[Illustration: 9193]
T was almost impossible to take up a newspaper in Algiers, or to
converse for five minutes in a café, or at the club, without the
'question Kabyle' cropping up in some paragraph or conversation. Every
day there came contradictory news about the war, that it would really
be over to-morrow or the next day, or the next week. It had lasted with
more or less activity for thirty years, but now at last the smouldering
embers seemed to be dying out.
The Djurjura mountains stretching eastward into Kabylia, which we
knew so well in their peaceful aspect, with the sun shining upon their
snow-clad summits from morning till night, were still the theatre of
war. In the heart of the mountains, about sixty miles from Algiers,
and at a height of nearly 3000 feet above the sea, the French army was
busily engaged in building a fortress, in order to keep the Kabyles
at bay and give protection to the colonists; and whilst this work was
progressing with wonderful rapidity, the outposts of the army were
carrying on a guerilla warfare with the unsubdued tribes. Their camps
were pitched on the various heights, and the sound of the morning
_réveille_ was generally succeeded by the 'ping' of the rifle from
some concealed Kabyles, and by a quick return volley from the French
outposts.
We went to the Fort Napoleon at the invitation of some French officers,
who, when they wrote to us, imagined (as all French people had imagined
a hundred times before) that the war was over, and that it would be
a good opportunity to visit the camp and the fort, in process of
construction. * Two easy days' journey on horseback, halting for the
night at a caravanserai called Les Issers, brought us to Tiziouzou, a
small town and military depot on the borders of Kabylia, at the foot of
the mountains, and but a few miles from the fort. At Les Issers we slept
upon the ground, each man by the side of his own horse, as there was
neither stabling nor sleeping accommodation to be had in the inn, which
was crowded before we arrived, with troops and war _matériel_. To reach
this, our first night's halting-place, we had had some rough riding,
ending by fording in the evening, a rapid river which rose above the
saddle-girths and nearly upset our active little horses. The night was
starlight, and we lay down about fifty together, with fires burning in a
circle round us, to prevent any surprise.
* General Randon laid the first stone of the Fort Napoléon
in June, 1857. This fort, which occupies an area of more
than twenty acres, and is built on most irregular ground,
was built in a few months.
The route from Les Issers to Tiziouzou was crowded with baggage-waggons
sticking in the mud, and with immense droves of camels and donkeys,
on their way to the fort. The late rains had almost obliterated the
military road (which was said to extend all the way from Algiers to
the Fort Napoléon), and in some places it was turned into a river. The
greater part of our route had been wild and uncultivated, but as we
came near to Tiziouzou and approached the mountains, every valley was
luxuriant with vegetation, fig-trees and olives grew in abundance, the
former of enormous size. But nearly every inhabitant was French, and we,
who had come to sketch and to see the Kabyles, were as yet disappointed
at finding none but French soldiers, European camp-followers, and
camel-drivers, on the way; and when we arrived at Tiziouzou, we were so
shut in by mountains on all sides, that even the heights of Beni-Raten
were concealed from view. It was fortunate that we obtained the shelter
of a little inn on the night of our arrival, for the rain fell steadily
in sheets of water, until our wooden house was soaked through, and stood
like an island in the midst of a lake.
We sent our horses back to Algiers, and carrying our own knapsacks, set
off in the early morning to walk up to the fort. A lively cantinière
(attached to a regiment of Zouaves camped near Tiziouzou) walked with
us and led the way, past one or two half-deserted Kabyle villages, by a
short cut to the camp. The military road by which the artillery had been
brought up was about fifteen miles, but by taking the steeper paths, we
must have reduced the distance by more than half. At one point of the
way the bare mountain side was so steep and slippery with the late rain,
that it was almost impossible to ascend it, but some Arabs, with an eye
to business worthy of the western world, had stationed themselves here
with their camels to drag up pedestrians; a camel's tail was let for two
sous and was in great request. The latter part of the ascent was through
forests, and groves of olive and cork trees, looking cool and grey
amongst the mass of rich vegetation, through which we had sometimes to
cut a path.
