FOLLOWING THE PIRATE COAST
Bad news greeted us at Algiers. We were to change cars and drivers, so
the officials of the company which had charge of our transportation
informed us. Harvey, the young New Englander and veteran of the A. E.
F., for whom we had formed a sincere affection, was to return with the
Cadillac to Tunis, and we were to continue our journey Morocco-ward in
a huge black Renault under the guidance of a youthful French colonial
named Tomine, whose home town was Casablanca. Tomine—whose name we soon
corrupted to Ptomaine—was an easy-going, devil-may-care lad without the
slightest sense of responsibility. A safe and skilful driver, he was
utterly regardless of sign-posts, which were of no more significance to
him than trees or telegraph-poles. And he had, moreover, an incurable
aversion to making inquiries as to direction and road conditions. Upon
leaving Tlemcen, for example, he took the wrong roads three times
running, following each of them a dozen miles or more before he was
willing to admit that he might possibly be mistaken. Had I not interfered
we would have ended up in the desert instead of at Oujda, and as it was
we arrived long after midnight, just as the military authorities were
about to send out a searching expedition on the assumption that we had
met with an accident or had been waylaid by bandits.
[Illustration: THE RESTING-PLACE OF CLEOPATRA’S DAUGHTER
Near Kolea, in northern Algeria, is the Kubr-er-Rumia, the imposing
mausoleum of King Juba II of Mauretania and of his wife Selene, the
daughter of Mark Antony and Cleopatra]
There used to be a current saying in the East that the first thing the
British build upon occupying a country is a custom-house, the first thing
that the Germans build is a fort, and the first thing the French build is
a road. And nowhere have the French been more painstaking or successful
in their road-building than in Algeria. When they occupied the country
in 1830 the interior could not boast a single road. The splendid Roman
highways had long since disappeared. Wheeled vehicles were unknown among
the Arabs, whose rough and narrow trails permitted only the passage of
horsemen. In the Tell transport was by mules, in the desert regions by
camels.
The French were quick to realize, however, that in a savage and hostile
country, utterly destitute of roads, the heavily accoutred European
troops, accompanied by artillery and baggage trains, could not hope to
approach the mobility of the Arab light-horsemen. No sooner had the army
landed, therefore, than the military engineers set about the construction
of a great strategic highway system, which at first only linked the
more important coast cities but was gradually expanded until it now
consists of a main east-and-west artery running right across the country
from Tunisia to Morocco with numerous branches which stretch southward
to the towns along the edge of the Sahara. These highways, which now
have a total length of nearly thirty-five hundred miles, comprise the
_routes nationales_, the great state trunk roads, built and maintained
by the government primarily for strategic purposes. In recent years the
government has lent its aid in the construction of a number of other
roads, partly of a strategic nature but for the most part built with
a view to opening up new regions to commerce and colonization. These,
with the ordinary country roads, make up a total of something over ten
thousand miles, so that to-day there is not a single town of importance
in Algeria which cannot be reached by motor over hard-surfaced highways.
The _routes nationales_ of Algeria are like those of France as the latter
were before they were ruined by the heavy traffic of the war: the curves
and gradients scientifically worked out, planted wherever possible with
shade-trees, the distances plainly indicated by kilometer-stones, and
maintained in admirable condition. The Algerian highways are not so well
posted as they might be, though the motorist rarely has any difficulty
in finding his way; but in Morocco the French have erected the finest
road-signs I have ever seen—great walls of whitewashed concrete, ten
feet in height, with the route-numbers, the names of the towns, and the
distances painted on them in staring black characters which can be seen a
quarter of a mile away. In this respect, Morocco is far ahead of America.
As a result of the general excellence of the Algerian roads the shipping
of goods by motor-truck has been highly developed, transportation by
roads being in most cases fully as rapid as by railway and considerably
less expensive.
Algeria has, however, an excellent railway system of twenty-five hundred
miles, its well equipped trains provided with sleeping and dining cars,
on which one can travel in comfort all the way from Tunisia to Morocco,
or from the Algerian coast towns southward to the edges of the desert;
but I should strongly advise the prospective visitor to North Africa to
do most of his traveling by motor-car, for which the roads, by reason of
their open character and long straight stretches, are admirably adapted,
and which, particularly where the cost is shared among several persons,
is considerably less expensive than the railway, to say nothing of being
infinitely more enjoyable and interesting.
