BACK TO TUNIS
In the course of the night a telegram arrived, ordering Dr. Cultin
to return with me next day to Medinin, as his colleague had been
suddenly seized with fever and was very ill.
We were a little late in starting, and the sun was scorching
hot. Followed by our two Spahis and a led horse, which bore my
purchases from the Tuareg, we hurried homewards.
After a halt near Bir el Ahmer, where we breakfasted, and where a
fresh horse awaited me, our progress was rapid.
But it was after nightfall when we reached Medinin. Outside the camp
we met the lieutenant of the Spahis, who said that the doctor was
worse, and was about to be sent in a carriage to Gabés.
Dr. Cultin hurried away to his sick comrade, and I dismounted at
the quarters of the commandant, who came galloping in to receive me,
and invited me to a splendid dinner with some of the officers.
I need scarcely mention that I expressed my thanks in the warmest
terms for the brilliant reception I had received, and for my memorable
trip to the southernmost military stations.
I was offered a horse for an expedition to Zarsis and the island of
Jerba, but had to decline with many thanks, as my time was limited.
After a comfortable breakfast with the infantry officers, I bade
my friends farewell before the commandant’s house, and, waving my
hat in a final salute, rode off to Gabés.
Commandant Billet accompanied me nearly as far as Metamer, where
we parted.
“Should you ever go to Rhadamés by way of Tripoli and return by
this route, you would be heartily welcome, and this would certainly
be your best way home,” said the commandant.
I replied that should the journey ever be attempted by me, Medinin
would have a great attraction for me, and thanked him heartily for
all his kindness.
Then I rode with my Spahi towards the camp at Metamer, where the
lieutenant on guard came out and invited me in.
After a short halt, I continued in a north-westerly direction along
the foot of the mountain of the signal station, and thence by a
hilly country north; the Matmata mountains lying to the west of us,
and the plain to the east.
On both the plain and the hills I saw ruined Roman remains. We
also passed a spot where a few soldiers were encamped for the
purpose of digging a well, and as we ascended a hill saw a vehicle
come swinging towards us. Before it rode a red Spahi, behind it
another. The carriage was a heavy box on four wheels, and had
an awning over it; it was drawn by four mules, and two soldiers
acted as postillions. From within peeped a woman’s face. It was
a captain’s wife who had taken advantage of the opportunity of
going _viâ_ Medinin to visit her husband at Zarsis—the carriage
being on its way to fetch the sick doctor.
It was nearly sunset, and I urged on my horse to avoid arriving late
at the little caravansarai where we were to spend the night.
Soon it became so dark that the horses stumbled on the rough road,
and we had to slacken to a walk. For a long time we saw nothing but
each other’s dim figures and heard only the tramp of our horses.
At last, at the village of Aram, lights shone and dogs barked as we
passed amongst its palms.
After riding in the still night about an hour longer, we again heard
dogs barking and saw lights. We were then near the oasis of Marath,
where, having ridden fully twenty miles, we were to rest some hours
and start again at sunrise for Gabés.
In the caravansarai—which resembled that of Bir el Ahmer—a Spahi
from Gabés awaited me with a fresh horse.
The lights in the house streamed from the rooms into the
courtyard. Within were some soldiers, who had bivouacked round about
a candle placed on the floor. They came out, received our horses
and conducted me to an officer’s room. Four bare walls; raised on
masonry was a sloping plank-bed which extended along the inner wall;
besides this there was a table and a bench.
A native, who was in charge of the place, I sent to the oasis to
buy me some candles. The soldiers eagerly offered to lend me, till
his return, their little taper stuck in a bottle.
The Spahis then laid the table, and I dined, after first dividing
with them and the soldiers the eatables with which I had been so
sumptuously provided, for no one knows better than I do how a small
extra ration tends to put a soldier into good-humour. I have not
forgotten the old days in South Oran when I was myself a mere private.
The Spahis and the four soldiers drew up in line at the table,
and I began the distribution—bread and dates to the Mohammedans,
and wine to the soldiers, which I poured into the tin mugs they held
out to me, and to whom I gave also bread and meat.
“Right about face, march!” I gave the order involuntarily,
and the troop at once vanished through the door.
Soon the sound of gay voices singing reached my ear from the
adjoining room.
When I had finished my repast I lit a cigarette and took a turn
through the courtyard to have a look at the horses, which still
stood saddled and had not yet been either fed or watered, they were
so overheated from their journey.
Having given orders that they were to be unsaddled, fed, and watered,
I returned, and, lying on the bed, listened to the singing.
I had rested but a short while when a smart soldier entered, and,
with his hand to his cap, asked if he and his comrades might enliven
the evening for me, as if so, they would come in.
I agreed willingly; so they came in, each carrying his mug, and sat
on the ground facing me.
After I had questioned them, asking each where he hailed from,
and had talked with them about a soldier’s life in the desert—a
life I also knew something of—I asked them to sing; then the usual
barrack ballads with comic choruses woke the still night. Afterwards
I chatted again a little with them, refilled their mugs which they
emptied, wishing me a happy journey, and then withdrew.
I wrapped myself in my burnous and slept, but was disturbed, first
by the stamping of the horses, and later by the noise of some carts
being yoked in the yard.
Before it was light next morning I was broad awake. The soldiers
made and brought me some coffee that I drank with relish, and it
was just daybreak when, wrapped in my burnous, I got into my saddle,
after having inscribed my name in the register. The soldiers stood
at attention and saluted as I bade them farewell and thanked them
for the songs they sang for me, while they, in return, wished me a
happy journey.
Our road was towards the north through the palm groves of the lowland,
where we now and again crossed the dry beds of torrents that began
in the mountains.
