I.

It seemed all too good to be true: the rest from labor, the swift flight

across southern seas, the landing, amid strange, dark faces on a

burnished shore, the slow, delicious journey through tamarisk groves and

palm forests, and the halt in the Desert that came at last.

I had been doing for the last twelve months what young artists and

authors are constantly doing, to their own ruin and the justifiable

ill-humor of critics, namely, working against the grain. A sweet,

generous, and beautiful Patroness, seeing me on the high road to brain

fever or hopeless mediocrity, stepped forward in time, and sent me to

the Desert. If ever I achieve anything excellent, it will be owing to

that lady, the Vittoria Colonna of her humble Michael Angelo. My little

sister Mary came with me, and, when I tell you that she was a teacher in

a school, you will easily understand what an intoxicating thing it was

for her to see a new world every day, and have nothing to do from

morning, till night. The poor child could hardly believe in an existence

without Czerny's scales being played on three or four pianos at once,

and a barrel organ and brass band in the street. "Oh, Tom!" she would

say to me, a dozen times a day, "I've got C scale and 'Wait for the

Wagon' on my brain, and can't get rid of them;" so that I verily believe

to my beautiful Vittoria Colonna Mary's present well-being is due as

much as my own.

We halted at a little military station on the borders of the Great

Sahara, about a week before Christmas-day. The weather was perfect, and

not too warm. A delicious, mellow atmosphere enveloped palm, and plain,

and mosque; the air, blown across thousands and thousands of acres of

wild thyme and rosemary, refreshed us like wine: we seemed to have new

souls and new bodies given us, and were as free from care as the

swallows flying overhead. Travellers never came to Teschoun, as this

little oasis is called; but we had placed ourselves under the guidance

of an enterprising Frenchman, who transacted all sorts of business on

the road between Mascara and Fig-gig, the last French post in the

Desert. His name was Dominique, and I shall always look upon him as the

most remarkable man I ever knew. He was as witty as Sydney Smith, as

clever at expediences as Robinson Crusoe, as shrewd a politician as

Machiavelli, as apt at languages as Mezzofanti, and as brave as

Garibaldi. Being a bachelor, Dominique was none the less ready to

receive us, and, with the help of an old Corsican named Napoleon, made

us very comfortable. When Dominique was carrying His Imperial Majesty's

mails to some remote stations southward, or had gone to an Arab fair to

buy cattle, Napoleon catered for us and cooked for us, and did both

admirably. Both master and servant spiced their dishes plentifully with

that mother-wit, never seen in such perfection as in crude colonies

where people without it would fare so ill.

"What are we to do for society for poor mademoiselle?" asked Dominique,

as he served our first dinner. "Monsieur can amuse himself with the

officers of the garrison, but there are no ladies here."

"When my brother is out, I shall stay at home and talk to Napoleon,"

Mary said, with a mock assumption of dignity. "I don't want to be

amused, Monsieur Dominique."

"Mon Dieu, mademoiselle! the officers of the garrison will fall in love

with you, and that ought to amuse you better than talking to Napoleon,"

Dominique answered. "It's a very dull life they lead here, these poor

officers; and if it weren't for hunting gazelles and hyenas, and

playing the deuce with the Arabs, they'd die of ennui; but a pretty

young lady like you will turn their heads soon enough."

Mary blushed, and tried to turn the conversation.

"What do they do with themselves all day long?" she asked.

"I'll tell you that quickly enough, mademoiselle. M. le Commandant has

to see that the Cadi gets what he can out of the Sheiks, and the Sheiks

get what they can out of the tribes, and that the tribes hold their

tongue. That is what the Commandant has to do, young lady, and he does

it pretty well. M. le Capitaine has an easier time of it, except when

there is an insurrection, and then he makes a raid against the Arabs,

and after keeping his men out of their way very cleverly, sticks up the

French flag somewhere in the Desert and comes home. M. le Lieutenant

does odd jobs for the Commandant and the Capitaine, and plays the flute;

but we have got M. le Général down here for a few days, and he is

setting everybody to work. I dare say the end of it will be an

expedition into the Desert. You may look, monsieur. I'm not talking at

random, I assure you; generals love war as umbrella-makers love bad

weather; and it is easier to make people fight than it is to make it

rain."

