The fantasia terminated, the Arabs took their place in the escort again, and within an hour we reached the tents of the Beni-Menasseh.
The Aga Ben-Amara was awaiting us. On our arrival he advanced towards us, and humbly kissed the captain’s hand, while other men of his tribe, in order to do honor to our visit, discharged their guns almost under our horses’ noses. But men and beasts were case-hardened, and there was not the slightest movement in our ranks.
Ben-Amara conducted us into his tent, where each sat down at his ease on a large carpet.
Our arrival caused a sensation in the tribe, for while we were smoking and drinking coffee a large number of Arabs, impelled by curiosity, ranged themselves in a circle round us, and in their immobility resembled an avenue of bronze statues.
We devoted about an hour to the pleasures of conversation, waiting for the diffa (meal), which we were impatiently desiring. We even began to find the time very long, when we saw a procession approaching, with banners at its head.
These banners puzzled me, and seemed very strange, for they were folded up. All at once the ranks of our peaceable spectators opened, and my surprise was great on finding what I took for banners were only sheep roasted whole and spitted on long poles.
Two of these sheep-bearers marched in front. They were followed by some twenty men, ranged in line, each of whom bore one of the dishes intended to compose our diffa.
These consisted of ragoûts and roasts of every description, the inevitable “couscoussou,” and, lastly, a dozen dishes of dessert, the handiwork of Ben-Amara’s wives.
This perambulating dinner was a delicious sight, especially for people whose appetites had been singularly sharpened by the fresh air and the emotions produced by the fantasia.
The head cook marched in front, and, like M. Malbroug’s officer, carried nothing; but, so soon as he joined us, he set to work actively. Seizing one of the sheep, he unspitted it, and laid it before us on a lordly dish.