A TUAREG.
A TUAREG.
A TUAREG.
“Do you think I shall be able to buy their clothes?” I asked the interpreter.
“It will be very difficult to manage,” he replied. “The Tuareg are suspicious, and will not understand that anyone would sooner buy their old rags than fine clothes, such as you wear. Besides, similar costumes are not to be had here, and they will not like to return home in ordinary Arab dress.”
“Very well, tell them I am a stranger from a distant country, who has come here to see whether my people may not be of the same origin as theirs. Tell them I should be glad if I could take their costume with me to show to my countrymen. I will pay for them more than their value, or, if they will not take money for them, I will undertake to send them corn by caravan from Gabés, for I know that they have been unable to buy any here.”
The interpreter then began the lengthy and tough transaction.
It then transpired that one of the two, Akhemed-uld-Bai, spoke Arabic, but not so his compatriot, Mohammed-ben-Mohammed. The conversation therefore took time.
First I addressed the interpreter in French, he then translated what I had said into Arabic for Akhemed, who again repeated it in the Berber language to Mohammed.
After the matter had been thoroughly discussed by the pair, the reply was returned in the same way.
They informed us that they belonged to the “Foghass” section of the Azgu tribe of Tuareg. But though the name of Akhemed-uld-Bai had the true Tuareg ring, as much could hardly be said for his companion’s patronymic. Their proper home was on the farther side of Rhadamés.
When they learnt that I was anxious to become the possessor of their property, both of them stared at me long and fixedly, after which they consulted together for a while. Then Akhemed began to divest himself of his white “Tuat” burnous, for which we bargained. As I gave him what he asked, his other garments soon followed, and bit by bit he stripped himself, until he was actually clothed in nothing but a scanty shirt, or under-tunic, and the black veil, of which the lower part concealed his mouth.
A Tuareg never exposes his mouth before others so long as he can avoid doing so; it would be a breach of propriety.
But in the presence of foreigners they had evidently less regard for decorum than they wouldhave had before their own people. Now and then Akhemed, as he talked, dragged the kerchief away from the lower part of his face, and I saw the handsome well-formed beardless mouth and white teeth. Whether he were shaved I know not; but it is said that the Tuareg do not care for beards, and therefore shave.
When he rose to take off his clothes, his fine muscular form towered above all those present; a truly herculean specimen, he was some six feet high, sparely but splendidly built.
His costume was as follows:—
A shirt-like under-tunic (akhebaïl), above it a grey patterned tunic with short white sleeves that came from the Sudan (taiden).
Trousers, which were wide at the top and narrow below; they reached half-way down the calf (kortebba).
Sandals (ghetimèn) of tooled leather, with crossed latchets that passed between the toes and fastened round the ankle.
A long, narrow black veil, used to enwrap the head. This veil is furnished in two places with a broad flap; one serves to cover the forehead, the other the lower part of the face. The crown of the head is left bare, and shows above the veil a black tuft of hair (tadilmus). Outside the veil a long piece of white material is rolled turban-wise, but soarranged that the veil shows both above and beneath it (ash shash).
Over this dress is worn an ordinary light wrap, a “haik” from Tuat (kheiki).
The costume was completed by three square amulet cases (tira) made of tin, and apparently fashioned out of old sardine boxes. They hung by leathern strings on the man’s breast and outside his clothes.
Supposing that these cases contained inscriptions in the Berber language, I was very anxious to get possession of them. But all my endeavours in this respect were unsuccessful. Akhemed would not part with them. He declared that to him they were worth more than the value of a camel. He had bought them from a Marabout, they protected him from danger and misfortune, and since he had possessed them no ill had befallen him.
“Then sell me the cord and the cases and keep your amulet.”
For a high price he agreed to this, but I could not get permission to see the contents. Next morning he brought and handed over to me an unsoldered case.
When there was no more to be bought from this man, I turned to his companion.
His costume differed little from the other, so I did not trouble about it, but on the wrist of hisleft hand was an embroidered leather ring, and the same hand grasped the hilt of a dagger (tilek).
The Tuareg always carry one of these in the left sleeve, so disposed that the point is turned up the sleeve, whilst the sheath lies along under the forearm, and is secured by a sewn band which is slipped over the wrist. The handle of the dagger is cross-shaped and bound with brass wire. The dagger is therefore, very evidently and literally, handy.
