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.
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