To enumerate the settlements of the Beni Ienni contained in a circle within a radius of a mile, will show how thickly inhabited is Kabylia.
On the precipitous brow nearest to the Fort is Aït el Hassan, with a population of 1500 souls. A large cemetery, and a rise on which the Jesuit school-house is built, separate it from Aït l’Arba, with a population of 900. A little further is Taourirt Mimoun, a place of equal size. The ridge again descends to the flat piece of ground where I was. A quarter of a mile off is Taourirt el Hadjadj, somewhat smaller. Near Taourirt Mimoun, on a southern arm, is the fifth village, Agouni Hameth; a little below is the sixth, Thisgirth by name.
The nests of the Kabyles, like those of the eagles, are built on high in healthy mountain air. They are thus exposed fully to all the vicissitudes of the circling seasons. They first receive the white mantle that winter spreads, they first feel the gusty puffs of coming sirocco, and are earliest enveloped in the chill mist that the north wind sweeps from the Mediterranean. In the brightness of spring mornings they sparkle in sunshine, while white mists cover the profound valleys, like the waters of a lake. Later on, the sun stirs this sea of cloud, and lets through the day; then fleecy messengers surround the villages, hastening upwards to sail in silvery brightness through the sky, bearing afar glad promises of refreshment and abundance. In summer, when the human bees have stored their harvest, like honey in a hive, then the little houses seem clustered together, that each may give kindly shade to its neighbour, scorched in the burning sunshine.
Thus the people live not estranged from nature, like men in cities, but from lofty outlooks are constant spectators of the wonders she works, and the beauty in which she delights.
I found the Kabyles in no way annoyed by my painting and photography, and as usual they had friendly ways, bringing figs and sour milk when I was at work, and refusing to be paid for little services. The camera was unluckily knocked down one day by an eddy of wind, and the falling shutter broken; a jeweller soldered it together for me, and refused to accept payment. Another day, a man brought a good bundle of wood to the tent, and would take no remuneration; another offered a couple of blackbirds as a contribution to my ‘pot-au-feu.’
The Kabyles have a reputation for dishonesty, and colonists have again and again told me, and have most positively insisted that they were all thieves; but having a limited belief in the fairness of such warnings, I was always incredulous, and practically found they deserved a very different character. A solitary instance of pilfering was all we had to complain of. As we were constantly surrounded by natives, we might easily have lost more had there been many ‘mauvais sujets’ about. I cannot say we were not tricked sometimes; what foreigner is not tricked? But as a rule I take the Kabyles to be hard bargainers, and afterwards men of their word; on more than one occasion I have trusted them, when they had every opportunity to be dishonest, and I have not been deceived. They are extremely thrifty, and close with their money, as most men are who have a hard fight to earn it, and never earn much. I met with a remarkable instance of honesty when staying in the mountains two years ago. Alone, in an out-of-way place, sitting down to make a sketch, I unconsciously dropped my purse. Proceeding perhaps a quarter of a mile, I saw a Kabyle running in hot haste; he overtook me, breathless, but evidently amused about something. I felt much taken aback, when suddenly he handed me my purse. He accepted a present, and I felt most grateful for his honesty, since, though the purse was a light one, it contained every sou that I had in the country, and I by no means regarded it as trash.
On leaving my lodging at Fort National one morning, some faggots were being bought of a poor Kabyle. The transaction was hardly concluded, when a Frenchwoman appearing from a shop next door, said she would take another lot at the same price. The Kabyle replied that on some former occasion she had tried to cheat him, and he would have no dealings with her; he quietly turned his back as he collected his bundles, and then trudged on. She was furious at what she called his insulting language, and called him all the names she could think of. It is a small incident to record, but it is characteristic. Is it credible, for instance, that a Neapolitan could act thus? He would rather esteem a person who had had the wit to overreach him, and scheme till he had cheated in return; he would certainly have been ready with a smooth answer. The story moreover illustrates the principle, that the more people are sinned against, the more they get abused.
The Kabyles are abstemious, tough and wiry; an overfat unwieldy Kabyle is not to be found. Their sobriety, praise be to Mohammed, is absolute; they drink nothing stronger than coffee. Of course this does not apply to those who live in towns, where they learn to tipple, and I believe become more demoralised, if possible, than the worst class of colonists. It must in honesty be stated, that they are terribly lacking in that virtue which comes next to godliness. That they should not appreciate the luxury of soap and water is the more to be regretted, as it is an inexpensive one. Some of the shepherd lads who came hoping to earn a few coppers by carrying our traps, or by the sale of some trifle, when reproached with uncleanliness, replied, ‘I have not another shirt, nor money to buy one.’ They pointed out the fragile condition of the one worn, and expressed fear that the rough usage of washing might destroy it altogether. Truly such a situation must be embarrassing, so we said nothing more; nevertheless, clean shirts became less rare. I am sorry to say that the plague of begging urchins, to be seen wherever tourists go, has already commenced at Fort National. I have never been begged of in the tribes. The needy are given small contributions of food by those who can afford it. Any man, when eating, would as a matter of course and without hesitating, offer a portion to a stranger approaching. The Kabyles are sociable, with unassuming manners. Acquaintances on meeting do not shake hands, but lightly touch them, then raise their fingers to their lips, and kiss them;[6] then follows a string of expressions, such as, Peace be upon thee, mayest thou abound, good be with thee. A chief is saluted with greater deference; he bows to be kissed in return above the forehead. Compared with Arabs, Kabyles are industrious; compared with the English, very lazy. A man will work hard, but likes to do it at his own time; he does not appreciate the merit of slaving as hard as he can, when engaged by the day for others. I have watched them at road-making; as soon as the inspector’s back was turned, they would sit down for a quiet chat, or roll themselves up in their cloaks to take a nap, or squat and complacently watch a neighbour toil with all his force at ploughing his own land. I have hardly known which to admire more, the labourer at the plough, or the philosopher with hands folded in slumber. ‘Labor ipse voluptas’ might be the motto of the one; ‘Sans gêne’ that of the other.
One remarkable feature of Kabylia is the fertility even of the high ridges. In the tribe of the Beni Ienni there are fields of wheat and tobacco on the top of the mountain, both crops requiring deep soil. The plough is of the simplest description, and is carried out to the fields on the shoulder of the ploughman, who drives a couple of active oxen before him. The yoke is very long in order to give freedom of action to the beasts when turning on difficult ground.
The Kabyle begins operations by storing grain in his folded burnous; this he sows broadcast over the land; he next proceeds to plough in. The oxen scramble up and down, and in and out, among silvery-stemmed fig-trees; the driver urging them with a long rod, and with constant exhortations to work properly, such as, ‘Now forwards; keep higher, higher, mind the fig-tree, turn, now turn, forwards again, oh sons of infidel ones!’ Sometimes great pains are taken with a field, it is ploughed twice or thrice, and all weeds carefully destroyed. Homer describes ploughing: