SOUTHWARDS OVER THE PLAIN TO TATUIN
It was early morning on the 28th October; the sun was just rising,
the horses were ready, and I swung myself into the saddle to start on
a day’s march of a little over thirty-two miles. Commandant Billet
and Lieutenant Henry accompanied me part of the way, then bade me
farewell and galloped off in a different direction; the gallant
chief intending to join that morning one of his companies then on
the road to the north.
The sun rose above the plain, and lit up the mountains which encircle
it to the eastward like an outlying wall, and, beginning in the
north, stretch along to the south as far as the eye can reach. In
front of us rode a Spahi from the Bureau in his light blue burnous,
and behind, wrapped in his crimson cloak, paced the trooper furnished
by the Spahi regiment.
Theirs are beautiful uniforms, but should be seen in brilliant
sunshine and with Africa’s golden sands as a background. I have
seen these uniforms in the streets of Paris in dull weather, and
they were disappointing.
We had ridden long at foot’s pace, and it was time to push
on. “Forward, forward” I shouted to our leader, after taking off
my burnous and laying it before me on my saddle. My handsome brown
horse broke into a gallop. The trooper in front of me rose in his
saddle and stood in his stirrups, as his horse “threw his head and
his tail to the winds and let his legs dance like drumsticks,” as
my friend the “Jægermester” at home used to say. The red Spahi
followed. My horse was eager to join the others in front of him,
but I held him in.
After a good long gallop we slackened again to a foot’s pace,
and I ejaculated, “He pulls like the deuce!”
“Oh, sir, he thought a mare was leading.”
“Nonsense; can’t he tell the difference?”
“No, sir; the Arabs always ride mares, therefore stallions, when
they see the broad back of an Arab saddle, conclude that it is on
a mare.”
I observed here some of the small round mounds I had seen elsewhere,
and which may be either graves or the remains of vanished dwellings.
A couple of hours later we descried, beyond the mountains, a white
spot on the horizon. This is a Marabout tomb on the plain—not far
from the well of “Bir el Ahmer.”
The sun was very hot, but, rain having recently fallen, the earth
smelt fresh and pleasant.
At long intervals we saw here and there people at work, for the
tribes had scattered in every direction to sow and plough. There,
where at other seasons flocks of antelopes are wont to gladden the
sportsman who roves over the barren plains, are now gathered little
bands of men and women to till the ground rendered moist and fertile
by Allah; and the smoke from their encampments may be seen rising
from all points of the compass.
From the Marabout’s tomb the ground falls away a little towards
the south, and on the level, not far ahead, we saw the square-walled
enclosure of the well with in one corner an old, low, squat tower,
against which was propped a house.
Soon we distinguished the little _tentes d’abri_ pitched in straight
lines, and, moving amongst them, the soldiers.
We reached the well, having covered the twelve miles in two hours
and a half, and I found a fresh horse and new escort awaiting me.
The company had arrived during the night. The men had slept and
cooked their food. Lieutenant Adam and the regimental doctor,
M. Cultin, had ridden out to shoot on the neighbouring mountains,
so I went in quest of Lieutenants Coturier and Druot, who greeted
me with “Bon jour, camarade.”
Whilst the horses were unsaddled, fed, and watered, and the cook
busied himself preparing breakfast at a fire in an angle of the wall,
I was refreshed with a glass of wine.
The officers’ camp beds and canteens were conveyed into a cool
room in the house, and the tables and chairs were arranged in the
shade outside.
The walls of the fort, or rather the caravansarai, are so low that
one can see over them when seated within the courtyard. It is not
garrisoned, and is inhabited only by an old Arab, who strolled about
in an enormous straw hat. He had barley to sell to those who required
it, and presided with much pride over a large register, in which
the “Chefs de Detachments” have to note the numbers encamped at
the well. Moreover, it is his duty to take care that the well is not
damaged or misused by the Arabs who wander over the plain, and who,
under certain conditions, are allowed access to the enclosure. His
straw hat interested me greatly, and with some little difficulty I
succeeded in purchasing it from him.
Lieutenant Coturier and I took a walk on the plain. Just outside
the fort were some miserable huts built of branches and straw,
where we saw an ancient crone, probably the wife of the old Arab,
fussing about her hearth. Near the huts were three two-wheeled
carts all ready laden and with the horses in the shafts. In the
shade beneath them some Europeans and Arabs lay and dozed, whilst
the horses and mules closed their eyes and slept in their harness,
the flies buzzing about them in the intense heat.
Farther on, we found on the plain two women and a man busy
ploughing. To two of the ploughs were yoked camels, and to the third
a mule.
Both the women were very lightly clad on account of the heat. The
younger was exquisite in her grace as she paced, goad in hand,
behind the plough, and by the movements of her arms revealed her
perfectly formed figure. From afar we could see her bracelets and
anklets glittering in the sun.
