It is tempting (indeed it is almost impossible to avoid) at Bouffarik, going a little into the question of colonization, and speaking from personal observation, of the progress made during the last few years. But as English people care little or nothing for the prospects of Algeria, we will merely remark en passant, that the insurmountable evil of Algeria being too near the home country, seems to blight its prospects even here, and that the want of confidence displayed by private capitalists retards all progress. Nearly all the capital employed by the colonists at Bouffarik and Blidah has been raised by a paternal government; but, notwithstanding help from the home country, the tide of wealth neither flows nor ebbs, with great rapidity.
At Bouffarik we see the Arabs calmly settled under French rule, and learning the arts of peace; taking to husbandry and steam ploughs, and otherwise progressing in a scientific and peaceful direction. We see them in the evening, sitting by their cottages with their half-naked children, looking prosperous and happy enough, and hear them droning to them in that monotonous 'singsong' that is so irritating to the ear.
There is a musician at the door of our hostelry now, who is as great a nuisance as any Italian organ grinder in Mayfair; he taps on a little piece of stretched parchment, and howls without ceasing. It is given to the inhabitants of some countries, who have what is commonly called 'no ear for music' to hum and to drone in more sensitive ears to the point of distraction, and it seems to be the special attribute of the Arab to fill the air with monotonous sounds; when he is on a journey or resting from it, it is the same—he hums and moans like a creature in torment. In contact with Europeans we perhaps see him at his worst; for however orderly and useful a member of society he may be, however neat and clean, there is something cringing and artificial in him at the best. But we must hasten on to Blidah.
Again we cross a wide plain, again do we overtake and are overtaken by, the tribe of donkeys; and just as the sun goes down we enter the city gates together, dismounting in the principal square, which is filled with idlers, chiefly French soldiers and poor Arabs who have learned to beg. We had chosen the time for this journey when the moon was nearly full, and our first near view of the town was by moonlight. Nothing can be conceived more beautiful than Blidah by night, with its little white domes and towers, and the mountains looming indistinctly in the background. In the Moorish quarter, the tower of the principal Mosque stands out clearly defined in the moonlight, whilst all around it cluster the little flat-roofed houses, set in masses of dark foliage—the olives and the date-trees, and the sharp-pointed spires of the cypresses, just tinged with a silver light.
So peaceful, so beautiful does it look at night, so complete the repose with which we have always associated Blidah, that it is a rude disenchantment to learn that but a few years ago, this city was upheaved and tossed about, like the waves of the sea. In 1825, eight or nine thousand people perished from an earthquake; and in 1866, a lady who was staying at our hotel, thus wrote home to her friends: *
* 'Last Winter in Algeria,' by Mrs. H. Lloyd Evans.
'I was roused from sleep by a sound as of some one beating
the floor above, and the walls on every side. It increased
rapidly in violence, till the whole house shook and rocked
and seemed giving way beneath our feet. I saw the wall in
the corner of the room split open, and immediately
afterwards masses of plaster fell from the ceiling and
walls, bringing clouds of dust and a darkness as of night.
'On the Place it was a fearful scene, people came tearing
down the neighbouring streets, women and children ran
aimlessly hither and thither, shrieking wildly, men uttering
hoarse sounds of terror, whilst the ground heaved and
trembled beneath our feet, and we gazed at the surrounding
houses in expectant horror; it seemed as if they must fall
like a pack of cards. The young trees rocked and swayed, the
flagstaff waved backwards and forwards—the wind moaning,
the rain pouring down, whilst above all rose, ever and anon,
the sound of cavalry trumpets and the rolling of the drum,
calling on the troops to quit their tottering barracks.
'The Arabs alone stalked about unmoved, shrugging their
shoulders and muttering "It is destiny!"'
The air is delightful at Blidah, and the little country houses, with their groves of orange-trees, their gardens and vineyards, have been pointed out by travellers, as some of the most desirable spots on earth. The extract above may tend to qualify the longings of some people; but we think we might 'take our chance' at Blidah, as the Neapolitans do near Vesuvius—there are so many compensations.
Early in the morning we are again on our way, and as we leave the western gate, the donkeys, with their dirty drivers, scramble out with us and again play the game of the tortoise and the hare.
The gorge of La Chiffa is one of the principal approaches to the mountains, through which a military road is cut to Medeah. The first part is wild and rocky, the road passing between almost perpendicular cliffs, carried sometimes by masonry over a chasm at a height of several thousand feet. We ride for miles through a valley of most solitary grandeur, with no sounds but the rushing of the torrent and the occasional cries of monkeys. We pass by one celebrated waterfall called 'Ruisseau des Singes,' and are otherwise reminded of the presence of monkeys, by their pelting us with large stones, which they dislodge from their hiding-places above our heads.
We are at times so shut in by the rocks, that we can scarcely discover any outlet, but after a few hours' ascent, we come suddenly upon quite a different scene. What is it that delights the eye and that thrills us with pleasurable emotions, calling up memories of green lanes and England, pastoral?'Tis the plash of water, and the trickling, tinkling play of a running stream, winding and winding down to the swollen torrent that we crossed just now.