The Project Gutenberg eBook of Notes in North Africa
Title: Notes in North Africa
Author: W. G. Windham
Release date: December 2, 2009 [eBook #30581]
Language: English
Credits: Produced by Dan Horwood and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
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NOTES IN NORTH AFRICA:
BEING A
GUIDE TO THE
SPORTSMAN AND TOURIST IN ALGERIA AND TUNISIA.
BY
W. G. WINDHAM, ESQ.
NEW EDITION, WITH COLOURED ILLUSTRATIONS.
LONDON:
WARD AND LOCK, 158 FLEET STREET.
1862.
LONDON:
PETTER AND GALPIN, BELLE SAUVAGE PRINTING WORKS,
LUDGATE HILL, E.C.
Two great faults have been found with my first edition. The first was, that I had offended many people by personal allusions. To this, I reply, that offence was very far from my mind; and to those offended (if any there be), I say, consider the expressions unsaid. For the rest, they are omitted in this edition. The second alleged defect is, that, while I call my book, to a certain extent, sporting, so little allusion is made to sport. I grant there is some reason in this, and accordingly I have added matter which I think will be useful to future sporting tourists. I would, however, not advise the man who seeks sport alone and solely to go to Algeria, as I am sure he will be disappointed, as I most decidedly was. With regard to the illustrations, I have taken the greatest pains that they may faithfully represent, not only the particular localities alluded to, but also give a fair idea of the country and climate of these latitudes.
W. G. WINDHAM.
Hull, April, 1861.
TO FACE PAGE |
|
| FRONTISPIECE: MY TWO SERVANTS––ANGELO AND NERO | 1 |
| SHOOTING HYENAS ON THE PURPLE MOUNTAINS NEAR EL GREESHE | 20 |
| SHOOTING WILD DUCKS NEAR AIN MOKRA, PROVINCE OF CONSTANTINE, ALGERIA | 44 |
| HOG-SHOOTING ON THE BANKS OF THE OUED EL AHWENA, IN TUNISIA | 60 |
PAGE |
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CHAPTER I. |
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The Voyage Out:––Paris in 1860––Notre Dame––Our Hotel––Nero and the Groom––The Steamer for Algeria––Gallic Peculiarities––Life on Board |
7 |
CHAPTER II. |
|
Description of Algiers:––Arrival in Algeria––Murray’s Guide-books, and their Amenities––Disembarkation in the Port of Algiers––Our Fellow-travellers––Algiers and its Inhabitants––The Dey’s Palace––Cause of the French Invasion |
13 |
CHAPTER III. |
|
Life in Algiers:––Algerian Society––A Soirée at General Martinprez’s––The Sirocco––My Maltese Companion––The Theatre––General Youssouf and his Career |
19 |
CHAPTER IV. |
|
“Up the Country:”––Departure from Algiers––Blidah––The Zouave Officers and their Companions––Government Establishment of Horses––Joseph, the Horse-dealer––To Arbah––The Caravanserai––Journey towards Oued-el-Massin |
25 |
CHAPTER V. |
|
Further Experiences:––Abd-el-Kader (but not the Emir)––Difficult Road––Perils of the Way––Prospect of Sport––The First Boar––The Chasseurs d’Afrique––Mine Hostess of the “Scorpion”––Teniet |
30 |
CHAPTER VI. |
|
Further Progress––Religious Ceremonies:––Cold Weather––Milianah––Vezoul––The Aubergiste––El Afroun––The Rhamazan––Dancing Dervishes |
36 |
CHAPTER VII. |
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Bona and its Vicinity:––Passage to Bona––State of Affairs on Board––Bona––The Lake Metitza––Ain Mokra––Wild Duck Shooting on the Lake |
41 |
CHAPTER VIII. |
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On to Tunis:––Algeria in General––The Arabs and their Conquerors––Antagonism between the Two Races––Social Condition of the Arabs––The Oasis Steamer––Arrival at Tunis |
46 |
CHAPTER IX. |
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Marsa:––Angelo’s Horsemanship––The Bey’s Palace at Marsa––The Arabs and their Love of Tobacco––The Friendly Moor at Camatte |
52 |
CHAPTER X. |
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About Boar Shooting:––Sleeman––the Oued el Ahwena––Its Scenery, and its Dangers––Beauty of the Landscape on its Banks |
55 |
CHAPTER XI. |
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Sporting Experiences:––El Greesh––Shooting Hyenas––An Expedition with the Arabs––The Caid and his Family––Another Wild Boar |
59 |
CHAPTER XII. |
