The flat below is a mine of antiquities. Old Carthage port, now the quarantine, is much like a natural dock, the entrance silted up. Indeed, it is a beautiful panorama. The museum begins with Italian art, with Bible subjects on one side. On the opposite wall—Pagan subjects—there is a fine collection. Three skeletons are disposed as if in the tomb, and six or seven pots at the head—fatuæ on the right side—and pots at feet sometimes. There are Pagan and Christian mosaics. All the land belongs to the Cardinal, who was the Pope of Carthage. No foreigner could excavate anywhere. There is a huge convent. The monks are all in white, with a big rosary and fez, and are called "Les Pères blancs de la Mission Africaine." There is a convent of Carmelite nuns close by. Carthage runs all along Tania, where mosaics are found. The old sea-walls of the port are behind the present Goletta.
The Fathers were delightful, and showed us everything. The Cardinal, who we were dying to see, was absent. The Cathedral will be very nice when it has toned down; it was at present too gaudy.
There is a big stone near Tunis, very long and slanting; ladies who wish to be pregnant slide down it, so it is worn quite smooth. We made as many excursions into the interior as it was possible, considering the state of Richard's health, but the most difficult thing was how to get from Tunis to Algiers, which, considering the accommodation, was a frightful dilemma. The little coast-steamers are wretched; the weather was very cold, the sea was exceedingly rough, and the possibility of landing, when you do arrive at a port, is always extremely uncertain, on account of the heavy rollers. Hence, should the heavy sea have affected Richard's head by the shaking, we should have had no redress. There was no possible stopping-place for any one by train, who from health motives ought not to rough it. There is, indeed, Souk el Arba, after six hours' train, where there is a tramps' hut (but nothing to eat), at about half-past ten in the day—twenty-four hours to wait for next day's train. There is Ghardimau at 11.45 (the frontier where they visit baggage). There is Souk-Ahras at 2.13, where the country becomes wild and bold. People in health may stop here for the next day's train, but we determined that none of this would do, especially as the carriages are made for hardy Arabs, and not for luxury.
Now, through the immense kindness of the railway director, M. Kœly, I was fortunate enough to secure a saloon, with two benches mattressed and cushioned, where, with railway rugs, four could lie feet to feet, a small but clean toilette, and a curtained terrace, where we put all our little baggage, and Africano, our good dragoman. We left our hotel, and conveyed Richard to the train at 8.30 p.m. overnight, and established ourselves on board our train, because it started at 5.15 in the morning (and a cold January morning), and our hot coffee was brought to us inside by the kindness of the same director. We had all our meals in the train, as we were provided with an ample basket of food, drink, smoke, and books. Richard enjoyed the terrace and watching the country; the air was most exhilarating, and he felt quite well. We should not perhaps have thought so much of the scenery in Austria, but still it was very beautiful. Then it must be remembered that Tunis has only had the advantage, or disadvantage, of eight years of civilization. The difficulties of engineering must have been great, but the train was very well driven, prudently on bad places, and always true to time.
At Duvivier we were shunted from the Bona to the Kroubs train. It began to get dark. We dined on board, and had a bottle of champagne we had brought with us, and got fearfully tired about eight o'clock in the evening, and lay down. At 8.20 we were shifted from the Kroubs train to the Constantine train, where we arrived at 12.15 in the night, having been out twenty-eight hours and running nineteen; but Richard was the strongest of us all, and none the worse. We drove to the Hôtel du Louvre, and were glad to tumble into bed. We would willingly have stayed here a long time; the hotel was not so bad as its entrance makes you think. It was the healthiest and the most interesting town we had seen. We had to celebrate here our twenty-ninth, and, alas! our last, wedding-day. We passed it in inspecting our surroundings. It is of a peculiar gorgy character, and must have been impregnable in old days. The Devil's Bridge and hot springs are most picturesque. The Arab tents are made of straw, thatch, and dirty rags, and look as if all the rubbish of the world were heaped upon them. The Arabs in this part of the world are big, magnificent-looking men, who make everybody else look small, with white burnous, and have beautiful white teeth. The French very sensibly swagger about, and the troops make a great fanfare of trumpets. The people here are cruel to their donkeys, who seem born to carry loads of stone upon their backs.
The difficulty now was how to get on from Constantine, which was only halfway to Algiers; for though I did all my best, there were races going on at Biskrah. There was but one saloon, and it was taking the directors down; so as we could only go by the common train, we knew that Richard could not bear anything but a short journey, which would be at first about an eight hours' run to Sétif. The country was a large continuous undulation, and although quite flat in appearance, we rose gradually from 2000 to 3500 feet above sea-level, with distant mountains. There were plenty of Bedawi tents and flocks, and two or three buildings shortly after leaving Constantine that looked like a palace in a plain, on a little eminence bare of trees or garden, and two square, large, ugly houses. The Spahis are very picturesque with their many-coloured garments and red cloaks, and have, as well as the Kabyles, beautiful teeth. At Sétif we found the Hôtel de la France comfortable, with fair food. The town is not much to look at, the usual undulating country with good soil, and we passed an agreeable day, chiefly in the market, which was full of picturesque Berbers, who had also some curious things to buy.
The next day (after forty-eight hours' rest) we did another six hours to Bouira, which is a very picturesque part of the country, especially going through the Gates or Gorges. The little Hôtel de la Poste is no better than a small public-house, but the food was fit for Paris; we always said that that cook must have committed some crime, to go and hide himself in such an awful hole as that. The next day we had a very pleasant journey of eight hours to Algiers. The entry at night reminded us so much of Trieste. From the station to the Hôtel St. George's, Mustafa Supérieure, was an immense long way, but delightful when one got there.