I had hardly got back to Paris when I was shot on to the Admiralty Board. A great honour it was, no doubt, for a junior like myself to be associated with such veterans in the profession as numbers among its members were. But this gathering of experienced men was merely a body of advisers placed at the disposal of the Minister of Marine, to assist him with its counsel on any questions he chose to submit to them. The committee possessed no initiative of its own, and I felt myself misplaced upon it. I had indeed, and always have preserved, the deepest respect for its eminent qualities. It has contributed not a little, by its consistent action and permanent character, to the preservation of our naval organisation—the worth of which has been proved everywhere, in the Crimea, on the battlefields in 1870, in Tunis, and in China—from the results of the conceited ignorance of mushroom politicians. But in the year 1843 we were on the brink of the inevitable revolution worked in naval matters by the introduction of steam. The great object for us was to create, and that rapidly, under pain of being outstripped by others, a new naval force, more appropriate, perhaps, than our former one, to our national genius and resources. Passionately interested as I was in the greatness of my country, having leisure time to dispose of, since nothing called on me to plunge into the paltry bargain-making of electoral politics in which that country was wallowing, having no love of red tape nor excess of experience to hold me back, I was ardently anxious to be employed where I could actively assist in creating a powerful element in the national strength. I therefore merely passed through the Admiralty Board.
My only recollection of it is of having been present at some very long sittings in a room in the Ministry of Marine, the windows of which look on to the Rue Royale, which apartment one of my colleagues, Admiral de Bougainville, had turned into a sort of stovehouse by means of hot-air pipes, sandbags, screens, and foot muffs. We all nearly died of the heat, and when another colleague of mine, Baron Charles Dupin, made us long speeches, I had the greatest difficulty in keeping myself awake.
The Minister of Marine decided, at my entreaty, to appoint a special naval commission on steam, of which I was a member. The chief commission did nothing, or scarcely anything—but a sub-commission did good work. There were five of us—a captain in the navy, M. de Verninac (who was afterwards Minister of Marine under General Cavaignac); a very clever engineer, formerly Superintendent at Indret, M. Rossin; an artillery colonel, M. Durbec; M. Touchard, a naval lieutenant; and myself. I will not give the full story of our work, and of the constant battle we had to fight with obstinate habit and dread of responsibility. All those early attempts of ours at transforming our navy seem almost childish, looked at from the distance of the half-century which has since elapsed. And indeed, though my recollection of them is clear enough, I have no means of verifying it, all my notes and reports, and all my correspondence relating to the undertakings in question, having passed out of my hands, in the following manner:—
Some months after the Revolution in 1848, while I was residing in England, at Claremont, a visitor's name was brought up to me. The name, de X., was that of a good family, well known in Normandy and in the political and scientific world. But instead of one of the faces I was prepared to see, I beheld that of a most unsatisfactory member of the family, whom I instantly remembered having seen in Algeria, wearing a Belgian uniform, and acting as reporter for the Constitutionnel newspaper. He entered the room and said:
"Do you remember me?"
"Perfectly."
"Well, I've just arrived from your part of the world."
"What do you mean?"
"After the Tuileries were captured, on February 24th (you were in Algiers just then), I took up my quarters in your rooms. They are very comfortable rooms. I stayed in them for two months. They were rather upside down, as you may fancy. Everything worth taking had been carried off, but the floor was littered with books and papers and a whole heap of things that everybody had trodden upon. I amused myself by settling them all up, especially your letters and papers, which I sorted. I arranged them into several classes. Everything referring to your missions and to political matters I sent to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, and everything touching the navy to the Ministry of Marine. In fact, I disposed of everything. But I put aside a few documents regarding the Princesse de Joinville's business matters in Brazil and your own private journals of your sea-voyages, and brought them with me here."
He smilingly showed me a packet he held in his hand, then went on:
"But my journey has cost me a lot of money." "Then say how much you want, in plain English."
"A hundred louis."
I went and fetched the money, and then showed him the door without another word, though I could hardly resist kicking him through it. Thus it was that I learnt what had become of my papers on naval subjects. I greatly regretted the loss of my private correspondence, and more especially that of my letters from M. Dupuy de Lome, a most talented young engineer, much in advance of his times, with whom I had been in daily intercourse.
Our commission did its best. It made a modest beginning by altering the fighting armament of our existing ships, placing their guns fore and aft, so as to permit of their developing their artillery power to the utmost possible extent, while at the same time exposing the propelling machinery to as little danger as possible. We turned out ships of various types, such as the Descartes, the Cuvier, the Pluton, &c. Then came the turn of the fabric of the ships themselves, and we had a series of experiments made on the practising ground at Gavres, near Lorient, to test the penetration of projectiles on every sort of substance—wood, coal, gutta-percha, iron plates, and finally on iron plates superimposed one on the other—in other words armour-plating. It was ten years before the armour plating was actually brought into use, so great was the delay caused by political agitation in the country.
At Lorient, too, M. Labrousse, a post-captain in the navy, made experiments to find out the best form to give to the rams of warships, while a literary man, M. Jal by name, was hunting all the old books and archives for everything touching the manoeuvres and tactics of ancient rowing ships and galleys.
Then from paddle-ships we passed on to those with propellers which were submerged, and therefore much more easy to protect, and I went to watch the first trials of the newly-invented improvements at sea—that of our first screw-ship, the Napoleon, a name which was afterwards exchanged for that of Corse, under which she served as a despatch-boat for over forty years—of our first ironclad, a screw-ship, too, the Chaptal, built at Asnieres by M. Cave—and of the Pomone, the first frigate we built with auxiliary engines, which was fitted with a screw-propeller designed by a Swedish engineer, Mr. Erickson. But the most interesting of all these trials was that of the Napoleon, first, because, as I have already stated, she was our first screwship, and also because that particular mode of propulsion is of French invention.
An organ-builder at Amiens, of the name of Dallery, was the first person to think (in 1803) of building a boat driven by a screw. He ruined himself over it, and broke up all his machinery in his despair. The idea was taken up again later by M. Sauvage, a shipbuilder, who made some progress with it. I had known Sauvage, in 1835, in connection with another invention called a physionotype, by means of which a mathematically correct impression could be taken of the features of any face. But as everybody made an appalling grimace before putting their face into the instrument, the result, though strictly exact, was monstrously ugly.
