Do you see that negro? He is bearing to one of you the recompense of his skill in managing his arms and his steed. He is the messenger to whose care one of the lovely spectators has confided the secret of her love, in charging him to deliver to the hero of the fantasia her khrolkhral, or anklets, or her mekhranga, or necklace of cloves.
It is not enough, however, to be a brave and skilful horseman—it is incumbent on thee, also, to be discreet. Thou hast a friend; to-morrow thou wilt give him thy horse and thy garments. Urge him strongly, for thy sister[[83]] wishes it, to show himself in the midst of the goum upon thy steed and in thy dress, so as to deceive the other horsemen. In the mean time thou wilt pass unperceived as a humble foot-soldier, and wilt walk beside the camel that bears thy mistress. Attention! watch the favourable moment, and slip into her palanquin. She is just as impatient as thyself, and stretches her hand to thee. Profit by this assistance, and let thy movements outstrip suspicion.
In love, as in war, fortune favours the bold, but they have likewise the largest share of perils. If such meetings are frequent and nearly always successful, there is nevertheless risk to life; for, if the lovers are ever surprised, both of them perish without mercy. But who is there to betray them? All who surround them are in their favour. The lover tells his good fortune to his friends, all of whom are anxious to forward his happiness, and ten or a dozen douros have been sent to his mistress. Nor is this all. Her confidential servant has received two or three douros, and money has been freely distributed among her slaves and attendants. All, therefore, keep a good watch, and give timely notice to the lover when he must glide out of the litter, in the midst of the disorder and confusion caused by the pitching of the camp at the approach of night.
Previous to sunset, the chiefs reconnoitre a spot suitable for an encampment. It must be supplied with water, grass, and shrubs for fire-wood. On arriving at the place selected, each tent is pitched, the horses are unbridled and hobbled, as are also the camels, the negroes go in search of wood and grass, the women prepare the food, and they all sup. A thousand little scenes impart to a camp of this kind an aspect full of charm and novelty. Then total darkness envelopes the scene, unless there happens to be moonlight. The fires are extinguished—there is nothing alight to diminish the darkness. In the Sahara, oil and wax are alike unknown. Immediately after supper, each tent selects a man to watch the animals and the baggage. It is his business to prevent thefts, which his most active vigilance is, nevertheless, powerless to avert.
Not robbers alone wait for the night. Protected by the same obscurity, the lover, with the privity of his mistress, cautiously approaches the tent in which she reposes, raises the canvass, and guided by a devoted slave, takes the place of the husband who, fatigued by the day's journey, is sleeping in the men's chamber,—for in the tents of the desert there are always two distinct compartments, one for men, the other for women. Besides, it is deemed disgraceful for a man to pass the whole night by the side of his wife. There is nothing therefore, to interfere with these clandestine meetings. The presence of the two or three other wives permitted by the Mussulman law would certainly not be considered an obstacle. According, to an Arab proverb, only a Jewess surpasses Shitan in trickery, but next to Shitan comes the Mussulmanee. It is a thing unheard of in the desert that women should denounce one another. But if, perchance, the adventure should seem too hazardous, the woman issues from the tent when every one is asleep, and proceeds to a spot she has indicated to her lover by means of one of the usual intermediary agents, the negroes and shepherds.
At the very hour that happy lovers meet, are accomplished schemes of vengeance. A rejected lover penetrates into the tent of the woman who has treated him with scorn, goes up to her, and shoots her with a pistol. At the sound of the explosion, the other women jump up, run against one another, and utter shrieks. The murderer, however, has had time to disappear, and the crime, perpetrated unseen, nearly always remains unpunished. Love adventures are common in the Sahara. Willingly or unwillingly, an Arab woman is sure to have lovers. The jealous precautions of the husbands excite and foment to an unnatural degree the libertine propensities of the women, by the very restraints that are placed upon them. To whatever class they belong, they pass their time in inventing stratagems to deceive their husbands while they are young, and, when they are old, to facilitate the amours of others.