I bought it and a large leather bag (agherid), made apparently of antelope or gazelle hide. Through holes on the edges of the bag were drawn leather thongs, which again were made fast with a very peculiar iron lock. This is the only lockfast receptacle owned by the Tuareg, for they rarely possess even a chest (senduk), as do the Arabs.
Of other weapons they had none, though the Tuareg generally carry spears, but rarely swords, bows and arrows, or shields.
Next I bought one of their light smart saddles for riding the dromedary (mehari). The saddle has a broad cantle at the back, and that in front, though narrower, is also high and terminates in a cross.
The cross is often found in Tuareg ornaments, and, as I show by an illustration in my book calledAlgiers and the Sahara, is supposed to be a relic of the time when this people were Christians andinhabited the more northern regions whence they were driven by the Arabs.
All the wearing apparel that I purchased was, according to the vendors’ account, manufactured by Tuareg or brought from the Sudan.
The price of each article was named in piastres, and the interpreter having added up the total, I paid in francs, without the Tuareg overlooking the account, their trust in the interpreter being so entire. A sign of their confidence in the French.
M. Grosset-Grange told me that these two Tuareg examined all that was novel to them just like children. That when they entered his room they at first stood dumfoundered, then touched and examined everything. The system by which the window was closed and bolted was carefully investigated, and pleased them much. The handle of the bolt chanced to be decorated with the representation of a man’s head, and the Tuareg naïvely asked, “Is that your father?”
Commandant Billet told me many amusing anecdotes of these children of nature, who are so sober and abstemious in their daily life, and who can subsist for days in the desert almost without food.
Once a “Targui” (the singular of Tuareg) happened to come to him at one of the stations. “Are you hungry?” asked the commandant.
Yes, it was long since he had tasted food; so an enormous quantity was set before him, enough to have satisfied six or seven ordinary folk. When he had consumed all this he went to see a captain, by whom he was as generously treated. One might have supposed that he would then be satisfied; but no, half an hour later the insatiable son of the desert called on a third official, and again complained bitterly of hunger, and was fed with a couple of dishes of “kus-kus.”
It is inconceivable how any one man could swallow so much food, but probably it had never before fallen to his lot to fully satisfy his appetite.
Apparently the Tuareg are at present anxious to keep on friendly terms with the French. On several occasions small caravans have travelled as far as the southern stations of Tunisia, most of them certainly with a view to trade,mais enfin, it is always a move in the right direction, which, prudently encouraged, may lead farther.
It would be to the signal advantage of the French that the old caravan road to the Sahara should be reopened, so that traffic from Rhadamés could proceed direct to Gabés or other towns of Tunisia, instead of, as now,viâTripoli. The chief impediment at present lies in the fact that the caravans, not being permitted to carry slaves, are not profitable. The baskets, leather goods, weapons,etc., which the last caravans brought with them—though in small quantities—were disposed of with difficulty in Tatuin and Medinin, which will not tend to induce them to make another trial.
No; that traffic through the Sahara may be remunerative, slavery is essential. In fact, so long as slavery continues to flourish in Tripoli, so long will the stream of trade flow that way.
A TUAREG.
A TUAREG.
A TUAREG.
Neither does slavery appear so terrible at close quarters as it does when read of in heartrending romances in the style ofUncle Tom’s Cabin. The truth is, that slaves are well treated everywhere in the East, so well that even if given their freedom,as they were by decree in Tunisia, they, as a rule, remain in their master’s house.
The transport across the desert is, indeed, full of horrors, but when once arrived at their destination the slaves do not suffer from want—quite otherwise.
Amongst the caravans that came to Tatuin in 1893 was one in charge of two nephews of Aissa, the Tuareg Sheikh who rules over the tribe of “Imaughasat.”[4]
The elder of these, named Uan Titi, brought a letter to the officer in command of the military station at Tatuin, in which he reclaimed several camels and a negress robbed from the Tuareg by the tribe of Uderma.
As it was politic to show a friendly disposition, the camels were forthcoming at once, though they were probably bought; but it was otherwise with regard to the negress, who was a cause of great perplexity.
According to law, every slave is free who sets foot on territory under French control, consequently nothing could be done.
