against Abd-el-Kader's little army. At charging distance he led on his
men, swept through the foe, and by a skilful combination of assault and
retreat regained his deira by the river Melouia, before sunset. The
deira had nearly effected its passage across the river, with the baggage
and the spoils taken from the enemy, when the Moorish army was seen
cautiously advancing.

The situation was full of peril. The deira had never been so exposed.
The ammunition was expended and the infantry was thus counted out of the
fight. Abd-el-Kader could only depend on his "Old Guard"--his matchless
cavalry. At length the Melouia was passed, and, although the foe was
pressing on, he would not leave its bank until the noncombatants had
gained a full hour in advance. Then the deira crossed another stream and
reached a place of safety, for the time, on French territory. Not a life
had been lost nor a beast of burden of all that crowd of men, women,
children, and animals. Coolness, intrepidity, and skill had been their
protectors. Of the fighting men, however, more than two hundred had been
slain, and nearly all the rest were suffering from wounds.

Abd-el-Kader now turned toward the hills inhabited by a tribe which
still, in part, adhered to him. His horsemen followed him in anxious
silence, suffering and exhausted. The rain fell in torrents. Their chief
was tormented by conflicting thoughts. A French camp was visible in the
distance, three hours' march away, occupying a pass. He and his cavalry
might yet escape by narrow defiles into the Sahara. But what of his aged
mother, his wife and children, his helpless followers in the deira? All
would become captives to the foe. He called his men around him and
reminded them of the oath which, eight years before on the renewal of
the war, they had taken at Medea that they would never forsake him in
any danger or suffering. All declared themselves ready still to adhere