The night is over; the sky is covered with a golden light; it is time to depart. The chiefs now send forward scouts to reconnoitre the enemy's position, and to form an opinion, from external signs, of his moral condition, and of the reinforcements he has received. The scouts advance very cautiously, and, when they are nearing the hostile camp, travel only at night. One of them is then detached on foot, who takes advantage of every irregularity of the ground to avoid being noticed, and oftentimes, disguised in rags, penetrates boldly into the midst of the douars. There he makes himself acquainted with the number of foot-soldiers, horses, and tents; observes whether they are laughing and amusing themselves, or if sadness reigns in the camp; and then returns to communicate the result of his investigations. The scouts remain all night in a concealed spot, impatient to discover what will be the attitude of the enemy at sunrise. If he executes the fantasia and discharges his fire-arms,—if shouts of joy are heard, and singing, and the sound of the flute,—it is certain that he has received reinforcements, and troubles himself very little about the approaching attack.
The tribe continues its march until it is not above nine or ten leagues from the enemy. The advance has been made by short stages. The baggage, the women, the foot-soldiers, are so many causes of delay; but what has chiefly retarded the advance are the orders of the chiefs, who are desirous to afford time for reflection to those they proposed to chastise. It was acting prudently, and they were influenced by powerful motives. Who knew but that terms of peace might be asked for, accompanied by many presents for themselves, the leading councillors? Examples were not wanting to that effect—indeed, it was the usual custom. For them would be the cotton stuffs, the garments of cloth, the guns mounted in silver, the anklets, and the douros! When an affair takes such turn as this, an amicable arrangement is not far distant.
The two hostile bands are at length divided from one another by no more than ten leagues, and no propositions, direct or indirect, have been exchanged. Does the tribe recognise the impossibility of resistance, or will it accept battle? If it declines the contest, it assembles the most influential marabouts, and furnishes them with money and presents, towards which each individual has contributed his share. These holy men then proceed to the opposite camp in the middle of the night, under the protection of a chief who has received timely notice of their coming, after being seduced by their gifts. By him they are conducted to another, who is in like manner induced to accept the presents offered to him. The two now accompany the messengers of peace to a third chief, and so on to others, until they have gained the votes of all the most powerful. Then, and not till then, do the marabouts, secure of a friendly audience, unfold the propositions they are instructed to make—expressing themselves after this fashion:—"We have come only for the love of Allah. You know we are marabouts, and that we desire only what is right. For our sake, you must come to terms with the Mussulmans who have sent us. That is far better than bringing down upon us all the calamities of war, ruin and death. If you will do what is right, Allah will bless you, yourselves, your wives, your children, your mares, and your she-camels. If you choose what is wrong, may it recoil upon your own heads. We repeat, make peace, and may Allah curse the demon!"
Having first raised a few difficulties for form's sake, the chiefs finish by saying in reply to the marabouts:—"Well! we will make peace for the sake of Allah, and for your sake, but on the following conditions: 1st, You will restore to us the objects, goods or animals, which were taken from us when your people robbed our caravan at such a place. 2nd, You will pay the dya[[84]] of our people slain by yours on such a day. 3rd, You will restore to us all the flocks that were carried off from us by your people on such a day, in such a khrotefa. 4th, You will restore to us all the camels and horses which your thieves have stolen from us, and which are still within your bounds."
The marabouts accept these conditions, and guarantee their fulfilment. The sacred book of Sidi Abd-Allah is then produced, and the chiefs swear to make peace. After the oath has been taken, they who have come to prevent the shedding of blood return to their tribe, to give an account of what has been decided, and compel them to execute the terms which they have just guaranteed. On the morrow the tribe that has accorded peace continues its march, and encamps within a league of the enemy. It is barely installed, when the marabouts and chiefs of the opposite party arrive with the ratification that was stipulated. The leading men of the two rival camps meet together, and again swear on the book of Sidi Abd-Allah:—"By the truth of Sidi Abd-Allah, we swear that there shall not again be between us razzia, or theft, or murder, or reprisals [ousiga], that we are brothers, and that our guns shall henceforth fire in accord."