That the Tuareg were afraid of again coming to blows with the tribe of Uderma, is evident from the fact that the Tuareg Sheikh had written to the Khalifa of Duirat to beg him to take care that theemissaries went no farther north than Tatuin, and had also taken the precaution of ascertaining whether absolute peace prevailed in Uderma.
Uan Titi spoke of the latest French explorers, Foureau and Méry, who travelled last winter in the Sahara. He had conducted the first named, who, however, had not reached Rhadamés. Méry had spent some time with the Azgu tribe from whom the Imaughasat had then separated themselves. They now camp together and are fairly united under their Sheikh Aissa, but they still have some “duars” near “Rhat.”
According to Uan Titi’s account, the highroads in the Sahara pass Fezzan, Rhadamés, and Tuat. That by Rhadamés may be considered the most important.
The Tuareg, amongst whom perfect peace reigns at present, come to Rhadamés from the southern regions to escort the caravans and to supply camels for hire.
It is rare, however, for them to go farther than Tripoli or than Southern Tunisia.
The Turks in Tripoli refuse, of course, to acknowledge French rule in Tunisia; and as the people of Rhadamés are mainly Berbers under Turkish administration, these do all in their power to destroy the little trade there is with the French territories of Duirat, Tatuin, Medinin, and beyond them to Gabés.
For the moment the Tuareg place no obstacles in the way of persons who venture to travel from the Duirat mountains through the desert to Rhadamés; so the route is open, but no one who is supposed to have the slightest relations with the French is allowed to enter the oasis.
The traveller who desires to visit this town, which in the time of the Romans had constant intercourse with the coast, must start from Tripoli; if he has letters of recommendation from the authorities there, he is sure to be admitted; the journey on camel back is wearisome and even distressing through the heat and lack of water, but of danger there is none—for the present—the Tuareg not being camped by the roads in any appreciable numbers.
The French authorities have done all they could to establish peaceful relations with Rhadamés and to explore the southern frontier. Officers have reconnoitered the country from the southern mountains to far into the desert. Commandant Billet in person has ridden through the mountains as far as the Tunisian frontier. On one of these expeditions he visited the ruins of a very ancient village in the mountains, known as “Ksar Uni,” which lies eighty miles south of Tatuin.
An interpreter who spoke Arabic like a native, and who was, further, a Mohammedan, was sent to the desert not long since to endeavour to penetrateas far as Rhadamés. His mission failed entirely. He was robbed, imprisoned in Rhadamés, and sent to Tripoli, from whence, after much difficult negotiation, his release was obtained.
West of the Matmata mountains and south of the belt of shotts is a steppe where are found a number of small wells, but south again of this and as far as Rhadamés is an almost waterless desert, barren and waste and very dangerous to cross. A few earlier travellers may possibly have passed through it, but in March and February of this year the desert was traversed by two French officers, under such marvellous conditions that I cannot refrain from giving an account of their journey, exactly as I heard it related by Major Gausset in Gabés.
Lieutenant Dumas of the Spahis (now captain of the 6th Chasseurs at Oran), and Lieutenant Cazemajou of the Engineers, both courageous and determined men, who feared neither exposure to the elements nor the sufferings of hunger and thirst, determined on trying to make their way secretly from Nafta, by the shott and through the desert, to Rhadamés. Well aware that a request for permission to travel during the difficulties in connection with the frontier would be refused by their superiors, they only asked for leave to take a trip to Algiers. This was granted without suspicion being aroused,and, accompanied by a guide, they disappeared in the desert, both in Arab dress and mounted on camels.
After a dangerous and fatiguing ride they drew near to Rhadamés, and were already rejoicing over the happy termination of their journey; but no sooner had they reached the gates than they were driven off like dogs, their lives were menaced, and they were compelled to retreat.
Their coming had been announced by some Marabout whose kubba they had passed shortly before arriving at the town.
There was nothing to be done but to return as quickly as possible, which they did; but as they thought it possible that they might be pursued and attacked on their homeward way, they took another route, where water was very scarce, and with which none of them were acquainted.
After incredible exertions and having suffered much from hunger and thirst—they were reduced at the last to a little chocolate with which to allay the pangs of hunger—they succeeded in reaching home.
