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men had come to Tatuin, the most southerly station, to purchase corn.
Whether they might not have again left he did not know, but at any rate there was a chance for me. Relays of horses and an escort should be at my disposal whenever I desired them; but he hoped I would stay over the morrow, that I might meet the officers.
The garrison at this military post consists of a company of infantry, a squadron of cavalry, and a small detachment of artillery. The soldiers are lodged in large airy barracks, and the officers have comfortable quarters in new buildings.
There are no women within the camp, therefore all domestic service is performed by soldiers, who act as cooks and chambermaids. The officers form themselves into committees for the control of supplies, and at their table one dines remarkably well, as I had occasion to verify that same evening.
Lieutenant Henry introduced me to his mess. There I met most of the messmates of Gabés, and we renewed acquaintance to the clink of glasses.
After dinner we adjourned to the military club, where we met all the officers of the garrison, both young and old.
Next morning Lieutenant Henry accompanied me to the Ksar. We first ascended the minaret, from which we had a beautiful view over the town and plain. Then we visited the various groups of houses, with their vaulted gables and remarkable steps to the upper storeys. These steps were merely stones projecting here and there from the wall for the convenience of those who wished to climb up. Several of the groups of houses clustered so closely together, and leant so much the one upon the other in endless confusion, that it was extremely difficult to find one’s way through the labyrinth.
MEDININ.
By a narrow opening, so low that we had to pass through with bowed heads, we arrived in a courtyard, emerging thence by a larger opening like a gateway, built as a defence. Through loop-holes in the sides, a severe fire might be kept up on an attacking enemy.
In a few of the outer walls overlooking the plain I noticed the same loop-holes; but defence is supposed to be maintained from the roofs, or rather from the central building.
It surprised me not to see more men about; but my cicerone explained that nearly all the inhabitants had sallied out on the 20th of this month, and had gone towards Moktar and the Tripolitan frontier nearest the sea, to follow their agricultural pursuits.
There they live in tents—first to sow, later to watch their fields, and finally to gather the harvest; not returning until the month of June the following year. Then they bring home the harvest, and store the
products in the Ksar, which thus becomes what it is intended for—a great fortified granary.
At the time of my visit, there remained in the Ksar only about a couple of hundred men, who were merely left to guard the houses.
The place looks quite different in the month of July, when some one thousand five hundred or two thousand men arrive and pitch their tents above the Ksar; they depart again in October, after they have stored the barley, wheat, maize, “sorghum,” beans, and millet.
The inhabitants belong to the Berber tribe of “Tuasin,” and number some fifty thousand souls, dwellers in the Ksar and on the plain. They possess at least the same number of camels, a couple of thousand asses and twenty thousand sheep, from which it may be gathered that the greater portion are nomads, rather than dwellers in the oasis. In fact, they care little for their plantations.
In the groves near the Ksar grow palm, olive, and fig trees, also a few pomegranates, peaches, and apricots; but they are ill tended, and produce but poor crops.
The mode of life of the inhabitants and their perpetual feuds with the tribes on their frontier have caused them to develop into a brave and warlike people. Every man owns a firearm, which he does not hesitate to use on the slightest pretext. If hardly pushed, he flies to his fortress with all his possessions and cattle—there he is in safety.
It is natural that the Turks in Tripoli should regard with mistrust the French occupation of Tunisia, which they have never consented to recognise; and on that account have never been disposed to have the frontier defined. To this day it remains undetermined, perpetual frontier conflicts being the result; for the tribes on either side still look on the country, as they have always done, as their own to dispose of according to their will and pleasure; and, as hitherto, prefer to settle disputes in their own way. But the French occupation of Metamer, Medinin, and Tatuin has been of no small service in bringing about peace and quiet in these regions.
The northern side of the frontier is especially desert and barren, consisting only of interminable sandhills destitute of vegetation.
South of this are far-stretching steppes, seldom trodden by human foot, and over which a deathlike silence reigns. No paths are traced through these deserts to guide the lonely traveller who may venture to penetrate them. Even the natives fear to enter a territory where any man they may meet must be regarded as an enemy.
To the south the steppes form a junction with the Matmata mountains, and are frequented only by the Tripolitan tribe of Nuail and the Tunisian Urghamma. These alone, therefore, would be capable of defining the boundary of this desert region, as their wanderings have made them well acquainted with its limits.