The marabouts of both parties next read the fatahh, or religious invocation, and conclude with these words: "Allah bless you, our children, for having thus buried the knife of contention, and prosper you in your families and in your goods!" The marabouts are afterwards visited by the chiefs of both sides who present to them offerings called zyara, literally a visit.
Peace concluded, the tribe that had put itself into motion retraces its steps, and at its departure executes a fantasia of the most noisy character. The horses caracole, reports of fire-arms resound, and the women utter loud cries. All is joy, happiness, and delirium. A dozen of the chiefs of this tribe remain in the midst of their late enemies, and receive from them a splendid hospitality, and even costly presents. And at their departure they take with them some of their hosts, and requite their new-found friends with a generous welcome. These truces last a considerable time; that is, from one to two years.
Peace, however, would certainly not have been concluded if the marabouts who came to intercede for it had not presented themselves under cover of the night. Had they come in the day time, the Arabs, discerning their intrigues, would have exclaimed out of jealousy: "By the sin of our women! we will fight. This one has received cloth-goods, that one money, another jewels, a fourth cotton-stuffs, and that other one arms. But we, whose brothers are dead, whose flocks have been carried, we have got nothing. Yes, we swear it by Sidi Abd-Allah, the powder shall speak." And, in truth, the powder very often does speak, and without the envious having had any cause to complain of the presents made to their chiefs, and without their having prevented the latter from entering into negotiations, and accepting conditions from which no advantage would accrue to the commonality. This happens when the tribe threatened has resolved to oppose force to force, and has prepared for a struggle.
In the latter event the enemy is allowed to approach within a day's march. No advances are made, no propositions offered. The march is therefore continued on the morrow, and the camp is pitched about two leagues from that of the tribe which awaits the assault. The scouts of the two parties come into collision, and, mutually exasperating each another, prelude actual hostilities by insults. A few musket shots are exchanged, and they cry out to one another:— "O Fatma, daughters of Fatma! The night has arrived; why go on to-day? To-morrow shall be called your day." Or, "Dogs, sons of dogs, wait till to-morrow! If you are men, you will meet us."
The skirmishers fall back, and the leaders on both sides organise as quickly as possible a guard of one hundred horsemen and one hundred foot-soldiers, to insure the safety of the camp. On the morrow they watch each other attentively. If one party strike their tents, the others do the same; or if they leave their tents pitched, and advance to the combat with horses and foot, and with the women mounted on camels, the example is followed on the other side. The cavaliers of the two tribes confront one another. The women are placed in the rear, ready to excite the combatants by their cries and applause, and are themselves protected by the foot-soldiers who form the reserve. The battle begins by small parties of ten or a dozen horsemen bearing down upon the flanks, and trying to turn the enemy. The chiefs, at the head of a tolerably compact mass, keep in the centre. Presently the affair grows warm and animated. The bravest and best mounted of the young men dash forward, carried away by passion and the thirst for blood. Uncovering their heads, they strike up their war-songs, and excite themselves by loud outcries:—
"Where are they who have mistresses? It is beneath their eyes that the warriors will combat this day!
"Where are they who, in the presence of the chiefs, were always boasting of their valour? It is to-day that tongues should be long, and not in peaceful gossipings.
"Where are they who run after fame?
"Forward, sons of powder! You see before you those sons of Jews! Our sabre shall drink of their blood, and their goods we will give to our women.
"Strike out, young men! Strike out! It is not the balls that kill, but fate."
These shouts madden the horsemen. They make their steeds rear up on end, and fire off their pieces. Every face asks for blood. They rush together, and at last attack each other with the sabre. One party or the other, however, soon gives way, and begins to fall back upon the camels carrying the women. Then shrieks arise from both sides. These scream with joy, to animate yet more the victors—those utter wrathful and terrible imprecations, to rally the failing courage of their husbands and brothers.
"Look at those famous warriors who show off with their bright stirrups and splendid garments at marriage feasts and festivals! Look at them running away and abandoning even their women! O Jews, and sons of Jews! alight and let us mount your horses, and from henceforth you shall no longer be counted among men. Oh! Allah curse all cowards!"