The surface of the main roads is usually excellent, though not
comparable, of course, to the wonderful concrete boulevards which now
cover with a network the United States. Garages and repair-shops are to
be found in all the larger towns, and the French mechanics are the equal
of any in the world. Gasoline—or _pétrol_, as the French call it—is
available almost everywhere and is no more expensive than in France.
Algeria is the speedster’s paradise. It is true that Article 14 of the
_Règlements_ contains the provision that _en aucun cas, la vitesse
n’excédera celle de 30 kilomètres à l’heure en rase campagne et celle
de 20 kilomètres à l’heure dans les agglomérations_, but I have never
heard of this or any other speed-limit being enforced, and in Algeria
such joy-killers as speed-traps and traffic-cops are as yet unknown. I
should advise those who are fond of stepping on the gas to proceed with
extreme caution through the native villages, however, for the passions of
the Arabs are easily aroused, particularly against Europeans, and, were
a native child to be killed or injured, it might go hard with those who
were responsible for the accident.
Beautifully appointed cars of all the better known American and European
makes, with European drivers, may be hired very reasonably at Tunis,
Algiers, or Oran; while for those who wish to avoid the expense of a
private car, I can recommend the luxurious motor-buses operated by
the Compagnie Générale Transatlantique. In these great vehicles every
passenger is provided with an arm-chair as roomy and comfortable as
those in Pullman parlor-cars, nor is he encumbered by luggage, which is
carried in a trailer. While in North Africa I met several Americans who
had brought their own cars from the United States and were driving them
themselves—not so costly a matter as might be assumed, by the way, for
a touring-car of medium size can be shipped from New York to Algiers and
back again to New York for something under four hundred dollars. One of
my compatriots, a former ambassador and a gentleman of enormous wealth,
was so delighted with the car and chauffeur he had hired in Algiers
that he insisted on taking both across the Mediterranean for the sole
purpose of motoring the hundred miles from Marseilles to Monte Carlo!
Another American motorist, whom I met in Fez, was from Kansas City—a real
Middle-Western hustler. He arrived late in the evening, driving his own
car, and departed the following day immediately after luncheon.
“But aren’t you cutting your stay here rather short?” I protested. “Fez
is a very interesting city.”
“Hell, no!” he exclaimed, tossing his bags into the tonneau. “I’ve been
here all night and half of a day, haven’t I? I reckon to see the rest
of Morocco in about four days and then spend a fortnight doing western
Europe.”
Two days later we heard that he had been arrested for speeding on the
road to Marrákesh. And I was glad of it. But he certainly must have been
burning up the road to have been arrested in Morocco!
* * * * *
A score of miles or so beyond Algiers, near the little village of Kolea,
the west-bound traveler comes within sight of one of the most remarkable
sepulchral monuments in North Africa—the Kubr-er-Rumia, “the grave
of the Roman lady,” as the Arabs call it, though better known by its
French name, Tombeau de la Chrétienne. A huge circular stone building,
surmounted by a pyramid and supported by sixty Ionic columns, it stands
on the summit of a hill, some little distance from the highway and seven
hundred and fifty feet above the sea. To visit it one must do a little
climbing, but, if you have any imagination in your soul, it is well worth
the trouble, for it is the tomb of Juba II, who ruled in Mauretania
during the latter part of the first century B.C., and—what is far more
important to most of us—of his wife, the beautiful Selene, daughter
of Mark Antony and of Cleopatra, queen of Egypt. It is an interesting
circumstance that in 1555, when Salah Reis, the pirate-pasha of Algiers,
having use for the stones which form the mighty sepulcher, set men to
tear it down, big black wasps came swarming from the burial-chambers
within the tomb and stung the vandals to death. How that must have
delighted the imperious and relentless spirit of Cleopatra!
The Princess Selene presented an embarrassing problem to the government
at Rome, for in her veins flowed the blood of the Ptolemies, the Cæsars,
and possibly of the Pharaohs, and there were those who would have claimed
for her the succession to the thrones of two great empires. So, in order
to get rid of this potentially troublesome young person, the Emperor
Augustus married her off to Juba II, a descendant of that Masinissa,
king of Numidia, mentioned in an earlier chapter, who had been a stanch
ally of the Romans in their conflict with Carthage. Crossing to Africa,
the royal pair set about the creation of a capital on the site of the
ancient Punic town of Jol, which they renamed Julia Cæsarea and which is
to-day called Cherchel, seventy-five miles west of Algiers. Here, where
the wooded hills come down to meet the curving bay, they raised a noble
city, a seat of art and learning and a center of the best culture of the
time. A theater, a hippodrome, palaces, temples, baths, and villas rose
in gleaming marble upon the hill-slopes above the Mediterranean; and
here, surrounded by artists, scientists, and philosophers, the daughter
of Cleopatra lived with her student husband to a ripe old age, the two of
them being buried, as I have already remarked, in the Kubr-er-Rumia, the
splendid mausoleum near Kolea. The Arab invaders, the Algerine pirates,
the French army engineers and archæologists, and the earthquakes have
between them left little of the ancient city standing; but the museum at
Cherchel contains some of the finest statues found in Africa, including
the lower half of an Egyptian god in black basalt, bearing the cartouche
of Thotmes I, which, according to some authorities, is an indication that
there was an Egyptian settlement here as early as 1500 B.C. Cherchel
makes a good midday stopping-place for west-bound travelers, who may have
their _déjeuner_ on the terrace of the small local hotel, but let me
warn you in advance that the banal modern town contains no architectural
reminders of the great days when it was the seat of the court of
Cleopatra’s daughter.
It is a matter of only about three hours by motor from Cherchel to Tenes,
a charming little seaside community on the site of the Roman colony
of Cartenna. Here the ubiquitous Compagnie Générale Transatlantique
has built the most enchanting traveler’s rest that I have ever seen in
any country. On the thickly wooded slopes which rise abruptly from the
crescent bay, the company has erected a score or more of white-walled,
red-roofed, deep-verandaed kiosks, most of them containing two rooms and
a bath and charmingly decorated, inside and out, with vivid tiles and
gaily tinted Arab plaster-work, so that they gleam like jewels amid the
foliage. The rooms are as comfortably furnished as those of the finest
American summer hotels, and meals are served in a central bungalow. There
is sea-bathing on the sandy beach, a few yards away, and delightful
excursions may be made into the wooded hills behind the town, or to some
ruined Roman tombs in the neighborhood, but I preferred to lie at ease
in a chaise longue beneath the whispering pines, idly watching the blue
sea at my feet and the hibiscus-colored sails of the fishing-craft which
dotted it. We remained at Tenes only over the week-end, but I could have
spent a fortnight there most contentedly.
As it is a long day’s run from Tenes to Oran, with nothing of particular
interest to be seen en route, let me suggest that I beguile the tedium of
the journey by telling you something of this Algerian land across which
we have been motoring for so many days.
To begin with, Algeria is not a colony, strictly speaking, being
regarded, rather, as a part of France. Unlike the protectorates of
Morocco and Tunisia, which are respectively under the control of the
Ministry of War and the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, and both of
which have been permitted to retain their native rulers and at least
a semblance of native government, Algerian affairs are controlled by
the Ministry of the Interior through a governor-general, and in the
administration of the country the natives have very little voice. For
administrative purposes the country has been organized in two great
divisions—Northern and Southern Algeria. The Northern Territory,
which, loosely speaking, comprises the coastal plain and the fertile
highland region known as the Tell, is divided into three departments,
Algiers, Oran, and Constantine, each under a prefect and each sending
one senator and two deputies to the national Parliament in Paris. The
Southern Territory, which comprises the more thinly populated and less
civilized Algerian Sahara, consists of four military territories, Ain
Sefra, Ghardaia, Touggourt, and the Saharan Oases (Tuat, Gurara, and
Tidikelt), each under a _commandant militaire_ who is usually a general
of brigade or a colonel. The total population of Algeria is now probably
not far from six millions, of whom nearly ten per cent are Europeans. The
franchise is confined to “citizens,” in which classification are included
all Jews and those natives above the age of twenty-five and monogamous
who served in the Great War, who are landed proprietors or farmers, who
can read and write, or who hold a French decoration. The balance of the
natives, who form nine tenths of the population, are not “citizens,”
however, but “subjects,” and consequently do not possess the right to
vote.