The Urghamma tribe—from which this continent apparently takes its name—the “Aurigha” of the ancients having become Africa— numbers some thirty thousand souls. At one time they mustered some four or five thousand soldiers, and were exempted by the Bey from payment of taxes, as they had bound themselves to defend the frontier.
The fact was, that they would not pay taxes. They took advantage of their peculiar position to make armed forays to rob and plunder far and wide; and gloried in deeds of bloodshed, engraving a mark on their guns for each man they slew. Guns covered from stock to muzzle with such marks are still to be met with.
With the advent of the French, circumstances altered, and now, thanks to the supervision of the military authorities, the Urghamma behave more like peaceful nomads.
Everywhere in the plains of Southern Tunisia I found remains of ancient towers—now lying in ruins, since the need for them no longer exists, but where formerly the nomads sought refuge when they were pursued. The decay of these towers proves that the French have known how to establish quiet and order in the country.
According to inquiries which I made in the south, the Urghamma are divided into the following groups:—
The Khezur and the Mehaben in and around Medinin.
The Accara on the coast.
The Tuasin on the plains.
The Uderma on the mountain slopes and on the plains.
The Jelidat people the eastern mountains.
The Duiri are found in the mountains and on the high tablelands.
We visited the Jews in their own quarter, and conversed with a couple of women, who, with their children, lived in a little hut stuck away in a corner of a yard. One of the women was a soothsayer, and showed us a book with closely written leaves, evidently the source of her cunning.
In a large open square on the outskirts of the Ksar stood a hut, occupied by a family of whom only the women and children were at home. We entered. It was dirty and comfortless, containing no furniture, not even the indispensable “senduk.”[3] The hut was built of slender branches wattled together, and in many places was covered with old rags to keep out rain. The form was circular with a highpointed roof, evidently carrying out the idea of a tent. The fireplace was outside.
In the evening, after a jovial dinner with Commandant Billet, at which most of the officers were present, Lieutenants Adam, Coturier, and Druot started southwards with a company of Zephyrs, to return in two night marches to Tatuin, a distance of thirty-two miles. They invited me to breakfast with them next day at Bir el Ahmer. The bugles rang, and the sections tramped off as we said au revoir.
The water in Medinin is very unwholesome, and requires to be distilled before it is fit to drink; a huge distilling apparatus has therefore been erected; this has a number of taps, whence the distilled water flows drop by drop. A sentinel watches it, that the precious liquor may not be wasted.
Not far from this is the post office, which is also the telegraph office for private telegrams, the heliograph being used for military purposes.
Night and day, watch is kept on the tops of the mountains and far out on the plains to the north-west, that the flash connection between
Gabés, Medinin, and Tatuin may be constantly maintained. It is expedient that a strict watch be kept, for frequently in the middle of the night a summons is flashed, and there must be no delay in replying; Commandant Billet not being a man to be trifled with on matters connected with the service.
He rides long distances on horseback to inspect the various southern posts and to see that all is well; and many a night has the startled guard seen him arrive, having ridden over the mountains in pitch darkness to make a visit of inspection. He is ubiquitous, and of an astounding energy, only allowing himself four hours for rest, then mounts his horse once more, or goes to work at his writing-table.
As an example of the Commandant’s iron will, one of the doctors told me that some months ago he was attacked by fever, just at the time that the General arrived to make an inspection. Notwithstanding the fact that his temperature was at 104° Fahrenheit, Commandant Billet left his bed and accompanied his superior officer on horseback round all the outposts. When he returned his temperature was still 104°.
On his spirited horse he has covered prodigious tracts of country in the south, often under very trying conditions. Lately he rode over eighty miles on a mountain track in five-and-twenty hours; not being met by the persons he expected, he took a couple of hours rest beside his horse, lying lightly clad in the cold night air, and then resumed his journey.
He told me himself of a rather amusing adventure. On a pitch-dark night he was riding home to Medinin from Bir el Ahmer. When he had ridden so long that he believed he must be near home, his horse became restive and left the path. After some time had elapsed, to his great delight he rode against a telegraph post, for he knew that by keeping along the telegraph line he should find his way home. But, alas! when morning broke he was back again at Bir el Ahmer, whence he had started; to the great astonishment of the soldiers, who evidently thought he had returned to take them by surprise: he then rode home.