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Tunis and its Government:––Picturesque Situation of Tunis––The Horse Market––Effects of Race––The Bazaars––Mohamed Medea––The Bardo––The Bey of Tunis––His Mode of administering Justice––Prince Puckler Muskau’s Account of his Interview |
62 |
CHAPTER XIII. |
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The Ruins of Carthage:––Reflections on Ancient Carthage––Hannibal and his Career––An Arab Domicile––Picturesque Appearance of the Ruins |
69 |
CHAPTER XIV. |
|
The Ruins Again:––Great Extent of the Ancient City Marsa, on the Sea-shore––Carthaginian Catacombs near Camatte––Quail Shooting––Trait of Honesty in the Arabs––The Arab Character––Anecdotes concerning them |
76 |
CHAPTER XV. |
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Home:––My Fellow-passenger, the Sportsman––Passage from Tunis to Malta in a Sailing Vessel––Disagreeables of the Passage––Home Overland––Conclusion |
83 |
| Notes for the Sportsman or Tourist in North Africa | 88 |
Paris in 1860.––Notre Dame.––Our Hotel.––Nero and the Groom.––The Steamer for Algeria.––Gallic Peculiarities.––Life on Board.
In medias res. I will not stop to describe my journey to Paris, viâ Folkestone, nor to chronicle the glasses of pale ale––valedictory libations to perfide Albion, quaffed at the Pavilion––nor to portray the sea-sickness of “mossoo,” nor the withering indignation of the British female when her wardrobe was searched. Briefly, kind reader, be pleased to understand that we arrived in safety––guns, rifles, “and all”––at the Hôtel du Louvre, in Paris, at about eleven o’clock on a certain day in February, 1860.
The next day was Sunday, and I went to hear vespers at Notre Dame. How I love the old gothic cathedrals, that seem to remove one at once from this work-day world––the fanes wherein the very air seems redolent of devotion, and peopled with phantoms of the past! ’Spite of all disparagement, there 8 is something grand and solemn about them. After service, I ascended one of the towers to the gallery immortalised by Victor Hugo’s wonderful romance. The day was declining, and sunset had already commenced. The galleries were crowded with students and respectable operatives and bourgeois, with their wives and children. Every face was bathed in the purple light of the departing sun, and many eyes lifted up in silent meditation.
I was aroused from the reverie into which the contemplation of this glorious sight had thrown me, by hearing a female voice exclaim, “How beautiful is Nature––how magnificent!” I turned, and saw two ladies, evidently mother and daughter, of sufficiently pleasing appearance. It was from the elder that the exclamation had come, which brought me back from my dream to this nether world. Conquering the shyness which appears to be the Englishman’s birthright, I made some remark on the beauties of sunset. Like the earth, we revolved round the sun; but, unlike that planet, we quickly diverged into other orbits. I dimly remember that we talked of Angola cats, Dresden china, Turkish chibouques, maccaroni, and Lord Byron, with whose poems this lady seemed sufficiently familiar. I improved the occasion, as the right thing to do, when talking with ladies about Byron, to find fault with his impiety, his blasphemous scepticism, his cutting sarcasm, and the unhappy frivolity which defaces the works of the man, who, with all 9 his faults, was undoubtedly the greatest poet the nineteenth century has yet produced.
A pleasant walk along the quays brought me back to my hotel, in the courtyard of which establishment I found an admiring circle of idlers surrounding my English groom, who had just arrived with my dog Nero; or rather Nero, who seemed by far the most popular character of the two, had just arrived with him; and both appeared to know about as much French one as the other, and to make themselves equally understood or misunderstood. That evening, my friend and travelling companion, B––– and I dined at Dotesio’s, in the Rue Castiglione, where we had an excellent dinner, washed down by more excellent wine. The next day found us at Marseilles, at the Hôtel D’Orient, concerning which hostelry I have merely to place on record the fact, that B––– was mulcted in the sum of five francs for the matutinal cold tub in which it was his custom to indulge.