It was a wild walk, but our merry little cantinière was so active and
entertaining that we, encumbered with knapsacks, had enough to do to
keep up with her, and indeed to comprehend the rapid little French
histories that she favoured us with. Every now and then we heard through
the trees the strains of 'Partant pour la Syrie,' or the rattle of a
regimental drum, and came suddenly upon working parties on the road,
which the army boasts was made practicable in three months.
After about four hours' clambering, we again emerge upon the road, near
the summit, and in a few minutes more, come in sight of the fort and the
pretty white tents of the camps on the surrounding hills. Here we must
pause a few minutes, to give a picture of the state of things at the
'Fort Napoléon,' a few weeks before our arrival. We are indebted to
Lieut.-Col. Walmisley, one of our countrymen who accompanied the
expedition, for the following graphic account of a sharp action with the
Kabyles:--
'Daylight dawned upon the Kabyle hills on the morning of the 24th
June, 1857, and its light streamed over the serried ranks of the second
division, as, under the command of General MacMahon, the head of the
column marched out of the lines of Aboudid.
'Before it lay the heights of Icheriden, with its village and triple
row of barricades, behind which the men of the Beni Menguillet anxiously
watched the progress of the foe. The path of the column lay along a
mountain ridge, and it was strange to see that column of between six and
seven thousand men, advancing quietly and composedly, the birds singing
around them; the Kabyles crowning every available hillock, the hawks and
eagles slowly wheeling in large circles over their heads, and the bright
rays of the morning sun gleaming on brighter bayonets.
*****
'The Kabyle barricades remained black and silent as ever; not a bournous
was to be seen, as the 54th and the Zouaves received orders to carry the
position at the point of the bayonet. Before them lay a ridge covered
with brushwood, affording capital shelter, but at about sixty or seventy
paces from the stockades the brush had been cleared away, and now the
occasional gleam of a bayonet, the report of a musket or two fired
against the stockade, the loud ringing of the trumpets, as they gave
forth in inspiriting tones the _pas de charge_, and the wild shouting of
the men, as they pushed their way forward, told of the progress of the
attack.
'Still the same stern heavy silence reigned over the hostile village.
Was it indeed deserted, or was it the silence of despair? But now the
bugle notes became shriller and more exciting; the shots quicker and
more steady, as emerging from the bush, the attacking column rushed
forward to the attack. Sixty paces of greensward were before them: but
instantly, and as if by magic, a thousand reports broke the silence of
the dark stockades, a wild yell rose from their defenders, as the hail
of lead fell on the advancing regiments, and a long line of dead marked
the advance. The Kabyles leaning their pieces over the joints of the
trees, where they were fitted into each other, and through crevices and
loopholes, offered little or no mark themselves to the shot; whilst not
a ball of theirs missed its aim.
'But the Zouaves were not to be daunted; and leaving the ground dotted
with their dead and dying comrades, on they rushed, a wild cheer rising
from their ranks, and a volley of balls pattering a reply. Again the
line of fire burst from the dark stockade, and the advancing column
withered away. The ground was strewn with fallen forms, and the fire of
the stockade fell fast and sure. The men gave way, seeking the shelter
of the bushes; their officers dashing to the front, vainly attempting to
lead them on. It was useless--even the sturdy Zouaves refused to cross
the deadly slope, for to do so was death; on the green slope, across
which the balls hurried fast and thick, lay whole ranks of French
uniforms.
'The fire from stockade and bush raged fast and furious; well kept up
on the side of the French, more deadly on that of the Kabyles, and still
_the men would not advance_ over the uncovered space, for it was certain
death. Two thousand Kabyle marksmen lined the loopholes, and the balls
now began to whiz round the heads of the generals and their staff.'
General MacMahon, who was wounded in this engagement, at last resorted
to shells to dislodge the defenders; the result was successful, and the
whole ended in a panic.