That this disproportionate system, which grants suffrage to ten per cent
of the population and leaves ninety per cent of the inhabitants without a
voice in governmental affairs, should be provocative of deep discontent
among the natives is hardly surprising. Far from unifying the population,
it has but served to encourage racial hatred and political prejudice, for
the “citizens,” native and naturalized, consider themselves immensely
superior to the unfranchised, who bitterly resent the subordinate
position that has been allotted them in the land which their fathers
ruled for twelve hundred years. Looking eastward, the Algerians see
their fellow-Moslems in Tunisia enjoying a considerable measure of
autonomy, somewhat vague and limited, it is true, but an autonomy of
sorts nevertheless. On the west they see the Moroccans, with whom they
are closely allied racially, religiously, and historically, under a
French protectorate, but a protectorate so mild and beneficent as to be
scarcely felt. The bey of Tunis still sits on the throne of his fathers
in the Palace of the Bardo; the sultan of Morocco is still the titular
head of the Shereefian Empire; but in Algeria all power is vested in the
governor-general, an alien and a non-Moslem, and the flag which flies
over the country from Lalla Maghnia to the Mjerda is the flag of France.
The cause of this discrimination must be sought in history. The French
came into Algeria as avenging conquerors during an age when European
nations recognized only three methods of dealing with native populations:
extinction, expulsion, and repression. At the time of the conquest
France was still swayed by Napoleonic ideals, her military men were in
the saddle, and the numerous native uprisings, particularly that led by
Abd-el-Kader, had convinced her that she was standing on the crust of
a volcano. Hence, in formulating her Algerian policy, she decided on
repression; she determined to use the mailed fist without the velvet
glove. Everywhere, even on the plains, where resistance was slight and
conquest was easy, the natives were dispossessed. The land was allotted
to Frenchmen or to those natives, comparatively few in number, who were
able to qualify as French “citizens” and consented to take the oath of
allegiance to France. Those who had fought for their fatherland, who had
resisted the invaders, were deprived of their property, the villages were
depopulated, broad areas of the country were laid waste. In the cities
the mosques were in many cases desecrated or handed over to the religious
orders to be used for what the Moslems considered idolatrous worship.
Some of them have never been restored to their owners. The country was
administered—and still is to a large extent—primarily for the benefit
of Frenchmen. Those Algerians only have prospered who have entered the
French army or government service, and formed affiliations which all but
cut them off from their fellow-countrymen. Though in the ninety-odd
years of her occupation France has gradually modified her initial policy
in Algeria, though she has done away with many of the injustices to which
it inevitably gave rise, nevertheless there exists among the natives much
lurking resentment, the more dangerous because it is skilfully concealed.
The cases of Tunisia and Morocco are totally different. France wore
hobnailed boots when she invaded Algeria; she changed to street shoes,
however, ere she set foot on the soil of Tunisia; but she tiptoed into
Morocco in soft-soled slippers. Tunisia, remember, was not conquered
by force of arms. It was occupied under the terms of a solemn treaty,
without any determined resistance on the part of the natives; indeed,
almost without a blow. Despite specious assurances to the contrary,
however, the French proceeded to undermine and destroy the power of the
beys, rehabilitating them in name only as their puppets, a procedure
which met with scarcely more opposition than the British encountered
when they dethroned the Burmese kings. The result is a nominally native
administration upon which is shouldered the blame for failures, and a
masked French direction which assumes the credit for success. In Tunisia
all that was best in Algeria has been repeated; moreover, native rights
and prejudices have been, on the whole, scrupulously respected, and their
mosques and shrines left unmolested save only in the case of Kairouan.