There was more future promise about Sauvage's work on the screw-propeller than about his physionotype, but he himself did not reap the benefit accruing from it. It became public property. The English built a trial ship, the Rattler, and the Americans another, the Princeton. But the Napoleon was earlier than these, and besides was more successful than either of them. She was originally ordered as a mail steam-packet, from a private shipyard, by the Ministry of Finance, which was much bolder as to introducing innovations than the Ministry of Marine, and her construction was confided to two eminent men—M. Normand, of Havre, for her hull, and an Englishman, Mr. Barnes, for her engines and propeller. Each of these gentlemen was equally successful in his first attempt.
During the summer of 1843 I was in command of a flotilla, formed for the purpose of making experiments to compare ships of the old-fashioned type with this little vessel, which we tested in every imaginable way. At every change in the condition of the sea, M. Normand, Mr. Barnes, and I myself, who were all three of us escorting the Napoleon on board the Pluton, used to rush on deck to watch her behaviour. M. Normand would give us a lecture on her lines and her displacement wave, or the degree of her rolling or her pitching. Mr. Barnes, a great big Englishman, said never a word, but pulled a slide-rule out of his pocket and mumbled algebraic formulae. The ship was commanded in first-rate style by a very efficient naval lieutenant, M. de Montaignac, who since that time has acted as Minister for Marine Affairs.
As nobody had ever seen a screw steamer before, we aroused general astonishment wherever we went. In the course of our cruise we entered the Thames, and ascended the Medway from Sheerness to Chatham. It was in the morning, there was a slight fog. The authorities were informed of our approach, and were preparing to receive us, only delaying assembling for that purpose till they had been warned the ship was close by, either by her being caught sight of, or by the sound of her paddle-wheels striking the water. But the Napoleon, running swiftly up through the fog, making no noise whatever with her screw, took them all by surprise. When the dockyard authorities hurried up they saw her stop, and then, thanks to her screw, she turned almost in her own length, and brought up alongside the jetty—a novel proceeding over which the commodore, an old salt, was still gasping when I went ashore.
During this visit to the Thames the little flotilla went up to Woolwich, where we were welcomed by the English authorities with that frank cordiality with which they have almost always received me. We were shown both the arsenal and the dockyard. In the dockyard basin a steam corvette with paddle-wheels was lying, which had a new arrangement of which I had heard a great deal. The sponsons formed great rafts which could be lowered into the water by an ingenious mechanical contrivance, and which, in case of its being necessary to land troops, would carry a large number at a time, and even save the crew in a case of disaster. This, indeed, did occur in the Crimea and elsewhere, after our ships had all been equipped with the invention.
Commodore Sir Frederick Collier was good enough to have these rafts experimented with at my request. I turned my opportunity of seeing them to good account. When I was back in Paris, some two or three months later, the English naval captain (his name escapes me, I fancy it was Smith), who had invented this raft system, asked me to receive him. He came, so he told me, to offer his plan to the French navy, and on the strength of the interest with which I had followed the trial of his boat at Woolwich, he begged me to recommend it to the minister for that department of affairs. Further, he offered to bring me a model of it.
"Wait one moment," I replied.
I rang the bell, and sent for an old workman who was in my employment. He came, with a model of my visitor's boat and lowering apparatus in his hand, constructed on drawings I had made on my return from England. The inventor stood as though petrified at the sight. The only word he said was "Wonderful!" It appears I had caught the likeness at once. What it is to know how to draw!
Let me add, by the way, that the old workman to whom I have just referred had been a ship's carpenter with the fleet commanded by Villaret de Joyeuse in the naval engagement which we call the Battle of the 13th Prairial, and the English that of the 1st of June. At my house he often met an academician, as old as himself, of the name of Dupaty, who had also been a sailor, and present at the same battle. The two old warriors would interchange recollections, which amused me much, and often interested me deeply as well.
From them I learnt that before the fleet sailed from Brest to fight the British it was "purified" (epuree). The captain and two lieutenants of the flag-ship, the Cote d'Or, were guillotined, and the ship's name changed into the terrifying one of the Montagne. The captain of another ship, the Jean Bart, had also been beheaded. Thousands of sailors and seasoned marines, whose opinions were not trusted, were drafted into the land-forces, and replaced by others who were pure Republicans, but who did not know their work. POUR ENCOURAGER LES AUTRES, Jean Bon St. Andre, commissary of the republic with the fleet, and afterwards prefect of Mayence under Napoleon (his very name marked him out for the post!), had caused a guillotine to be erected on board every ship. It was set up forward at the foot of the foremast. Yet all these terrorising measures and this revolutionary disorganisation did not bring us victory. They brought indeed nothing but defeat, attended by downright carnage. The valour of our crews often amounted to actual heroism. But they had no skill. They were killed, but they could not deal death themselves. Every English shot told. Every French one flew wide. It is most distressing, on consulting the annals of the two navies, to notice the enormous losses on board the French ships compared with the insignificant number of men killed or wounded on the English ones. True it is, that at sea, just as on dry land, extemporised arrangements are disastrous things, and that, as I have already asserted, nothing can ever replace professional skill and the long established habit of obedience to superior orders and general discipline.
That wonderfully dramatic, if sometimes contested episode, of the Vengeur going down into the waves with all her crew, sooner than surrender, is supposed to have taken place at the close of the battle of the 13th Prairial. I have often heard the story attributed to Barrere, who, being obliged to give an account of the lost battle to the Convention, endeavoured thus to gild the pill. I questioned my two old sailor friends eagerly concerning this incident of the struggle wherein they had both played their part.
On another occasion I made personal inquiries of one of the last survivors of the Vengeur, to whom I had been commissioned to convey the Cross of the Legion of Honour. Putting together what I gathered from these various individuals, and what I collected elsewhere, I believe the exact truth concerning the episode in question to be as follows:
Towards the end of the fight, after having grappled for a long time, at close quarters, with the British warship the Brunswick, the Vengeur, riddled with shot on every side, and utterly dismasted, was shipping water through her ports with every roll of the sea. In this condition she must have sunk before long. The engagement was over—it was six o'clock at night. The English warships Alfred and Culloden, and the Rattler, cutter, came to the Vengeur's assistance, and set to work, with the few of their boats which had not been smashed during the fight, to save Renaudin, her plucky captain, and his son, first of all, and then take off the crew. The Alfred took off two hundred and thirteen men, the Culloden and Rattler almost as many more; but the work of rescue was still going on when the ship foundered, carrying with her not only all the most seriously wounded men, but about forty unwounded sailors, who seeing death was inevitable, bravely greeted its approach with shouts of "Vive la Nation! Vive la Republique!" The story is such a splendid one as it is, that it needs no imaginary embellishments whatever.
