HOMEWARD BOUND.
Malta — The Union Club — A delightful change — The harbour by moonlight — A thrilling scene — TheElettrico— Etna — Messina — Between Scylla and Charybdis — Sunrise off Naples — Home again.
Friday, November 4th.—When day broke I found that there was another lovely morning—a genuine Mediterranean day, in fact. By six o’clock I was on deck, drinking in the pure air of the sea, doubly welcome after the stifling heat and stench below deck. Not a sail was in sight. Breakfast, which was served at nine o’clock, was rather trying. It consisted of a sort of stew of meat, raw herrings, fried eggs, and fruit. But the long low outline of Gozo was now in sight, and my spirits were rising. Passing vessels, too, became numerous, for we were in the track of the homeward-bound steamers from Malta; and then, the weather was simply perfect. The sea was quite calm, the sky without a cloud, the sun hot, the air balmy, the colourof the water blue as a sapphire. Even although one was thinking much about England, from which I had received no letters for several weeks, and longing to get home again, it was impossible not to contrast this delicious weather with that which was prevailing at the same moment within the limits of the United Kingdom. Nor, as the white cliffs of Malta came full in view, could one refrain from thinking of the last visit I paid to this “sunny isle,” less than twelve months ago, when I had as my companions two good fellows, neither of whom moves by sea or land any more, and one of whom now lies yonder in the naval cemetery above the harbour of Valetta. A year ago, how joyous we all were as we drew near the island, after ten days at sea! And how quick, in my own case, was the change from joy to the anguish of suspense, when as my first greeting from home I received the telegram which told me of a battle between life and death which was being fought out under my own roof in far-away England! It was almost with a superstitious dread of the news that might be awaiting me now, that I found our ship running past St. Paul’s Bay, andmaking straight for the narrow entrance to that harbour of Valetta which is surely the grandest of all the harbours in the world.
But all gloomy thoughts and forebodings were swept clean out of my mind as I looked up and saw waving above St. Elmo our glorious English flag. What a thrill of pride shoots through the heart of even the most pacific of Englishmen when after long travel by sea and land he comes upon this noble island, and sees it standing “compassed by the inviolate sea,” stern, self-possessed, ready if needs be, to face a whole world in arms against it! Past St. Elmo and St. Angelo, whose mighty guns frowned down upon our decks, we came swiftly into the great harbour, where a hundred noble ships of all nations were lying at anchor on one side, and the mighty ironclads of the English Navy on the other. The church bells were sending their shrill clang out upon the breeze—for when are the bells of Valetta ever silent? Innumerable small boats, gaily painted and emblazoned, according to the Maltese fashion, with strange and unlifelike representations of cats and lions, of dogs and camels, were swiftly darting across the harbour; and thehouses that rose tier above tier from the water’s edge until they reached the giddy height of the Barecca, were brilliant with glass and colour, and made home-like by the huge signs in which English names and words appeared. How wonderful the contrast between this scene and that upon which I was gazing at the same hour yesterday! I seemed to have leaped at a single bound from the heart of the East into England; from the remote middle ages into the closing quarter of the nineteenth century.
The small craft swarmed round our steamer, and a score of Maltese boatmen appealed to me to give them my custom when I left the ship. But, first of all, certain formalities had to be gone through. The health officers, the naval officer on duty for the day, and the port authorities, boarded the vessel, and I found that each passenger was required in turn to explain his identity and business; for this was an Italian vessel arriving from an African port. I was awaiting my turn in this tedious examination when one of the officers passed near me. I asked him a question in English. “What!” he said, “are you an Englishman? Then you cango on shore at once, sir.” It was a strange contrast, this, to the treatment I had met with in Tunis, where, between the French on the one hand and the Arabs on the other, the Englishman is often treated very much as though he were a Pariah; and where the mere fact of your being a Christian is a source of danger and discomfort. I saw my Arab and Italian fellow-passengers looking at me with envious eyes as I descended the ladder. “Turn about is fair play, my fine fellows!” thought I to myself; and I started for the shore in the humour of a schoolboy just let loose for the holidays.
Nor did that feeling of buoyant animal spirits desert me during the whole of that day. Remember that I had been living in constant danger of attack, and amid much discomfort, for several weeks, and here I was suddenly transported into that which is to all intents and purposes an English town. Nay; it is in some respects more English than England itself; for here the mere fact of your being an Englishman suffices to secure for you the respect and deference of the native population. Every true-born Briton who lands in Malta is allowed, and evenexpected, to strut about as though he were lord of the manor. Is it in human nature for him not to feel something of a Jingo under such circumstances? I hastened off to the Post Office, and gave in my card. “You’ve been expected a long time, sir,” said the clerk, smiling; and he drew forth an enormous bundle of newspapers which had been slowly accumulating for weeks, and a smaller pile of letters, which, to my intense thankfulness, I found brought me nothing but good news. So now I was free to enjoy myself. First, there was the inevitable bath and change of linen at the Imperial Hotel. How wonderful it was to be treated with respect by landlord and waiters, instead of meeting with the slightly veiled insolence which had characterized the demeanour of the worthies of my hotel at Tunis. Then I walked to the Union Club, and found that my good friend Captain P——— had duly entered my name as an honorary member. I declare that it made me feel positively nervous to hear nothing but the sibilant whisper of the English language all around me. I had only been out of range of my native tongue for a few weeks; but I had been socompletely cut off from English associations that it seemed as though months had elapsed since I last met with a company of my fellow-countrymen. Presently Captain P——— came in, finding me deep in a file of theTimes. What followed I shall only hint at. During the hot, thirsty days in Tunis, when steaming coffee and detestable vermouth were the only drinks procurable, I had more than once given utterance to my longing for a bottle of English soda-water—slightly diluted. My craving was satisfied now. Then I went off to Truefitt’s—for Truefitt has an admirable branch establishment in the Strada Reale at Malta—and had my hair cut as deftly as though I had been in Bond Street. Finally, at dinner I found myself positively sitting next a lady, and an English one, who moreover hailed from Yorkshire, and talked to me accidentally about the qualities of theLeeds Mercury. It was all like a dream, out of which I expected every moment to awake and find myself—perhaps in Susa.
It was a lovely moonlight night, and I went up to the Barecca to enjoy the view from that point. Far below me lay theglorious harbour of Valetta. There were all the forts, commanding the narrow entrance, and ready at any moment to encounter an enemy; within their embrace lay the shining harbours; the two naval harbours showing their rows of immense ironclads and other swift-steaming men-of-war, including theInflexibleand theHecla. Directly below me, in the commercial harbour, were thirty large merchant steamers. It was a noble sight. The white lines of the fortifications, the outlines of the great Naval Hospital, the Government buildings and the barracks, glimmered pale in the moonlight; whilst the twinkling lamps of the little boats crossing the harbour burned red beneath me. The whole scene was bathed in that atmosphere of perfect peace which somehow or other men naturally associate with the rays of the moon; though some of us have seen this same moon looking down, serene and cold, upon sights so dreadful that merely to behold them is to add years to a man’s life. Far away, from the deck of one of the ships in the naval harbour, there rang the shrill blast of a British bugle; and now quite near to me I heard a military band playing ourNational Anthem; for not far from the Barecca—where once the old Knights of Malta walked and looked down upon the splendid scene below them—is the noble palace now used as the mess-room of the Royal Engineers. Everything around me spoke of England, and of England’s might; not of that might which we see developed at home in our workshops and our factories, and our great provincial cities; but of that might by means of which she won this marvellous islet, set in the midst of this blue Mediterranean, and by which alone she now holds it against a jealous Continent. Most Englishmen at home are so far from warlike sights that they are apt to forget that their country has after all shown herself great in war as well as in commerce. But no man can forget that fact as he stands here upon the Barecca of Valetta, and looks down upon the great forts and the ironclads which sleep securely beneath their walls. I have said that everything reminded me of home; but I ought to have made one exception. There was nothing of England in that wonderful depth of moonlit sky; nothing of our own atmosphere in the exquisite balminess of this November night. When Ireached my hotel I removed the cartridges from my revolver, and lay down to sleep in security under the shelter of the English flag.