The immense superiority of the Tunisian policy over that employed in
Algeria is readily apparent to any one who takes the trouble to examine
and compare the two.
The lesson earned in Algeria, and emphasized in Tunisia, was not
forgotten when the French decided to declare a protectorate over Morocco.
Here was a vast empire, with a large, virile, fanatical, and highly
warlike population, and the French realized from the outset that unless
they trod very cautiously indeed they would find themselves with a
first-class war on their hands. So, though the tribes which opposed the
protectorate had to be subdued by force of arms, Morocco is subjected to
a minimum of dictatorial control, the French policy in that country being
the last word in “pacific penetration,” as I shall show further on. In
short, France’s policy in North Africa might be summed up by saying that
in Algeria she has employed repression, in Tunisia conciliation, and in
Morocco persuasion.
The truth of the matter is that, had Algeria been occupied yesterday,
instead of nearly a hundred years ago, the Algerians would unquestionably
enjoy a far greater measure of liberty than is their present lot.
But forms of government, once established, are not readily changed,
particularly where subject races are involved; and that of Algeria, as it
happens, is a somewhat unfortunate inheritance from a harsher and less
enlightened past.
Most visitors seem to be under the impression that Algeria is mainly
peopled by Arabs, whereas, as a matter of fact, they form only a small
minority of the inhabitants, seventy-five per cent of whom are Berbers,
descendants of that rugged warlike race who had lived in North Africa
for untold centuries before the Arabs came. As to the remainder of the
population, the so-called Moors, generally of mixed blood, inhabit the
towns and villages along the sea-coast. Negroes, originally brought from
the south and sold as slaves, are now found chiefly in the larger cities,
where they are employed as laborers and domestic servants. The Kabyles of
the eastern highlands, like the Touareg of the Sahara, are both branches
of the old Berber stock. The Turks, though for a considerable period the
dominant race, were never very numerous in Algeria, and most of them were
repatriated by the French after the conquest. The Jews, of whom there are
more than seventy thousand, are in the main descended from those who were
expelled from Cyrenaica in the reign of the Emperor Hadrian, who fled
from the Spanish persecutions, or who were banished from Italy in 1342.
The purely “African” Jew is now found only in the oases of the M’zab.
Mohammedanism is the nominal religion of all the native races save, of
course, the Jews, but the faith of the Prophet is strictly observed only
by the Arabs.
Ever since the days when what is now Algeria was regarded as the granary
of Rome it has been noted for the fertility of its soil, so that it
is not surprising that more than two thirds of its inhabitants are
engaged in agricultural pursuits. It should be understood, however, that
the greater part of the country is of limited value for agricultural
purposes, the really profitable farming regions being confined to a
comparatively small area of highly fertile plains and valleys in the
neighborhood of the coast, which is cultivated scientifically, mainly by
Europeans, and yields good returns in grain-fields and vineyards. The
mountainous northern portion is on the whole better adapted to grazing
and forestry than to agriculture, particularly as, in spite of the
numerous excellent roads built by the state, large areas of it are still
without adequate means of communication and very difficult of access.
Most of the native inhabitants are, moreover, miserably poor, eking
out a scanty existence by cultivating small olive-groves and fields of
barley or raising herds of sheep and goats. Under French rule, however,
the productiveness of the country has been enormously increased by the
sinking of artesian wells in districts which required only water to
make them fertile, and by the introduction of scientific methods and
modern machinery, though the employment of these is largely confined to
European settlers, the natives regarding such innovations with a mixture
of curiosity, skepticism, and sullen apathy.