"I think French officers must be a wicked set; I hope none of them will

come near us," Mary said. "The poor Arabs! how my heart bleeds for

them."

"Tiens! mademoiselle, there is no reason for your heart to bleed. Big

flies live on little ones all the world over; and if the French eat up

the Arabs, the Arabs eat up each other. The officers are very nice,

harmless gentlemen, I assure you; and as to the Commandant, though he

thinks fighting the best fun in the world, he wouldn't hurt a fly. To

see him pet his little gazelle would make you cry. She's the only lady

in the place, and I believe, if she died, it would break his heart. But

people must have something to be fond of. My old Napoleon, yonder, has

taken a fancy to a cat, and when the cat dies, Napoleon will be as lost

as his namesake the Emperor was at St. Helena. Listen a moment; that's

the Lieutenant practising on his flute: he has a little lodging next

door."

The Lieutenant played very prettily, and Mary seemed to like his playing

much better than Dominique's stories. As her room adjoined the

Lieutenant's, she seemed likely to have the full benefit of his musical

capacities; but I do not think she lay awake to be serenaded that night.

We were fairly intoxicated with the sweet air of the Desert we had been

breathing all day, and went to bed at eight o'clock, too tired and happy

to dream.

Next morning Dominique informed us that he had himself delivered our

letter of introduction to M. le Commandant, who promised to wait upon us

in the course of the day. Not knowing at what hour we might expect him,

we set to work immediately after breakfast to prepare my room for the

reception of so distinguished a visitor. I helped Mary as well as I was

able, and, when nothing remained to do but the dusting, retired into a

recess to trim my beard.

An Englishwoman is never so well dressed as when she emerges from her

bedroom at early morning; and I must say that Mary looked the daintiest

little housewife possible to conceive as she went about dusting and

polishing in a pink cambric dress and tiny black apron. But, neat as she

was, and neat as my beard and the room were in a fair way of becoming,

we were overwhelmed with surprise and confusion at what followed, for

quite suddenly the door was thrown open; there was a military tramp and

a rattling of a sword outside, and Dominique exclaimed, in a voice of

thunder, "M. le Commandant!"

Impassible self-possession is a beautiful quality, and while Mary and I

stood blushing and aghast, like school children caught at stealing

cherries, M. le Commandant had made a courteous speech, welcoming us to

Teschoun. Then we all sat down, and M. le Commandant talked to us. He

was a sunburnt, soldierly man about fifty-five, with a rough manner but

a kind smile, and we felt at home with him in a moment.

"I presume that monsieur wishes to see as much of the country as

possible," he said; "and I shall be enchanted to place at monsieur's

disposal horses, and my servant and a spahi as guides. But what will

mademoiselle do while her brother is away? I must send her my little

gazelle to play with her."

"My sister will like to go with me where it is practicable," I said.

The Commandant opened his eyes, and looked at Mary much as one looks

upon a pretty little duckling or a year-old baby.

"Monsieur is evidently jesting," he answered. "Mademoiselle would be too

fatigued to undertake such journeys."

"I don't think so," Mary said. "I have no fear, monsieur, and I like to

be with my brother."

"Ah, what courage you English ladies have! Well, mademoiselle, we will

find you a quiet horse, and make everything as pleasant as possible."

And after inviting us to dine with him one evening, and bidding us to

make use of him in every possible way, he took leave of us.

"How nice he is!" cried Mary, as soon as the door was closed; "if all

French officers were like this one, Tom, I think we shall not care how

long we stay in the Desert----"

"Your heart has very quickly ceased to bleed for the poor Arabs, I see."

"But how can we be sure that Dominique's stories are all true? No, Tom;

I won't believe any harm of this kind-looking Commandant. I only wish he

had not come till the room was tidied and I had got on a muslin frock,

but, as we are sure of having no more visitors, I'll finish your room

and then unpack."

We were fairly at our work again, when another military step sounded,

and another sword rattled in the passage outside. This time Dominique's

arm swung back the door with less pomposity, and Dominique's voice was a

trifle less emphatic as he ushered in "M. le Capitaine."