Malta, Saturday, Nov. 5th.—I awoke this morning from the midst of a nightmare dream, in which I found myself resisting an attack from a large party of Arabs, led on—save the mark!—by Afrigan, who had been suddenly converted into a fiend in a turban. As I started from my sleep I heard a sound that recalled me to a consciousness of my whereabouts. It was the loud jangle of Christian church bells, and it brought home to me a delightful sensation of rest and security. The day was bright and hot, and the lovely peeps of the sea that you get from various street corners in Valetta were as charming as ever. Surely in all Europe there is no gayer, pleasanter place of abode than this white little island! The Union Club, which I visited again this morning, claims the proud distinction of having the largest membership of any club in the world. Nearly all the officers of the Army and Navy who have at any time been stationed in the Mediterranean are members; no subscription beingexacted from them when they are not on the station. At this club, too, you may meet many of the men of rank in the military and civil services who are on their way to or from India, and who have taken Maltaen route. There are but few civilian members of the club, though one or two of the English residents in Malta have been admitted to it. The Maltese themselves are, I understand, rigorously excluded. The appointments of the place are excellent. Indeed, I almost imagined myself in Pall Mall, and in a favourite corner of the Reform Club, as I sat reading the newspapers this morning. During the winter season periodical balls are given by the members of the club, and these are, I believe, the leading social events in the island. Not to be invited to one of the club balls is to meet with a grievous slight indeed. Altogether, the club is an institution of which Englishmen have good reason to be proud, and the advantages of which they are particularly well able to appreciate when they come, as I have done, straight from the semi-civilization of Tunis into the midst of the comfort and even luxury that abound here.
I had promised to lunch with Lieutenant D——— on board theHiberniadepôt ship—a grand old wooden hulk, into which the crews of the different vessels that are paid off here are turned pending their voyage to England. Having got a boat, and finding there was some time to spare before the hour fixed for lunch, I went round theInflexible, and duly admired her somewhat ponderous proportions and enormous strength. It was immediately afterwards that I was witness of one of the most stirring and touching scenes I ever beheld, though doubtless it is a scene common enough at Valetta. My boatman pointed to where theTyne, one of the noble government transports, was beginning slowly to move from her moorings. She was “homeward bound,” carrying some hundreds of time-expired men, the crew of theThundererand others, who had been kept in the Mediterranean for several years. As the great, stately white ship passed down the harbour, her sides and rigging lined with the sunburnt faces of the sailors who were starting for Old England, the crews of all the men-of-war she passed, clustering like bees upon bulwarks, yard-arms, and ladders, raised cheer uponcheer in such thunderous volumes as only the throats of Englishmen seem capable of giving forth. Many a yearning glance was cast from the other vessels as the homeward-bound craft steamed gently past, her farewell signal to her old comrades fluttering in the breeze; and I could well understand that these tremendous salvoes of hurrahs were meant as much for the dear mother country itself as for the men who were departing. Then, above the roar of thousands of voices, there rose the strains of “Home, sweet Home,” from the band of theHecla. And so the good shipTyne, amid all this waving and shouting and music—and with more than one wet eye wistfully regarding her—slipped out between St. Elmo and St. Angelo, and turned her head towards home. It was a thrilling scene for an Englishman to behold in that noble harbour, under that cloudless southern sky.
Alas! when I myself reached Plymouth, some ten days later, I found theTynelying there close to the spot where my own ship cast anchor for the night; and I read in the morning paper how she had brought home so many men from this vessel and so many from the other, and how “one death had occurredon board during the voyage.” So one at least of those who had set out so joyfully on that lovely morning, amid the strains of “Home, sweet Home,” and the hurrahs of thousands of English sailors, had reached the end of his voyage and the haven of rest even sooner than he had expected to do.
After lunch—one of those cheery, pleasant meals, flavoured with bright professional gossip, which only the ward-room of a man-of-war knows—my host and I set off for the Naval Hospital to see the grave of my poor friend P———, whom I left at Malta last year. It was a hot and exhausting climb from the level of the harbour to the height upon which the beautiful hospital is situated. What a treat it was, however, after seeing something of French sanitary arrangements at Tunis, to observe the delightful cleanliness and order prevailing here! After all, it is not merely by the weight of its guns and the magnitude of its forts that Malta impresses you with a sense of the greatness of your country. You see here what the English faculty of organization can accomplish even in the face of serious difficulties. Malta lies far south of any town on the continent of Europe; and yet itsstreets are as clean and as free from the horrible smells of Germany and Italy as any English town is. I think, upon the whole I felt more proud of this cleanliness of Valetta than I did even of the great forts, and that wonderful storehouse of grain in which, according to tradition, food for the whole population sufficient to last for seven years is always stored.
I started at four o’clock from Malta for Naples by theElettrico, a beautiful paddle steamer, said to be the crack boat of the Florio line. Certainly it presented a marked contrast to theSicilia, in which I had made the passage from Tunis to Malta. A beautiful saloon, large and airy state-rooms, and a handsome quarter-deck well provided with comfortable seats, gave theElettricothe appearance of a very fine yacht rather than of an ordinary passenger steamer. That I had now got into one of the main routes of English traffic was proved by two facts: first, that all my fellow-passengers in the saloon—five in number—were English; and next, that the captain, a handsome, middle-aged Italian, spoke our language with remarkable freedom and an excellent accent. TheElettricodanced along over the waves at a wonderful rate. I sat on deck enjoying the moonlight on the water for several hours, but already I was beginning to feel the difference between the “sunny south” I had left behind me and the latitudes I was now approaching, so that I was by no means sorry to turn into my warm and comfortable cabin.