We stood and watched them awhile until, saying “En route, mon
ami,” my friend took my arm and we sauntered on over the heated
plain, where through refraction, distant objects, even though small,
appeared to be in constant leaping movement.
We turned towards the blue mountains, in hopes of catching sight of
the sportsmen, for breakfast time drew near, but no one was in sight;
so we strolled back to the fort, and lying on the camp beds dozed
the time away.
It was nearly eleven o’clock before we heard the riders
arrive. Lieutenant Adam had shot some partridges, and the doctor a
hare, which hung from their saddles.
In the meantime breakfast had been prepared, and the table was laden
with good things.
Before we sat down, the doctor examined a number of sick men, of whom
some hobbled up unassisted; others were carried on their comrades’
backs. Not a few were really unfit to march, but many were shamming.
The African Light Brigade—the Zephyrs—is composed of men who,
through misconduct and frequent punishment, are removed from their
regiments in France to serve the remainder of their time in Africa.
The heterogeneous troops that form the Foreign Legion can, to a
certain extent, be moulded into a united body, imbued with a strong
_esprit de corps_—thanks partly to stern discipline, and also
to the fact of the Legion being aware that it has burnt its ships;
but the case of the Light Brigade is quite different.
The men enter it on account of offences committed in other localities,
but they retain their evil propensities, and indeed it would not be
easy for them to improve while forced to associate with so many bad
characters of every variety: fear alone keeps them straight.
It is true that a “Zephyr,” if he conduct himself well for a
certain length of time, may be sent home to his division, but this
rarely occurs. In fact, he may even be promoted in the Zephyr Brigade
itself, but this is yet more rare.
A French officer told me that the difference between a soldier of
the Legion and a Zephyr was, that a Legionary, even though he were
a thief, would be forced to cease from being one, but a Zephyr,
if he were not a thief, would certainly learn to be one.
In old days the Zephyrs fought well in many a close action, and their
behaviour in time of war has often been brilliant, but in time of
peace they are of little worth.
It follows that the commanding officers must be of the best—for
it is sharp work for the chiefs. For that matter all the officers
in Algeria and Tunisia are especially selected. Many lieutenants
have year after year sought in vain to be sent on service with the
troops in Africa, whilst others speedily obtain this privilege. Every
year’s service there counts as double, both as regards pension
and decorations.
I have seen lieutenants wearing the Legion of Honour solely because
they had had sufficient length of service in Africa, whilst a
young _chef de bataillon_, newly arrived from France where he had
served during all the earlier portion of his career, had earned
no decoration.
Indeed, it is really surprising that an officer who serves in Algiers
or Oran should thereby gain so many advantages over another who is
stationed in a little provincial town in France. As regards Tunisia
it is intelligible, many parts of the country being unhealthy, and
the heat ruining the nerves and being the cause of mental strain:
but in Algiers—a bit of Paris!
My new escort, sent from Tatuin, was ready, and the hot midday hours
being past I said farewell until the morrow.
There still remained between four and five miles to cover, and we
might not loiter on the way; so we pressed on, alternately walking
and cantering, keeping close to the mountains on our right.
Half-way between Tatuin and Bir el Ahmer we passed some soldiers
who were busy digging a well. They had pitched a little tent, and
provisions and water were sent them occasionally. Raising themselves
from their work they saluted us as we passed.
Presently mountains appeared in the south and south-east, and on
the summit of one on our front we distinguished the signal station
of Tatuin. At the foot of this mountain we passed some palm trees,
and then turned into the valley. This is full of palms, and on the
southern side lay a little Ksar, similar to those with which we had
already made acquaintance at Metamer and Medinin.
At a little distance, but nearer the oasis and on the slope, stand
the military buildings.
As we rode towards the Bureau we met a couple of natives. “Are
the Tuareg still here?” I asked.
“No, they have probably left; they came to buy corn, but there
was none to be had, so they went away.”
Just as the sun set I dismounted, and saluted a group of officers
who awaited me.
The whitewashed walls of the two rooms into which I was shown were
hung round with weapons, implements of the chase, and ethnographical
objects collected from the Tuareg. It was a typical lieutenant’s
quarter; the owner was in France on leave, and in his absence his
comrades had placed his rooms at my disposal.
Captain Beranger, who was to be relieved the day but one following,
invited me to dine at the little mess where the infantry officers,
the postmaster of the town—young Cavaignac, a descendant of the
celebrated general—and an officer of engineers were to dine.
After dinner we spent our evening with other officers at the
casino. There I met Ben Jad, an old native lieutenant of Spahis,
with a handsome Arab face, and wearing the Cross of the Legion of
Honour on his breast. He promised me a good horse for the morrow when
I took my way to Duirat, the southernmost village of Tunisia. I met
also the interpreter and the lieutenant of the Bureau and Dr. Renaud,
their medical man, who talked with me about the country, and promised
to do what he could to get hold of some of the Tuareg, whom I so
longed to see; but of this he told me there was little hope.