I have no intention of going into agricultural statistics, but for the
information of those visitors whose curiosity is not confined to the
more exotic aspects of African life, I might mention that the chief
cereal products of Algeria are wheat, barley, oats, and corn. Flax,
silk, and tobacco are also grown, the cultivation of tobacco being
highly remunerative, though it must be confessed that American smokers
are not likely to find much pleasure in the Algerian weed. It has been
asserted by some enthusiastic writers that Algeria was the Garden of the
Hesperides; certainly it produces an amazing variety of fruits, including
the pear, apple, peach, apricot, plum, nectarine, pomegranate, orange,
lemon, mandarin, almond, fig, olive, banana, and date, the _deglat-nour_
of the Algerian Sahara being admittedly the finest date in the world. The
production of olive-oil is an important industry. A considerable amount
of cotton was grown during the American Civil War, and small fields are
still cultivated in the southern oases, but, in spite of government
encouragement, the industry has not met with much success. The soil of
Algeria is particularly adapted to the cultivation of the vine. The
country, in the words of an expert sent to report on the subject by the
French government, “can produce an infinite variety of wines suitable to
every constitution and to every caprice of taste.” Doubtless because of a
certain harshness, a barely perceptible resinous tang, native wines have
never become popular abroad, practically their only foreign market being
found in France. One of the best brands of Algerian wine is that produced
by the Trappist monks on the battle-field of Staoueli, perhaps because
the soil was enriched by the blood of those who fell there in 1830, as is
declared to be the case with the famous Swiss wine, Schweitzerblut, which
is grown on the battle-field of Morat.
In minerals Algeria is undoubtedly very rich, though they have not
yet received the attention which they deserve. They are found chiefly
in the Department of Constantine, where iron, lead and zinc, copper,
antimony, and mercury mines are worked with profit. Immense phosphate
beds have been found in several parts of the country, and petroleum is
being produced in small quantities in the Department of Oran. Algeria
has been famous for its onyx and marbles since the dawn of history, the
old mines, which are found everywhere, having provided the materials
for the beautiful buildings erected by the Romans. It is believed that
the beautifully translucent onyx marble, delicately clouded with yellow
and brown, a quarry of which was discovered some years ago near Oued
Abdallah, is identical with the “lost” Numidian marble which was so
highly prized by the architects of Carthage and Rome.
Agriculturally and mineralogically, Algeria, despite a century of French
occupation, is still a land of promise rather than of fulfilment, but
the promise is great and the achievement already remarkable when it is
remembered that the history of the French occupation has been the history
of a struggle against renascent barbarism.
But it is time that I brought this somewhat pedantic sketch of the
country and its people to an end, for over there, topping yonder line of
hills, are the forts which guard Oran.
Oran, the second city of Algeria, the capital of a department, the
headquarters of an army division, an important naval station, and the
center of a busy trade, is built on the steep slopes of the Djebel
Murjojo, which rises to a height of nineteen hundred feet above the
pearl-blue waters of the gulf. The town was originally cut in half by a
deep ravine, or _wahran_, from which it takes its name, but this is now
largely covered by ramps, boulevards, promenades, and modern buildings.
Oran is frankly modern and European, the most Oriental building in
the city being the railway-station. Though the city is picturesquely
situated, with some beautiful parks and lovely views, it is wholly
lacking in the color and quaintness which are the charms of Tunis and
Algeria. Perhaps this is due to the preponderance of Europeans, who,
unlike the natives, dwell in the bustling matter-of-fact present rather
than in the sleepy romantic past. Be this as it may, Oran has the air of
a very busy and highly prosperous boom town, and the people whom we saw
in its restaurants and hotels were more suggestive of the oil regions of
Texas than of a former pirate stronghold on the coast of Barbary.
In its European population Oran is more than half Spanish (Cartagena
in Spain is only 130 miles away); in its history it is almost wholly
Spanish. Though attempts have been made to identify it with the Quiza of
the Romans, no Roman remains have been found here, and its foundation
is more properly ascribed to the Andalusian Arabs who settled here
at the beginning of the tenth century and gave the place its name.
Rapidly rising into importance as a seaport, Oran was taken and retaken,
pillaged, destroyed, and rebuilt by the various conquerors of northern
Africa. In the course of a half-century it changed hands nine times,
attaining its highest prosperity at about the time Columbus was setting
out to discover the Western World, when it became subject to the sultans
of Tlemcen. The extent of its trade, the magnificence of its mosques,
and the number of its institutions of learning spread the city’s fame;
but wealth and luxury began to sap the energy of the Oronais, though the
rapid decline of the city was primarily due to the piratical activities
of the Moors expelled from Spain, who from Mers-el-Kebir, a strongly
protected harbor four miles to the west of Oran, waged a relentless
sea-war for booty and revenge against the Dons.