Sunday, November 6th.—I rose at six o’clock, to find the splendid snow-clad peak of Etna directly opposite to me. We were running through the lovely Straits of Messina, and the prospect on both sides was delightful. Both to right and left there were ranges of olive-clad hills, with white villages at their base, and here and there a farmhouse glittering in the sunshine far up the mountain slope. It was a civilized and fertile land on which I was thus looking, and it contrasted strangely with the yellow and lifeless hills of Africa. My view of the grand summit of Etna did not last very long; for as the sun rose higher in the heavens clouds began to gather round the mountain top, and very soon blotted it from my view. About seven we came in sight of Messina—one of the most beautiful cities in the world. It lies stretched in anoble semicircle round the edge of the bay; whilst behind it is a great amphitheatre of hills, which are wooded to the very summit, and bear on their flanks castles and farm-houses, churches and monasteries; so that you get here an admirable intermixture of nature and civilization. The city itself, with its forts, its cathedral, and its imposing line of buildings on the quay, looks wonderfully picturesque. The straits are at this point so narrow that they look like a river; and the mainland of Italy, with hills covered with thick chestnut forests, seems but a stone’s throw from the town. There were a great many English vessels in the harbour, all engaged in taking in lemons, which are at this season the staple export of Messina. But even more welcome than the sight of these English ships, was the appearance of my old friend theCharles Quint. I had learned during the passage from Malta that theElettricowould remain two days at Messina, whereas theCharles Quintwas to sail for Naples this evening, so that I might save a day by transferring myself to her. My mind was soon made up, and directly after breakfast I went aboard the French boat. I found thejovial captain and my friends the purser and the doctor sitting at their morning meal. They uttered a cry of surprise and pleasure at seeing me, and forthwith began to recount their varied experiences since we had parted at Susa. Both of “the Corsican brothers” had been deplorably ill during the gale which I had encountered in theVille de Naples. They were in their element now, however, in these smooth straits, and with all the evidences of civilization around them.
And yet, are things quite what they seem in this beautiful Sicily? To my great surprise, the captain of theCharles Quinttold me that yesterday, when his vessel was lying in the harbour of Catania, he was twice shot at from the shore whilst he was walking on the bridge! I expressed my astonishment at this statement, and asked him if he might not have been mistaken. He declared, however, that he could hear the bullets whiz past his head; and his story was confirmed by the purser and doctor. When I asked him what could be the reason for such an outrage, he shrugged his shoulders and said, “It is the affair of Tunis, I suppose.” Perhaps, however, there may be a little jealousy of amore vulgar description at the bottom of the outrage. This is, it appears, the first voyage of theCharles Quintby this route, and as it is known that she is a French vessel running in opposition to the Italian line, it is just possible that trade rivalry led to this resort to the Sicilian method of settling a dispute. The bitterness of the people here against the French is, however, intense. Whilst I was in the saloon of theCharles Quintthis morning, the agent, a very handsome young Italian, came on board. He and the captain forthwith plunged into a political discussion, which it was mighty pretty to witness. The agent of course dwelt upon the perfidy of the French in Tunis, and charged them with having gone there simply to rob the Italians of a property which would very soon have been in their possession but for this interference. The captain dilated with warmth upon the ingratitude of the Italians, who thought nothing of the sacrifices France had made for them. They became so angry at last that I had to throw myself into the midst of the dispute as a champion of the Arabs, who wanted neither a French nor an Italian master. Then the sudden storm subsided. The disputantsnodded their heads in acquiescence, and jointly admitted that the best solution of the difficulty would have been for both countries to agree to leave Tunis alone.
I went ashore for a walk through the town. The church bells were ringing with a deafening noise, and people were streaming along the streets in the direction of the cathedral and the other churches, in crowds which reminded me of an English town on a Sunday morning. Falling in with the stream, I presently found myself in one of the churches; it was that which had the loudest bells. It was crowded in all parts, and to my surprise I found that there were almost as many men as women in the congregation. The women were very handsome, but the men contrasted very unfavourably with the personal appearance of the Arabs among whom I have been mingling lately. A civil verger brought me a chair, and I sat down and joined in the service—as well as I was able. But I could hear little and see nothing of the officiating priest, and I fear my attention was turned rather to the magnificent silver shrines which the church contained and to the congregationaround me, than to the high altar and the officiating clergyman there. The people preserved a very reverent demeanour during the service, though it was a little startling to see blind beggars being led round among the crowd soliciting alms. One could not fail, in observing the gorgeous magnificence of this interior, the wealth and beauty of the shrines before which the humble peasants bowed, to acknowledge that the Church of Rome knows how to provide for the wants of its members—knows how to attract and awe them. What an impression must be produced upon the wild mountaineer, who comes down to Messina to confess, by this splendid interior, by the roll of the noble music through the great aisle of the church, by the beauty of the painted ceiling and the silver images! What a contrast all this magnificence must present to the dull squalor of his daily life! Though it would be absurd to generalize from my limited experience, I must say that what I saw in Messina on this Sunday morning fully confirmed the statements made to me as to the intense devoutness of the Sicilians—a devoutness which is, unfortunately, notincompatible with a belief in the virtues of brigandage and of other pursuits and practices which, in more temperate climes, are looked upon with a certain degree of disfavour.
After listening to a sermon in another church, which, like that which I first entered, was crowded, I went into the Cathedral. It was empty, but I was allowed to inspect the magnificent high altar, one of the noblest specimens of Florentine mosaic in existence. Agates, jaspers, chalcedonies, and other precious stones, are here cunningly wrought into many quaint devices of birds and flowers, inlaid upon a groundwork of lapis lazuli; and as, in spite of the centuries which have elapsed since thischef-d’œuvreleft the hands of the master, all these stones retain their pristine colours, the general effect is marvellously rich. I saw, too, the coffin of “Alfonso the Magnanimous,” King of Sicily, and the wonderful picture of the Virgin which the pious Messinese believe to have been painted by St. Luke—St. Luke, whose crumbling tomb was gravely pointed out to me a year ago at the foot of Mount Pion, in the midst of the ruinsat Ephesus!—and I had a narrow escape from seeing sundry other relics more precious still, to wit, the arm of St. Paul, the blood of St. Mark, the skull of Mary Magdalene, and the hair of the Virgin. Was ever city favoured as this beautiful Messina seems to be! After a walk through the streets, with their quaint carved fronts and grotesque fountains, I returned to theCharles Quint, and in the evening we started for Naples. About nine o’clock we ran between Scylla and Charibdis, the one being represented by a lighthouse, and the other by a black rocky promontory; but I saw nothing of the terrors which the ancients beheld here. Just as I turned in for the night we were abreast of Stromboli, on the top of which a light cloud of smoke was resting.
Naples, Monday, November 7th.—I rose early, in order to see our entrance into the Bay of Naples; and was rewarded on going on deck by a wonderful spectacle. There was a long line of sharply defined hills on the starboard side, lying black against the dark night sky; but away to the south, it seemed as though the curtain of night had been lifted, and here a low streak of brilliantflame showed itself, and against it the hills stood out in splendid vividness. Slowly the dawn stole over sea and sky, painting both with a hundred rainbow tints. On our port quarter lay the beautiful island of Capri, a picturesque mass of grey rock rising ghostlike from the silver sea. And now the sky changed to an exquisite salmon colour, whilst the sea shone like white metal. Then the sun gradually broke through the rift in the cloud-barrier, and as he did so the faint salmon and the silver-grey tints faded out of sight, and pink and blue became the prevailing colours. All this time the sea was as smooth as glass, and our stately ship glided almost noiselessly over it. Presently, when the beautiful sunrise effects had disappeared before the broadening day, light clouds began to spread themselves over the sky; but they did not prevent my seeing Vesuvius, with its cap of thick smoke, and lovely Sorrento amid its groves of lemons and olives; and by and by the long line of the white houses of Naples appeared at the bottom of the bay, with the Castle of St. Elmo towering far above them; and almost before we were aware, we were at anchor in a crowdedharbour, and were feasting our eyes upon the famous southern city.