Their journey was, of course, to a great extent a failure, but they had reconnoitered an unknown country and proved themselves to be a couple of exceptionally energetic, brave men. They resumed their duty in silence, but a rumour of their exploit leaked out and reached the ear of the General. He demanded an explanation, with the result thatthey received a slight official reprimand—soon shaken off.
Since Duveyrier undertook his memorable journey, of which the brilliant results are related in his book,Les Touaregs du Nord, no one probably has dedicated himself so entirely to a desert life as Cornitz, a young Swiss, of whom the officers in the south spoke in the highest terms.
This man, who appears to be a thinker and philosopher of no mean order, came for the first time to Southern Tunisia some years ago, in order to study the mode of life and opinions of the Bedouins. He was so charmed with their nomad existence that he returned every year for three years. He dressed as they did, and lived amongst them in the desert, and, under equal conditions, shared in the joys and sorrows of their tent life, their hunts and their boundless horizon. But the time came when even this did not satisfy him, so he purchased palm trees, a house and a herd, and settled down in the town of Duz to the west of the Matmata and south of the shotts.
To enable him to take long journeys to the south, he bought two “mehari” (chameaux coureurs) and practised the difficult art of riding them. After eight days’ hard exertion he could ride as well as any “Targui.”
He then travelled with his flocks, or alone, in thesouth as far as Rhadamés, but neither was he able to gain admittance to that town. While on this journey he completed the French map.
Each year, after a visit home, he returned. The last time, in May 1893, that he travelled home he passed through Gabés, where he was struck down with fever and was very ill. The French officers begged him to go into the military hospital, but he declined their offers and started for the north. During my stay in the south I was told that he had written to one of the Khalifas that he would soon return to visit his herds, left in charge of an Arab, and to again resume his life in the desert.
“Il est un peu original, mais très intelligent,” the officers at Gabés said of him.
In truth, there are many who are attracted by the free life that is led under tents, where no one need fear troubling his neighbour, since space is unlimited.
If one place is unpleasing, you move to another—laying your tents on camels and vaulting into the saddle, you drive your flocks and herds onwards, ever onwards, for the horizon has no limit.
Whilst dwelling on the men who rove in the alluring, mysterious desert, which has engulfed so many in its deadly embrace, my thoughts turn to an evening at Gabés, when, after my return from the south I sat in the guest-room of the “Hotel del’Oasis” and refreshed myself after my exhausting ride.
The landlord, M. Saissy, a man of about fifty, was setting in order the tables, after the guests, who were mostly officers, had left. I was the only one who remained and trifled with a cigar and a glass of beer to pass away the time before retiring to bed.
I was absorbed in thought and long remained so—so long, indeed, that M. Saissy probably concluded it was time to turn in, for he approached me and began a conversation by way of rousing me from my reverie, with, “Have you had a pleasant journey, sir?”
I replied in the affirmative, and gave him a sketch of my travels and described the Matmata mountains—not a little vain, I confess, of my expedition. “Have you ever been there?” I asked in conclusion.
“No, I have not,” he replied. “I came here some years ago with the regiment which I followed as sutler, and, as the officers could not find a place where they could dine, they proposed that I should cater for them. This my wife and I agreed to do. By degrees we organised this hotel, but to make it pay we have to be careful, and we cannot leave it; since our arrival at Gabés I have positively only been twice absent.”
Good heavens! thought I, how dull never tohave a change and look about one a bit; but I said, “You ought some day to go south; it would interest you, for instance, to meet the Tuareg of the west at Tatuin. I had the luck to be there just when two arrived, whose equipments I bought.”
“Ah, those may be the same that I once saw.”
“Indeed, and when?”
“Ah, yes—it was a long time ago; I was quite young then, and the love of travel drew me away from home. I do not remember how it came about, but eventually I started with two companions to shoot ostriches in the Sahara—in those days it was not so difficult to penetrate there. We hunted with the Tuareg.”
“Did you venture far?”
“Yes, I do not exactly know how far, but certainly to the other side of Tuat. The natives were a peaceful people, and we were never at enmity with them. Our hunting was successful, and we made money for our employer.
