FROM GABÉS TO THE OASIS OF EL HAMMA — THE SHOTTS
Just after I had changed my clothes, the hotel waiter announced that
a sheikh wished to see me, who, when ushered in, proved to be Mansur;
following him came Hamed. They both looked so very serious that I
feared something had gone wrong; but Hamed, observing my puzzled
expression, whispered to me that Mansur had come to invite me to
the wedding feast.
After I had returned Mansur’s greeting, we both sat down, he on
the bed cross-legged, I on a chair, while Hamed showed some tact
by placing himself behind me to serve as interpreter, for Mansur
understood little French.
After an interchange of compliments, which were indubitably sincere
on either side, Mansur came to the point. His father, the Khalifa,
had desired him to say, that if I would go to Hadeij and be present
at the last great feast on the fifth day, he would regard it as a
proof of my friendship for him and for the Matmata; that I should be
treated as a brother, and if I would remain there many, many years
I should be welcome.
Mansur came again the following day to see me; with him and Hamed
I visited the villages of Jara and Menzel, where I intended making
purchases for our National Museum, and therefore required their help.
[Illustration: AT GABÉS.]
In the great Sok (market-place) I bought agricultural implements,
hoes and spades,—which were made under my eye,—one of the
primitive ploughs and its harness of plaited esparto grass; and,
lastly, a collection of garments. Consequently there was much noise
and lively quarrelling, though it did not reach quite the same pitch
as recently in Lasheish.
In the afternoon I took a carriage with the British Vice-Consul
Galleja and his brother, Cesare Galleja, two exceedingly obliging
men, and drove to the village of Menzel, as I wished to obtain some
reliable information from an Arab there, about the marriage customs
of the country.
On our return we met the Khalifa of Gabés, who told us he was also
invited to the wedding at Hadeij, but had been obliged to refuse as
he could not leave Gabés, General Allegro being absent; therefore
in the interim, the government of the whole district fell entirely
on himself. He advised me to take with me a small bridal gift,
so the same evening I bought a fine haik.
The military officers at Gabés are nearly all unmarried. Those of
the same grade mess together—that is to say, they engage a cook
who provides for them.
The lieutenants of the 4th African Light Battalion and some other
officers invited me to dine at their mess. We were altogether a
score of men, and I spent a bright and pleasant evening amongst
my new African friends; and made acquaintances which were to be
renewed some days later in the south, whither several of them were
immediately proceeding.
This was the first, but not the last, time that I while in these
regions had the pleasure of replying to the toast of “To the Danish
soldier,” with “I drink long life to the French army,” with
whom I served eleven years ago when they were fighting in the south.
On the 22nd October, Hamed and I again left Gabés, starting with the
dawn at 5.30 a.m., and proceeding this time in a westerly direction.
The Spahis had supplied me with a small but powerfully-built brown
horse, capable of pacing between five and six miles an hour when so
inclined. At first it wanted to hurry on, but I restrained it, and
we walked past the village of Menzel, and traversed the palm groves,
where the birds twittered, and the smoke from huts and tents rose
to the tree-tops. It was bitterly cold, and we wrapped our burnouses
closely about us. When we rode out of the oasis the sun had risen, and
cast our shadows in long lines on the undulating golden-grey plain.
Far away to our right the rays of the sun were reflected from the
whitewashed walls of a Marabout’s tomb, built on a hillside. There
also stood the _poste optique_, which is in communication with
another on a mountain near Medinin, the southern military station.
We allowed our horses to break into a hand gallop that refreshed us in
the beautiful morning, as, with a keen sense of enjoyment, we followed
the tracks that, with countless windings, led towards the west.
There was little vegetation; the land lay before us barren and
desolate.
[Illustration: IN THE MOUNTAINS—ON THE ROAD TO AIN HAMMAM.]
Before reaching the summit of a slight rise we pulled up our horses
to a walk, and presently looked back from the top of the eminence.
A haze hung directly over Gabés; the palms of the oasis extended
as far as the sea, and behind them glittered the bright waves. Away
towards the south we could distinguish the blue peaks of the Matmata
mountains. Here and there on the plain blue-grey smoke rose into
the air.