And here I may well pause in this story of my trip to Tunis. I had once more reached the mainland of Europe. I was within easy reach of home, and though I loitered a few days in Naples, hearing much whilst I was there of the indignation prevailing throughout Italy at the conduct of France in poaching upon what the Italians had begun to regard as a preserve of their own, I do not know that my readers would be greatly interested in the story of my life from day to day. I left Naples by the steamshipLiguria, of the Orient line, and after a very quick but monotonous voyage of six days, landed at Plymouth, on Wednesday, November 16th.
POLITICS IN TUNIS.
A survey of the situation — M. Roustan’s policy — The first campaign — The Treaty of the Bardo — The insurrection — Bombardment of Sfax — Occupation of Tunis — March upon Kairwan — Capture of Kairwan — Results of the French policy — English interests — Estrangement of Italy.
I havecompleted the record of my visit to Tunis, but I shall hardly have accomplished my whole task until I have said something regarding the remarkable political situation which I found in existence there. From the foregoing pages I have excluded politics as far as possible; but the political problem which Tunis at this moment presents to the world is so remarkable, that it is impossible to pass it by unnoticed; and I shall attempt, therefore, in this concluding Chapter, by giving some extracts from my diary referring to this aspect of my visit, to convey to the reader an idea of the state of things existing in the Regency at the time when I was there. Those who trouble themselvesto read these pages will see that more than once I have indulged in the gratuitous blunder of prophesying. My prophecies were not only written on the dates mentioned, but were printed a few days afterwards in theStandardnewspaper. I do not think however that my predictions as to what must be the result of M. Roustan’s adventures in Tunis have proved to be very far wrong. Writing several weeks before the famous Roustan-Rochefort trial, I gave in outline most of the facts which were brought to light during the course of that trial, and upon some other points of interest, such as the probable action of the insurgent Arabs after the fall of Kairwan, I foretold with tolerable accuracy what has actually come to pass. Let me say at once, however, that the credit of this is not due to me, but to those clear-sighted and dispassionate men with whom I had the good fortune to be brought in contact during my stay in the Regency, and who did so much to enlighten my mind as to the real nature of the situation existing there.
And here it may be proper to observe, by way of showing that England is not withoutan interest of her own in Tunisian politics, that not fewer than 10,000 subjects of the Queen are to be found in the Regency. It is perhaps hardly necessary to say that these are almost all Maltese, the number of actual Englishmen in the Regency being probably under twenty. As coachmen, boatmen, gardeners, artisans, and coffee-shop keepers, the Maltese find plenty to do in all parts of Tunis. Their moral character is not very high, and at times they give her Majesty’s Consul-General not a little trouble; but they are English subjects, protected by treaty; and it is the undoubted duty of our government to watch over their interests. That recent events in Tunis have not been very favourable to these persons is only too certain. Some thirty British subjects have been killed during the course of the war between the French and the Arabs, and an enormous quantity of property, belonging not merely to Maltese, but to English merchants trading through agents in the Regency, has been destroyed. The loss of life is chiefly due to the Arabs; but the loss of property is almost entirely due to the French, who have peculiar notions as to the rights of neutrals,where a question of loot is concerned. English trade with Tunis is very large. The esparto grass, which is exported from Sfax and other places on the coast, is almost all brought to this country; and the name of one English firm, Messrs. Perry, Bury, and Co., of Manchester, seemed to be on the lips of all the traders in the Gulf of Hammamet. England as a great consumer of the products of Tunis, naturally supplies that country in turn with many of the articles required by her inhabitants, and it was pleasing to see that genuine English goods—Manchester cottons, Sheffield knives, and London pickles, sauces, and tinned meats—enjoyed a practical monopoly in the towns of the Regency. It is not, therefore, correct to represent this country as having no interest in Tunis. At the same time it would be a mistake to exaggerate the extent of that interest, or to give way to any imaginary fears, because France, by one of the most cynical acts of aggression on record, has made herself the mistress of the destinies of the country. Her act is a serious one so far as the Italians are concerned; but England, so long as she retains Malta can afford to look on at the endlessschemes and counter-schemes of the rivals, with something like indifference.
When I reached Tunis the second act in the comedy devised by M. Roustan was in full progress. The Bey had succumbed to the inevitable, when the French Consul waited upon him in his palace at Manouba, and, pointing to the Republican troops drawn up within sight of the windows of the room where they were seated, warned the unlucky Ruler that the occupation of Tunis would be immediately effected, unless the treaty which was presented to him were signed. Those who were in Tunis at that time know what anguish prevailed, not merely at the palace but in the capital, during this crisis. Mr. Reade had been the adviser of the Bey up to this point. His Highness had placed himself entirely in his hands, and the English Consul-General had given him the best possible counsel. It was at Mr. Reade’s instigation that the Bey had not only desisted from offering any resistance to the progress of the French troops through his territory, but had despatched his brother, the heir apparent, Si Ali Bey, at the head of the Tunisian army, for the purpose of cooperating with theFrench commander in his operations against the “Kroumirs.” Everybody in Tunis knew then what everybody in France knows now, that the ravages of the so-called Kroumirs were a mere pretext for the invasion of the Regency, and that the expedition was sent forth in the interests of French financiers, who found their interests threatened by the schemes of Italian rivals.
The first and natural wish of the Bey was to oppose the French invasion by force; for he was perfectly conscious of the fact that the Republic had not the shadow of justification for its attack upon his territory. Mr. Reade, by his urgent solicitations induced the Bey to abstain from the fatal step of resistance; he even went further, and, as I have shown, got him to send his own brother and the Tunisian army, not to oppose but to cooperate with the French. In the meantime, it was hoped that by urgent diplomatic representations to the different courts of Europe some steps might be taken to avert the impending catastrophe. M. Roustan and his friends were greatly disappointed when they learned that the Bey, by the wise advice of Mr. Reade, was not going to fallinto the trap they had laid for him, by offering any resistance to the advance of the French troops. To most men this step on the part of his Highness would have seemed a fatal bar to further action on their part. M. Roustan, however, did not allow himself to be materially hindered by the Bey’s discreet conduct. Abandoning even the semblance of a pretext he brought the French troops up to the village of Manouba, within four miles of Tunis, and within sight of the Bardo and the Bey’s private palace. Then, as we have seen, he presented his monstrous treaty for signature. The Bey’s agony, as I have said, was intense. He knew that to permit the occupation of Tunis would be to seal his own doom. Henceforth he would be merely a puppet in the hands of M. Roustan, and the greater part of his Arab subjects would treat him with the contempt due to a traitor. On the other hand, he could not fail to see that the Roustan treaty was merely the prelude to the seizure of his sceptre by the French. With the aid of Mr. Broadley, an English barrister, he drew up a dignified protest against the action of France, and telegraphed this to all the courts ofEurope, during the few hours which his hard taskmaster was good enough to allow him for consideration. Up to the date of my leaving Tunis—November 3rd—not one of the recipients of this protest, which was sent off in May, had found time to acknowledge its receipt. So, deserted by Europe, and alas! no longer allowed to feel confidence in Mr. Reade’s power to help him, the Bey signed the treaty, and placed himself in the hands of M. Roustan.