As in Algeria, the army in Tunisia has literally paved the way to civilisation by making roads across the mountains and over the plains.
But their work is far from confined to this alone; they plant trees and dig wells, and are soon followed by telegraphic and postal officials, but above all by the schoolmaster. Where the soldier has cut a way, the schoolmaster can begin his work. If we call to mind my little Ali we can best understand and value his labours.
I called on the postmaster and the schoolmaster of Medinin at the officers’ club. They were energetic young men whose work goes hand in hand with that of the soldiers. There also I met the interpreter, a perfect gentleman who spoke faultless French. A tattooed mark on his forehead alone betrayed his origin; he was a Mohammedan and a married man. Besides himself, only one other of the officers in Medinin, a captain of cavalry, was married: he lived with his wife within the Ksar.
CHAPTER XIII
S P T
I was early morning on the 28th October; the sun was just rising, the horses were ready, and I swung myself into the saddle to start on a day’s march of a little over thirty-two miles. Commandant Billet and Lieutenant Henry accompanied me part of the way, then bade me farewell and galloped off in a different direction; the gallant chief intending to join that morning one of his companies then on the road to the north.
The sun rose above the plain, and lit up the mountains which encircle it to the eastward like an outlying wall, and, beginning in the north, stretch along to the south as far as the eye can reach. In front of us rode a Spahi from the Bureau in his light blue burnous, and behind, wrapped in his crimson cloak, paced the trooper furnished by the Spahi regiment.
Theirs are beautiful uniforms, but should be seen in brilliant sunshine and with Africa’s golden sands as a background. I have seen these uniforms in the streets of Paris in dull weather, and they were disappointing.
We had ridden long at foot’s pace, and it was time to push on. “Forward, forward” I shouted to our leader, after taking off my burnous and laying it before me on my saddle. My handsome brown horse broke into a gallop. The trooper in front of me rose in his saddle and stood in his stirrups, as his horse “threw his head and his tail to the winds and let his legs dance like drumsticks,” as my friend the “Jægermester” at home used to say. The red Spahi followed. My horse was eager to join the others in front of him, but I held him in.
After a good long gallop we slackened again to a foot’s pace, and I ejaculated, “He pulls like the deuce!”
“Oh, sir, he thought a mare was leading.”
“Nonsense; can’t he tell the difference?”
“No, sir; the Arabs always ride mares, therefore stallions, when they see the broad back of an Arab saddle, conclude that it is on a mare.”
I observed here some of the small round mounds I had seen elsewhere, and which may be either graves or the remains of vanished dwellings.
A couple of hours later we descried, beyond the mountains, a white spot on the horizon. This is a Marabout tomb on the plain—not far from the well of “Bir el Ahmer.”
The sun was very hot, but, rain having recently fallen, the earth smelt fresh and pleasant.
At long intervals we saw here and there people at work, for the tribes had scattered in every direction to sow and plough. There, where at other seasons flocks of antelopes are wont to gladden the sportsman who roves over the barren plains, are now gathered little bands of men and women to till the ground rendered moist and fertile by Allah; and the smoke from their encampments may be seen rising from all points of the compass.
From the Marabout’s tomb the ground falls away a little towards the south, and on the level, not far ahead, we saw the square-walled enclosure of the well with in one corner an old, low, squat tower, against which was propped a house.
Soon we distinguished the little tentes d’abri pitched in straight lines, and, moving amongst them, the soldiers.
We reached the well, having covered the twelve miles in two hours and a half, and I found a fresh horse and new escort awaiting me.
The company had arrived during the night. The men had slept and cooked their food. Lieutenant Adam and the regimental doctor, M. Cultin, had ridden out to shoot on the neighbouring mountains, so I
went in quest of Lieutenants Coturier and Druot, who greeted me with “Bon jour, camarade.”
Whilst the horses were unsaddled, fed, and watered, and the cook busied himself preparing breakfast at a fire in an angle of the wall, I was refreshed with a glass of wine.
The officers’ camp beds and canteens were conveyed into a cool room in the house, and the tables and chairs were arranged in the shade outside.