“Once I was on the point of going there again with Dr. Nachtigall, but something intervened, and to my bitter regret I could not leave—for I have always had a longing for that sort of life. It was very different from slaving as we do now, my wife and I; for it is not easy to please everyone—no, indeed! But to return to those days. You see, I have been acquainted with many of the well-knowntravellers. Most of them behave badly—for they do not respect the natives. Some rely on force—which is a mistake—it is always best to be unarmed. If ever I should venture there again, I would take a stick in my hand and naught else.
“Miss Tinné I knew well. She would not listen to good advice and was murdered. Good heavens! she needed only to ask the chief of the Tuareg for a safe conduct and all would have been well, but she would not wait till the matter could be arranged, believing that she could safely penetrate farther with the protection she had.
“No—believe me; it is easy enough to push one’s way forward, but one must avoid offending the natives.
“There was another traveller who deserved to have been slain also—but escaped. He simply stole cattle when he required them.”
We conversed long, and I gathered much information with many interesting details, as old recollections were recounted by him as they came back to his mind.
Saissy’s wife joined us, and we sat together and discussed a glass of wine. Saissy promised me then to note down his recollections, which are to be forwarded to me, and I hope to be able to publish them later; for the present I confine myself to what I have already mentioned.
On my referring to the great desire I had to visit Rhadamés some future year—“Take me with you,” burst from M. Saissy. “I am in earnest; pay me only sufficient to enable my wife to live in comfort in my absence, and I will accompany you. You may be assured that I should be of use to you.”
“From Tripoli?” I asked.
“Of course from Tripoli.”
“Nous verrons, M. Saissy.” And so we went to bed.
When I left, a couple of days later, Saissy came to me and gave me his portrait, saying—
“You will let me know when you have come to a decision.”
Inthe course of the night a telegram arrived, ordering Dr. Cultin to return with me next day to Medinin, as his colleague had been suddenly seized with fever and was very ill.
We were a little late in starting, and the sun was scorching hot. Followed by our two Spahis and a led horse, which bore my purchases from the Tuareg, we hurried homewards.
After a halt near Bir el Ahmer, where we breakfasted, and where a fresh horse awaited me, our progress was rapid.
But it was after nightfall when we reached Medinin. Outside the camp we met the lieutenant of the Spahis, who said that the doctor was worse, and was about to be sent in a carriage to Gabés.
Dr. Cultin hurried away to his sick comrade, and I dismounted at the quarters of the commandant, who came galloping in to receive me, and invited me to a splendid dinner with some of the officers.
I need scarcely mention that I expressed my thanks in the warmest terms for the brilliant receptionI had received, and for my memorable trip to the southernmost military stations.
I was offered a horse for an expedition to Zarsis and the island of Jerba, but had to decline with many thanks, as my time was limited.
After a comfortable breakfast with the infantry officers, I bade my friends farewell before the commandant’s house, and, waving my hat in a final salute, rode off to Gabés.
Commandant Billet accompanied me nearly as far as Metamer, where we parted.
“Should you ever go to Rhadamés by way of Tripoli and return by this route, you would be heartily welcome, and this would certainly be your best way home,” said the commandant.
I replied that should the journey ever be attempted by me, Medinin would have a great attraction for me, and thanked him heartily for all his kindness.
Then I rode with my Spahi towards the camp at Metamer, where the lieutenant on guard came out and invited me in.
After a short halt, I continued in a north-westerly direction along the foot of the mountain of the signal station, and thence by a hilly country north; the Matmata mountains lying to the west of us, and the plain to the east.
On both the plain and the hills I saw ruinedRoman remains. We also passed a spot where a few soldiers were encamped for the purpose of digging a well, and as we ascended a hill saw a vehicle come swinging towards us. Before it rode a red Spahi, behind it another. The carriage was a heavy box on four wheels, and had an awning over it; it was drawn by four mules, and two soldiers acted as postillions. From within peeped a woman’s face. It was a captain’s wife who had taken advantage of the opportunity of goingviâMedinin to visit her husband at Zarsis—the carriage being on its way to fetch the sick doctor.
It was nearly sunset, and I urged on my horse to avoid arriving late at the little caravansarai where we were to spend the night.
Soon it became so dark that the horses stumbled on the rough road, and we had to slacken to a walk. For a long time we saw nothing but each other’s dim figures and heard only the tramp of our horses.
At last, at the village of Aram, lights shone and dogs barked as we passed amongst its palms.
