Glover and I then enjoyed a square meal at the wood-framed “Hôtel Oases,” and laid in some supplies for the journey; particularly French cigarettes and drinks.
At 9 p.m. the train departed from Touggourt for Algiers, bearing the stock of weather-worn possessions of an expedition, and four tattered, but tolerably healthy-looking wanderers—Glover, myself, and the two natives, Ali and Sakari. The two latter were vastly intrigued with their new mode of travel, particularly with the idea of their sitting still while they flew over the country without the necessity of their doing a stroke of work or undergoing a moment’s physical fatigue.
During the journey one thing made us all as delighted and happy as children—the wonderful green landscape after leaving Biskra. We never tired of feasting our eyes on the uncommon beauty of the countryside, so green with cultivation, and even decked with flowers. To our sand-tired vision it was a marvellous sight, and we knew then, undoubtedly, that we had left the desert behind.
On June 7th we reached Algiers, and were met by the British Vice-Consul, Mr. Gallienne, who gave us a real welcome. He was a man of wonderful foresight, for we had just exchanged greetings when he put his hand in his pocket and produced some English tobacco, saying: “I thought you might be in need of this.” We were so much in need of it that we almost embraced the poor man in our joy. Tobacco had been our most difficult “want” to cope with for many months.
One thing tickled Gallienne’s imagination. I caught him looking at me; whereupon he explained: “You know, I had pictured you lean, and about seven feet tall, and with a broad Scot’s accent. You are certainly lean, but I’ll need to take quite a foot off that stature; as for your accent, it’s no’ verra hieland.”
He was indeed a real good soul, for, when we got into quarters, he set out on all sorts of strange errands, and seemed to enjoy the fun of dress rehearsal in preparing two tattered ragamuffins for the exacting stage of civilisation. Collars, ties, shirts, underclothing, hats: all are difficult articles to choose for other men at any time, but more than difficult when the persons they are intended for have forgotten the sizes of everything they used to wear.
BUCHANAN
AT THE END OF THE JOURNEY
Those were crowded hours of wonderful joy, such as only men may experience who come in at last from the long trail.