These railings recall the spirit of the vanquished. They make a vigorous effort, and, supported by the fire of the foot-soldiers who are in reserve, they recover the lost ground, and even hurl the enemy back into the midst of his own women, who now rail as loudly as they lately applauded. The struggle is renewed on the ground that separates the women of the two tribes. During these varying phases the contest has been very desperate, and before long the side that has most men and horses wounded, that has lost the greatest number, and, above all, that has witnessed the fall of its most valiant chiefs, takes to flight, notwithstanding the exhortations and prayers of a few energetic men, who fly from right to left, trying to rally the fugitives and restore the fight. These brave fellows cry aloud:— "Are there any men here, or are there not? Hold your own souls! If you flee, they will carry off your women and leave you nothing but shame. Die! Let it not be said: 'They fled!' Die! and you will yet live!"
A beautiful and touching scene will, perhaps, then be enacted. A chief of the highest rank, in despair at being defeated, throws himself into the mêlée to seek death, but is held back by the young men who gather round him, and beseech him to retire. "Thou art our father!" they will exclaim; "What will become of us if thou shouldst perish? It is our duty to die for thee. We will not remain as sheep without a shepherd." A handful of warriors still endeavour to make head against the foe, but they are swept away in the general rout, and soon find themselves by the side of their women. Every one, then, seeing that all is lost, devotes himself to saving what is dearest to him. As rapidly as possible they make to the rear, only from time to time facing about to check the pursuit of the enemy.
The audacity of desperation has more than once changed the face of things. Aïssa-ben-el-Sheriff, a child of fourteen, mounted on horseback with his tribe to repel an attack directed by Sid-el-Djedid. The Arbâa were beginning to give way and take to flight, when the boy, throwing himself before them, tried to stop them: "What!" he exclaimed, "You are men, and are afraid! You have been brought up in the midst of powder, and do not know how to burn it! Did you pay all that attention to your mares only to make use of them in flight?" And when the others replied, "Djedid! Djedid! Look at Djedid!" "Djedid," continued the child. "It is a single man that makes you flee! Behold, then, this terrible warrior, who puts hundreds to the rout, checked in his victorious career by a child!" With these words he dashed his spurs into his horse's flanks, and came up with the redoubtable warrior. Djedid, fearing nothing from a mere boy, was off his guard, but the latter threw himself round his neck, entwined his arms round him, and, leaving his own horse, hung by one arm, while with the other he endeavoured to stab him with his knife. Astonished at such audacity, and hampered in his movements, Djedid strove in vain to shake him off, but with all his presence of mind he was unable to parry the boy's frequent thrusts. Puzzled what to do, he slipped off his horse, hoping to crush Aïssa in his fall. The latter, however, succeeded in avoiding him, and throwing himself on the courser of the dreaded chief, rejoined his tribe, to whom he exhibited a trophy that made the oldest warrior blush for the momentary panic to which they had yielded.
Were it not that the conquerors usually build a golden bridge for the conquered, the latter might be easily destroyed; but the thirst for pillage gains the day, and the victors disperse in search of plunder. One despoils a foot-soldier, another a horseman whom he has overthrown; another, again, leads away a steed, and yet another a negro. Thanks to this disorder, the bravest of the discomfited tribe succeed in saving their women, and even their tents. When the pillage is at an end, the horsemen of the victorious tribe are anxious to return home, and their chiefs encourage the desire. "We have slain numbers," say they. "We have seized their horses, captured their women, taken their guns, and refreshed our souls by making orphans of these sons of dogs. Our best plan now is to go and sleep at such a place, for the enemy, strengthened by his reinforcements, may possibly resume the offensive and attack us during the night." The baggage is sent forward in front, and, protected by a strong rearguard, during the first few days they continue their march until nightfall.
In this species of warfare, the greatest respect is shown to the captive women. Men of low birth, indeed, despoil them of their jewels, but the chiefs make it a point of honour to restore them to their husbands, with their camels, their jewels, and their ornaments. They even take pains to properly array those who have been robbed, before sending them back.