'Fast and furious now became the flight of the Kabyles, and all was
havoc and confusion. The men of the Legion, mixed up with the Zouaves
and the 54th, dashed after the fugitives, entering the villages with
them, and bayoneting right and left with savage shouts, whilst down the
steep sides of the hills, away over the ridges to the right and to the
left, the waving bournous might be seen in flight!'
The curtain fell upon the Kabyle war soon after this action, and large
detachments of troops were at once told off to build the fort. All
around, on every promontory and hill, the little white tents were
scattered thickly, and the sound of the bugle, and the sight of the red
kepis of the soldiers, prevailed everywhere. But the war was practically
over, civilians came up from Algiers--some to see, and some to
trade--and quite a little colony sprung up. And here, on one of the
heights shown in our little sketch, we establish ourselves again--whilst
the Kabyle villages still smoulder in the distance, and revenge is deep
in the hearts of the insurgent tribes, 'one peaceful English tent'
is pitched upon the heights of Beni-Raten, and its occupants devote
themselves to the uneventful pursuit of studying mountain beauty. We
endeavour (and with some success) to ignore the military element; we
listen neither to the réveille, nor to the too frequent crack of a
rifle; our pursuits are not warlike, and, judging from the sights and
sounds that sometimes surround us, we trust they never may be.
The view from this elevation is superb,--north, south, east and west,
there is a wondrous landscape, but northward especially; where far above
the purple hills, higher than all but a few snowy peaks, there stretches
a horizontal line of blue, that seems almost in the clouds. Nothing
gives us such a sense of height and distance, as these accidental peeps
of the Mediterranean, and nothing could contrast more effectively than
the snowy peaks in sunlight, against the blue sea.
[Illustration: 0203]
All this we are able to study, in perfect security and with very little
interruption; sketching first one mountain side clothed with a mass
of verdure; another, rocky, barren, and wild; one day an olive-grove,
another a deserted Kabyle village, and so on, with an infinite variety
which would only be wearisome in detail.
And we obtain what is so valuable to an artist, and what is supposed
to be so rare in Africa--variety of atmospheric effect. It is generally
admitted (and we should be unwilling to contest the point), that English
landscape is unrivalled in this respect, and that it is only _form_ and
_colour_, that we may study with advantage in tropical climates; but
directly we ascend the mountains, we lose that still, serene atmosphere
that has been called the 'monotony of blue.'
We read often of African sun, but very seldom of African clouds and
wind. To-day we are surrounded by clouds _below_ us, which come and
gather round the mountain-peaks and remain until evening. Sometimes just
before sunset, the curtain will be lifted for a moment, and the hill
sides will be in a blaze of gold--again the clouds come round, and
do not disperse till nightfall; and when the mountains are once
more revealed, the moon is up, and they are of a silver hue--the sky
immediately above, remaining quite unclouded. The air is soft on these
half-clouded days, in spite of our height above the sea; and the showers
that fall at intervals, turn the soil in the valleys into a hotbed for
forcing hothouse plants, as we should call them in England.
The weather was nearly always fine, and we generally found a little
military tent (lent to us by one of the Staff) sufficient protection and
shelter, even on this exposed situation.
But we must not forget the winds that lived in the valleys, and came
up to where our tents were pitched--sometimes one at a time, sometimes
three or four together. Of all things that impressed us, during our stay
upon the Kabyle hills, the beauty of the clouds, the purple tints upon
the mountains, and the _wind_, will be remembered best. It is a common
phrase, to 'scatter to the four winds;' but here the four winds came
and met near our little camp, and sometimes made terrible havoc with our
belongings. They came suddenly one day, and took up a tent, and flung it
at a man and killed him; another time they came sighing gently, as if a
light breeze were all we need prepare for, and in five minutes we found
ourselves in the thick of a fight for our possessions, if not for our
lives. And with the wind there came sometimes such sheets of rain, that
turned the paths into watercourses, and carried shrubs and trees down
into the valley; all this happening whilst the sea was calm in the
distance, and the sun was shining fiercely on the plains. These were
rough days, to be expected in late autumn and early spring, but not to
be missed for a little personal discomfort, for Algeria has not been
seen without a mountain storm.