This was the first act of the comedy. It was followed by an interval, during which there was apparent peace in the Regency. Mustapha, the barber’s boy who had become Prime Minister, was shipped off to Europe, and M. Roustan installed himself as master of the land. All manner of concessions were granted to French companies. Railways, harbours, agricultural banks, public works of every description were projected. The Italians found themselves driven to the wall. Even English subjects, like Mr. Levy, saw their rights rudely interfered with; for M. Roustan was master, and all others had to submit. But presently there came a change. The French troops were returningto their own country. It did not suit the purpose of the Ministry to allow the people of France to imagine that anything like a war was in progress. So it was announced in the Chambers that the Treaty of the Bardo had settled everything, and that it was no longer necessary to keep any large army of occupation in Tunis. It was at this moment that the insurrection broke out at Sfax. The Arabs there proclaimed themselves independent of the Bey, who had sold them to the infidel, and invited their countrymen to join them. The first news of this insurrection was sent up to Tunis by Mr. Gallia, our Vice-Consul at Susa, who happens to have also a residence and place of business at Sfax. Mr. Gallia’s reward was to have his house plundered by the French troops when they entered Sfax. Of the bombardment of that place by the French, and of its capture, and the loot by the victorious troops, I need only say here that it resulted in the spread of the insurrectionary feeling throughout the Regency. The whole Arab race boiled over with indignation; and outrages, and murders as horrible as that which occurred at the railway station at Oued Zergha, becamecommon. The French troops were hurried back to the Regency; three columns were formed for the advance of an army against Kairwan, the sacred city, which was suspected of being the centre of disaffection, and Tunis itself was occupied by a large force of Republican troops. It was at this moment that I arrived in the Regency, and from this point the following extracts from my letters will afford some idea of the political situation.
Tunis, October 18th.—It is difficult to convey to the mind of the English reader an idea of the state of things now prevailing in Tunis, at a distance of barely four days from London; and it would probably be still more difficult to make any man of ordinary honesty understand the full meaning of that drama—half comic half tragic, and wholly disreputable—which is now being played out by the most cynical of actors under the eyes of the entire world. The visitor to Tunis at this moment finds himself in a country in which a state of war prevails. At Goletta immense French transports may be seen, disembarking troops and stores sufficient for a campaign against Germany. All along the short line of railway between the port and the capital, Frenchcamps are scattered; trains of artillery may be seen in slow progress towards the front, and ambulances provided with all the appliances which modern surgery has invented are also visible. Here, in Tunis, French sentries are mounted upon the crumbling white walls of the Kasbah, the great citadel of the place; French camps are pitched in the open spaces within the forts; French patrols pass through the streets at regular intervals, and the Grand Hotel, where a French general is installed, is the real headquarters of the Government of the city. Yesterday three columns of French troops, numbering in all some 30,000 men, began their march—two from the neighbourhood of Tunis, one from Susa—towards the sacred city of Kairwan, which has been selected as the special place to be honoured by a demonstration of French valour. If ever there was a country in a state of war, it is Tunis at the present moment. And yet no war has been declared; no pretext for military operations has been discovered, and a portion at least of the Parisian press maintains that no war exists. Even more startling than the contrast between the state of things visible here, andthat in the existence of which official France pretends to believe, is the contrast between the condition of Tunis now and its condition twelve months ago, or even more recently.
At the beginning of the present year there was no European country which could vie in peacefulness, in security of life and property, with Tunis. There were of course certain tracts of wild mountainous country in the north-west portion of the Bey’s territory, where it would have been unsafe for any European to venture. But apart from these very limited districts, there was no part of Tunis where life was not perfectly safe. So recently as last April, Lord and Lady Bective visited Kairwan; and they not only did so in perfect safety, but they were received as honoured and welcome guests by the Arabs of that famous city. Here in Tunis no one thought for a moment of any danger from the native population. The tourist could wander at his will among the interesting ruins which abound in the neighbouring country, not only without dread of being subjected to violence, but with a feeling of absolute security which he could hardly entertain in London or Paris. Now, all this is changed.No man would dare to travel half a dozen miles from the city—to do so would be to court almost certain death. It would be almost as dangerous to venture into any of the villages which lie under the very shadow of the walls of Tunis. And even within the city itself, Europeans are warned on no account to venture out after dark. If you walk through the Arab quarter, averted faces and muttered curses meet you on every side; while the air is filled with rumours of an impending catastrophe. Twice during the present week the French troops in the city have been roused in the dead of night, and marched hurriedly to a central point, in order to resist a general rising of the Arabs, which everybody expected, and which it was believed had already begun. The imaginations of the non-Mussulman population, stimulated by all that they see around them, are still further excited by the horrible and, alas! true stories of tortures perpetrated upon unhappy Christians who have fallen into the hands of the Arabs; and everywhere a feeling not only of insecurity but of positive dread, has replaced that which prevailed last year. And these are the first results of that famous treatywhich M. Roustan wrung from the Bey less than six months since, and by which France, or rather her Consular Agent, was made absolute master of the properties and the destinies of the Tunisian Government and people. It is obvious to everybody now that a fatal blunder was made by the French Cabinet when it placed itself in the hands of M. Roustan. It is a blunder which has already cost an enormous sum of money, and a serious expenditure of life, and it is one which may yet have consequences of the gravest kind, affecting not merely France but other European countries whose interests are still dearer to the Englishman.
It is not my business, however, to enter into a political disquisition on the origin and objects of the Tunisian expedition. I have done my duty when, as an eye-witness, I point out the extraordinary results of the Roustan policy up to the present moment. That policy has, in the first place, compelled France to enter upon a war on a large scale against a nation with whom it professedly has no quarrel; and, in the second place, it has entirely destroyed the security of life and property in Tunis, and has made one of themost peaceful and harmless races in the world, the bitter enemies not merely of France, but of all the powers and peoples of Europe. With more than 50,000 French soldiers in Tunis, and yet with the very streets of the capital itself in such a state that Europeans dare not move about them freely, it can hardly be contended that the civilizing and pacifying mission of the French Consular Agent has been altogether as successful as might have been desired. As to the secret history of that mission—the history which is upon the lips of everybody in Tunis—it is not for me to tell it here; but there is some probability that the revelation of the truth will not be long delayed. M. Camille Pelletan and other French deputies have come to Tunis for the special purpose of learning the truth on the subject; and some startling revelations may be expected when the debates begin in the Chambers.
Within the next fortnight it is believed that decisive military operations will have been carried out against Kairwan. Yesterday, as I have stated already, three French columns started for that place. The first column, under the command of General Saussier, towhom the command in chief is entrusted, has started from Tunis, and advances by way of the famous Enfida estate. The suggestion made here is, that this column will accomplish a double purpose; it will not only aid in the conquest of Kairwan, but will put the French in possession of that particular piece of property the name of which was mixed up so prominently with the early history of the Tunisian question. The second column, under General Logerot, has marched from Zaghouan, and will make a slightdétourto the west, on its way to the sacred city. The third has the port of Susa as its point of departure; and it is to advance by means of a temporary railway which is to be constructed to Kairwan. The distance from Susa to Kairwan is barely thirty miles, so that there ought to be no difficulty in the construction of this line. Another column, intended for the pacification of the country as well as the conquest of Kairwan, is now moving across the Bey’s territory from Tebessa. The distance it has to traverse is, however, so great that it can hardly take part in the operations against the city itself, unless those operations should be unexpectedly delayed.