Let me return for a moment to my excellent academician friend, M. Dupaty, whose acquaintance I had made in the most absurd fashion. In the palmy days of the warlike enthusiasm of the Citizen Guard the worthy Dupaty was a captain in the 1st battalion of the 2nd Legion, commanded by Commandant Talabot. One evening, when he was on guard at the Palais Royal, he had been reciting some verses in my father's drawing-room, and, somewhat intoxicated perhaps by poetic enthusiasm, he begged the King to put one of his sons into his company. His Majesty burst out laughing and said:
"There's Joinville, he knows all his rifle-drill very well; he has had one of the old Invalides to teach him. He'll do for you."
So I was put into a National Guard's uniform, with a knapsack stuffed with hay on my back (in the ardour of that moment the chic companies all wore knapsacks), and was sent to drill with my company on the Rue de Londres drill ground, where the Quartier de l'Europe now stands. A more ridiculous proceeding cannot be imagined, but old Dupaty was perfectly enchanted. He was still more delighted when he succeeded in getting one of his works, a comic opera called Picaros et Diego given at the theatre in the Chateau of Compiegne, in honour of the marriage of my sister Louise and the King of the Belgians. But lo! at the climax of the piece, the principal performer came forward, before the newly married couple, the Royalties, and all the great personages forming the audience, and burst forth with a gag couplet, which nobody expected.
Oui, c'en est fait, je me marie, Je veux vivre comme un Caton. Il fut en temps pour la folie Il en est un pour la raison! [Footnote: Rough translation:— Yes! all is o'er, I'm going to wed, Like Cato I'm resolved to live. The time for youthful folly's sped, My life to Reason now I'll give!]
As King Leopold was not reckoned to have led a life quite devoid of love affairs, the appropriateness of the remark had a wonderful effect. All the grandees hung their heads in a row, and the rest of the audience struggled with a violent desire to burst out laughing.
But this long digression has carried me far away. I must get back to England and my little flotilla's stay there. My brother Aumale, who had accompanied me on my cruise, went with me to Windsor, where we paid our respects to Queen Victoria. Although in the course of my various voyages I had touched at several English ports, this was the first time I really saw England, hospitable England, and the first impression it made on me was very deep. Though the gray and smoky tint of both sky and water and buildings, and everything I passed as I went up the Thames to London Bridge, looked singularly dreary to my eyes, the immense commercial stir and general activity I saw exceeded anything I had ever expected to behold. And the ineffaceable impression of this greatness and power was quickly succeeded by another, no less profound, and which my long life has only confirmed, that here was a nation which had known how to pass through a revolution without permitting it to encroach on its social discipline, nor allowing democratic jealousies to destroy its traditions and sow discord between the different classes of its population.
I thought Windsor quite superb. The old castle, surrounded by its ancient trees, with its foundations lapped by the waters of the Thames, the national river, and seeming to stretch out its protecting arm over Eton and the picturesque college—whither the flower of the nation comes to receive the healthiest and soundest of educations at the hands of a purely clerical body—is a true symbol of the calm strength and steady permanence of the English Monarchy.
I had met Prince Albert several times already, in Paris; but I had never seen Queen Victoria before. Bright and witty, with an arch and pleasant smile not always quite devoid of mischief, the young sovereign was in all the freshness and brilliance of her youth and the radiance of her happiness. She and her royal husband gave us a welcome of which I preserve the most grateful recollection, and from that day forward I conceived a profoundly respectful affection for her Majesty, which has increased with my advancing years.
Our visit to Windsor was short and devoid of striking incident, beyond the acquaintance I made there with men of eminence in war or state craft, such as the Duke of Wellington, Sir Robert Peel, and Lord Aberdeen. It was at this time that the Queen of Great Britain's journey to the Chateau d'Eu was decided on. I went with my flotilla as far as Cherbourg to meet her.
When she got there, she invited me on board her own vessel, the splendid yacht Osborne, commanded by a son of the late King William IV., Lord Adolphus Fitzclarence, a very good fellow, but a somewhat rubicund specimen of the old-fashioned British sailor, with an eye he had some difficulty in keeping open; which failing earned him the following reply to his chaffing remark, made to a little schoolboy, already somewhat sensitive about his personal dignity. "Oh, WHAT a bad hat you have!"
"And you, what a damned bad eye!"
Lord Aberdeen, the Minister for Foreign Affairs, was also on board the yacht, besides Lord Liverpool, Lord Charles Wellesley, Colonel Wylde, and the ladies-in-waiting—that charming Lady Canning whom we had known in Paris as a child, and who died in India, after having shown great courage during the terrible Sepoy mutiny, and a not less charming Miss Liddell, who afterwards became Lady Bloomfield.
The Queen's entrance into Treport was favoured by splendid weather; the little wet dock, crammed with fishing boats, and the old church, were gilded by the rays of the setting sun, while opposite us, on the rock overlooking the port, rose the great cross before which the fishermen's wives go and pray in stormy weather. We went ashore to the firing of cannon and the rattle of thousands of sabots on the shingle, among a good-humoured crowd of sailors, short-petticoated fishwives, and white-capped Normandy peasant women, all making their comments aloud, while here and there appeared a gendarme's cocked hat, or the broad-brimmed headgear of some country cure. It was a picturesque sight, so gay and noisy, and so thoroughly French, and the young sovereign seemed delighted with its novelty. There was no cavalry escort nor lining of the road from Treport with troops; but the splendid squadrons of the 1st Cuirassiers, in their copper breast-plates, were drawn up in echelon at regular distances apart in the open fields, and saluted with their trumpets as we went by; while at the chateau itself the Guard of Honour was furnished by a battalion of riflemen drawn up in close order, their dark uniform and military air causing Lord Charles Wellesley, the Duke of Wellington's son, and a thoroughbred soldier himself, to exclaim, "Oh, what splendid little fellows!"
My father had put the Queen into a huge open vehicle, with room for twelve people in it, like a boat in shape, drawn by a team of eight horses, harnessed in the French style, with an outrider, coachman, footmen, and grooms all dressed in red. The postilion, who wore great boots as in a Van der Meulen picture, was the only servant in a blue livery. This contrast in colour arose out of a tradition which had been kept up in the royal stables, that the postilion, being supposed to have taken off his jacket for the sake of being cool, must always be dressed in the same colours as the other servants' waistcoats. The Orleans livery being scarlet with a blue waistcoat, the postilions wore blue. The Conde livery being chamois-colour, with amaranth waistcoats, the postilions must wear amaranth, and so on.
