When it was determined by the French government in the spring of 1847,
to undertake several military expeditions simultaneously into the
deserts to the south of Algeria, it was my lot to accompany the column
of General Cavaignac, both in a medical and scientific capacity. The
western route, being the most difficult and dangerous, was that
assigned to him. He was to penetrate the hitherto unexplored regions
traversed by the Hamian-garabas--a powerful tribe, who could bring
2000 horsemen into the field, and among whom the various tribes that
had at different times sworn allegiance to the French government
always found willing allies whenever they chose to break their
treaties and throw off the yoke. He was to destroy every village
throughout this region that refused submission; and thus it was hoped
that the retreats of Abd-el-Kader might be cut off, and that by a
speedy termination of the war, the country might become settled, and
its commerce be restored.
We were a motley and grotesque-enough-looking caravan; for our six
battalions of infantry and four squadrons of cavalry were accompanied
by 3000 camels laden with provisions and attended by Arab drivers,
besides 500 mules carrying water-barrels, and cacolets--jointed
arm-chairs--for the sick. It was not deemed desirable to observe the
strictest military regularity in our march; so that French uniforms
and Arab burnooses, military chargers, camels of the desert, and
pack-saddled mules travelled side by side, pretty much as fancy
dictated.
It was nearly three weeks before we reached the enemy's country. We
had meanwhile met with the usual adventures incident to these regions.
We had set fire to the forests of the Little Atlas Mountains, and been
obliged to raise our camp, and fly in terror from the conflagration.
We had crossed the dreary solitudes of Goor and Shott, through which
our daily march had been enlivened by songs, or beguiled by listening
to the wild legends of our Arab guides; and night after night we had
encamped, like the vagabond tribes of Sahara, either round the mouths
of wells, or without water in the open plains, each man receiving a
scanty supply from the barrels, while the beasts were left to bear
their thirst as they could. But now, after passing the basins of the
Shott, and gaining the slight elevation beyond, we entered on a tract
of desert as yet untrodden by European feet, and met with trials of a
nature the least of all expected.
The wide wastes which lay before us appeared uniform and level as far
as the eye could reach, but somewhat diversified by verdant patches of
halfa (coarse grass of the desert), and by deceitful appearances of
sheets of water, produced by the reflection of the light in the
undulating vapours rising from the burning sand. In the distance,
something like blue waves appeared: it was part of the great Atlas
chain; but close at hand, to our right, was a long line of dunes.
These eminences, smooth and sterile as marble domes, were apparently
as solid too; but we knew that, if the desert wind should blow, they
would be shaken into moving clouds of sand, overwhelming all before
them.
Our column proceeded in silence. The soft sand yielded no echo to the
tread. Every one appeared thoughtful and abstracted. This place has
terrors even for the Arabs; they tell a thousand stories of the Pass
of Sidi-Mohammed-el-Aoori: it was there, in times remote, that great
armies were overpowered and slain by hostile bands, or destroyed by
the scarcely less merciless elements; there many travellers have
disappeared in the storm, or fallen under the hand of the murderer. It
is the 'gate' of the desert; and the tutelar genii have placed the
terrific dunes as a hieroglyphic warning to those who rashly approach.
They seem to say, 'here begins the empire of Sterility and Death;
enter if thou darest!' Doubtless the Arab tales had some influence on
our minds, increasing the well-grounded fears inspired by the natural
features of these arid wastes. Several of us mentally repeated that
melancholy line from Dante--