The steamer which was to convey us to Algeria was well fitted up in every way. We were the only Englishmen on board. The fore part of the deck was crowded with Zouaves and French soldiers of various denominations, with whom Nero soon made himself perfectly at home, though the exclamation of a Zouave on his first appearance seemed to forbode but an indifferent reception for the four-footed intruder. “Cré nom d’un chien” cried the shaven, 10 fez-capped warrior, “mais je ne t’aimerais pas pour mon camarade du lit!”
Breakfast was served in French fashion on board at ten o’clock, and dinner at five. With one or two exceptions, the company consisted of French commercial travellers, and they were split up into the usual hostile factions of north against south. North, of course, commenced the conversation with Paris, Paris, and again Par-rri; the southerners every now and then throwing in a doubt of the universal superiority of the metropolis over the known world. One disputant stood out for Marseilles, another broke a lance for Bordeaux, and the war of words waxed so fierce that I began to tremble for the consequences. One young man in company had been some time at Bordeaux, and had much to say thereon; but all his remarks were on one subject––the theatre. On its beauty, its luxury, and its actresses, he held forth at unwearied but wearisome length.
While this conversation was going on, the inner man was by no means neglected. Stewed pullets, potatoes, salad, and etceteras, disappeared with marvellous celerity. The cheer was by no means bad, though decidedly Provençal, as I remarked to my next neighbour, a dark-looking Marsellais; which observation, by the way, brought down upon me the anger of the Gods, as impersonated by a large, fat, dirty Calaisien, sitting opposite. He was a big man, this champion, and, according to Cervantes, should, by consequence, 11 have been a good-natured one. Giving himself a sounding blow on the chest for emphasis, he declared the Calaisiens to be an infinitely more moral people than the Marseillais––and washed down his own dictum with an enormous glass of bière blanche. I am rather fond of going to sleep after dinner; so I secured my nap on cheap terms, by feigning an interest in the Picard virtues, and accordingly enjoyed a profound rest, disturbed only at intervals by a monotonous and expostulatory “allons donc!” thrown in by another dissentient southerner. He was an enormously fat man, the new disputant, and wore a mass of very greasy hair, hanging down over his shoulders. His flannel shirt, an exceedingly dingy specimen of British manufacture, did duty for a waistcoat also; but he was decoré, though it was very doubtful to what order the medal on his breast may have belonged.
Our captain merits a word of description. He was a short, red-faced individual, of such ineffable seediness, as regarded costume, that I should never have suspected his station but for the fact that he sported a gold band “bien usité” round his cap, and sat at the head of the table. For the credit of French politeness be it, however, added, he was a perfect gentleman in his behaviour throughout the voyage. There was also a young French naval officer, whom I afterwards got to know much better in Algeria. He, too, like all the Legitimists, was a most finished gentleman, and spoke English well––a common accomplishment among 12 the officers of the French navy. Though quite a young fellow, he had been in the Russian and Chinese wars, and imparted some very amusing and instructive intelligence on both these subjects.
As the noise and the intimacy at the table increased, and the punch and cognac had already “chased” the wine, I adjourned with B––– and the French sailor to the after-deck, and, in company with two young Dutch travellers, smoked our Havanas in a climate that was already African in its heat, while Majorca and Minorca faded away in the distance, and the pale moon rose silently over the quiet sea.
Arrival in Algeria.––Murray’s Guide-books, and their Amenities.––Disembarkation in the Port of Algiers.––Our Fellow-travellers.––Algiers and its Inhabitants.––The Dey’s Palace.––Cause of the French Invasion.
Next morning, at eight o’clock, came the waiter with the intelligence––“Nous sommes dans la baie d’Alger, monsieur, à une heure de la ville.” My desire to see Algiers was vehement indeed; but scarcely less strong was the craving of the inner man for bread and coffee. With the nectar of Arabia, however, the inspiration of the Orient seemed to percolate my veins; but when a fragrant glass of cognac crowned the meal, the aroma of the East enveloped me, the delicious strains of Bulbul rang in my ears, the Calaisien and the Marseillais, sitting stolidly before me, became straightway transformed into camels, the stewardess into a houri, and the noses of the passengers were as masques in my enraptured sight.
But the book at my side was not the Koran, though it might have been, for the strange farrago it contained.
