The captain acceded to my wishes; he lent us two horses from his stable, and gave us as a guide to Bou-Allem’s a caïd who spoke French excellently.
This Arab had been caught when quite a youth in a hut which Abd-ul-Khadr had been forced to abandon after one of his numerous defeats. The government sent the lad to the Louis-le Grand College, where he got on excellently in his studies. But, constantly pursued by the remembrance of his African sky, and the national “couscoussou” our bachelor of arts asked the favor of being sent back to Algeria. Owing to his education he was made caïd of a small tribe, whose name I have forgotten, but which lay on the route we were going to take.
My guide—whom I will call Muhammad, because I have forgotten his name also (for Arab names are difficult to remember by those who have not lived some time in Algeria)—Muhammad, then, was accompanied by four Arabs of his tribe: two of them were to carry our baggage, and the other two wait upon us. All were mounted, and proceeded before us.
We started at eight in the morning, as our first stage was not to be long, for Muhammad assured me that, if it pleased God (a formula a true believer never omits in speaking of the future), we should arrive at his house in time for breakfast. In fact, about three hours after we had set out, our little caravan reached Muhammad’s modest douar, and we dismounted in front of a villa, entirely composed of branches, of which the roof was hardly of man’s height. This was the caïd’s reception-room.
The door was opened, and our guide showed us the way by walking in first. Only one piece of furniture ornamented the interior; it was a small wooden stool, which my wife converted into a seat. Muhammad and I seated ourselves on a carpet, which an Arab had spread at our feet, and breakfast was soon served up. Muhammad, who, I fancy, wished to gain our pardon for a grave crime he was about to commit, treated us sumptuously, and almost in the French style. A rich soup, roast fowls, various ragoûts, which I cannot describe, as my culinary studies have been very limited, and pastry, which Félix himself would not have disowned, were placed before us in turn. More than that, my wife and I had been handed an iron knife, fork and spoon—an unheard of thing at an Arab’s.
The meal had been brought from an adjacent gourbi, where the caïd’s mother resided. This lady had lived in Algiers for a long time, where she had acquired the skill of which she had just offered us a specimen.
As for Muhammad, he had resumed the fashions of his ancestors, with the Mussulman costume, and lived on dates and “couscoussou,” save when he had any guests, which was extremely rare.
Our breakfast over, the host advised to set out again, if we wished to reach Bou-Allem’s before nightfall; and we followed his advice.
From Médéah to Muhammad’s douar we had followed a tolerable road, but on leaving his house we entered on a barren and desert country, where we saw no other signs of a road than those left by ourselves. The sun poured its most torrid beams upon our heads, and we found no shade along our route to protect us from it. Frequently, too, our progress became very laborious, for we came to ravines, into which we had to descend at the risk of our horses’ knees and our own necks. To restore our patience, our guide told us we should soon reach more even ground, and we continued our journey.
About two hours after leaving our first halt, Muhammad quitted us at full gallop, saying he would soon return, and disappeared behind a mound.