No one, of course, can entertain any doubt as to the result of the operations against Kairwan. The famous city is doomed. Optimists now can only pray that its captors will show respect for the feelings not merely of the Mussulman, but of the whole civilized world. The “loot” of a place like Kairwan would be a disgrace and a disaster. The world as it watches this great expedition against Kairwan, undertaken, as I have shown, upon a scale of such magnitude, ought to bear in mind the fact that Kairwan itself has been guilty of no offence. It has offered, and is offering, no resistance to the French army, although naturally enough the Arabs of Kairwan, like the rest of the world, fail to see what special reason can be alleged for the course now being pursued by France in a country with which it does not pretend to be at war, and which it professes that it has no desire to annex. No plea of military necessity can therefore be put in on behalf of the expedition to which the French are now committed. It is an expedition undertaken for the purpose of giving the Gambettist Republic a new dose of “glory,” and of putting an end, if possible, to awkward discussionsin the French Chambers. That is the plain truth about this march upon the sacred city—a march which is regarded by all the Arabs, I need hardly say, as being in itself an act of sacrilege. That it will not result in the pacification of the country is firmly believed by competent military authorities here. The Arabs, save a few of the more fanatical, will in all probability escape into the mountainous districts of the interior, or—and this is an eventuality which it is necessary that English statesmen should seriously consider—they will make their way across the frontier into Tripoli, and throw themselves into the arms of the great Mussulman force already assembled there, where they will nurse their indignation against the assailants of their brethren in race and religion.
Tunis, October 25th.—The truth about Tunis has not yet been told to the world. Part of it has, it is true, been revealed in the columns of certain of the ultra-Radical journals of Paris; but, partly because of the quarter in which the revelations have been made, and partly, also, because of the evident bias of the writers, those stories have not attracted so much attention as they mightreasonably have been expected to do. It will not, however, be from any want of zeal on the part of inquirers after it, if the whole truth regarding the Tunisian question is not made known to the world at no distant date. This city is now swarming, I shall not say with spies, but with investigators of all descriptions, bent upon learning everything regarding the proceedings of M. Roustan and his wonderfulentourage. We have here, among others, M. Camille Pelletan, the lieutenant of Dr. Clémenceau, and M. Pelletan does not even affect to conceal the fact that he is preparing the materials for a savage indictment, not merely of M. Roustan and the French Ministry, but of M. Gambetta himself, when the Chambers meet. That he is satisfied with the success that has attended his efforts to unravel all the mysteries of the Tunisian question, I have the best authority for saying; and there can be no doubt that when he makes his promised statement to the Chamber of Deputies he will have a tale to tell which must produce a very lively sensation. It is not only, however, among French Deputies and Special Correspondents that the inquiries after the truthare to be found. Strange as it may seem, at least one other country besides that immediately concerned in the Tunisian expedition is interesting itself in what is passing or has passed here. Tunis has lately witnessed a remarkable influx of mysterious Germans—gentlemen, for the most part, of a decidedly military bearing, whose sauerkrautish French would alone suffice to betray their nationality to the observant. These gentlemen are by no means obtrusive in their demeanour. They frequent none of the hotels; they might even seem to be anxious to escape the observation of the French authorities. They are chiefly to be found in certain small cafés in the European quarter which do not appear to have been discovered as yet by the officers of the French army. Here they are, however, and for what purpose? They are not bent on seeking pleasure. It is only a mad Englishman who will come to Tunis for pleasure at a time like the present. They are not engaged in commercial pursuits; they are not even the correspondents of German newspapers. All that can be said about them is that they show a most unwearied assiduity in collecting facts, both politicaland military, with regard to the past and the present of French rule in Tunis. They also will aid the world, it may be assumed, in arriving at a full knowledge of the truth regarding one of the most remarkable episodes in modern history.
And what is that truth? For obvious reasons my pen is restrained from writing of it. It will be better to wait till the debate in the French Chambers for the full chronicle of the scandals that surround this question; yet even now not a little may be said. I see it still repeated in certain newspapers in England, that after all the French have only done in Tunis what we did in Afghanistan. More amazing ignorance of actual facts than that which is shown by this assertion, it would be difficult to conceive. Granting for the moment that our policy in Afghanistan was as bad as these papers believe it to have been, there would still be not even the faintest similarity between the two cases. I have never seen it hinted that we entered Afghanistan in order to advance the pecuniary interest of a coterie of adventurers at Calcutta or London; nor has it ever been suggested that a fair and frail Helen was closely connectedwith the origin of our expedition to Cabul. It is said here, however, upon authority which is unimpeachable, that the violent seizure of Tunis by the French, and all the misery, loss of life, and confusion that have resulted from that step, can be traced directly to the visit of a certain Tunisian lady to Paris, and to the acquaintances she there formed amongst a band of well-known financiers. This lady had exceptional influence over a very powerful person in Tunis. She had exercised similar influence over other powerful persons in the place before she made the acquaintance of this particular gentleman, and altogether she occupied a very extraordinary and important place in Tunisian affairs. On the particular visit to Paris to which I refer, her sympathies were enlisted on behalf of the speculators in question. She returned to Tunis resolved to procure for them a most important concession from the Bey—a concession which would practically have placed the greater part of the country in pawn to them. By means of the gentleman whose movements she controlled, she brought the matter under the notice of the Bey. His Highness, however, refused to grant theconcession, pleading the perfectly accurate reason that he could not do so without violating his treaty engagements with England and other countries. Thereupon he was bluntly told that he would live to repent his decision; and that the concession he had been asked to make voluntarily was trifling compared to that which would within twelve months be wrung from him by force. In fact, it was by no means obscurely hinted that the days of his rule and of Tunisian independence were numbered. Little more than six months afterwards the “ravages” of the Kroumirs were discovered; French journalists declared it to be intolerable that their country should be exposed to insults and injuries at the hands of a horde of savages; and one of the gentlemen who had been most urgent in seeking the concession of which I have spoken from the Bey, himself proposed in the Chamber of Deputies that an expedition should be undertaken for the purpose of vindicating the dignity of France, and chastising the aggressors. From that expedition came, I need hardly say, the Treaty with M. Roustan, the cession of Bizerta and a considerable tract of territory, the submission of the Bey’s Government tothat of France, and now the occupation of Tunis itself and the practical conversion of the Regency into a French dependency.