It was a celebrated traveller’s manual in the 14 English language, and in red binding. The king of the Cannibal Islands has not in his library a more absurd volume than this manual; for in its pages pathetic bagmen give vent to their ludicrous ebullitions concerning the Alhambra, or the Rhine, or any foreign lion you please to name; and young boys just escaped from school dish up their first impressions of the Continent in a style as savoury as the flavour of a Spanish olla podrida. And yet, ascend the Rhine, go to Venice or to St. Petersburg, and ten to one for the chance, that when you meet an Englishman he will have that eternal manual clutched in his British grasp.
Oh, my dear and well-beloved countrymen, what creatures of fashion and precedent we all are, from high to low! What one does, the rest must do; and in the self-same manner. I verily believe, if the late Albert Smith had left it on record that, in ascending Mont Blanc, he planted his foot in a certain hole in the snow, every one of his successors in that glorious undertaking would have paid their guides an extra dollar for indicating to them the identical cavity, that they might go and do likewise. Thank goodness, Algeria is as yet encumbered by no manual or “Hand-book,” as our modern Germanised phraseology elects to call the egregious productions; so shall we travellers be at liberty to follow our own noses, to go exactly where we like, and to do what we please, even to dressing like Arabs, should the whim seize us. Moreover, we 15 may do in Rome as Rome does, and enjoy a French breakfast washed down with good wine in lieu of bad tea, without having ourselves or our proceedings stigmatised as “shocking,” as would undoubtedly be our lot at Paris, or Brussels, or Berlin.
Behold us, then, in happy hour, ready to disembark in Algiers, with the children of the desert thronging on board to act as porters. Their appearance pleases me much, as they come forward, with their tall, striking figures, dark eyes, and distinguished mien. “Perfect gentlemen, these,” said I to myself; but beneath the outside crust little remains that can be called gratifying. These men are like the apple of Sodom; at least, so I thought on landing, after a long squabble with them respecting the passage money, carried on in bad Italian and French. A nearer acquaintance with them may, perhaps, modify my views on this subject.
“Well, it has been a pleasant time on board the packet,” is my parting reflection as I step ashore; nor shall I lightly forget the captain, so different in his politeness and urbanity from the sea-bear with whom I sailed in the North Sea; nor the honest Hamburgher, who appeared to have an equally beloved wife in every land and in every place we came to; nor the would-be dandy, who lit cigars innumerable, and invariably flung them overboard after the first puff; nor the priests, who seemed to possess the gift of invisibility, so rarely did they show themselves; nor 16 the hundred thousand events and personages that flash upon our path for a moment on our journey through life, and then linger in the memory only as the dim phantoms of a dream that has passed away.
Algiers, seen from the sea, presents the appearance of a vast triangular cone, situated on the slope of a mountain. Like all the inhabitants of Northern Africa, the Algerians were at an early period Christians, and it was only after several battles that the Mahometan religion was finally established all over the coast of Barbary. Before the French occupation, the Algerian ladies, like the females in all Mussulmen countries, were kept in the strictest seclusion. The wife of a rich Moor never left her home except to go to the baths, and even that expedition was undertaken only at night. When it became absolutely necessary that ladies should go abroad in daylight, their faces were covered, and the whole figure so concealed by a redundancy of wrappings, that a stranger would be puzzled to find out what the moving bundles were. The luxury of the bath is greatly used by them. There are public as well as private baths. They consist of three apartments. The first is a large hall, for dressing and undressing; in the second, the visitors perspire; and the third is for bathing proper, or otherwise, as tastes and opinions somewhat differ. After the bath, those of the male sex repair to the first room for lemonade or coffee, or for a pipe. The modern Mahometan ladies of Algiers have almost abandoned 17 this seclusion. They are seen gadding about everywhere, and are reported as being by no means particular or difficult in their conquests. French ideas and morals have percolated them considerably. Excessive obesity is regarded among Mahometans as the perfection of beauty; so that, instead of using powders and other nostrums to reduce themselves, like some of my friends at home, they devour seeds and couscous, the national dish, especially employed for fattening people. Some young ladies are crammed to such a degree that they die under the operation.
On a fine, hot day in February, 1860, I mounted the conical hill on which Algiers is built. The weather was magnificent. The sun of Africa already made his approach felt, and the mountains in the far horizon stood out like bas-reliefs against the azure sky. Here stood the palace of the Dey before the French occupation. The building is now called the casbah, and used as a large barrack; outside are the Moorish houses, and the chief part of the Moorish population.