After a couple of hours we traversed the Ketena oasis, leaving other
palm groves on one side.
Here the level of the country rose a little, and far away on the
northern horizon we could see the palm forests that lie south of
Gabés, and now and again caught a glimpse in the east of the sunlit
surface of the Mediterranean.
Presently the temperature became very sultry, and a hot wind rose,
which whirled the sand in our eyes. This was the sirocco.
When we reached the high ground, where stands the Marabout’s tomb
of “Sid Hamed ben-Habib,” and had passed its palms, we saw,
through dust clouds and flying sand, Gabés, looking like a white
riband in the distance, while behind us the palms of the oasis waved
in a long unbroken line from east to west.
Soon after, we arrived, both tired and thirsty, at Gabés.
In the afternoon, when I was busy packing into cases all the weapons,
ornaments, and costumes I had collected in the country, Arab visitors
were announced.
This was no less than the Khalifa of El Hamma, “the mild,
friendly” Khalifa, accompanied by three of the Matmata mountain
sheikhs. They had heard that I was in the town and wished to greet me.
Their visit pleased me much, as a token of a friendly feeling on
the part of the natives.
I found seats for them all to the best of my ability—the Khalifa on
the bed, one of the sheikhs on a low chest, another on the floor,
and a third on a chair; and then Moorish coffee and cigarettes
were served.
The conversation turned on my late experiences, and I thanked them
for their hospitality and received the reply—
“You will always be welcome amongst us.”
“I am now going home,” I said, “but perhaps some day I may
return, and then, my friends, I will seek you, and we may shoot wild
boar in the mountains towards El Hamma. Is it not so, Khalifa?”
“As you will, Sidi. We have horses and men, and nothing you need
shall be wanting,” he replied with charming courtesy.
When later in the day I paid a farewell visit to Captain Simon at
the Bureau Arabe, I found the office crammed full of Arabs, who had
been summoned from the mountains.
As I pushed my way through them I caught sight of first one,
then other faces that I recognised. In short, nearly all these
brown-skinned chiefs with dark eyes and black beards were known to
me, and each and all stretched out their hands in greeting.
“How is this?” said the captain. “Do you know the whole
of them?”
“Yes, indeed,” I answered with pride; “they are my friends
from the mountains.”
On the 2nd November I left for the north by the steamer _Isac
Pèrere_. My good Hamed helped me faithfully with my packing and
the embarkation of my numerous cases, and his figure was the last
that I could distinguish on the pierhead.
The _Isac Pèrere_ crept slowly north, and reached Tunis in four
days. Life on board was pleasant enough, for there were several
officers with us, but, being so long accustomed to ride daily,
I missed my exercise.
We lay before Sfax for one day. The cavalry officers of the garrison
there came out in a boat to call on Colonel Gousset and on us, dined
on board, and amused themselves with their comrades, or fished for
small fry from the deck or the accommodation ladder of the ship. To
visit these ships twice a week is their chief distraction. The sight
of fresh faces and the chance of hearing some news give a little
zest to their dull lives.
At Monastir the same happened, but here the callers were officers of
the Tirailleurs, and their visit was evidently intended for a newly
promoted captain of their battalion, lately detailed for service at
Gabés, whence he was now on his way to Tunis to meet his wife.
It so happened that he, as a young lieutenant, had served in South
Oran through the same campaign, but not in the same detachment,
as myself, so we had many amusing recollections in common, and were
soon good friends.
At Susa he invited me to land and visit his comrades, but I was
prevented doing so by the quarantine imposed on account of the
cholera then prevalent.
Generally these quarantine regulations were utterly senseless. The
officials and the functionaries connected with shipping who came
on board were allowed to do so without being disinfected, whereas
the passengers from the ship who wished to land had to undergo
that process.
A lieutenant of the Tirailleurs, who had come from Kairwan and was
on his way to Tunis, came on board. He told me of the frightful heat
in the country during the past summer. Yet he absolutely preferred
residing in the interior rather than on the coast, the heat not
being so distressing there and the air purer and fresher, whereas
the damp heat of the coast was almost unbearable.
At Kairwan the temperature might rise as high as 120° Fahrenheit,
but one could rub along pretty tolerably, though it was difficult
to sleep at night. Want of sleep is, without doubt, the worst effect
of this climate, as it weakens and destroys the nervous system.
I had informed the Danish Consul at Goletta, by letter, when I
should arrive, as he was of opinion that it would be right for
me to call on the French Minister Resident, Rouvier, who had just
returned from France; and also on the Bey, to thank them for the
brilliant receptions and the support afforded me in consequence of
their orders to the authorities to assist me.
At Susa I received a telegram to the effect that the Minister Resident
would receive me next morning at nine o’clock, and would afterwards
conduct me to the Bey.
“Shall we arrive in time at Tunis?” I asked the captain. He
hoped for the best.
Steaming along the beautiful mountainous coast in the early morning
hours was enchanting. To our left lay the mountains near Hamman-lif;
before us were the white walls of Goletta; and to the right the
cathedral on the ruins of Carthage; Marsa, and the villas on the
sea-coast. Beyond Goletta, we could see, across the shining surface
of the lake, the white houses of Tunis and, behind them, the blue
mountains.
At eight o’clock we passed through the canal and steamed up the
lake to Tunis, but it was slow work, for care has to be taken not
to stir up the water; so working a ship in this harbour takes time;
it was therefore twenty minutes to nine before I landed, after having
taken leave of Colonel Gousset and the other officers.
A carriage took me full speed to the hotel, where I found my luggage
and hurriedly changed my clothes.
I kept my appointment punctually to the moment.