The royal waggon with its eight horses was anything but easy to manage on the narrow Norman roads. And one slight accident occurred of which I was the unlucky cause. I was riding beside the carriage door, and I got in the way when it was turning a corner, so that it got locked, and remained so for some minutes. My father stormed, and the Queen went into a fit of laughter; but the poor old coachman, a veteran belonging to the old state stables, cast a look at me that must have been like Vatel's glance before he ran himself through with his sword. I had brought disgrace on him at the most solemn moment in his life!
The next day a fresh bit of local colour was provided for the royal guests. The Queen was taken out driving with posters in the forest. The postilions, with their clubbed and powdered hair and gaily beribboned hats, started at a fairly steady pace, but once they were clear of the crowd they went off at full tear, with loose reins and a great cracking of whips. The pace was so severe that it was as much as I could do, with my horse at full gallop, to keep my place beside the carriage door. The fun was flavoured with a touch of uneasiness, which increased its charm. The whole period of the Queen's visit was thus spent in drives and excursions, from which we did our best to banish any touch of official formality and constraint.
In the evenings there would be a concert, with the artists from the Conservatoire to sing the chorus from Armide, "Jamais en ces beaux lieux," the orchestra performing the symphony in A, and a solo on the horn by Vivier; or else Auber would bring the Opera Comique troupe, Roger, Chollet, and Anna Thillon; or else Arnot played L'Humonste with Mdme. Doche. There were Cabinet Ministers there as well. Lord Aberdeen and M. Guizot held conversations, during which they may or may not have confided political secrets to each other. Marshal Soult, the President of the Council, spoke but little, and when he did, the words that fell from his lips were not always of the most good-tempered sort, as one unlucky general found out to his cost. This worthy man, no longer young, who was in command in a neighbouring department, held the grade of brigadier-general, and, feeling the moment of his retirement was approaching, he was passionately anxious, before it struck, to make sure of the three stars that mark the rank of lieutenant-general. He had been watching his opportunity to try and get the marshal to look favourably on his request, and he fancied he had found it one morning when he met him after luncheon, at the entrance of the Galerie des Guise. The marshal was walking along, limping from an old wound, with one hand behind his back, and plunged in a meditation which was the reverse of rose-colour, to judge by the pouting under-lip, which he always wore when this was the case.
The general approached him, and he stopped short, knitting his brows.
"I am very lucky, Monsieur le Marechal, to have this opportunity of paying you my respects."
"Pooh!" said the marshal, but the poor wretch went on:
"And as I have this lucky chance, Monsieur le Marechal, I take advantage of it to inform you of the satisfactory state of the public mind in my department, and the good results of my work there. Do you know that only the day before yesterday I had sitting at my own dinner table, with several people who are devoted to the present order of things, a Legitimist and … a Republican!"
"Oh, had you indeed? Then let me tell you you asked them to dine to meet an idiot!"
And off the marshal went, leaving his unlucky interlocutor aghast at the sudden collapse of his hopes. I have even heard it said he died of it!
On her return from Eu, the Queen landed at Brighton, whither I had the honour of accompanying her, and where she was received with that general enthusiasm which has never failed to greet her. I remained for a day as her Majesty's guest in that hideous Pavilion at Brighton, in those days a royal residence, where nobody could move about or open a window without being exposed to the fire of all the opera glasses in the houses opposite This masterpiece of bad taste has been turned into a casino. It is the one thing it was fitted to be. Then I took those of our ships which had escorted the Queen to Brighton back to Treport to act as guardships while the King remained at Eu.
Some years previously a comical scene took place on board one of these guardships. The King had gone, according to his usual custom, to inspect the ship in question and her crew, accompanied by the then Minister for Marine Affairs, a gallant officer who shall be nameless, but who was better fitted for giving words of command than for extemporising speeches. Once on board the… Pelican (I will use that name, though it is not the real one), and the inspection of the crew being over, the King told the minister he desired to commemorate his visit by the bestowal of at least one Cross of Honour. The idea was quite unexpected, but after some consideration it was decided to give the decoration to the surgeon-major, who had behaved with great devotion during a recent cholera epidemic. The crew was still assembled, the King took up his position aft, but the minister, being perfectly ignorant as to the course the ceremony should take, did not open his lips. So the scene opened thus:
"Come, Admiral!" said the King. "Tell the drummer to ouvrir le ban."
The admiral in stentorian tones: "Drummer! Ouvrez le ban!"
A silence. Then the King in a whisper: "Say something, Admiral! Tell them I am going to decorate an officer."
The admiral made a sign of acquiescence, stepped forward, and began again, in the same stentorian tones:
"Officers and men of the Pelican!"—another pause "His Majesty"—another pause—"The cholera!"—yet another pause. "Your gallant surgeon," pointing to him, "your gallant surgeon, I say. The King desires to reward the officers and men of the Pelican for the cholera!" (He fired off the word cholera like a cannon shot.) "Appoints you Legionary" ("Knight," whispers the King very low). "Yes, Knight Legionary" (the King bent his head in despair). "Knight Legionary of his Majesty's r-r-royal order of the Legion of Honour! Drummer! Fermez le ban!"
This was done by the only drummer on board; the gallant surgeon-major came up to receive his cross, which the King, whose gravity never forsook him, presented to him with a few kindly words, while all the spectators made superhuman efforts to control their inclination to laugh. What dozens of scenes of that kind I have witnessed!
I wound up my term of service at Eu. All there were still full of the Queen of England's visit, the episodes of which Isabey, Eugene Lamy, Alaux, and Simeon Fort were very busy transferring to canvas. At last my little naval division was paid off. I went back to Paris and re-entered the world, not of politics, but of social intercourse. I even went to Chantilly Races, a meeting which my brothers had just established, and which has now become a standing institution. These races were very different when they first began to what they are in the present day. There was the same beautiful turfy racecourse, opposite the ancient castle of the Condes; the horses, too, and the trainers and jockeys were much the same; but the general public was very different. There were no railways then to bring huge crowds in numberless specials and return them to Paris the same evening. The company was less numerous, but it was more select. People migrated to Chantilly for the race-week, content with what lodging they could find, and ready to put up with all the inconveniences of a sort of huge picnic, and spend every hour both of the day and night amusing themselves as best they could. It was a kind of summer carnival, with country excursions, dinners, balls, and merry-makings of every description, at which the great world and the demi-monde, both of them in considerable force, sometimes mingled in somewhat noisy fun.