Again Mary and I scuttled about like young rabbits, and then stood

still, staring shyly, and again our embarrassment was met by the calmest

nonchalance. The second figure was a man of much more presence than the

Commandant. He had the polished, graceful ease of a man of the world,

and, though quite as good-natured as the Commandant, his good-nature

pleased us less, because it was less spontaneous.

"I hope you will stay some time at Teschoun," he said, looking at Mary.

"The ennui of our lives here is terrible. Think of it, mademoiselle; we

have no theatre, no music, no society, and no domestic life. To find a

lady here is like the miraculous advent of an angel." Mary blushed, and

had no courage to make the sprightly answers she had made the

Commandant.

The fine air and grand compliments of the Capitaine overcame the little

thing, but she looked distractingly pretty as she sat opposite to him,

smiling and blushing when he addressed her, and only saying, "Oui,

monsieur," or "Non, monsieur," or at most, "Vraiment, monsieur."

"Does mademoiselle ride?" asked the gallant Capitaine.

"Oui, monsieur."

"Then mademoiselle shall ride my little barb; there is hardly such a

horse anywhere, mademoiselle, so docile, so sweet-tempered, and so

sure-footed. It is not every lady I would trust with my little horse;

but I know how an Englishwoman can sit in the saddle, and I am proud to

offer it to mademoiselle."

"Je vous remercie bien, monsieur."

Then the Capitaine talked of Christmas-day.

"We will have a little fête-champêtre in mademoiselle's honor," he said;

"we will go to the great water-falls of Boisel-Kebir and breakfast there.

I will invite my Commandant and all the officers of the garrison.

Monsieur can make a sketch and mademoiselle can gather flowers."

We expressed ourselves delighted at the proposal, and, after promising

to send Mary ostrich eggs and jackal skins to take to England, the

Capitaine left us.

"I don't like the Capitaine as well as the Commandant," Mary said; "but

how kind they all are to us! It is as if we were princes on a journey of

triumph. Oh, Tom! what days to remember are these!"

"I think your head will be fairly turned, what with the Commandant's

dinners and the Capitaine's fêtes-champêtres," I said; "and if the

Lieutenant----"

"M. le Lieutenant!" announced Dominique, opening the door calmly, as if

nothing was the matter.

We had been twice so shocked and surprised that we had no more

embarrassment to expend on the Lieutenant. Indeed, he was rather shy

himself, which was the very thing to reassure a warm-hearted,

sympathetic little creature like my sister, and they began to talk

together without any effort.

He was young and handsome, with a very frank, pleasant expression.

"I am afraid that it is useless for me to offer my poor services," he

said, very modestly, "my superior officers having forestalled me; but it

will make me very happy to do anything for you. If mademoiselle would

like any stuffed birds, or dried flowers and plants, it will give me

pleasure to procure them for her; and perhaps monsieur would like me to

show him some wonderful things to paint. I draw a little myself, and

know where the finest points of view are to be found."

We thanked him heartily, and accepted all that he offered us. As it was

now time for our second breakfast, or, more properly speaking, lunch, we

pressed him to partake of it with us, which he did. We should not have

ventured upon inviting the Commandant, much less the Capitaine, so

unceremoniously, but the Lieutenant's diffident manner had set us quite

at our ease.

"I have a very humble apartment," he said; "but if monsieur and

mademoiselle will visit me, I will do the honors of it with pride and

pleasure. I can at least offer them a little music."

"Yes, I know that you play," Mary said, smiling; "our rooms join, and I

heard you playing before I went to sleep last night."

"Oh, mademoiselle! I shall never forgive myself if I disturbed you."

"No, indeed, you did not, monsieur. Much as I liked the music, I was too

tired to listen to it, and went to sleep all the same."

Then they both laughed gleefully, like children, and the Lieutenant

promised to play to her and send her to sleep every night.

