A GALE OFF CAPE BON.
A night of misery — No chance of seeing Kairwan — The Great Mosque
of Susa — The Vice-Consul’s house — An English captive in Susa
— Arab revolvers — Old friends — On board the _Ville de Naples_
— A disturbed meal — Running for shelter — Rounding Cape Bon
— Glasgow for ever!
_November 3rd._—I have passed some miserable nights in the course
of my life, but not many to be compared in absolute wretchedness
with that which it was my lot to spend under the roof of the French
hotel of Susa. Perhaps some of those nights that I passed some years
ago in the detestable gasthof of the detestable town of Mohacs, Lower
Hungary, may have been as bad as this; but distance lends enchantment
to the view, and from my quarters at Susa I looked with longing
eyes even towards the mud huts on the swampy banks of the Danube,
where I had once sojourned in wretchedness. It was bitterly cold, so
that as I lay upon a bed of shavings, wrapped closely in my camel’s
hair burnous, I was chilled to the very marrow. The wind was howling
round the corners of the house, and shrieking across the great open
roof of the adjoining mosque, and the rain was beating heavily upon
the window. As I lay there and thought of the six or seven nights
I must spend in the open, with no better shelter than my cloak,
whilst I made the journey to Kairwan, I confess that I did not feel
in a particularly cheerful frame of mind. But far worse than wind or
rain or gloomy thoughts was the Egyptian plague which tormented me
within the walls of my chamber. Mosquitoes boomed about my devoted
head all night long; and from the bag of shavings on which I lay
came forth an army of creeping things to prey upon my flesh. How I
longed for morning! When at last it came I rose quite unrefreshed,
and performed my ablutions as well as I was able in the small basin of
water which I had managed to secure on the previous evening. The room,
I need hardly say, was innocent of such an article as a looking-glass;
so that my toilette was completed under difficulties. There were
two windows to the apartment, and both were heavily barred by means
of that curiously curved grating which is one of the distinguishing
features of Tunisian houses. From one of them, however, I was able
to obtain a good view of the Great Mosque of Susa.
This building is of immense dimensions, and bears distinct traces
of its Roman origin. Occupying a site in the heart of the town,
its high walls, enclosing it in the form of an octagon, are the
most marked architectural feature of the place. No Christian has,
of course, ever been allowed to enter it; but by craning my neck
from my bedroom window I was able to see probably as much of its
interior as was ever beheld by infidel eyes. There was a great
courtyard surrounded by a colonnade, the roof of which was supported
by many graceful columns. In the centre of this courtyard there was
a fountain, round which trees were growing. The mosque itself has
not a domed roof such as is common among the mosques of Turkey;
but a flat roof, from which rises a rectangular tower. The vast
dimensions of the building, its curious architecture, and the mystery
which attends its origin, make it a structure of great interest to
the traveller, and I was unfeignedly sorry that I could not gather
further information respecting it.
Afrigan made his appearance even whilst I was studying the mosque. His
face bore a strange resemblance to a plum-pudding. “Oh, sir,
the mosquitoes were awful all night,” said he, in lugubrious
tones. “Better come on to Kairwan with me, then?” I responded
blithely. “Well, you see, sir, my wife—” “Oh, but _your_ wife
is a long way off now; so what does it matter what she thinks?”
said I, adroitly turning the tables upon him. Afrigan smiled as
well as he was able with his swollen face, and he shook his head
mournfully. Almost at the same moment there was a knock at the door,
and my second domestic, the Maltese gentleman, entered. He was laden
with some huge lumps of cheese, with half a dozen loaves, and with
a ponderous lantern. Having added these to the store of provisions
already accumulated, he proceeded to inform me, with great coolness,
that we should not be starting for Kairwan that day. “What do
you mean?” I asked, in amazement. “Well, honourable gentleman,
the French Colonel says the convoy won’t go to-day, and he
cannot tell when one will start.” This was pleasant news. I
rushed forth breakfastless in search of Mr. Gallia. He confirmed
the intelligence. Whether the Colonel had no wish to be burdened by
the presence of an Englishman of an inquiring turn of mind, whether
some good-natured friend had quietly put a spoke in my wheel, or
whether the case was really as stated, I cannot pretend to say. What
is certain is that I was solemnly told that I could not leave Susa
that day, and that nothing could be said as to when I could leave. A
convoy, it was true, was starting that morning. The Colonel could
hardly deny this, inasmuch as I could see for myself some hundreds of
laden camels, defiling through the narrow streets for the rendezvous
at the Kairwan Gate; but it was only going as far as Wad Loya, the
first station on the road, and I could not be allowed to go with it.