I recollect one extra riotous ball, at which the worthy mayor of Chantilly, M. Jaquin, thought it his duty to interfere, with the gendarmerie, to restore order. The worthy magistrate entered, and commanded the noise to be stopped in the name of the law, at the same time inquiring who was the proprietor of the house. "Brochet is!" chorused a hundred voices.
Now Brochet was the surname of a certain fascinating cocotte. "Well," said the good mayor paternally, "I should like to speak to M. Brochet."
"That's me!" shouted the same hundred individuals at once. Then there was a shout of "Long live Jaquin!" and the worthy man was carried round in triumph, while the fair ladies hastened to exert their blandishments upon the gendarmes. How could anybody be angry? The representatives of law and order fraternised with those of—the other thing! and it all ended in smoke!
So much for our evenings. In the daytime there was hunting. Everybody followed in merry parties, on horseback, in carriages, or on foot, to the sound of the horns of the red coated piqueurs of the Orleans family hunt. The whole thing was full of "go," and I remember seeing one very pretty woman, out of patience with the slowness of her carriage, entreat a friend to lend her his horse, and start off on it astride, not in her riding habit, but in ordinary outdoor costume. The fair lady's name was Lola Montes, and she later on attained some considerable celebrity in the kingdom of Bavaria.
After this fashion the lovely month of May was spent. But June brought me more serious occupation. I was appointed to the command of a squadron ordered to the coasts of the Empire of Morocco, where we were on the brink of important events, affecting alike the consolidation of our Algerian conquests and our relations with other Great Powers Driven to extremity by the blow given to his prestige by the capture of his smalah, Abd-el-Kadir was playing a last and desperate card. He had once more kindled all the Mussulman fanaticism and hatred of the foreign invader against us We had to fight in every direction. While my brother Aumale had several sharp engagements, in one of which my younger brother, Montpensier, was wounded, on the Constantine side of the country, General Bugeaud was carrying on a daily struggle with the warlike tribes of the Province of Oran. These tribes, whenever they were repulsed, crossed the River Moulouia, which was the frontier line of Morocco, at which our troops had to stop short on account of European susceptibilities, and thus escaped all chastisement.
The enemy concluded, from the cessation of our pursuit, either that we did not dare to brave the displeasure of the Emperor of Morocco, or else that the European Powers, and especially the Power whose flag floated over Gibraltar, protected the soil of that empire from any violation. It thus became a sort of citadel, whence any attempt on us might safely be made without fear of reprisals. There were consequently perpetual irruptions into our territory, not only of the fanatic Moorish element, but, covertly, of the Emperor of Morocco's own troops, whom he had massed, on pretence of keeping watch, close to our frontier, and in the long run these attacks, which had to be ceaselessly repulsed at the cost of precious lives, had grown intolerable. This state of things could not go on The French Government resolved to put an end to it, and its first step was to despatch the squadron I had the honour to command. I was to call on the Emperor of Morocco to withdraw the protection he had given Abdel-Kadir up to that period; not to allow our enemies to organise expeditions against us on his territory; and, finally, to reduce the considerable collection of troops he had amassed on the frontier—the number and attitude of which both amounted to a threat—to a mere police force. Failing his prompt acquiescence with my demands, I was to use force at sea, in concert with General Bugeaud on land, to force Muley Abderrahman to submit.
But I had been expressly desired to carry forbearance to its furthest possible limit, and in case of our being obliged to take action to let it be known in the most public manner that we had no idea of conquest. Above all, I was carefully to avoid anything that might possibly wound international feelings. And herein lay the difficulty of my task, for these same feelings were excessively tender. I need hardly say that this was especially so in the case of England. We had driven away her trade when we conquered Algeria, and she did not want her commercial relations with Morocco to meet the same fate. Gibraltar, being in a state of perpetual semi-blockade on the Spanish side, is obliged to draw all the necessary supplies for its huge garrison and its smuggling population from Morocco; and this has gone on for such a length of time that Englishmen have got into the habit of looking on Tangier as being an indispensable dependency belonging to that proud citadel on the Rock, which keeps watch and ward over the gates of the Mediterranean. Add to this a certain national feeling among the English that the sea is their special domain, and their consequent jealousy whenever naval action is taken by any other fleet than theirs, and some idea of the inflammable elements with which I was about to be surrounded will be gained. The very announcement of the despatch of my squadron to Morocco brought forth a demonstration of the national sensitiveness in the British Parliament. A former minister, Lord Minto, was the first to echo it in the House of Lords, where he went so far as to do me the honour of complaining that I should have been entrusted with the command of the squadron It was decided that ships should be sent to watch us. Admiral Owen, Commander-in-Chief of the British Mediterranean Squadron, was ordered to hasten to Gibraltar without delay, and the Press, as may well be imagined, was not slow to take its share in all this agitation.
[Illustration with caption: POINT EUROPA, GIBRALTAR.]
Meanwhile I was busily organising my little squadron at Toulon. Twelve hundred troops, or thereabouts, for disembarkation if necessary, had been sent me, and as fast as I got my ships ready I sent them on to Oran, where we were to muster. Just as we were starting a slight accident occurred, which if I had been superstitiously inclined might have cast a gloom over the first days of my command. We had towed the ship Triton, with a body of marines on board, outside the port, one lovely evening. There we met a steamboat coming from Montpellier with a company of engineers, under Captain Coffinieres, who were also to be attached to the expedition. By some mistake in steering the ships collided. The Triton was slightly damaged; but the steamboat lost her funnel and spars, and had her bulwarks stove in. There was no damage to life and limb, beyond an unintentional dip I took, by falling into the sea while getting alongside the two vessels to judge for myself whether the collision was a serious one or not. I recollect, as a small matter of detail, that while we were coming back into Toulon at night, on board the tug from which I had seen the accident, we made experiments with the electric light, and that when we turned it on an American corvette lying in the port, her watch bolted in every direction, blinded by the dazzling light darted on them suddenly, they knew not whence. More than forty years elapsed before these experiments received any practical application. Such is the power of routine!
