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.