The cause of quarrel between France and Algeria, which resulted in the conquest of the country by the Gallic legions was as follows:––The Dey, a pasha of the old Turkish school, was, it appears, a potentate of extravagant disposition, and owed the French Government a considerable sum of money. The creditors, being in a hurry for their cash, dunned the Dey incessantly, through the agency of their consul. Unaccustomed 18 to the eagerness of French importunity, the Dey, on one unlucky occasion, made a gesture of impatience with his fan, as a man might do with his riding-whip, if his tailor became too pressing for the settlement of his account. It proved an expensive gesture, however; for within a few weeks it brought 10,000 French soldiers to the shores of the Dey, and cost him his entire realm. The bulk of the Mauresque and Turkish population quitted Algeria with their families on the arrival of the French. Those who remain are the poorer classes, and now live, if report speaks true, in an immoral state. These events took place in the reign of that peaceful monarch, Louis Philippe.
Algerian Society.––A Soirée at General Martinprez’s.––The Sirocco.––My Maltese Companion.––The Theatre.––General Youssouf and Career.
I have described Algiers as being built on the side of a mountain. The city possesses a commodious and safe harbour, where flutter the colours of every nation, from the red flag of the Swede to the Spaniard’s yellow ensign. Economy of space being a primary consideration in the laying out of the city, the houses have been built very high, and the streets made very narrow, so that there is no room for carriages. The Consul has a very fine Mauresque house in the old Turkish quarter, where he invited me to dinner and a soirée the day after my arrival; and the next day I was invited to the reception of the Governor, General Martinprez.
The General received me and my companions most graciously, and, after keeping me in conversation for about five minutes, introduced me to his lady, a very pleasing person. My friend A––– and I were then introduced to two or three other fashionable ladies of Algiers; and, engrossed in conversation with 20 these; we strangers were unconscious of a general movement of the gentlemen towards the farther end of the room, as a preliminary to the amateur concert. I was quite ignorant of this Algerian regulation, by which the gentlemen and ladies are separated as effectually as in a Lutheran church (a fashion, by-the-bye, we appear to be adopting). Accordingly, on looking up, I observed, to my infinite chagrin, that I was the “observed of all observers,” and probably was set down as a bête Anglais, who knew no better. The extensive crinoline of the ladies effectually prevented a retreat in any direction, and I was unpleasantly conscious of the suppressed titter the fair ones tried to conceal behind their fans. I endeavoured to summon up all the resources of my London phlegm, to support me in this ridiculous position; but, unfortunately, I possess very little of that desirable quality. The fair one with whom I was conversing evidently felt for the unpleasantness of my situation, and very good-naturedly kept me talking till the end of the first piece, when I succeeded in making my escape.
How I inwardly abused the opera they were performing! It was called “Le Diable;” and to me it appeared as though the fiend in question had no tail––or rather, no end––to that appendage, so long did the time seem. Far be it from me to despise the arts; I admire them in every shape, except in the compound form of speech: exempli gratiâ, art-union, art-school, 21 &c. Why, in the name of common sense, can we not talk English instead of German, and say school of arts, union of arts, &c.? I suppose we shall soon go a step farther in imitation of our Germanic neighbours, and call poetry by the appellation of poet-art. In the last century, it seemed likely, as Johnson said, that we should babble a dialect of France; in this, there is more danger of our talking a Teutonic jargon. Let us stick to the middle course––for our language is essentially half way between the German and the French, the Teutonic and Romance tongues, and any attempt to approximate too much to either extreme is simply preposterous.
The next day we had the sirocco; and, to quote the expression with which I once heard a popular preacher commence a sermon, it was “d–––d hot.” Start not, ladies of Belgravia, for the preacher in question belonged not to the Anglican communion; he held forth to mere vulgar audiences, at least, in a remote locality. Thrice he repeated the expression (which I will not), and then improved the occasion by describing a place hotter than the crowded chapel in which he was officiating, in the month of July. He was evidently in his element. He was especially hot against those modern spirits, who are not such faithful believers in the burning flames of the lower regions, and even begin to imagine they may have cooled down, if they have not been quite extinguished. “And if”––he cried, in his ardour––“if they were 22 on the point of being extinguished, I would with my own breath rekindle the expiring flame!” And his voice, which sounded like a gale of wind, and his face, red as a furnace, and his enormous fists fiercely clenched, made it appear to the congregation, for the moment, that this terrifying assertion was no exaggeration. But to return to the sirocco.