But I must get back to my ships. Having mustered them all at Oran, and opened communications with General Bugeaud, I went straight to Gibraltar, to confer with the English authorities before I did anything else; and resolved to be the first to offer in the clearest and frankest way any explanation they might desire of my intentions as to peace or war, and the part we expected neutral powers to play. Let me say at once, that from the very first day till the end of the campaign, I never had occasion to speak otherwise than in terms of the highest satisfaction of all my relations with the officers holding command in the British naval force, and more especially with Admiral Owen, Captain Lockyer, and Captain Provo Wallis. Our intercourse was always frank, cordial, "straightforward," as English people call it, and very pleasant in consequence. This was not the case when I had to do with General Sir Robert Wilson, Governor of Gibraltar, a bitter enemy to France. In the earliest beginning of his career he had been attached to the staff of the Russian army, had been through the campaign of 1812, and borne his part in inflicting the disasters which befell us during the terrible retreat from Moscow, He played a very active part as British commissioner with the Allied Armies in 1813, behaving with great personal valour both at Dresden and Leipsic, and doing us frequent mischief by the advice he gave to the Allies. Often, in his very interesting Memoirs, he will be found complacently reckoning up the losses that we should have suffered if his counsels had been acted upon. Sir Robert afterwards acquired a certain notoriety in Paris by acting as the principal agent in the escape of M. de Lavalette in 1815. A man of occasional chivalrous impulses, but passionate and restless, to the extent of being incapable of keeping quiet, he looked on his position as Governor of Gibraltar not as a great military command alone, but as an active political post, and he had directed all this activity, through Morocco, against our conquered Province of Algeria, and so against France herself. His goings to and fro betwixt Gibraltar and the opposite coast were a matter of common knowledge, and his newspaper, the Gibraltar Chronicle, edited by his Colonial Secretary, repeated every statement likely to lower French influence, make little of our arms, or stir up public feeling against us. Arms and war material were openly exported to Tetuan and other towns in Morocco under his very eyes. And, in short, it was easy to trace a great part of the confidence in their impunity which made Muley Abderrahman and his government so hostile on our frontier-line, and so insolent in its replies to our diplomatic agents, to his behaviour.
Such then was the principal personage with whom I had to deal from the very outset of my mission. He was the object of my first overture. As soon as I arrived, I proceeded to the Convent, as his official residence is called, in full uniform, with all the captains belonging to my squadron. He received me with a politeness that bordered on the obsequious, and at once began to talk of the danger he apprehended from the presence of my squadron on that coast and before the Moorish towns; the danger to peace in general, on account of the conflicts likely to be provoked; the danger of still further exciting the warlike passions of the Mussulman population; the danger to the safety of the Christian natives, the European residents, and the consuls in Morocco; and, finally, the danger to Mr. Hay, the British Consul-General, who had just started to give personal counsels of moderation to the Emperor Muley Abderrahman.
"But indeed, General," I replied, "I shall be too glad not to take my ships to Tangier, nor to any other point on the Morocco coast, during the negotiations. We are tired of the state of things caused by the insolence and hostility of the Moors along our frontier. We are going to present an ultimatum to put an end to it. We will allow them a certain interval to reply in, and when that is up, we shall go to Tangier, either to punish or to forgive them. UNTIL THEN we shall be very glad of any efforts that may be made to calm public feeling and facilitate the acceptance of our just demands. UNTIL THEN I am quite prepared not to take my squadron to the coast of Morocco; but on one condition only—that the British ships do not go there either. We cannot allow our dispute to be discussed under the guns of a foreign fleet, nor that there should be any question of protection or intimidation in the matter. If you, and the naval authorities with you, will promise that your ships shall not go to Tangier, I will take mine to Cadiz, without touching there either, and await the reply to our ultimatum. Of course I have nothing to say about your small vessels going to Tangier to protect your fellow-countrymen, and mine will do the same thing."
That ended my lecture, and I was about to take my leave, but Sir Robert kept up a conversation on various subjects, till all at once he started and said:
"Why, I was forgetting the time! The gates will be shut. If you want to get back to the port, gentlemen, you must start at once. Hurry up! you haven't a moment to lose."
I always thought that little scene was a got up thing: not indeed for the sake of the absurd sight of the French admiral and his captains tearing breathlessly along in full uniform like people who are afraid of missing a train, but to give us an idea of the strictness of the regulations under that particular governorship. Of which strictness we had another proof on the following evening.
A boat coming ashore from the "Jemappes" to take off the officers, who had been dining on shore, at the postern gate known as the Ragged Staff, which had been left open for their convenience, made a mistake in the darkness, and came alongside of another landing stage, the guard of which turned out and fired a volley, which luckily did not hit anybody.
The proposal I made during my first visit to Sir Robert was carried out. I was given a promise that no English ship should appear at Tangier; and I, on my side, took my squadron to Cadiz, while M. de Nion, our consul-general, presented our ultimatum to Muley Abderrahman. Then came a long period of uncertainty. Warships arrived at Tangier direct from England. As soon as I heard of it I set sail to follow them; but on my arrival, finding the authorities at Gibraltar had already recalled them, I returned to Cadiz.
When the answer to our ultimatum did come, it was most unsatisfactory. The Moorish Government refused to disperse the assemblage of troops massed on General Bugeaud's front; and even went so far as to demand that he should be punished for having violated their frontier more than once, in his pursuit of the bands that had attacked him. And there was not one word concerning the chief subject of our complaints, Abd-el-Kadir.
We might have taken immediate steps, on the reception of this news, but it was indispensable that the safety of our consuls, and our fellow-countrymen resident in Tangier, whom the first cannon-shot would expose to all the violence of Mussulman fanaticism, should be ensured first of all. Then there was the presence of the British Consul-General at the Emperor's court to be considered. If his mission was not actually official, it was semi-official at all events; and we were obliged to await his return. To give some colour to our delay, M. de Nion sent a fresh summons to Sidi Bousselam, pasha of Larrache, a clear-sighted and intelligent man, whom the Sultan had deputed to negotiate with us. A fresh extension of time was granted. I took advantage of it to get our consuls withdrawn, and went myself to Tangier to see to the sudden removal of our consul-general and his family. If this had been attempted a few minutes later, the Moors would have tried to prevent it. All the other French subjects and people under our protection, who had put off going on board our ships, were stopped, except one Jew, who rushed up at full speed, threw himself into the sea, and managed to come up with my boat. I should add, that owing to the energetic remonstrances of all the other foreign representatives, and in particular the Neapolitan Consul, M. de Martino—a clever and courageous young man who has since risen to the highest positions in Italy, and who had undertaken to look after our interests after our consuls had been withdrawn—the embargo thus laid on our fellow-countrymen's movements was of very short duration.