In the desert, they make no prisoners, and cut off no heads, and they have a horror of mutilating the wounded, who are left, however, to themselves to escape or perish, for no one takes any trouble about them. Rare examples of cruelty do sometimes occur, but these are acts of private revenge, when men have recognised the murderers of those who were dear to them, a friend or brother.
On reaching their own territory, the tribe is welcomed by extraordinary rejoicings. The universal exultation betrays itself by the liveliest demonstrations. The women draw up their camels in a single row, and utter cries of joy at regular intervals. The young men execute in their presence a fantasia of the wildest description. Salutations, embraces, and interrogations are exchanged on all sides. Food is prepared for the warriors and their allies, and the chiefs collect the sum that is to be divided among them. A common horseman never receives less than ten douros, or an article of equal value. This recompense, called zebeun, is obligatory, and is given over and above the plunder each may have seized for himself; and, in addition to this, three camels are bestowed upon every cavalier who has lost a horse. It is needless to add that a larger sum than ten douros is offered to the chiefs of the allied tribes, whose influence has been so successful. They receive their share like the others, but in secret they are presented with money, or articles of considerable value, such as carpets, tents, arms, horses, etc., etc.
A generous hospitality is offered to the allies; and on the morrow, when they set out to return to their own territories, the chiefs mount on horseback and accompany them. After riding on together for two or three hours, they renew the mutual oath never to raise but one war-shout, never to make but one and the same gun, to come in the morning if summoned in the morning, and to come at night if summoned at night. In the desert, if feuds are keen and hereditary, sympathies, on the other hand, are also numerous and profound. The following verses illustrate the extreme degree of delicacy and devotedness to which the sentiment of friendship is carried by the Arabs:
If a friend does not walk as blindly as a child,
If he does not voluntarily expose himself to death,
Forgetting that suicide is a crime,
He shall have no place in the tents of our tribes.
I will obey the summons of my friend.
Though the morning light should be the reflection of swords,
Though the darkness of night should be the cloud of dust raised
by the tramp of horses,
I will go to die or to be happy.
The smallest of the sacrifices to which I have agreed is death.
Can I live far away from the place of refuge so dear to me?
Can I support the absence of neighbours to whom I have become
accustomed.
It may be naturally asked why a tribe that is menaced with an attack, but will not make the necessary sacrifices to obtain peace, does not flee, instead of awaiting the assault. To flee, is to invite pursuit while in the disorder of a retreat. It means leaving one's country, exposing oneself to scarcity of water for the flocks, or even falling into the hands of some other enemy, who would certainly take advantage of this opportunity for pillage and revenge. The wisest plan is to choose a good position, assemble the allies, and await the enemy if confident in one's own strength, or else to make concessions if conscious of weakness.
"O Allah! save us and save our horses. Every day we lie down in a new country. It may be that She remembers our vigils with the flutes and tabours."
REMARKS BY THE EMIR ABD-EL-KADER.
How can any strange people contend with us, who are brought up in the highest sense of honour, even above all the tribes collected in the great assemblies? Do we not advance against the enemy on horses of pure race, terrible as raging lions, that gallop wildly along the perilous mountain path?
I have prepared, against the time when fortune shall be unfavourable to me, a noble courser of perfect shape, and which none can rival in swiftness.
I have also a flashing sabre which severs at a stroke the body of an enemy. And yet fortune has treated me as if I had never tasted the pleasure of bestriding an air-drinker;
As if I had never rested my heart on the virgin bosom of a well-beloved maiden, with legs adorned with bracelets of gold;
As if I had never felt the anguish of separation;
As if I had never taken part in the exciting spectacle of our blood horses surprising the enemy at the break of day;
As if, in short, after a defeat, I had never brought back the runaways to the fight, by crying aloud:—
"Fatma! daughters of Fatma!
"Death is a tax levied on our heads; turn the neck of your horses, and repeat the charge.
"Time turns upon itself and returns.
"Would that I could throw the world on its face!"