After riding in the still night about an hour longer, we again heard dogs barking and saw lights. We were then near the oasis of Marath, where, having ridden fully twenty miles, we were to rest some hours and start again at sunrise for Gabés.
In the caravansarai—which resembled that of Bir el Ahmer—a Spahi from Gabés awaited me with a fresh horse.
The lights in the house streamed from the rooms into the courtyard. Within were some soldiers, who had bivouacked round about a candle placed on the floor. They came out, received our horses and conducted me to an officer’s room. Four bare walls; raised on masonry was a sloping plank-bed which extended along the inner wall; besides this there was a table and a bench.
A native, who was in charge of the place, I sent to the oasis to buy me some candles. The soldiers eagerly offered to lend me, till his return, their little taper stuck in a bottle.
The Spahis then laid the table, and I dined, after first dividing with them and the soldiers the eatables with which I had been so sumptuously provided, for no one knows better than I do how a small extra ration tends to put a soldier into good-humour. I have not forgotten the old days in South Oran when I was myself a mere private.
The Spahis and the four soldiers drew up in line at the table, and I began the distribution—bread and dates to the Mohammedans, and wine to the soldiers, which I poured into the tin mugs they held out to me, and to whom I gave also bread and meat.
“Right about face, march!” I gave the order involuntarily, and the troop at once vanished through the door.
Soon the sound of gay voices singing reached my ear from the adjoining room.
When I had finished my repast I lit a cigarette and took a turn through the courtyard to have a look at the horses, which still stood saddled and had not yet been either fed or watered, they were so overheated from their journey.
Having given orders that they were to be unsaddled, fed, and watered, I returned, and, lying on the bed, listened to the singing.
I had rested but a short while when a smart soldier entered, and, with his hand to his cap, asked if he and his comrades might enliven the evening for me, as if so, they would come in.
I agreed willingly; so they came in, each carrying his mug, and sat on the ground facing me.
After I had questioned them, asking each where he hailed from, and had talked with them about a soldier’s life in the desert—a life I also knew something of—I asked them to sing; then the usual barrack ballads with comic choruses woke the still night. Afterwards I chatted again a little with them, refilled their mugs which they emptied, wishing me a happy journey, and then withdrew.
I wrapped myself in my burnous and slept, butwas disturbed, first by the stamping of the horses, and later by the noise of some carts being yoked in the yard.
Before it was light next morning I was broad awake. The soldiers made and brought me some coffee that I drank with relish, and it was just daybreak when, wrapped in my burnous, I got into my saddle, after having inscribed my name in the register. The soldiers stood at attention and saluted as I bade them farewell and thanked them for the songs they sang for me, while they, in return, wished me a happy journey.
Our road was towards the north through the palm groves of the lowland, where we now and again crossed the dry beds of torrents that began in the mountains.
After a couple of hours we traversed the Ketena oasis, leaving other palm groves on one side.
Here the level of the country rose a little, and far away on the northern horizon we could see the palm forests that lie south of Gabés, and now and again caught a glimpse in the east of the sunlit surface of the Mediterranean.
Presently the temperature became very sultry, and a hot wind rose, which whirled the sand in our eyes. This was the sirocco.
When we reached the high ground, where stands the Marabout’s tomb of “Sid Hamed ben-Habib,”and had passed its palms, we saw, through dust clouds and flying sand, Gabés, looking like a white riband in the distance, while behind us the palms of the oasis waved in a long unbroken line from east to west.
Soon after, we arrived, both tired and thirsty, at Gabés.
In the afternoon, when I was busy packing into cases all the weapons, ornaments, and costumes I had collected in the country, Arab visitors were announced.
This was no less than the Khalifa of El Hamma, “the mild, friendly” Khalifa, accompanied by three of the Matmata mountain sheikhs. They had heard that I was in the town and wished to greet me.
Their visit pleased me much, as a token of a friendly feeling on the part of the natives.
I found seats for them all to the best of my ability—the Khalifa on the bed, one of the sheikhs on a low chest, another on the floor, and a third on a chair; and then Moorish coffee and cigarettes were served.
The conversation turned on my late experiences, and I thanked them for their hospitality and received the reply—
“You will always be welcome amongst us.”