The departure of the French consuls made a considerable impression both on the Moorish leaders and on the foreign representatives, who took alarm at once. The roadstead at Tangier was soon covered, in answer to their appeals, with foreign warships, Spanish, Danish, Swedish, &c. The English men-of-war returned, and I brought back my own squadron.
But still the time went by, and Mr. Hay did not appear. General Bugeaud, away on the frontier, was losing patience, and wrote me letter after letter, complaining of my tergiversation!" To which I replied, "Well, General, fire off your guns! If you will begin the fighting I'll follow your example at once." But the general turned a deaf ear to that. He answered that pacific overtures which he could not well ignore were being made him on the frontier side, but that things could not go on as they were, that his troops were suffering from the heat, that they were fretting under their enforced inaction. The long and the short of it was that he would not take the responsibility of the international complications that might arise out of overt hostilities in Morocco, and yet he was burning with the desire to throw himself upon the army lying in front of him and inflict a signal defeat on it. While he neither urged me on nor tried to check me, diplomacy did its utmost to restrain my ardour. The French charge d'affaires in London wrote to point out "the capital importance attached in this country (England) to the business you have in hand. If it were to come to a blockade, an occupation of ports and of the coast, &c., I feel quite convinced that the relations between your Royal Highness and the British cruisers would keep the peace of the world in general in constant peril." And the tide kept rising and rising, higher and higher! In other words, time was going by—in inaction. And some people were inclined to take inaction for impotence.
At last, on the 4th of August, M. de Nion received an answer, and not an acceptable one, to his last note, still harping on "the punishment of the general." We had had enough of that sort of thing. On the 5th a despatch-boat brought me news of the safety of Mr. Hay, the British Plenipotentiary, on board an English ship, and of the failure of his mission. On the 6th I attacked the fortifications of Tangier in the presence of ships of war of every nation, British battleships, and Spanish frigates. The object of our demonstration was eminently clear. We were proving to the Moors, whom we chastised, as to the foreigners who were looking on, that France intended to ensure her Algerian frontier being respected, and that no foreign protection would save those who violated it from punishment.
The shelling of Tangier was much more of a political act than of an act of warfare. Though eighty pieces of artillery replied to our first shots, their fire was swiftly silenced by the admirable practice made by our capital gunners. Not a shot went wide of the enemy's embrasures, nor did a single one fall on the dwelling-houses, nor on the consular quarter of the town. Our loss was insignificant I have not the figures by me, but I do not think we had more than fifteen or twenty men disabled. No damage was done to the fleet. My ship, the Suffren, had not more than fifty shots in her hull and spars.
General Bugeaud, with whom I at once communicated, wrote to me soon afterwards as follows:
I told you on the 11th, that the army would lose no time about honouring the draft the navy had drawn on it. By the enclosed copy of a telegram to his Excellency the Minister of War you will see it has kept its word.
The despatch in question contained the report of the battle of Isly, which had just been fought; and the letter was dated from the battlefield itself, on August 14th. On that same 14th of August I was before Mogador with the squadron. Having sent out three very intelligent officers, Colonel Chauchard, and Captain Coffinieres of the Engineers, and a post-captain, the heir to a glorious name, Vicomte Duquesne, to reconnoitre, I had resolved, on their information, to choose this particular town and its port, as offering the best chance of a successful attack. Another consideration too had weighed with me—the customs duties at Mogador supplied the greater part of Muley Abderrahman's revenue. We had dissipated his illusions at Tangier, and while the general was lowering his pride on the battlefield of Isly, I was going to make a hole in his purse.
Bad weather, rough seas, serious damage to chains, and anchors broken on the inhospitable rocks, gave us a world of trouble. At last, on the 15th of August, the sea was calmer, and with a favourable breeze we were able to take up our attacking position opposite Mogador. The town, being strongly fortified, heavily armed, and having besides had time to prepare for us, made a much tougher defence than Tangier. But we mastered it at last, and the fire from the citadel having been silenced by the guns of the Suffren, Jetnmapes, Triton, and the Belle-Poule frigate, I took the flotilla into the channel, and landed five hundred men on the island which forms the port. This was done under a very hot musketry fire, but it was performed in the boldest and smartest manner, the men who were wounded in the boats being among the first to spring on shore. The batteries were carried at the double, and the whole garrison of the island, about four hundred men, were either killed, drowned, or driven at nightfall into a large mosque, which they surrendered the next morning.
There never was a more picturesque sight than the close of that fight, under a sunset like the one I saw Horace Vernet paint in his fine picture of the battle of Montmirail. The Moors in their brilliant dresses were retiring, firing as they went, towards the mosque, whose great towers rose tall against the sky; while our small craft, running along the shore on a golden summer sea, supported our soldiers on land by their fire. I recollect finding myself just at that moment beside a young sub-lieutenant, fresh from St. Cyr, M. Martin des Pallieres, whom I had permitted, at his own urgent request, to land as a volunteer, although his company was not detailed for service. He proudly showed me his arm, smashed by a ball, saying:
"You see, sir, you did well to let me come!"
The whole of the assault of this island was very well led by Colonel Chauchard and Captain Duquesne, who was wounded in the engagement.
My first care, the next day, was to send some of my prisoners back to the pasha of Mogador, with an intimation that if he touched a hair on the heads of the British Consul and his family, and a few other Europeans whom he had refused to allow to depart before the attack, I would take reprisals by putting all the rest of my prisoners to death. I had the satisfaction of receiving the consul and his belongings on board my ship, and of transferring them to the English frigate Warspite, which had been present as a spectator during all our operations. It was none too soon, for the Arabs and Kabyles from the neighbouring country were already pouring into the town to sack and plunder it. The pasha, overwhelmed by their numbers and no longer able to maintain order, was obliged to take to flight himself, and no Christian could have remained in the town without running the gravest risk.
We soon landed in the town of Mogador to complete the work of destruction begun the day before, spike the guns, smash up the gun-carriages, and destroy all the munitions of war in the shore batteries—all of which was performed without a shadow of opposition being offered. Then I put a garrison on the island, providing it with heavy guns, to awe the town, which we did not care to occupy, and I declared the port to be in a state of blockade.
When all this was settled, I sent back the bulk of the squadron to Cadiz to revictual, and get ready to recommence operations, if necessary. During the whole of this campaign the only staff I had to help me to direct sailing and fighting operations, and above all to supply a naval force numbering seventeen sail, not reckoning my disembarkation craft, with food, coal, and munitions of war, was one first lieutenant, who acted as chief of the staff, aide-de-camp, &c., one second class cadet to go messages and keep the look out, and the purser of my own ship, the Suffren.