In spite, or rather by reason of the heat, I went for a stroll on the sea-shore with Nero, that we might cool our wearied limbs in the azure wave of the Mediterranean. We had been walking along the shore for about a mile, when about twenty Arab dogs rushed out most ferociously at Nero, and would, I believe, have torn him to pieces, but for the large hunting-whip with which I managed to keep them at bay. There was with me a young Maltese boy, of Irish parentage––a most amusing character this urchin was. He wanted me to take him into the interior as my interpreter. “Take me wid you, sir,” was his eloquent appeal; “give me pound a month, sir; tell Arabs you brother of Queen Victoria, sir; Arabs great fools, sir; know no better, sir;” but I was proof against the voice of the charmer.
In returning, I met General Martinprez on horseback, and saluted; of course, he returned my greeting most graciously. But I was not a little amused, and could hardly help laughing, when the young Hiberno-Maltese tatterdemalion took off his dirty cap with a flourish to the General, simultaneously with my salute, 23 as if he had been my confidential friend, taking a promenade with me.
That evening I went to the theatre. The piece performed was “Les Femmes Terribles”––and a terribly Gallic flavour there was diffused over the whole performance––a kind of haut goût, for which we stolid islanders have, happily, no relish.
General Youssouf was at the theatre this evening. He is rather a fine-looking man, and not too stout. His is a curious history. Originally a Christian slave at Tunis, supposed to be the son of Italian parents, he received the name of Youssouf (Joseph) from his Mussulman masters at Tunis, where he was employed in the Bey’s palace. Of fine stature and handsome appearance, the Christian slave soon attracted the notice of the Bey’s daughter, an honour to which he was not insensible. The Bey was soon informed of what was going on, and Joseph would have been caged, if not racked, had not some kind friend apprised him of the discovery, and of his own consequent danger. A French man-of-war happened to be in the harbour at La Goeletta, off Tunis, and young Youssouf, then about twenty years of age, managed to effect his escape on board. The Franks, of course, gladly received him as an escaped Christian slave. The Bey sent to demand him back; but the French commander gave him politely to understand that he would see the Bey experiencing the reverse of the joys of Paradise before he would comply with such a request. The vessel set 24 sail next day for Algiers, where the Gallic occupation had just commenced. Young Youssouf––who, in addition to his knowledge of French and Italian, could, of course, speak Arabic perfectly––was here landed, and became interpreter to a foot regiment. Quick and clever, he was soon promoted, till he attained an officer’s rank. He is now a general in the service. Entertaining––perhaps naturally––a mortal hatred of the Arabs, he has generally been selected to enforce those stern acts of reprisal against the native population, which, though perhaps justified by necessity, still bear the impress of great severity, and are unpalatable to officers of French birth and education. These measures he has always carried out with strict fidelity and unrelenting harshness. He was the centre of attraction this evening––every battery of eyes was turned upon him. He had fought a duel with the editor of a newspaper, only that morning, for abusing him or his wife, and had succeeded in running the journalist through the shoulder.
The next few days I was engaged in making purchases, chiefly of shot and necessary travelling articles, for the interior. I was swimming my dog in the water of the port, according to my daily custom, when I stumbled on my servant, Angelo, whom I determined to take with me into the interior. Besides English, which he spoke very well, he could talk Arabic quite fluently, and I found him very useful.
Departure from Algiers.––Blidah.––The Zouave Officers and their Companions.––Government Establishment of Horses.––Joseph, the Horse-dealer.––To Arbah.––The Caravanserai.––Journey towards Oued-el-Massin.