Thus once more my hopes of seeing Kairwan vanished, and on this
occasion finally. My leave of absence was drawing to an end, and
I could not hang on for an indefinite period at Susa. If I were
not permitted to start at once, I must give up all hope of going
at all. To this painful conclusion I was presently brought. So,
after all, the tinned meats, the pickles, the cheese, the bread, the
candles, had all to be returned to their vendor. Never in my life
had I a harder task than that of inducing this gentleman to take
back his corned beef and sardines. After a struggle, which lasted
nearly an hour, he finally, as a great favour, consented to do so
at a reduction of fifty per cent. upon the price I had paid him
for the same things the day before. It was almost as difficult to
get rid of my Maltese friend of the villainous countenance. I paid
him handsomely for the very small services he had rendered me; and
he went away cursing me audibly. “I think, sir,” said Afrigan,
“that is an impudent man, and you might do a worse thing than to
kick him.” I agreed with Afrigan from the bottom of my heart. As
for Afrigan himself, he was in the seventh heaven of delight when
he found that the expedition to Kairwan was abandoned. “Oh, sir,
that is better. I could not bear to think of a gentleman like you
sleeping among the soldiers on the open ground for a whole week in
weather like this. I lay awake all last night—I could not sleep
for thinking about you.” “Come, come, Afrigan: no humbug, if
you please! You know it was the mosquitoes that kept you awake.”
“Well, sir, the mosquitoes were very bad; that is quite true; but it
was worse when I thought of you lying out in all that rain. But now
we’ll go home and say nothing at all to our wives about Kairwan. I
shan’t say anything to mine about Susa either.” And then Afrigan
lighted a cigarette, and strolled off in search of a coffee-house,
humming a gay Arab tune.
I went to breakfast with Mr. Gallia at his house. Nowhere in the
world, I imagine, is a man’s house so entirely his castle as it is
in these semi-savage Arab towns on the north coast of Africa. For
the European resident in a place like Susa there is absolutely no
attraction outside the walls of his own home. He has no society;
such a thing as a dinner-party, or a party of any kind, is absolutely
unknown. He cannot frequent the miserable Arab cafés or the still
more miserable Maltese dram-shops: he cannot enjoy that unfailing
resource of the Englishman who finds himself stranded in a dull place,
a walk out into the country. My friend Mr. Gallia goes down once
or twice a day to the office of the old Turkish harbour-master of
Susa, and sits there for half an hour, smoking, drinking steaming hot
coffee, and looking out upon the beautiful bay, whilst he listens to
the gossip of the port. But these visits to the shore form the only
variety in his monotonous life. All the other hours of the day must
be spent within the walls of his own home, and the only society he
meets with is that of his own family. It will be seen, then, of what
importance the house is in a town like Susa. The exteriors of the
houses here, like those in the Arab quarter of Tunis, are miserable
in the extreme. The residences of even the wealthiest merchants bear
a strong outward resemblance to stables or barns. But it does not
do in this part of the world to judge by outward appearances; and
just as the fairest features that ever adorned one of the _houris_
of Paradise may be concealed under the hideous yashmak, so the most
luxurious of abodes may be found within these rough whitewashed walls.