“I am now going home,” I said, “but perhaps some day I may return, and then, my friends, Iwill seek you, and we may shoot wild boar in the mountains towards El Hamma. Is it not so, Khalifa?”
“As you will, Sidi. We have horses and men, and nothing you need shall be wanting,” he replied with charming courtesy.
When later in the day I paid a farewell visit to Captain Simon at the Bureau Arabe, I found the office crammed full of Arabs, who had been summoned from the mountains.
As I pushed my way through them I caught sight of first one, then other faces that I recognised. In short, nearly all these brown-skinned chiefs with dark eyes and black beards were known to me, and each and all stretched out their hands in greeting.
“How is this?” said the captain. “Do you know the whole of them?”
“Yes, indeed,” I answered with pride; “they are my friends from the mountains.”
On the 2nd November I left for the north by the steamerIsac Pèrere. My good Hamed helped me faithfully with my packing and the embarkation of my numerous cases, and his figure was the last that I could distinguish on the pierhead.
TheIsac Pèrerecrept slowly north, and reached Tunis in four days. Life on board was pleasant enough, for there were several officers with us, but,being so long accustomed to ride daily, I missed my exercise.
We lay before Sfax for one day. The cavalry officers of the garrison there came out in a boat to call on Colonel Gousset and on us, dined on board, and amused themselves with their comrades, or fished for small fry from the deck or the accommodation ladder of the ship. To visit these ships twice a week is their chief distraction. The sight of fresh faces and the chance of hearing some news give a little zest to their dull lives.
At Monastir the same happened, but here the callers were officers of the Tirailleurs, and their visit was evidently intended for a newly promoted captain of their battalion, lately detailed for service at Gabés, whence he was now on his way to Tunis to meet his wife.
It so happened that he, as a young lieutenant, had served in South Oran through the same campaign, but not in the same detachment, as myself, so we had many amusing recollections in common, and were soon good friends.
At Susa he invited me to land and visit his comrades, but I was prevented doing so by the quarantine imposed on account of the cholera then prevalent.
Generally these quarantine regulations were utterly senseless. The officials and the functionariesconnected with shipping who came on board were allowed to do so without being disinfected, whereas the passengers from the ship who wished to land had to undergo that process.
A lieutenant of the Tirailleurs, who had come from Kairwan and was on his way to Tunis, came on board. He told me of the frightful heat in the country during the past summer. Yet he absolutely preferred residing in the interior rather than on the coast, the heat not being so distressing there and the air purer and fresher, whereas the damp heat of the coast was almost unbearable.
At Kairwan the temperature might rise as high as 120° Fahrenheit, but one could rub along pretty tolerably, though it was difficult to sleep at night. Want of sleep is, without doubt, the worst effect of this climate, as it weakens and destroys the nervous system.
I had informed the Danish Consul at Goletta, by letter, when I should arrive, as he was of opinion that it would be right for me to call on the French Minister Resident, Rouvier, who had just returned from France; and also on the Bey, to thank them for the brilliant receptions and the support afforded me in consequence of their orders to the authorities to assist me.
At Susa I received a telegram to the effect that the Minister Resident would receive me nextmorning at nine o’clock, and would afterwards conduct me to the Bey.
“Shall we arrive in time at Tunis?” I asked the captain. He hoped for the best.
Steaming along the beautiful mountainous coast in the early morning hours was enchanting. To our left lay the mountains near Hamman-lif; before us were the white walls of Goletta; and to the right the cathedral on the ruins of Carthage; Marsa, and the villas on the sea-coast. Beyond Goletta, we could see, across the shining surface of the lake, the white houses of Tunis and, behind them, the blue mountains.
At eight o’clock we passed through the canal and steamed up the lake to Tunis, but it was slow work, for care has to be taken not to stir up the water; so working a ship in this harbour takes time; it was therefore twenty minutes to nine before I landed, after having taken leave of Colonel Gousset and the other officers.
A carriage took me full speed to the hotel, where I found my luggage and hurriedly changed my clothes.
I kept my appointment punctually to the moment.
Monsieur Rouvier[5]may be described as an unimpeachable gentleman attired in black; of his statesmanship I will offer no opinion. He had only just returned from Paris, and the Press had not received him favourably. Evidently he had not achieved all that had been expected of him, and was attacked accordingly, but whether with or without grounds I know not. In any case, it is said by those who know him, that he, who had formerly shown himself friendly to all, now began to be haughty and distant in manner. He had perhaps discovered that every man’s friend is no one’s friend.
