Then came 1914—“_l’année terrible_.” The outbreak of the Great War found de Foucauld back among the veiled tribesmen, and although he burned to go to the front as a chaplain or stretcher-bearer, his ecclesiastical superiors urged him to stay at his post, advice which was strongly seconded by the French military authorities, who were well aware that German emissaries were at work stirring up discontent among the tribes of the hinterland. In December, 1916, a Touareg war-party, whooped on by the enemy, decided that de Foucauld would be a valuable hostage and laid plans to attack the mission station, which had been transformed into a rude fort. A traitor gave them the password, the gate was opened, and the Blue-Veiled Ones poured in. The hermit was overpowered, bound hand and foot, and propped against a wall while the place was looted of such poor things as it contained. While the plundering was in progress two natives whom de Foucauld had befriended approached to offer him a word of cheer. Whereupon a blood-drunk Touareg put the muzzle of his rifle to the priest’s head and pulled the trigger. In the words of Mr. Stephen Gwynn, his biographer: “There was no cry or word; gradually the corpse sank down. He had had his will; for many passages in his journals and his letters prove that he aspired to death by violence. That he should have been betrayed would undoubtedly to his strange nature have been welcome; it completed that imitation of Christ which was his life’s work. Soldier and Frenchman, he died uncertain of the war’s issue; Christian priest among the unbelievers, he died without converts made. Yet assuredly he was in his heart convinced that by such means he might make ready the way for others, and he asked no more, he refused to desire more.” He was buried beneath the shadow of the little church which he had built, in the heart of that Sahara which he knew and loved so well. To paraphrase the lines of Matthew Arnold: Far hence he lies, Near some lone desert town, And on his grave, with shining eyes, The southern stars look down. To those observers who may have thought that France’s policy in North Africa is inspired solely by the hope of adding to the military power of the republic, one of de Foucauld’s letters, as quoted by Mr. Gwynn, cannot fail to be of extraordinary interest. It was written only six months before his murder at Tamanrasset.