Before leaving Kabylia, we will take one or two leaves from our
note-book; just to picture to the reader (who may be more interested
in what is going on at the camp, than in the various phases of the
landscape) the rather incongruous elements of which our little society
is made up.
There has been a general movement lately, * amongst the conquered
tribes, who are beginning to re-establish themselves in their old
quarters (but under French rule), which brings together for the night
about a hundred Kabyles, with their wives and children.
* October, 1857.
Around the camp this evening there are groups of men and women standing,
that bring forcibly to the mind, those prints of the early patriarchs
from which we are apt to take our first and, perhaps, most vivid,
impressions of Eastern life; and we cannot wonder at French artists
attempting to illustrate Scriptural scenes from incidents in Algeria.
There are Jacob and Joseph, as one might imagine them, to the life; Ruth
in the fields, and Rachel by the well; and there is a patriarch coming
down the mountain, with a light about his head as the sun's last rays
burst upon him, that Herbert might well have seen, when he was painting
Moses with the tables of the law. The effect is accidental, but it
is perfect in an artistic sense, from the solemnity of the man, the
attitude of his crowd of followers, the grand mountain forms which are
partially lit up by gleams of sunset, and the sharp shadows cast by the
throng.
This man may have been a warrior chief, or the head of a tribe; he
was certainly the head of a large family, who pressed round him to
anticipate his wants and do him honour. His children seemed to be
everywhere about him; they were his furniture, they warmed his tent and
kept out the wind, they begged for him, prayed for him, and generally
helped him on his way. In the Koran there is a saying of similar purport
to the words 'happy is the man that hath his quiver full of them'--this
one had his quiver full of them, indeed, and whether he had ever done
much to deserve the blessing, he certainly enjoyed it to the full. *
Looked upon as a coloured statue he was, in some respects, a perfect
type of beauty, strength, and dignified repose--what we might fitly
call a 'study,' as he sat waiting, whilst the women prepared his evening
meal; but whether from a moral point of view he quite deserved all the
respect and deference that was paid to him, is another question.
* How many a man is sheltered from the winds of the world by
a grove of sleek relations, who surround him and keep him
from harm; such a man has never really tried the outer
world? and has but a second-hand experience of its troubles.
As a picture, as we said before, he was magnificent, and there was a
regal air with which he disposed the folds of his bournous, which we,
clad in the costume of advanced civilization, could not but admire
and envy. He had the advantage of us in every way, and made us feel it
acutely. He had a splendid arm, and we could see it; the fine contour,
and colour, of his head and neck were surrounded by white folds, but not
concealed. His head was not surmounted with a battered 'wide-awake,' his
neck was not bandaged as if it were wounded, his feet were not misshapen
clumps of leather, his robes--but we have no heart to go further into
detail. There is a 'well-dressed' French gentleman standing near
this figure; and there is not about him one graceful fold, one good
suggestive line, one tint of colour grateful to the eye, or one
redeeming feature in his (by contrast) hideous _tout ensemble._
These are everyday truths, but they strike us sometimes with a sort of
surprise; we have discovered no new thing in costume, and nothing worth
telling; but the sudden and humiliating contrast gives our artistic
sensibilities a shock and fills us with despair.
A little way removed there is a warrior on horseback at prayers, his
hands outstretched, his face turned towards the sun. It is as grand a
picture as the last, but it does not bear examination. He came and sat
down afterwards, to smoke, close to our tent, and we regret to say that
he was extremely dirty, and in his habits, rather cruel. There were
red drops upon the ground where his horse had stood, and his spur was a
terrible instrument to contemplate; in the enthusiasm of a noble nature
he had ridden his delicate locomotive too hard, and had, apparently,
sometimes forgotten to give it a feed. It was a beautiful, black Arab
steed, but it wanted grooming sadly; its feet were cracked and spread
from neglect, and its whole appearance betokened rough usage. Perhaps
this was an exceptional case, perhaps not; but to the scandal of those
whose romantic picture of the Arab in his tent with his children and
his steed, are amongst the most cherished associations, we are bound to
confess that we have seen as much cruelty as kindness, bestowed by the
Arabs and Kabyles, on their horses, and incline to the opinion that
they are, as a rule, anything but tender and loving to their four-footed
friends.