All these facts have been hinted at, if they have not been clearly stated before; but it is well that they should be stated again. Connected with them are numberless scandals, some of so flagrant a character that I cannot even hint at their nature. But, as I have said, the searchers after truth are abroad, and we shall have a highly spiced dish of Tunisian facts served up in the French Chambers at no distant date. The Enfida case, which is one of the side issues connected with the affair, is in itself a very remarkable instance of the manner in which those who represent France in this country are trifling with the national honour. A few months ago, before the great blow had been struck, and when Tunis was still independent, the French authorities, after much correspondence, professed themselves anxious to submit Mr. Levy’s claim to arbitration. England saw then no reason for withdrawing it from the ordinary tribunals. Suddenly, however, the attitude of France has undergone a curious change. Now that Tunisian independenceis completely at an end—now that the Bey is little more than a prisoner in his own palace—now that the French flag floats above the Tunisian one on the towers of the Kasbah, and now that French soldiers and policemen are patrolling the streets of Tunis itself—now, in fact, that France is omnipotent and can control or crush any Tunisian institution, M. Roustan has turned round upon himself, refuses to submit the Enfida dispute to arbitration, and has actually sent it before one of those local tribunals the integrity and competency of which he stoutly denied so long as there was the remotest chance of their acting in an independent manner. I am glad to say that the English Government seem to be inclined to insist upon arbitration by some wholly independent party as the only satisfactory solution of the question, and in this resolve it may be hoped that the French Government will eventually acquiesce.
The diplomatic struggles and rivalries of places like Tunis are proverbial, and there is no need to say that the hottest warfare has been waged here between the representatives of the different European powers. I am glad to say that amid the strife Mr. Reade,the English representative, has been able to keep himself entirely aloof from all personal jealousies or local scandals; and that, whilst maintaining with firmness and dignity the interests and honour of his country, he has not given offence even to the most arrogant of his colleagues. On the other hand, M. Roustan is now being denounced by everybody, and particularly by Frenchmen themselves. Except in his own immediate circle nobody seems to have a good word for him, and his early downfall is freely predicted. Among the offences laid to his charge are the contradictory promises he is said to have made to many of the prominent actors in this Tunisian question. He is believed to have intrigued not merely with the Bey, but with his Prime Minister, the ex-barber’s-apprentice Mustapha, with Ali Bey, the Bey’s elder, and with Taib Bey his younger, brother. It follows from all that has happened, and from all that is now being brought to light, that Frenchmen themselves are most anxious to secure his removal. The misfortune is, that his removal will now exercise but small appreciable influence upon the future of Tunis. It is in the possession of France at this moment.The noble Gulf of Tunis, the trade of the country, all its strategical points, are in the keeping of the French; and though the latter will have to pay a heavy price in blood, money, and reputation for the prize they have thus secured, they are not likely to relinquish it merely because M. Roustan has been exposed and punished.
It is not merely on the side of the French that curious intrigues are just now in full progress under one’s very eyes. The Bey, as I have said, is practically a prisoner in his palace at Goletta, utterly dejected and heartbroken, and so completely devoid of spirit that he has just conferred—need I say at whose bidding?—his highest decoration upon the French general commanding the troops in occupation of Tunis—an occupation which every Arab resents as an insult to his nationality and his creed. It is not surprising in these circumstances that rumours should be current regarding a probable change in the nominal rulership. Ali Bey, the next brother of the Bey, who is known as the Bey of the Camp, eagerly puts himself forward as the supplanter of the reigning Bey. Unfortunately for his chances he is very deaf, and, moreover, heis more than suspected of complicity in many of the intrigues of M. Roustan. His own troops are at this moment in a state of almost open mutiny against him, and more than once he has been denounced when riding through his own camp, as a traitor who had sold his country. The third brother, Taib Bey, lives a retired life at the Marsa, in a large and beautiful country-house, not far from the residence of the English Consul. He seems to be a man of considerable shrewdness and intelligence. Last of all on the list of Pretenders is Mustapha, whose friends openly declare that he is about to return to this country as Governor-General—a French Governor-General of course. I should imagine, however, that his chances are dependent upon the fortunes of his friend M. Roustan.
Tunis, October 30th.—There is something very amusing in the manner in which the capture of Kairwan has fallen flat upon the European community here. How the intelligence may have been received in Paris I am not of course aware. Perhaps thecoup de théâtreof General Farre and M. Roustan may have been successful, and the Parisiansmay have applauded the occupation of the sacred city as though it were an achievement equal to another Solferino or Magenta. But here even the dullest of persons sees too much of what is passing behind the scenes to be deceived. It was known early last week that Kairwan was to be occupied exactly in time to allow of the news reaching Paris on Friday evening. The day before, I received a note from an officer with General Etienne’s force, dated Tuesday, and telling me that they were in sight of Kairwan, never having fired a shot during the march. I was therefore quite prepared for the receipt of the news of the occupation. On Friday morning, about ten o’clock, the transportSarthesteamed into Goletta, bringing the expected tidings; and two hours afterwards everybody in Tunis was—laughing at it. The prodigious achievement, which was to crush the insurrection and strike terror into the hearts of the Arabs in North Africa, had resolved itself into a simple promenade across forty miles of sandy desert, and the holy city had been yielded up without a blow being struck in its defence. It was quite evident thatthe Arabs were too clever to fall into the trap which had been so ostentatiously laid for them by the French. A battle at Kairwan would, according to French ideas, have justified the destruction of the city; whilst it would at the same time have crippled the power of the Arabs. But the Arabs are as far from subjection as they ever were.
We have a fresh instance of mismanagement in this capture of Kairwan. The plan of campaign was that the two columns of Susa and Zaghouan should meet in front of the city on Tuesday last. Somehow or other, however, they “missed their connexions,” as the Yankees would say. General Etienne performed his part; General Saussier, the superior officer, failed in his. Although he encountered but trifling resistance, his straggling and ill-arranged column could not arrive at Kairwan on Wednesday night. The funny thing is, that there is much indignation among the leading officers here against General Etienne! It is said that it was his first duty to await the arrival of his superior, and that he has shown “indecent haste” in fulfilling hisinstructions and reaching and occupying Kairwan. General Etienne, however, is the only man who has shown himself up to his work during this campaign. The work has not been very heavy, but such as it is he has done it well. On reaching the city, Colonel de Moulin was sent forward to communicate with the Governor, one of the Bey’s servants, and a man of much intelligence. A white flag had previously been hoisted on the tower of the great Mosque of Okba. The Governor explained to Colonel de Moulin that he was the loyal subject of the Bey, and was prepared to receive the French army as the allies of his Highness. He only begged that the mosques might be held inviolate, and that the army would be content with passing through the town, and would not attempt to take up quarters in it. Colonel de Moulin asked the Governor to come with him to the spot where General Etienne was awaiting the result of the interview. This the Governor did. After some conversation the French general intimated that he must take possession of the Kasbah, or citadel within the walls, but that in all other respects he would comply with the Governor’s wishes. TheFrench column was thereupon formed up, and each battalion being headed by its trumpeters marched into the sacred city to the sound of shrill martial music. The streets were crowded with Arabs, arrayed in their burnouses of many colours, and all watched with interest the passage of the troops. Anger and indignation were depicted upon every countenance. Very little else was to be seen that was worthy of notice by the unwelcome guests for whom the city had opened its gates.
The streets are narrow, tortuous, and ill-paved; the houses of the prevailing Moorish type; and the great mosques are not particularly conspicuous so far as their exteriors are concerned. Within they contain many noble columns and antiquities, andcuriosof enormous interest and value. But no one was allowed to violate these shrines, within which no Christian foot has yet penetrated. There was general disappointment on the part of all when, the march through having been finished, the troops were brought out of the city, at the opposite gate to that by which they had entered. The detachment occupying theKasbah was a small one, General Etienne feeling justified, in the absence of all resistance, in making this concession to the wishes of the Governor. He had previously given the latter to understand that he would hold him personally responsible for the maintenance of order within the walls. The situation chosen for the camp is good. It is within easy distance of the city, and has been entrenched—not because there is any fear of attack from the people of Kairwan themselves, but because of the possibility of a sudden raid from the neighbouring hills, into which the insurgent Arabs have fled for refuge.