After breakfast he accompanied us on a tour of inspection. We soon saw

all that there was to see of Teschoun, namely, a little line of bazaars

kept by Jews and negroes, a little boulevard of a year's growth, two

imposing-looking gates,--one looking towards Morocco, one towards the

Sahara,--a straggling camp, and a wall of circumvallation. There were

gardens in embryo here and there, but no trees of any size, and not till

you had got fairly away from Teschoun could you perceive that its aspect

was striking or imposing. Then, looking back from the craggy heights

that surrounded it, the white line of the camp and the belt of verdure

encircling it like a ribbon, struck the eye as a pleasant contrast to

the warm, yellow atmosphere of earth and sky. The warmth and the

yellowness were delicious. A fresh, sweet breeze blew across our faces

from the Desert. We sat down and drew it in with long, devouring

breaths.

A hundred yards behind us, his bright-brown body sharply outlined

against the pale, amber-colored sky, stood a little Bedouin smiling down

upon us. It was a perfect personification of Eastern life, and I made a

sketch, while the Lieutenant told Mary of his hard campaign southward,

and his joy at catching the first glimpse of Teschoun from the distance.

When we returned home we found that the Commandant's servant had left a

bunch of roses for Mary, with his master's compliments; that the

Capitaine's servant had been sent round with his master's horse for her

to try, and that the Général had sent word by his aide-de-camp that he

would himself have the pleasure of calling upon us that evening.

Mary and I felt utterly overwhelmed by such goodness and condescension.

A real starred, laced Général was about to call on us! We could hardly

believe that we were our identical, insignificant selves, who, but for

you, oh! most sweet and honored Patroness, would have sunk under the

burden of toil imposed upon us. But how all was changed! The poor,

unknown artist was treated as if he had been Sir Peter Paul Rubens; the

humble little school teacher was fêted and flattered like the wife of a

conquering commander-in-chief.

We had invited the young Lieutenant to drink tea with us at eight

o'clock, and were enjoying a little music after a very sociable fashion,

when a noisy excitement seemed to shake the house like a shock of an

earthquake, and M. le Général was announced in Dominique's most

impressive manner.

M. le Général was by no means an awful-looking person; and, indeed, we

had so expended our surprise already, that we had no more at command.

He was an excessively stout, merry person, middle-aged, of a beautiful

complexion, and a capacity to wink that would have vulgarized any one

else but a general. He made himself very pleasant, accepted a cup of

tea, praised Mary's French, said that he intended to dine with us at the

Commandant's to-morrow, and told us some laughable stories about the

Arabs. I noticed that the Lieutenant seemed quite overawed by the

presence of the Général, and sat flute in hand, like a statue. Mary

tried to put him at his ease, but to no purpose. It did not mend matters

when the Général began first to twit him about his musical

accomplishments, and then to catechise him on military matters.

"You were in that affair of '59, in Kabylia, weren't you?" he asked,

in that quick, positive, military tone to which we with difficulty get

accustomed.

[Illustration: My Little Sister Mary]

"Oui, mon Général."

"It was a badly managed thing, I believe. The Kabyles got the better of

you more than once, didn't they?"

"I believe so, mon Général."

"Bah!" cried the Général, turning to me. "You see what these young

officers know of their trade. I have no doubt that Monsieur le

Lieutenant's musical education is much more advanced, and to serenade

mademoiselle suits him much better than to make war against the enemies

of his country."

And, at the mention of the enemies of his country, the Général indulged

in a wink. When he was ready to go, he sent the Lieutenant to order his

horse, much as if he had been a little boy of ten years old; and on

taking leave added half a dozen commissions in the same peremptory tone.

The poor Lieutenant listened very submissively, but no sooner had the

Général dashed down the street, followed by his servant, equally well

mounted, than he grew gay and easy again.

As soon as we were alone, Mary brought out her slender supply of gala

dresses, and we discussed the important subject of her toilet of the

next evening.

"It seems to me," I said, "that if you dress for the Lieutenant, you

will displease the Capitaine; if you dress for the Capitaine, you will

displease the Commandant; and if you dress for the Commandant, you will

displease the Général."

Mary gathered up her fineries in alarm. "Don't you think I had better

stay away from the dinner altogether, Tom?"

"By no means," I said; "settle the matter by dressing to please me."

Which she accordingly did, and the result was a semi-moresque, dainty,

and glowing bit of costume quite in keeping with the time and place.