[Illustration: 0212]
The Kabyles came round our tents in the morning before leaving, and
the last we saw of our model patriarch, was flying before an enraged
vivandière, who pursued him down the hill with a dish-cloth. He had been
prowling about since dawn, and had forgotten the distinction between
'meum' and 'tuum.'
It has been said that there is 'no such thing as Arab embarrassment,
and no such dignity as Arab dignity;' but the Arab or the Kabyle, as
we hinted in a former chapter, appears to great disadvantage in contact
with the French, and seems to lose at once in _morale_.
Another day, there is a flutter in our little camp, for 'the mail'
has come in, in the person of an active young orderly of Zouaves,
who, leaving the bulk of his charge to come round by the road, has
anticipated the regular delivery by some hours, scaling the heights with
the agility of a cat, and appearing suddenly in our midst. If he had
sprung out of the earth he could not have startled us much more, and
if he had brought a message that all the troops were to leave Africa
to-morrow, he could scarcely have been more welcome.
And what has he brought to satisfy the crowd of anxious faces that
assemble round the hut, dignified by the decoration of a pasteboard
eagle and the inscription '_Bureau de Poste_.' It was scarcely as trying
a position for an official, as that at our own Post-office at Sebastopol
in Crimean days, although there was eagerness and crowding enough to
perplex any distributor; but it was very soon over, in five minutes
letters and papers were cast aside, and boredom had recommenced with the
majority. It was the old story--the old curse of Algeria doing its work;
the French officers are too near home to care much for 'news,' and hear
too frequently from Paris (twice a week) to attach much importance to
letters. Newspapers were the 'pièces de résistance,' but there was not
much news in '_La Presse_' and its _feuilleton_ consisted of two or
three chapters of a translation of Dickens' 'Martin Chuzzlewit'; there
was the '_Moniteur_,' with lists of promotions in the army, and the
usual announcement, that Napoleon, 'by the grace of God and the national
will,' would levy new taxes upon the people; there was a provincial
paper, containing an account of the discovery of some ruins near
Carcassonne; there was '_Le Follet_' for 'my lady _commandant_,' and a
few other papers with illustrated caricatures and conundrums.
Some of the letters were amusing, as we heard them read aloud; one was
too quaint not to mention, it was from a bootmaker in Paris to his dear,
long-lost customer on the Kabyle Hills. He 'felt that he was going to
die,' and prayed '_M'sieu le Lieutenant_' to order a good supply of
boots for fear of any sudden accident, 'no one else could make such
boots for Monsieur.' And so on, including subjects of about equal
importance, with the latest Parisian gossip, and intelligence of a new
piece at the 'Variétés.' One other letter we may mention, that came up
by the same post, to one other member of that little band, perched like
eagles on the heights; it was also unimportant and from home, and the
burden of it was this--'Broadtouch' had stretched ten feet of canvas for
a painting of one rolling wave, and 'Interstice' had studied the texture
of a nut-shell until his eyes were dim.
We finish the evening as usual with dominoes and coffee; enjoying many a
long and delightful chit-chat with our military friends. These pleasant,
genial, but rather unhappy gentlemen do not 'talk shop,' it is
tabooed in conversation, as strictly as at the 'Rag': but the stamp of
banishment is upon their faces unmistakeably, and if they do speak
of this foreign service (now that the war is nearly over), it is in
language that seems to say,--'all ye who enter here, leave Hope behind.'
[Illustration: 0219]
[Illustration: 0221]