The walls of the fort, or rather the caravansarai, are so low that one can see over them when seated within the courtyard. It is not garrisoned, and is inhabited only by an old Arab, who strolled about in an enormous straw hat. He had barley to sell to those who required it, and presided with much pride over a large register, in which the “Chefs de Detachments” have to note the numbers encamped at the well. Moreover, it is his duty to take care that the well is not damaged or misused by the Arabs who wander over the plain, and who, under certain conditions, are allowed access to the enclosure. His straw hat interested me greatly, and with some little difficulty I succeeded in purchasing it from him.
Lieutenant Coturier and I took a walk on the plain. Just outside the fort were some miserable huts built of branches and straw, where we saw an ancient crone, probably the wife of the old Arab, fussing about her hearth. Near the huts were three two-wheeled carts all ready laden and with the horses in the shafts. In the shade beneath them some Europeans and Arabs lay and dozed, whilst the horses and mules closed their eyes and slept in their harness, the flies buzzing about them in the intense heat.
Farther on, we found on the plain two women and a man busy ploughing. To two of the ploughs were yoked camels, and to the third a mule.
Both the women were very lightly clad on account of the heat. The younger was exquisite in her grace as she paced, goad in hand, behind the plough, and by the movements of her arms revealed her
perfectly formed figure. From afar we could see her bracelets and anklets glittering in the sun.
We stood and watched them awhile until, saying “En route, mon ami,” my friend took my arm and we sauntered on over the heated plain, where through refraction, distant objects, even though small, appeared to be in constant leaping movement.
We turned towards the blue mountains, in hopes of catching sight of the sportsmen, for breakfast time drew near, but no one was in sight; so we strolled back to the fort, and lying on the camp beds dozed the time away
It was nearly eleven o’clock before we heard the riders arrive. Lieutenant Adam had shot some partridges, and the doctor a hare, which hung from their saddles.
In the meantime breakfast had been prepared, and the table was laden with good things.
Before we sat down, the doctor examined a number of sick men, of whom some hobbled up unassisted; others were carried on their comrades’ backs. Not a few were really unfit to march, but many were shamming.
The African Light Brigade—the Zephyrs—is composed of men who, through misconduct and frequent punishment, are removed from their regiments in France to serve the remainder of their time in Africa.
The heterogeneous troops that form the Foreign Legion can, to a certain extent, be moulded into a united body, imbued with a strong esprit de corps—thanks partly to stern discipline, and also to the fact of the Legion being aware that it has burnt its ships; but the case of the Light Brigade is quite different.
The men enter it on account of offences committed in other localities, but they retain their evil propensities, and indeed it would not be easy for them to improve while forced to associate with so many bad characters of every variety: fear alone keeps them straight.
It is true that a “Zephyr,” if he conduct himself well for a certain length of time, may be sent home to his division, but this rarely occurs. In fact, he may even be promoted in the Zephyr Brigade itself, but this is yet more rare.
A French officer told me that the difference between a soldier of the Legion and a Zephyr was, that a Legionary, even though he were a thief, would be forced to cease from being one, but a Zephyr, if he were not a thief, would certainly learn to be one.
In old days the Zephyrs fought well in many a close action, and their behaviour in time of war has often been brilliant, but in time of peace they are of little worth.
It follows that the commanding officers must be of the best—for it is sharp work for the chiefs. For that matter all the officers in Algeria and Tunisia are especially selected. Many lieutenants have year after year sought in vain to be sent on service with the troops in Africa, whilst others speedily obtain this privilege. Every year’s service there counts as double, both as regards pension and decorations.
I have seen lieutenants wearing the Legion of Honour solely because they had had sufficient length of service in Africa, whilst a young chef de bataillon, newly arrived from France where he had served during all the earlier portion of his career, had earned no decoration.
Indeed, it is really surprising that an officer who serves in Algiers or Oran should thereby gain so many advantages over another who is stationed in a little provincial town in France. As regards Tunisia it is intelligible, many parts of the country being unhealthy, and the heat ruining the nerves and being the cause of mental strain: but in Algiers—a bit of Paris!
My new escort, sent from Tatuin, was ready, and the hot midday hours being past I said farewell until the morrow.
There still remained between four and five miles to cover, and we might not loiter on the way; so we pressed on, alternately walking and cantering, keeping close to the mountains on our right.