On Thursday, March 8th, after seeing A––– start, by diligence, with innumerable bags of cheviotine (deer-shot), I and Angelo left Algiers with my newly-purchased horses, and, passing through some very pretty country, stopped at the first village, where De Warn, a French officer, came up on horseback, with his groom. He admired my horses very much, and announced his destination to be the Maison Carrée, where he was going to shoot quails, a friend of his having bagged forty there in one afternoon. It came on to rain very hard as we passed through the plain of the Medidja, and arrived at Bouffaseh, where there is a column raised to the memory of twenty-three men killed there during the war. We galloped in to Blidah, the rain pouring down on us. At dinner, I met A––– in a café, with Count L’Esparre and three or four officers of the 1st Regiment of 26 Zouaves. They were a very pleasant set of fellows, but did not appear to admire their remote quarters at Blidah by any means. The heat, during the height of summer, they informed me, was terrific, and the private soldiers are not allowed to quit their quarters between 10 A.M. and 5 P.M. during the four hottest months of the year. We drank unlimited punch to the “Alliance,” and, on returning to the hotel, after a mutual exchange of good wishes, we found familiar faces––belonging to the Dutchmen who had travelled with us from Marseilles to Algiers.
I went with Count L’Esparre to see the Government establishment of horses. There were some very fine creatures of Arab breed; also some Persian horses which had been presented by the Shah of Persia. We then started on horseback for Medea, and on my way passed the “Grotto of Monkeys,” but none of the animals from which the grotto takes its name met my inquiring gaze. The Rocher Pourri, which I also passed on my way, had just acquired an additional but a lugubrious celebrity, an Arab having killed a Frenchman there the day before. We rode on to Medea through a rattling snow-storm, and arrived properly powdered at the Hôtel du Gastronome, where they made us comfortable enough. Medea is built in a very elevated situation, among the mountains, and must be a very cold place.
On the next day, Saturday, it was still snowing hard. A––– had to provide himself with a horse, and 27 we were afterwards both engaged, with Angelo, my Maltese servant, looking for mules to carry our baggage to Teniet. At the hotel, there was a very celebrated picture by Horace Vernet, for which one of the Dutchmen offered a thousand francs, but the offer was declined by Madame Gerard. In my opinion, the picture was far from being a masterpiece.
Rising early on Sunday, I was immediately pounced upon by a set of Arabs, who had engaged to take our luggage, and to whom we had paid a deposit in advance. They now refused to take our luggage at five francs per day, the sum agreed upon, unless we retained their valuable services all the time we remained at Teniet, which, of course, we never contemplated doing. I demanded back the deposit, but they would not give it up. On going to the Bureau Arabe, we found it closed, and the Commandant de Ville, to whom some officers recommended us to apply, was gone to Blidah, so there was nothing for it but to invoke the aid of Joseph, a French horse-dealer, who engaged to take our effects on two mules to Teniet at seven and a half francs per mule per day, we paying the return journey. After all, we could not manage to get off until one o’clock in the day. Joseph accompanied us as far as Lodi, to indicate the route to the caravanserai of Arbah, where we were to stay for the night. The good horse-dealer insisted on our taking two or three petits verres on the road. A terrible fellow he was for “nips,” that Joseph.
The road to Arbah lay across a very barren, desert, mountainous country, with splendid views over the whole Atlas range, as far as Mostaganem, now covered with snow. We passed one or two Arab villages, and had great difficulty in finding our way, on account of the number of roads that branched off right and left. On the journey we passed a very fine house belonging to a rich Arab chief. We were sorely tempted to turn in here, but refrained, and arriving at the caravanserai at about seven o’clock, found a party of French officers just sitting down to dinner. They very politely invited us to join them.
The caravanserai is a Government establishment. In form it resembles a large farm yard, entirely walled in and crenellated. It has stalls for horses, and good accommodation for European travellers. A large fair is held here every Wednesday, chiefly for the sale of native horses. We had a long and interesting talk with the officers, and then retired to bed, but not to sleep, for our baggage had not arrived, and the bitter cold kept us in a state of enforced watchfulness.
Before breakfast, next day, I walked out on a tour of inspection through the neighbourhood. The caravanserai is situated almost in the desert; and very cold and barren are its surroundings. During breakfast, we were rejoiced by the arrival of our baggage, and at once started for Ouad-el-Massin. There is a very grand sensation of solitude and silence in riding through these vast plains. The weather was still 29 tremendously cold and rainy. I managed to shoot two partridges as we came along.
