But their work is far from confined to this alone; they plant trees and dig wells, and are soon followed by telegraphic and postal officials, but above all by the schoolmaster. Where the soldier has cut a way, the schoolmaster can begin his work. If we call to mind my little Ali we can best understand and value his labours.
I called on the postmaster and the schoolmaster of Medinin at the officers’ club. They were energetic young men whose work goes hand in hand with that of the soldiers. There also I met the interpreter, a perfect gentleman who spoke faultless French. A tattooed mark on his forehead alone betrayed his origin; he was a Mohammedan and a married man. Besides himself, only one other of the officers in Medinin, a captain of cavalry, was married: he lived with his wife within the Ksar.
CHAPTER XIII
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.”