Half-way between Tatuin and Bir el Ahmer we passed some soldiers who were busy digging a well. They had pitched a little tent, and provisions and water were sent them occasionally. Raising themselves from their work they saluted us as we passed.
Presently mountains appeared in the south and south-east, and on the summit of one on our front we distinguished the signal station of Tatuin. At the foot of this mountain we passed some palm trees, and then turned into the valley. This is full of palms, and on the southern side lay a little Ksar, similar to those with which we had already made acquaintance at Metamer and Medinin.
At a little distance, but nearer the oasis and on the slope, stand the military buildings.
As we rode towards the Bureau we met a couple of natives. “Are the Tuareg still here?” I asked.
“No, they have probably left; they came to buy corn, but there was none to be had, so they went away.”
Just as the sun set I dismounted, and saluted a group of officers who awaited me.
The whitewashed walls of the two rooms into which I was shown were hung round with weapons, implements of the chase, and ethnographical objects collected from the Tuareg. It was a typical lieutenant’s quarter; the owner was in France on leave, and in his absence his comrades had placed his rooms at my disposal.
Captain Beranger, who was to be relieved the day but one following, invited me to dine at the little mess where the infantry officers, the postmaster of the town—young Cavaignac, a descendant of the celebrated general—and an officer of engineers were to dine.
After dinner we spent our evening with other officers at the casino. There I met Ben Jad, an old native lieutenant of Spahis, with a handsome Arab face, and wearing the Cross of the Legion of Honour on his breast. He promised me a good horse for the morrow when I took my way to Duirat, the southernmost village of Tunisia. I met also the interpreter and the lieutenant of the Bureau and Dr. Renaud, their
medical man, who talked with me about the country, and promised to do what he could to get hold of some of the Tuareg, whom I so longed to see; but of this he told me there was little hope.
CHAPTER XIV
DUIRAT
T route to the south from Tatuin leads through a valley. At first we traversed the oasis, riding under the shade of the palm trees, then followed the course of the dried-up river bed in the bottom of the valley.
On the top of a hill to our left were a couple of villages. To the right were other dwellings, some of which were caves; others were white houses with vaulted roofs.
An hour later we saw on a height to the eastward the fortress of Beni Barka. This is a village of narrow streets enclosed within a wall. The houses are similar to those of other African villages.
Yet a little farther on we passed another village, which was built in a square, and composed of the same oblong vaulted buildings we had seen at Medinin and Metamer; it also appeared to be fortified.
We then emerged on an open golden-yellow plain that rose gradually to the left, a solitary steep mountain lying to the south. To the west also was a large group of magnificent, precipitous mountains; behind these we were to find Duirat, but to reach it we had to go round the mountain we saw to the south.
When, later, we approached this mountain, we found the ground completely covered with every kind and shape of rocks and stones; never have I seen elsewhere such a rocky waste.
We wheeled round outside this beautiful rocky region, picking our way very carefully lest our horses’ legs should be injured. On the steep slope, broken rocks of every size were tightly packed together, and, at the very top, great beetling crags seemed prepared to plunge down the precipice.
On the southern side of this stony waste, and standing away from the rocky range, were a few tall cones of truncated form. To make a short cut I rode between them and the mountain itself, but had to proceed very cautiously, as the ground was terribly rough.
The sun was frightfully hot; not a breath of wind stirred as we plodded along, my Spahis chanting now and then a monotonous song. Beyond us, the plain appeared to quiver in the glare of the sun, reflected from a bright, white, gleaming surface, which last appeared to be a lake, but was only a “shott,” where the water that had flowed from the heights during the rainy season rose in vapour.
I could not conceive whence came the sound that during some few minutes had reached my ear. I looked for a cause, but my eyes detected nothing.
At last I saw, far away in the shade under the overhanging cliffs of an isolated peak, some dull, dark spots and dots, and amongst them made out the indistinct outline of a female figure—evidently a shepherdess with her goats. As we approached, her song rose and fell clear and ringing in the pure air.
We now entered the valley, and turned in a north-westerly direction. Before us lay Duirat, a grey mountain, shaped like a sugarloaf.
