By-and-by, we came to a little roadside caravansary, and every one got out, the handsome, nonchalant Arabs and their “murdered man,” among the rest. The poor curé looked very ill still, and had a gentlemanly, but shabby, appearance. The Bach-Agha’s son was dressed in purple and fine raiment, and looked a king—till you saw his face closely—when he looked a very Mephistopheles. It was an indescribably cruel, clever, sensual face,—a face from which you turned with repugnance.
After passing through some very lovely tamarisk-groves, amid which wound a broad, bright river, a branch of the Chelif, we entered upon the vast monotonous plain of the Habra. These African plains are only varied here and there by shifting bands of road-makers, military posts, and by little French colonies or Arab douars; and when you commence your journey, you feel as if it would never end. You cross horizon after horizon. You see a white speck in the distance and say, “That must be our halting-place;” but, when you arrive, it is a military post and nothing more—the dogs rush out barking and yelling, French Zouaves, who stand basking in the sun, come up to ask for newspapers and letters; and the Spahis look at us whilst they smoke their paper cigarettes, and show their white teeth as they say “Bon jour.” Then, after getting a glass of water or wine, the diligence moves slowly off, and we leave behind the glistening white post, the red-cloaked, brown-skinned Spahis, and the pack of dogs.
How hot it is! When we alight and walk a little way, ankle-deep in alpha grass and wild thyme, the leaves seem warm and dry as if the soil below were burning away with volcanic fire. We shall be sunburnt to the complexion of Moors before our journey is done, we say, and when inside the diligence, and pin up shawls and cloaks to keep out the wind that is as warm now as it was cold when we started. The plains have each a climate of their own, and travellers should always plan their journeys—as we did—to avoid crossing them at early morning or at night, when a terrible miasma arises from the soil and is never harmless, often as dangerous as poison.
Mostaganem is a lively little place, and on account of the assizes was full of strangers. Greatly to our amusement we encountered our stout compagnon du voyage on the evening of our arrival, as shrunk from his natural size as a rabbit after skinning. What strange metamorphose had changed him in so short a space from the size of a Falstaff to a lean and hungry-looking Cassius? It was very perplexing, but on a sudden it flashed on us like a revelation, that as all his luggage had consisted of a hat-box, and as he had doffed a thick grey travelling dress and donned a suit of shining black cloth, he must have carried his wardrobe on his back. It was very simple.
At Mostaganem I made the acquaintance of a countrywoman, the wife of a French gentleman holding a responsible official post there. Every one in Oran is sure to be an official if he is not in the army; and it is curious to see how the difference of calling modifies the political and social opinions. I never talked with a French officer who was not entirely opposed to the assimilation of races and incredulous of Arab civilization, nor with an official who was not equally enthusiastic about both. A prêfet, a sous-prêfet, a maire, or any other of the dozen gentlemen who administer justice and keep order in these French-African towns, is pretty sure to speak hopefully and humanely of the Arabs: a colonel or a commandant uses much the same tone about them as our officers up-country do regarding the Sepoys and Seedy-boys.
My countrywoman spoke of the Arabs with great sympathy.
“My heart bleeds for the poor people,” she said: “think of what they have suffered during the past year! They had planted their little bits of cornfields, and the corn was shooting up in abundance, when the locusts came in billions and trillions, and corn, potatoes, rye, everything was destroyed. They starve, or else they steal and fill our prisons and reformatories. People say, let them starve or work, but you cannot change the habits of a people in a day.
“Most of these poor things under trial now are Bedouins, as ignorant as savages from Timbuctoo. My husband told me yesterday of a poor little boy condemned to five years’ imprisonment for having stolen a turkey! Do you suppose, Madame, that that boy will come out of his prison a better French subject than he went in? I have lived for years among the Arabs—in Constantine, in Algeria, in Oran—I have studied Arabic on purpose to hold intercourse with them and to be able to sympathize with and understand my husband’s calling, and I have come to this conclusion—Madame, it is only by assimilation that the Arab is to be improved. There was a great outcry among the colonists after the Emperor had visited Africa in 1865, because he was said to show partiality to the Arab; but, good heavens, what a different position does the honest colon hold to the richest indigène? The colon is a Frenchman, and therefore a noble being; the indigène is an Arab, and what isn’t good enough for an Arab? For my part, I think the Emperor was wise in taking that tone. I think the colonists have much to suffer, but the Arabs incontestably more, and if the Emperor did not take their part, who would?”
We rested two nights at Mostaganem, and the blessed rain kept falling all the time, though no sooner were we on our way again, than the sun came out and all was bright and warm.
Our next halting place was Relizane. We reached Relizane in six hours’ easy travelling through a monotonous country, part wild, part cultivated, with flocks of cranes feeding on the pastures, vultures and eagles flying overhead, coveys of partridges whirring from the brushwood, and hares scuttling across the road as we passed along. Whenever we passed an Arab village, a crowd of half, or wholly naked children ran down and followed us, calling out for coppers. They would run incredible distances thus, and when a coin was thrown out, there would be a diving of little black polls in the grass, a momentary scramble, then all was ready to start afresh. Those who are fortunate enough to get the money, put it in their mouths—having no clothes they could clearly have no pockets—and, if not as comfortable, it was certainly a safe and convenient mode of carrying their spoils.