For a number of years the Moors harried the commerce, ravaged the coasts,
and carried off the subjects of King Ferdinand, but their activities were
brought to an abrupt end by the daring and determination of a churchman,
Cardinal Ximenes de Cisneros, archbishop of Toledo and inquisitor-general
of Spain, who at his own expense equipped an expedition which in 1505
captured Mers-el-Kebir, and who four years later himself led a second
expedition which took Oran by storm. This zealous priest, soldier, and
statesman, for he was all three combined, introduced Africa to the
terrors of the Inquisition—its palace may still be seen in the Place de
l’Hôpital of Oran—and also restored and extended the fortifications,
building on the heights above the town the massive Castle of the Saints,
now replaced by Fort St. Philippe. Oran became the penal settlement
of Spain, but neither the convicts nor the noblemen in disgrace who
were banished thither seem to have been very rigorously treated, if
contemporary accounts are to be believed.
[Illustration: NO, IT IS NOT ALWAYS HOT IN AFRICA
As is shown by this picture, which was taken in Algeria shortly before
Easter]
Meanwhile the Turks under the Barbarossas had made themselves masters
of Algeria, having ousted the Spaniards from all their possessions in
Barbary save Oran, which was now besieged by a formidable force under
the powerful bey of Mascara. The terrible earthquake of 1760, which
killed hundreds of citizens and all but destroyed the town, provided the
Spaniards with an excuse for withdrawing from a position which had become
untenable, and a few months later the regiments of his Most Catholic
Majesty marched out and the squadrons of Mascara came riding in. Oran
remained the capital of the beys of Mascara for 140 years; but upon the
capture of Algiers by France the ruling bey sent in his submission, and
in 1831 the ancient city was treated to another military triumph and
witnessed another change of masters, as France’s red-trousered soldiery
entered its gates to the blare of bugles and the roll of drums. That it
has prospered mightily under French rule is shown by the fact that a
census taken in 1832 showed that it had but 388 inhabitants, two thirds
of whom were Jews, whereas its present population is not far from one
hundred and fifty thousand.
Despite its hectic history, there is not much in Oran to detain the
traveler long, for one can visit the _kasbah_, the Château Neuf, the
Grand Mosque (built with money paid as ransom for Christian slaves), and
such other sights as the city has to offer, quite easily in a single day.
Toward nightfall I would suggest that you sit for an hour or so before
one of the numerous cafés and over an _apéritif_ watch the unfolding of
the human panorama. Though few interesting native types are to be seen,
the place is filled with troops—spahis, Turcos, zouaves, _tirailleurs
légionnaires_, colonial infantry, _chasseurs d’Afrique_—whose brilliant
uniforms lend pleasing notes of color to the drab and dusty streets.
Though Oran is doubtless well policed, it has certain districts in which
I should not care to linger after dark, for it struck me that there was
an unusually large rough element in evidence: soldiers who, judging by
the unsteadiness of their gait, had imbibed too freely in the numerous
grog-shops; half-naked negro stevedores; coal-heavers from the tramp
steamers in the harbor; Spanish speculators in wines and esparto grass;
greasy Jewish traders who supply the wants, legitimate and otherwise,
of the seafaring population; furtive Levantines with no visible means
of support, who looked as though they would commit any crime for a few
dollars; impudent and precocious Arab newsboys selling the “Echo d’Oran”;
sullen, mysterious Moors in flowing garments; grimy oil-drillers;
boisterous colonials in from their farms in the back-country for a
periodic spree; hard-eyed, highly painted women of many nationalities
but of one profession, their virtue as easy as an old shoe; some figures
straight from the Bible, others straight from the boulevards.
The hotel, though not a Ritz, was comfortable enough, and the cuisine
excellent, as is always the case when there is a Frenchman in the
kitchen, but the noise which rose from the cobbled streets put sleep
out of the question. I was glad when morning brought to our windows the
sound of Tomine’s horn, and, after a breakfast of rock-hard rolls and the
execrable mud-colored beverage which the French insist on calling coffee,
we took to the road again.