After having paid my respects to M. Rouvier, I had, according to previous arrangement, to call on His Highness the Bey. Our Consul was ill, and could not present me; I therefore drove alone to the palace near the Kasba, outside which was a crowd of carriages and waiting Mussulmans.
The General of Division, Valenci, the Bey’sinterpreter, received me, and with an insinuating and affable smile clasped my right hand in both of his, assuring me of the great pleasure it gave him to see me.
Valenci is by birth a Jew, and was once a tailor; he became a favourite at the Court—how, I know not—and was gradually promoted until he was made a general, though he has never been in command of a soldier, much less of a division.
As a matter of fact, the French soldiers regard the Bey’s officers with contempt; they do not even salute them unless they happen to be personally acquainted with them. The Bey’s entire army now consists only of a bodyguard of some two hundred men, who are paid by the French, and with whom the old man is delighted, as they are well drilled and equipped and regularly paid, so that they no longer need to knit stockings when on guard, as in old days.
Seldom have I seen a breast glitter with so many orders as Valenci’s; his brilliant uniform was—in front, at least—literally covered with large crosses, bestowed on him by the many European Powers, whose emissaries have been received by him—as the Bey’s chief interpreter—when presented to the Bey. In the case of the “Legion d’honneur” alone, he has to be content with a low rank, as of that he is only an officer.
It must be admitted that praise is due to him for his great tact and extraordinary discretion, on account of which he has been allowed to remain in his present position since the French occupation.
But now the great man appeared on the scene—Rouvier, the real Regent of Tunis, who at one and the same time is Premier and Minister for Foreign Affairs to the Bey, and also Representative of France—that France which has made of the Bey, the kind, amiable Bey; a shadow king.
For him the drums beat and the guard presented arms. The sound must, I think, strike with a jarring note on the Bey’s ear.
Whilst M. Rouvier stood beside the Bey, I entered and thanked him for the great assistance His Highness’s subjects had afforded me. I named especially the Khalifas of Gabés and Hadeij, and gave a cursory account of my journey in the south. General Valenci translated sentence by sentence. The Bey replied, put questions, and expressed his pleasure at my having been so well pleased. He shook me warmly by the hand, the poor old shadow prince with the white beard and kindly eyes, who is led out now like a chained animal on his reception days.
Officially speaking, the Bey reigns over his subjects without interference, but, in fact, he is bound to be guided by his Minister’s will.
The Commander-in-Chief in Tunisia, a Brigadier-General, is at the same time the Bey’s Minister for War; thus all the political posts are filled by Frenchmen. The Bey has Civil Governors in his provinces, under whom are Khalifas, and under them again Sheikhs. General Allegro at Gabés was one of the first of these. These Governors exercise supreme power in the Bey’s name, but they are watched by the “contrôleurs civil” and the Intelligence Department, so that in reality the administration is managed in accordance with the will of the French, and the Governors are freed from responsibility in the conduct of affairs.
But now peace and quiet reign over nearly the whole country; the plundering and fighting which formerly laid the land waste has ceased, arms are put aside, and trade flourishes, roads have been improved and extended, and colonists arrive.
Before the French occupation, the tribes in Tunisia were divided into two parties (“Sof”), of which the adherents changed according to circumstances. One of these parties termed itself the Bey’s, but only with the intent of being able to plunder and rob the other with impunity.
At the head of what were known as the independent tribes were, as a rule, the Beni Zid, in the neighbourhood of the oasis of El Hamma, who pretend to be the descendants of a French renegade.The French traveller Pellissier, in his time, was well received by them on that score, and they called him cousin. Some years ago the Beni Zid seized the Kasba at Sfax by acoup de main.
Again it was these independent tribes who offered armed resistance to the French, though certainly not always in great force or with much success. After the conquest of the country, some thirty thousand of them emigrated across the frontier into Tripoli, whence they have now mostly returned.
We have seen that the tribe of Urghamma, on the Tripolitan frontier, adhered ostensibly to the Bey, but only that under cover of his name they might commit the worst excesses.