Such is the story of the occupation of Kairwan by General Etienne; and it will be seen at once how tame a story it is. But though there has been nothing brilliant in this mean achievement, and though the struggle with the Arabs has been hardly advanced a single step by the occupation of this city, it has a degree of importance. The excitement and resentment among the Arab population of the Regency has been greatly intensified by an outrage upon a shrine which they have long regarded as sacred.Here in Tunis, the Arabs openly declare that the insult thus put upon their faith must be avenged in blood; and outside the city walls the populace is seething with rage. The hope which apparently prevails is that the Sultan may come to their assistance even now, and that with the aid of his troops they may avenge themselves upon the invader. It is to put an end to this hope that the Bey has been induced, or compelled, to issue a proclamation to his people. This proclamation, which appears on all the walls in the Arab quarter, states that the Sultan has sent his troops to Tripoli merely to preserve order, and that they are now about to be withdrawn. Still, the very fact that it should have been thought necessary to issue such a notice, shows how strongly the French are impressed with a sense of the danger which threatens them on that side. Nor is their anxiety groundless. Advices from Tripoli show that the excitement among the Mussulman population there is intense, and is being fomented by the action of fanatical preachers, who are passing from place to place, stirring up popularhatred against the infidel. Many hundreds of Tripolitans, including a large number of Turkish soldiers, have crossed the frontier, and are joining the Tunisian Arabs in these mountain fastnesses, in which they are preparing for the guerilla operations they evidently contemplate. It is, therefore, in that direction that the Tunisian question will probably next appear in a serious form.
Malta, Nov. 5th.—The rains were beginning to set in over Tunis when I left the Regency, and with the commencement of the rainy season the best authorities were agreed in believing that the fighting would cease. The Arabs have spent several months, during which no work could be done upon the land, in assailing their hated enemy, and they have inflicted upon him not only severe losses, but the necessity of taking the most costly and extensive measures for maintaining his hold upon the country. Now that the time is come when the natives must either attend to their fields or allow the next harvest to be entirely lost, those who know them best feel convinced of the course they will take. They will leave the mountains and come down tothe plains, not to fight, but to work. A few months hence, when the harvest has been secured, there will probably be another insurrectionary movement, which will break out sporadically in all manner of unexpected places, and cause fresh trouble and expense to the French. For the present, however, there will be something like peace, save where General Saussier pursues his favourite occupation of having some unfortunate Bedouin hanged, simply to encourage the others. The moment seems, therefore, a favourable one for attempting some review of the situation as a whole.
Whatever may be thought about the morality of the transactions which have placed the French in command of Tunis—and I have spoken already with quite sufficient plainness on that point—the English public must make up their minds to one thing—that is, that France will not quit her hold of the prize she has now got within her grasp. I have spoken to many Frenchmen of influence and position who have visited Tunis during the past month for the purpose of learning the truth about the Tunisian question. There is not one of them who does not admit thatthe series of transactions which have ended by placing the tricolor on the Kasbah of the capital and the walls of Kairwan reflect dishonour upon the national name; there is not one who is not prepared to insist upon the exposure and punishment of M. Roustan and hisentourage. But I have not met a single Frenchman who has expressed his willingness to retire from the country now that he sees France in actual possession of it. “What! give up Tunis now, after all the lives and the money we have spent in getting hold of it! Give it up after the tremendous price in honour we have paid to secure it! Never!” This is the French view of the matter; and even the Englishman who has been educated by recent transactions in Afghanistan and South Africa, must admit that there is some force in the prevailing French sentiment upon the subject. But whether that sentiment be just or not, let us at least not shut our eyes to the plain fact which stares us in the face—the fact that, whether M. Roustan is retained or dismissed, whether his conduct is denounced or applauded, nobody believes that France will retire from Tunis. There she is, and there she will stay, if for no other reasonthan because she has now such extensive financial interests in the country, that the clique of capitalists and jobbers who secretly control her foreign policy cannot afford to let those interests be sacrificed. But what must be the probable consequences of her retaining the prize she has succeeded in seizing by an act of international brigandage?
So far as other powers are concerned, there can be no doubt that Italy is the heaviest sufferer for the moment. The interests of Italy in Tunis far surpass those of any other country. Italian has hitherto been the European language used there in all commercial transactions; Italian capital has been most largely invested in the native industries; and the vast majority of the Christian population have hitherto claimed the protection of the Italian Consul-General. The Italians themselves will not deny that they have for a long time entertained a desire to do that which France has now done. They were the keen and eager rivals of Frenchmen in all the various enterprises designed for the development of Tunis. But either they were less bold or were more scrupulous than theircompetitors. At all events they had no M. Roustan to take the lead on their behalf, and thus, when the moment for action arrived, they were left hopelessly behind. It is impossible to exaggerate the rage and bitterness which now fill them against the French. If the two nations were actually at this moment at war with each other, the feeling could not be more hostile. Nor need we be surprised at this. The loss of the Italians in actual money in consequence of this transfer of Tunis to France is a very heavy one. The French, it must be understood, are not doing things by halves. They are already boasting that they will soon drive the last Italian capitalist out of Tunis, that the Goletta Railway (the purchase of which by an Italian company was the incident which fired the train of subsequent events) will soon be in their hands, and that before long they will be financially and commercially supreme.
All this the Italians see for themselves, and they are overwhelmed with chagrin at the spectacle. But they feel also that theirprestige, and even their military position, has received a most serious blow. With the French at Bizerta and Goletta they maintainthat they are unexpectedly outflanked. Various schemes have been put forward in Italy in order to secure some compensation for the injury thus inflicted upon the country. I find that in the important coast towns the favourite idea of the Italian residents is that Tripoli should be seized, in order to counterbalance the French acquisition of Tunis. But at Tripoli itself that idea finds no favour, even among the Italians; and the reason for this it is not difficult to discover. Neither from a financial, a military, nor a political point of view is Italy strong enough to secure Tripoli. Those who are on the spot are well aware of this, and they are most anxious to counteract the Chauvinist ideas of their fellow-countrymen at a distance. Let me add, that France herself would be worsted in any attack upon Tripoli. She may have the money and the men, but she lacks the power necessary to enable her to defy, not merely the Tripolitan Arabs, but the forces of united Europe. For the Italians to thrust themselves into the wasp’s nest from which the insurrectionary movement in Tunis originated, would be an act of supreme folly. To say nothing of the course which England would be bound totake in such a case—to say nothing of any resistance which might be offered by the regular Turkish army—the Arabs of Tripoli are themselves formidable enough to make any attack upon them by a State like Italy, a most dangerous if not a hopeless undertaking. They are far more fanatical than their co-religionists in Tunis; they are rich and brave; and at this moment they are eager to throw themselves across the border in order to revive the insurrectionary movement in the Regency. The attempt of any Christian power to interfere with them on their own territory would be the signal for the outbreak of a “Holy War,” compared with which that which has been waged in Tunis would be utterly insignificant.