One peculiarity all the houses have in common, and that is that
they are capable of being easily defended from attack. The house is
generally built in the form of a hollow square. The ground story
is occupied with cellars and offices; and one narrow flight of
stairs gives access to the living apartments. All the windows being
heavily barricaded, it is only necessary to defend the staircase
in order to make the house secure; and as the precaution adopted
in mediæval castles is used here, and the wells are carried up
through thick stone walls to the first floor of the houses, there
is every convenience for withstanding a siege. Mr. Gallia’s house
presents all these characteristics of the local architecture. It
has, besides, an historic interest. A hundred years ago Susa shared
with Tunis and Algiers the distinction of being a favourite haunt of
those seawolves the Turkish and Arab pirates of the Mediterranean,
and at that time the house now occupied by the Vice-Consul of
England was the home of the most notorious of the pirate chiefs. As
I walked through the lofty, comfortable rooms, I could not help
wondering whether any hapless fellow-countryman of mine had found
himself here in servitude to his barbarous captor; and even as I
thought of English captives in Susa, I found myself face to face
with one. She was a willing captive, it is true; for she was the
mother of Mr. Gallia. A fine-looking Englishwoman, with pleasant
features and a kindly smile, she was, I need hardly say, a most
welcome apparition in such a place. More than forty years before
she had left her native town of Dover, in order to come to Africa,
and she had never since seen England. There were no railways in her
part of the country when she quitted it; for more than two-score
years Time had been doing its work, and a thousand great changes
had been wrought in the condition of English society. But she knew
nothing of them. As the wife of an Italian gentleman, as the mother
of a numerous family, she had lived her placid, uneventful life in
this dull city, hardly venturing to quit the shelter of her own home,
whilst the busy world outside was going on its own way. Mrs. Gallia
had still a good command of the English language, and seemed not a
little pleased to meet with one of her fellow-countrymen, the first
whom she had seen for many months. After breakfast I inspected some
of the chief objects of interest in the house. Among these were some
of the magnificent carpets of Kairwan, the work of the chief ladies
of that holy city. Still more interesting, however, was the large
collection of arms which Mr. Gallia has formed. This collection is,
I believe, unique in north Africa, and is well worth a detailed
description. All manner of Moorish, Arab, and Negro weapons are
represented here, as well as shields and headpieces. But perhaps
the most interesting of all the specimens in the collection are a
sword found at Gabes, which there is every reason to believe was a
relic of the Crusades, and a remarkable Arab rifle with _revolving_
barrels! Truly, there is nothing new under the sun. Here in Susa, in
the old house of a Turkish pirate, I found a rusty time-worn weapon,
certainly more than a hundred years old, in which the idea of that
modern invention the revolver, was not only distinctly foreshadowed,
but carried out in almost all its details.
And now the time came for me to say good-bye to Susa. I first made
an expedition to the bazaar in order to purchase, if possible, a
Kairwan carpet; but none were to be had. The war had for the moment
put an end to the manufacture, or at least to the sale, of these
carpets. Then I went down through the narrow, muddy streets, to the
beach. The sky was gloriously blue; a strong wind was blowing, which
tempered the heat of the sun; but still the warmth was quite as great
as that of an English July, and one found it difficult to realize
the fact that this was a November day. I had decided to return to
Tunis with Afrigan by the _Ville de Naples_. It was disappointing,
and even humiliating, to go back without having seen Kairwan; but
there was no help for it. Susa, I must say, I was unreservedly glad to
leave. Beautiful as is the situation in which it stands, and fair as
is its outward appearance, it is, upon the whole, the most unpleasant
place of temporary residence in which I ever found myself stranded.
The water in the bay was very rough, and when I stepped on board
the little boat that was to take me to the ship which lay at the
distance of half a mile from the shore, I told the men to get me
on board as quickly as possible. They asked if they might wait
for two gentlemen who were going to another vessel, and, somewhat
reluctantly, I consented. What was my surprise and pleasure to find
that these gentlemen were the purser and the surgeon of the _Charles
Quint_, the “Corsican brothers” of my journey from Marseilles
to Tunis. They came smartly along the wharf, arm-in-arm as usual,
and with that look of sobriety, not to say solemnity, on their young
faces which contrasted so curiously with their years. I think their
pleasure at our meeting equalled my own. We shook hands warmly, and
exchanged notes about Susa, of which we had formed precisely similar
opinions. A very nervous twenty minutes was that which followed,
as our little boat shipped sea after sea, and danced about in the
most eccentric fashion on the top of the waves. At last, however,
we reached the _Ville de Naples_, the side of which rose like a vast
wall from the sea. I made a desperate jump and landed on the ladder,
waved my adieux to my friends of the _Charles Quint_, and climbing
to the deck, congratulated myself upon the fact that this splendid
ship was far too huge in its dimensions to be disturbed by any sea
she would be likely to encounter in the Mediterranean.
Alas! for my inexperience. I was now about to encounter the
worst storm I had ever met with in any part of the world. The sole
passengers on board besides myself were Afrigan and a young German,
who was the agent of a Marseilles wine and sardine firm. The latter
shared the saloon with me. About noon we sailed; the wind freshened
immediately afterwards, and we soon found ourselves in the midst of
a gale, whilst the motion of the vessel was so great that it became
almost impossible to keep one’s feet. I had looked forward eagerly
to the dinner-hour, remembering the privations of Susa. When it came I
was surprised to find myself the only person at the table. Neither my
fellow-passenger nor the ship’s officers appeared upon the scene;
and the crash of the crockery on the table almost drowned the roar
of the tempest outside. But we are creatures of habit. I sat in my
comfortable arm-chair and enjoyed the good things spread before me
without thinking of the storm, or of the somewhat white faces of
the stewards who waited upon me. The sense of having escaped from
the miseries of the hotel of Susa seemed to drown all thought upon
other subjects.