It is true all these were first-rate men. The two officers have both become admirals—one is Admiral Touchard and the other Admiral Pierre. The purser's name was Roumo. I merely mention this detail because, with the present mania for large staffs, things would be less simply managed nowadays. I should like to add that I found my best assistance in the goodwill, pluck, intelligence, and devotion to their country's interests invariably shown by everybody, without distinction of rank. In short, the behaviour of the naval force I had the honour of commanding was even better than I could have expected of it. The service still bears the same good character, and will continue to bear it so long as no one lays a sacrilegious hand on an organisation the value of which has been thoroughly tested, and which now rests on long and splendid traditions.
But one misfortune befell us. The Groenland, a large transport, was wrecked some way south of Larrache. By some miscalculation or other she ran aground, going nine knots an hour, at high water, on a spring tide, at the foot of a cliff as high as those of the English Channel. When the fog cleared, some Arabs, very few fortunately, on the top of the rocks, saw her, and poured their fire into her with perfect impunity.
One of our despatch-boats, the Vedette, becoming aware of the catastrophe, hurried to the trooper's assistance; but she was almost powerless, her engines not being strong enough to tow off a big ship stranded in such a deplorable position. The shots fired from below at the Arabs on the summit of the cliff only attracted more of them to the spot. But at all events they were useful in so far as they made me aware of the disaster.
I was passing by, out at sea, on board the Pluton, on my way to Cadiz, when the sound of the guns, which was very unexpected thereabouts, attracted my attention, and steering towards the noise I soon caught sight of the unlucky Greenland lying close ashore, while the rifle-shots flashed from the top of the cliff. It was just getting dark when I reached the spot. I boarded the ship at once, no easy matter, for a heavy surf was breaking on her stern, the only part of her which was at all accessible. But they threw me a rope and hoisted me on board.
The unlucky officer in command, Captain Besson, had done everything in his power after the vessel had gone ashore. He had laid out anchors, lightened the ship, and cut down her masts and spars. Then, in the pluckiest way, he had tried to go about, under the full fire of the Arabs. Fourteen of his men had been killed or wounded at the capstan bars. But the cables gave way, and the only result of lightening the ship was that the swell carried her closer in shore. I went down to the engine-room, which was full of water. It was clear to my mind that her side was stove in. It was out of the question to make any attempt to float such a large vessel—a difficult enough job on a friendly coast—under the rifle-fire of the thousands of Arabs who were sure to gather on the cliff at daybreak.
If the sea rose, the ship would not only go to pieces, but it would be impossible to rescue her passengers and crew. I therefore settled to proceed at once to the removal of the wounded, in the first place, and then of the rest of the soldiers and sailors on board. This was carried out without any accident. Captain Besson was the last man to leave his ship, having first, at my request, set her on fire, so as to leave nothing in the way of a trophy in the enemy's hands.
On my arrival at Cadiz, besides letters from the Minister for Naval Affairs, Admiral de Mackau, signifying the approval of his Majesty's Government of what I had done, I found one from General Bugeaud (who had been created a marshal), in which he said:
I have just received your despatch of lyth August, which has caused me the greatest joy. In spite of the great distance between them, the harmony between our military and naval operations has been complete The Moorish army was defeated on the 14th, and Mogador was shelled and captured on the 15th.
Between the two victories, the Princesse de Joinville has made you a happy father. It seems to me that the young Princess ought certainly to receive the name of Victoria.
I am very happy to assure you that you cannot be more pleased with your fleet than the army is with both it and you.
I was busy revictualling and refitting, and reorganising my squadron, when M. de Martino sent word that Muley Abdurrahman was sueing for peace, and had given Sidi Bousselam full powers for the purpose.
There was a regular congress of diplomats at Cadiz. M. Guizot had associated young Decazes—known to all the world in later days as Marshal MacMahon's Foreign Minister—with M. de Nion, our decharge d'affaires at Tangier. And then, behind the diplomatic curtain, there was the British Minister in Spain, Mr. Bulwer, who took the deepest interest in our proceedings, and like his chief, Lord Aberdeen, sincerely desired to see the Morocco question dead and buried. Everybody was eager to draw up protocols. But I thought it much better to let ourselves be pressed a little, and make the Moors feel a little keener anxiety to get rid of the blockade on Mogador, which practically cut off all their supplies. I therefore suggested sending the interpreter of the fleet, Dr. Warnier—a brave and clever man, one of the Frenchmen who, with General Daumas, Leon Roche, and others, had, formerly followed the fortunes of Abd-el-Kadir, and quite capable of detecting all the tricks of Arab diplomacy—to meet Bousselam, with orders to ask whether he really was invested with full powers from the Emperor, and to request him, in that case, to produce an official document in proof of his assertion. In the event of the reply being in the affirmative, the squadron to return to Tangier, bringing the French plenipotentiaries, and with them a treaty ready drawn up, containing the conditions imposed by France, to be signed within twenty-four hours.
So matters were settled.
And what were the stipulations of the treaty?
Not very many. But it gave the deathblow to Abdel-Kadir, whom the Emperor of Morocco undertook to proclaim an outlaw. The real treaty of peace had been signed at Tangier, at Isly, and at Mogador. We had no object, once we had gained those victories, in imposing too severe conditions, which would have weakened and even destroyed his authority, on the Moorish Sovereign. It was far better to have a ruler on our frontier who had experience both of our armed strength and of our generosity, and to whose interest it consequently was to live on friendly terms with us, than to have to keep up a struggle with Mussulman anarchy, which might end in opening the door to international intervention.
The treaty inspired by these considerations was duly signed, and the order to evacuate the Island of Mogador and raise the blockade was forthwith given. The flag was hoisted once more over the French consulate, and saluted both on shore and by our ships in port. The Morocco dispute was closed.
In the result, Abd-el-Kadir, hemmed in in Morocco as he had formerly been in Algeria, was forced, in 1847, after a short period of wandering and helplessness, to make his submission to my brother Aumale. From the date of the signing of the treaty of Tangier up to the present day, no serious misunderstanding has ever arisen between ourselves and the Empire of Morocco.
The signature of peace was the signal for the dispersal of the squadron under my orders. I myself returned to Paris by Havre, where I learnt that a public reception, which I was not sorry to escape, had been prepared for me at Toulon. Feeling conscious, as I did, of having done my country good service during my four months of campaigning, praise and blame alike were equally indifferent to me.