At first it was impossible to distinguish any dwellings, but after we had crossed the valley and the bed of a stream, and had reached rising ground, we made out clearly an old castle on the summit. Below it, at different heights along the path that wound upwards, we saw houses, and in one place, amongst or behind these, we caught a glimpse of dark cavities, which proved to be entrances to caves in the mountain side. These caves consist of several vaulted chambers, access to which is through a small doorway. The actual chambers resemble in every respect those of the Matmata. As a rule, they do not suffice for the requirements of a family; an ordinary house with a flat roof is therefore built in front of them on the
DUIRAT.
terraced cliff. Through the house a passage leads straight into the cave, so that anyone outside can see right through the house, over the little courtyard, and into the doorway of the cave.
There are doors to most of the dwellings, but, as these cannot be constructed of palmwood, the materials have to be brought from a great distance; a costly undertaking, and the cause of many poor wretches living doorless and exposed to the elements.
I went in to see the Khalifa, an exceptionally clever and amiable man, to whom I brought greetings from Drummond Hay, who had visited him during his tour
As I had no interpreter with me, our conversation was limited. I managed to make out his replies to my questions, but it took time.
The breakfast I had brought with me I ate in company with the Khalifa, the Sheikh, and another man. The preserved meats and the delicate bread especially delighted them. In return they offered me kus-kus, eggs, and black bread.
The Khalifa and the Sheikh wrote their names in Arabic in my sketch-book, that I might carry away a memento of them; in return I presented them with my visiting-card, which was put away with great care to be exhibited to future travellers.
I inquired about Hamed-ben-Amar’s relatives, but at the time none were at home.
On the whole I saw very few people at Duirat. The inhabitants were probably away, occupied in agriculture, as was the case in other villages.
The Khalifa spoke much of Drummond Hay, who had evidently made an ineffaceable impression on him. From him I learnt that the latter had scaled the mountain, visited a spring in the valley, and had afterwards galloped to Shenini, a village on the summit of a neighbouring mountain.
I am convinced that the secret of the success of the English Representative amongst the southern tribes—for it was not the first time I had heard his name mentioned in these parts—originates as
much from his having inherited his father’s remarkable insight into the manner of thought of the Moslem, as from the fact that he speaks Arabic like a native. Again, he has inherited his father’s strong, fearless nature, and lastly—he is an Englishman.
It was near noon, but I had not time to wait till later, so in the intense heat, and guided by a young Arab, I clambered up to the old and now forsaken town on the top of the mountain.
The walls, built of large slabs mingled with smaller stones, completely enclose the town on every side, and stand from seven to nine feet high, rendering it absolutely inaccessible to an enemy.
The interior can only be penetrated by climbing a covered way which, ascending higher and higher, leads to a passage so low and narrow that one must creep in on all fours. Then on till, with many turnings through bewildering chambers and passages, the
SHENINI.
uppermost houses are reached, and thence the streets, which are no wider than a man’s breadth.
Now all lies in ruins, and one can climb over the crumbling walls and up on to the few flat roofs which still hold together, but are dangerous footing.
From the roofs I could see over mountain and vale to the plain, and the blue peaks on the southern horizon.
Looking far down the precipice at my feet, I saw, through the spreading smoke that floated upwards from the fires on their hearths, the women moving in the courts of their dwellings. Now and then the muffled sound of their voices reached me. A man’s voice shouting, however, sounded almost as if close to my ear. It must have been an echo which was the cause of my hearing it so distinctly.
How wearisome life must have been in this little town, so near the sky. To the women especially, who had to fetch water daily from the valley, it must have been very hard. One can but admire the folk who endured existence in such a spot. The very difficulties of their mode of life made their bodies supple, their minds keen and vigorous.
Sliding down through the dark passages we emerged once more on the cliff.
By throwing back the upper part of my body, and seeking foothold with my legs, whilst I supported myself by my arms, I succeeded in reaching without mishap the uppermost tier of buildings. Here stands the mosque, a picturesque little building, in the courtyard of which is a minaret.
I began to make a sketch of this. My guide was down on me in a moment. A two-franc piece did its work, and we went within.
The surrounding wall formed a low arcade. I scanned the view over this down to the slope below; investigated everything, and found a cistern in the middle of the courtyard. Pulling at a cord attached to the cistern, I discovered that to the end of it was fastened a drinking-cup, made of the horn of a mouflon. Whilst examining this I heard a loud yell behind me, and saw an old man come up out of a cave, shouting and shaking his fist at me. My guide went to meet
