E originally proposed to move about the country with the tent, though we had fixed on no particular limit or direction to these imaginary travels. But in the middle of the month of June here were we still in the Aïth Ménguellath, not fifteen miles from Fort National. We had plenty to occupy us at the place where we happened to find ourselves, and we reckoned that moving meant expense and new difficulties with natives, and that we might go farther and fare worse.
It was now too hot to wander. Muirhead being anxious to go to Constantine (which I had visited), we now determined to quit our encampment ‘under the greenwood tree,’ where we had met with ‘no enemy but winter and rough weather,’ he proceeding thither, whilst I returned with the tent to Algiers, where we should meet again.
I had foreseen that in such an out-of-the-way place, where the men are so jealous, I could not hope to get women to sit as models, and consequently came armed with a camera and gelatine plates. I now took a number of instantaneous photographs of subjects in motion, that I could hardly have sketched.
The narrow paths favoured me, for the natives were forced to pass the very spot I had previously focused, and got caught ‘unbeknown’ to themselves. Whether they happened to group well or ill at the instant I had to expose, was of course a chance, but if they did not appear interesting, I postponed my shot. The extreme damp of the tent caused me much anxiety about the plates, but the Indian bullock trunk in which I kept them was sturdy, and though some were spoilt, the majority turned out well. The Kabyles would ask to look into the machine, and I was always glad to show it, but first I blocked the light from the lenses, and with much ado spread the cloth over their heads. All that they then saw was the landscape at their backs reflected as in a mirror. Having regarded the lens as a sort of evil eye pointed at them, they were puzzled when they found that the machine apparently looked out from the back of its head in the opposite direction. I thought it kind on my part to show the images the right way up, and they were always much pleased with the effect.
The moments when figures group together harmoniously are so fleeting, that at the best there is barely time to note the leading arrangement. One combination is followed by another, and then another, and noting each in an imperfect manner, it is impossible to compare them justly. Photography has quite lately come to such perfection, that it is now possible with its aid to seize on those instants of time, and reproduce them with unerring precision; they can afterwards be studied at leisure. Thus the camera can give new and admirable material for artistic taste and fancy to play upon. I certainly bagged records of passing combinations with as much certainty as a sportsman brings down birds.
At dawn on June 16, I bade Muirhead good-bye, and he started for Constantine. The same day I struck tent, and left for the neighbouring tribe of the Beni Ienni, where I proposed remaining a short time. This point was only a few miles away from my direct line of march.
After some trouble about mules, I started, and an hour’s ride down a steep path brought me to the foot of the mountain, where I halted for Dominique who was lagging behind. Here a broad watercourse of grey stones, with diminutive cliffs on each side, was overgrown with oleander, a profuse mass of delicate pink bloom. More beautiful than anything to be found in well-tended gardens, was this wealth of blossom in a spot so lonely; beloved but by the sunshine, unvisited but by wandering Zephyr. Nor were the oleanders alone in their happiness; numberless plants and flowers kept them company. The pepper-tree grew luxuriantly, and was particularly beautiful from its fresh and feathery foliage, and the interesting drawing of its stems. Dominique overtook me, and we proceeded. The ravine where I found myself joined a larger one, through which flowed a brisk stream utilised to irrigate adjoining fields. Besides flowering oleanders were well-cared-for plantations of oranges and pomegranates, the latter ablaze with exquisite flame-red blossoms; and vigorous wild vines, rejoicing in the hot sun, greedy to bear a burden of luscious fruit, half suffocated the more sober trees forced to support them. A plumy carpet of ferns spread about their feet. The wooded sides of the gorge rose abruptly, and brilliant light silvered the olives crowning precipitous heights. These mountain streams that ripple so refreshingly in the summer season, become boiling torrents in the winter time, after heavy rains, or when the newly-fallen snows on the Jurjura melt. Suddenly rising, they cut off all communication between the tribes.
So some simple swain his cot forsakes,
And wide thro’ fens an unknown journey takes;