The heat of the sun became scorching, so we allowed our horses to
go at foot’s pace during the remainder of the way. In Africa one
finds but two paces—a walk, or rather an amble, and a gallop;
but on a long summer journey the gallop or canter is rarely used;
Berber horses, therefore, are trained to walk fast. It is expected
of a _cheval de la plaine_ that he should be _un bon marcheur_,
that is to say, that he can be depended on to cover his five or six
miles an hour, and to keep up this pace the whole day long.
When we had ridden about a third of the way, we crossed the river;
near it is an ancient well that has been used since the time of
the Romans.
From the level of the ground was constructed a walled, paved, and
inclined passage; this was covered in, and terminated at the spring,
from which were built upright walls to the surface of the earth,
forming the well. Thus the water can either be drawn from the top
or carried up the steps.
During the next couple of hours we met only a few riders and
pedestrians.
A mountain plateau of no great height now showed before us, but a
little to our left. Towards the north it lost itself in the plain
in a level slope, over which wound the track.
On the hill the soil was washed or blown away, leaving the barren
flat rocks naked, and the horses had difficulty in keeping their
footing amongst the large rough stones. In one place the path wound
on either side of a small pile of stones. This heap was the length
of a man, and lay east and west. Hamed informed me that it covered
the remains of one who had been murdered on this spot many years ago.
After a time we reached the highest point of our day’s journey,
and came upon a magnificent view.
The foreground was composed of a level, stony slope of dull-yellow
soil. Where it ended we saw a long, narrow, grey strip with a tufted
border; this is part of the palm grove of El Hamma oasis. Beyond it,
to the left—therefore to the south-west—ran a mountain ridge,
and farther on the right was a shining level plain, somewhat white
in appearance. This is the “shott” of El Fejej. It resembled
the sea when dead calm, and seemed as though it had flowed thence
to lose itself far away in the western horizon.
North of the “shott” the mountains tower up in successive tiers,
the foremost, of a deep blue tint, contrasting sharply with the
white flat surface of the “shott.”
Beyond are paler blue peaks, and beyond them again the vague outlines
of far-distant mountains.
Shott Fejej is the most easterly of the “shotts” that extend in
a long line from the Sahara south of Biskra to the Mediterranean,
thus covering a track of between two and three hundred miles.
It is only separated from the Mediterranean by Le Seuil de Gabés,
a small strip of land about eleven miles wide.
A “shott” is low-lying land of which the soil is clay saturated
with salt; this in the rainy season is flooded by the overflow of the
rivers, and dries by evaporation. Seen from a distance, a shott has
the appearance of a lake, but on approaching it one is disappointed to
find that this glittering flat surface is only a crust of saltpetre.
Not only is travelling extremely dangerous on this sodden ground,
but the shott is stifling hot in summer, and in winter bitterly cold.
Drummond Hay told me that at the beginning of the year, he, with
only one servant and a guide, had ridden over Shott Jerid on his way
from Kebelli to Tozer. Though warmly clad, he was nearly frozen,
and his fingers could scarcely grasp the reins from the cold. The
way lay along a narrow path, and on either side was bog; a single
false step means death.
It is asserted that it is only in the centre of Shott el Jerid that
there is always water; but this is not apparent, as it is entirely
covered by a crust of salt, on which footsteps resound as they do when
passing over a vault. The water naturally flows to the lowest level;
but when the wind blows, it sweeps the water in various directions
over the salt crust; this breaks under the weight, and the level is
thus altered. At times there may be as much water in the shott as
would reach to a horse’s girths.
The crust is also occasionally forced up from below by water and
certain gases, and, rising, forms small conical mounds, giving the
impression of an impending volcanic eruption. These little mounds
lie like islands on the sea; but, in consequence of the reflection
from the surface, appear to be hills of some height, and are visible
for many miles around.
One of these, the largest, is called “Jebel el Malah” (the salt
mountain). It is only some twenty paces in diameter, and scarcely
a yard in height above the level of the shott, but looks from the
distance like a fair-sized hill. In the centre of this hill of
salt was formerly an old well, now filled up. It contained water of
the same quality as that still found in several other wells in the
shott, which is not more brackish than that found in the oases of
the vicinity and considered drinkable.