It was whilst I was thus enjoying myself that the captain appeared,
with a somewhat perturbed face, to inform me that he did not like the
look of things; that the gale was increasing, and that the _Ville
de Naples_ being without cargo was not easily manageable. He had
determined, therefore, to run into Kalybia Bay for shelter, provided
he could obtain the assent of the passengers to his doing so. Now,
I wished particularly to get back to Tunis as speedily as possible,
in order that I might catch a boat that I knew was to start on the
following day for Malta. Moreover I did not believe in the danger
of which the captain spoke. No English captain, I thought, would
have spoken of running for shelter under the circumstances. However,
as any man who has travelled much must be aware, there is one golden
rule from which the wise traveller never departs. That is, to leave
the captains of ships and the drivers of carriages to manage their
own business. So with unfeigned reluctance I expressed my assent
to his proposal, and an hour later we found ourselves at anchor in
smooth water under the lee of Kalybia Point. There were no fewer
than five other vessels riding at anchor here, sheltering from the
gale. One of these was a man-of-war. How strange it was, as I retired
to rest, to look from my port at the lights of these vessels, which
were so near to us, and yet of which I knew so little! We had all
found shelter for a night in this little bay; all having run from a
common danger. To-morrow we should be speeding each on his own path,
and every trace of our meeting would have vanished.
Amid a very heavy gale from the south-east we started again for
Tunis, about six o’clock in the morning. No sooner had we left
the shelter of the bay than we found ourselves in the midst of a
tremendous sea. Huge green waves, topped with foam, were sweeping
down upon us with a force and might that was almost majestic; and
the great ship rolled and tossed upon the troubled waters as if she
had been no bigger or heavier than a cork. We came round Cape Bon at
the very height of the storm, and a grander sight than that which
was then presented to me I never beheld. I had been lashed upon
the hurricane deck for safety, and as I sat there, at times almost
losing my breath when the ship dipped suddenly, and at other times
looking up in wonder upon the huge mass of the hull which seemed to
be reared above my head as it mounted the waves, I felt like one who
was looking on at the most glorious and exciting of contests. How our
noble ship fought with those angry seas; and how resolute they seemed
to be in their determination to overcome her! One wave after another
came on in endless succession. There seemed no chance for the vessel;
yet she met each successive foe with dauntless breast. The shriek of
the wind through the rigging drowned all other sounds. The din was
indeed appalling. The great rocky buttresses of Cape Bon, which I
had seen a year ago bathed in summer sunshine, stood out as bulwarks
against the raging sea, which broke upon every point in columns of
spray that rose hundreds of feet in height. The motion of the ship,
the splendour of the scene around me, the glorious freshness of the
battling winds which buffeted my cheeks and almost tore my coat from
my back, filled me with a strange sense of exultation. I could have
shouted aloud with delight, as we rode royally over the billows,
and resisted the tremendous pressure of the tempest, which strove
furiously to drive us to our doom upon Cape Bon. Thoughts coursed
through my mind even more quickly than the spray flew through the air
around me, and my brain was quickened, my blood warmed, in a way of
which I had known nothing for months. But all the time one knew how
near we were to death. A break-down of any kind in the engine-room,
nay, a momentary error on the bridge, would have been fatal to every
soul on board.
Whilst I thus revelled in the “violent delights” of the storm,
heedless of the “violent ends” to which they might be the
precursors, poor Afrigan and my other fellow-traveller were in
truly doleful state. There must be something demoralizing about
sea-sickness, or rather about the freedom from it. How otherwise can
one account for the fact that even the most amiable of men, if he were
to find himself exempt from that malady whilst everybody else around
him suffered from it, would feel puffed up with a sense of his own
superiority, as though, forsooth, it was a matter of personal credit
to himself that his stomach happened to be rather more like that of
an ostrich than the stomachs of his fellow-passengers? Breakfast was
not served until we had left Cape Bon far behind us and were running
into the Gulf of Tunis. My forlorn fellow-passenger, the captain,
first and second lieutenants, purser, and doctor came to the table
when the meal began; but long before it was finished I and the first
lieutenant found ourselves in sole possession of the board. The
extraordinary motion of the ship had driven everybody else, including
even the captain, away. My companion and I were busily discussing
the beauties of Glasgow, when at last the ship was brought to anchor
off Goletta. He was the only man I ever met with who declared that
Glasgow was infinitely to be preferred as a place of residence to
London! And he was no Glaswegian, but a sunburnt native of Marseilles.