A chapter of accidents now began. My Maltese servant had been mistaken concerning the capacity of our mules; for they broke down, and we were obliged to leave them behind. Then my horse, an exceedingly vicious brute, nearly succeeded in appropriating a piece of Angelo’s shoulder, as the latter stooped to tighten the girths. I found afterwards that my steed had a very bad character all over the country; his ill fame, however, was slightly redeemed by the fact that he was a good goer. Then we missed our way among the mountains, and with difficulty succeeded, just as it was getting dark, in reaching a small house at Guebla, kept by a Frenchman. The proprietor received us very hospitably, and gave us all the accommodation he could: it was of rather a limited character, inasmuch as we all slept together in the small room where we dined and breakfasted. Our host informed us that there were a great number of lions in the neighbourhood. He had himself been surprised by one, just after dusk, on the road from Milianca, and offered to induce the Caid of the adjoining tribe to get up a battue on our return. He also spoke of the great number of wild boars in a way that would make a hunter’s heart leap within him. We retired to rest, and, sheltered for the nonce from the searching cold, I slept as only a weary traveller can.
Abd-el-Kader (but not the Emir).––Difficult Road.––Perils of the Way.––Prospect of Sport.––The First Boar.––The Chasseurs d’Afrique.––Mine Hostess of the “Scorpion.”––Teniet.
In the hope of obtaining some reliable information as to hunting prospects, I had in the Caid’s lieutenant a fine-looking fellow, rejoicing in the famous name of Abd-el-Kader, though he was no relation to the renowned chief. He gave a long description of the capture of a boar, that had been wounded by some Arabs; how he caught the brute by the hoofs, gagged it, and brought it home alive. Mr. –––, he also informed us, had been surprised, about a month before, by a lion, as he was returning at dusk from Milianah. There were many lions in the vicinity, he added; and promised that his friend the Caid should treat us to a lion-hunt on our return, if we came back this way.
Then we started, Abd-el-Kader accompanying us to show us a short way over the mountains to the caravanserai of Oued-el-Massin, where we were to pass the night, and expected to find our luggage. We were prepared to find the river very high, and our anticipations were not deceived. Abd-el-Kader admonished me to wait on the bank while he went in to try if there 31 was any getting through. He returned and asked if my horse was good, and if I was willing to follow him. On receiving my affirmative answer, he told me to fix my eyes on the opposite shore, and, above all things, to abstain from looking at the water, which was tearing along at a tremendous rate; if I neglected his instructions, I should infallibly be carried away and drowned. I started, and, by dint of spurring, managed to get across, though my horse plunged up to his shoulder, and at one moment I thought I was a “gone coon.” Abd-el-Kader, the undaunted, then went back once more for the second horse, which he dragged across in due time by the bridle. Then he pointed out to us the road over the mountain to Oued-el-Massin; nor did he think it derogatory to his dignity to accept a reward for the trouble he had taken on our behalf.
In spite of the valiant lieutenant’s directions, the road was a very difficult one to find. After wandering about in the forest through a number of out-of-the-way paths, we managed at last to stumble on an Arab house or two, where the promise of a supply of powder prevailed with an Arab, and he piloted us down to the caravanserai, where we arrived at about six P.M., wet to the skin, and weary with a most fatiguing day’s march. We found our luggage had preceded us by about half an hour; so we had a change of clothes, and sat down gleefully to a capital dinner in very comfortable quarters. These caravanserais are a famous institution. They are built by the French Government for 32 the convenience of travellers, and are very well organised. Each one is under the superintendence of a Frenchman, and has one part devoted to Europeans and another to Arabs. We had an excellent sitting-room and bed-room to ourselves, and, as may be supposed, were exceedingly comfortable.
Wednesday, the 14th of March, was ushered in by a pouring rain; and we received the agreeable intelligence that the river between this and our next station was perfectly impassable; so we made up our minds to stay where we were. There was some consolation in the thought that Joseph, the exceedingly keen horse-dealer at Medea, will not be entitled to charge extra for the delay to his mules, he having bound himself, by solemn covenant, to deliver the baggage safely at Teniet for a certain stipulated sum.
After breakfast I walked into the forest which surrounds the caravanserai on all sides, and shot two or three brace of red-legged partridges and a woodcock. I saw the traces of several wild boars; they were evidently quite recent; also a wretched porcupine the Arabs had killed.
In the course of the day the Arabs brought in a boar which they had killed in the morning. They threw the entrails outside the house, and, during the night, quite an army of jackals came down to devour them. It was so dark that we could not get a shot at these African scavengers, though I sallied out once or twice after them.