The caravan roads traverse the shotts, leading from verge to verge
amongst the oases. Some of these roads are very unsafe. The traveller
has to be most careful to avoid being bogged, or plunged suddenly
into a hole; as told of a whole Egyptian army, which, according to
tradition, found here its grave. Step by step must the traveller work
his way forward, perhaps through clouds of dust; whilst a mirage
may rise to tempt and deceive him. Should his guide make the least
mistake, or the camel or horse he rides step aside, all is over.
According to custom, usage, and agreement betwixt the tribes, the
roads over the shotts are supposed to be defined by stones, or felled
palm trunks, placed at distances of about a hundred yards apart;
but in places these, which are called “Gmair,” are missing;
in others they are replaced by camel bones.
The Arabs relate frightful misfortunes that have befallen on these
tracks. Whole caravans have been known to have been swallowed up by
this treacherous earth crust, which at once closes over its prey.
The land amidst the shotts is _par excellence_ the home of the
date-palm. In the oases of Tozer and Nafta are found the best
quality of dates known. This clear transparent fruit is sold at £6
the hundredweight. In El Hamma, on the other hand, the dates are not
of the best quality, the oasis being too near the sea, and the air,
therefore, too damp. This explains what one hears of the dates of
Gabés being sold at only twelve shillings the hundredweight, or
one tenth of the price of those from Nafta.
Many authors and explorers, both ancient and modern, have imagined
that in the basin of the shotts they had discovered the Triton sea
of Herodotus, believing the river bed of Wad Malah to be the lower
course of the Triton river, which connected that mysterious lagoon
with the sea.
Though this hypothesis has never been proved, Raudaire, captain of the
general staff, conceived in 1878 the bold project of reconstructing
the old Triton sea, by leading water into the immense basin of the
shotts. He thought it would be only necessary to dig through the
eleven miles of the wide chalky tract near Gabés to form a large
inland sea. From this scheme great advantages were to be gained. The
southern French frontier would be protected by a natural barrier. The
re-created Triton sea would soon be traversed by shipping, thereby
leading to mercantile relations being established with regions and
people hitherto unknown.
And what a change might result in the climate! The moisture would
create fruitful stretches of land, where colonists would flock
in numbers.
Alas! the project, vigorously supported at the outset by the
Government, proved untenable after further investigation in
1876. Raudaire’s survey had not been accurate. The western shott
did indeed lie twenty metres below the sea-level, but the immense
shotts of “Jerid” and “Fejej” proved, on the other hand,
to be as much above it; so that the canal would have had to be
prolonged nearly one hundred and fifty miles, and even then only
the first named of these shotts would be submerged.
This unfortunate revelation did not dishearten either Raudaire or his
celebrated supporter, Lesseps; and, until the death of the former,
in 1885, he—Raudaire—defended his project with an energy and
determination worthy of a better cause, and in spite of the State
having wisely withdrawn its support. Lesseps still visited the ground
on several occasions, and positively asserted that at the cost of
a hundred and fifty millions of francs the scheme was feasible.
From past events it is sad to note that great minds like Lesseps’s
often have recourse to dubious expedients when they desire to _lancer
une affaire_.
All other learned authorities—geologists and scientific men,
such as Parnel, Letourneux, Doûmet-Adamson, and others—had,
long before, sharply criticised Raudaire’s fantastic project,
and declared that the sea had never in ancient times occupied the
flats now filled by the shotts. Indeed, Cosson further maintained
that had this proposed inland sea been successfully dammed, it
would soon have been imperatively necessary to fill it up again,
so much opposed would it have been to the general interest.
All were, moreover, agreed that it was highly improbable that the
climate would be influenced to any extraordinary degree; that,
by admitting the water, millions of date-palms would be destroyed,
and most of the springs which now fertilise the oases of the Jerid
would be tainted and spoiled by the salt water, thus causing the
ruin of the country; finally, the project would cost a thousand
(in place of a hundred and fifty) millions of francs.
Lesseps’s repeated assurances of the accuracy of his researches
were received very coldly, though this was before the occurrence of
the Panama affair.
Now the question is closed, and one hears nothing more of the company
formed in 1882 by the great Frenchman, _pour la création de la
mer interieure_. The old man’s prestige had been on the wane for
some years already. Yet the day will come when the memory of his
important works will obliterate the recollection of the errors of
the evening of his life, and history will again grant him the title
which is his due—that of “the great Frenchman.”