I had invited the Vice-Consul to dine with me, and I scraped up an acquaintance with the landlady in order to secure her interest on the side of a good dinner. I knew the dinner would be the reverse of good; I knew that in such a place it must be detestably, execrably bad, but I was in hopes that there might be a little good wine in the house. Well, there was wine—champagne at fifteen and Bordeaux at ten francs a bottle. I hoped that my guest, if he could not eat the food, would at least be able to drink. Then, having done my best in preparation for dinner, I went for a walk—or rather a ride—to the outskirts of the town. It was then that I discovered that the Arabs were somewhat closer to the walls than I had anticipated. Nothing but an ignominious flight sufficed to save me from a fate which would have prevented any pages of this diary ever seeing the light of day. My little adventure satisfied me upon one point, and that was as to the thorough untrustworthiness of my new domestic. As soon as he saw me approaching danger, he simply turned and fled without a word of warning, leaving me to face the consequences for myself. And very unpleasant those consequences might have been! However, I got back safely into the town, and once more went to see Mr. Gallia. He took me for a walk through the streets into the little bazaar—a very bad copy of that of Tunis, though arranged upon the same plan, with the slipper-makers in one street, the perfumers in another, the vendors of linen in a third, &c. A curious crowd of Arabs followed us, and watched all my proceedings with the liveliest interest.
Then we strolled down to the beach and to the office of the harbour-master, where we sat drinking the hottest of coffee, and looking out upon the beautiful bay, so tranquil and lovely in the light of the setting sun. Suddenly the clouds overcast the sky, and the dust began to rise in volumes so dense as to make it almost impossible to breathe. Then, almost in an instant, the temperature fell many degrees, the rain began to fall in heavy drops, and a cold wind blew round us. We hastened back to the miserable shelter of my hotel; stumbling along the streets where the patient camels were sheltering themselves against the walls, and their drivers with their robes wrapped about their faces were endeavouring to screen themselves from the blinding dust. As we strode onward, no very lively feelings animating my breast, I heard a well-known voice behind me, and looked round. It was Afrigan! The faithful fellow had ascertained that his steamer would not start that night, and although I had now set him at liberty, he had returned from the comfortable vessel to share the miseries of a sojourn in Susa with me. With his aid my bedroom at the “Grand Hotel” was made at least a little cleaner than when I took possession of it.
In due time the dinner-hour arrived, and with it my guest. The dinner was even worse than I had anticipated; and I made haste to draw Mr. Gallia’s attention to the wine, hoping thus to divert it from the viands. Alas! he assured me that he had been a teetotaler from his birth. “And have you then no vices?” I asked. “Ah, yes; I have two very serious ones. I drink too much coffee, and that you know is thought quite as bad here as drinking too much wine; and I am always smoking cigars—when I can get them.” The latter statement was reassuring. I had just secured, before leaving the Ville de Naples, a packet of five-and-twenty Algerian cigars. I hastily drew them from my pocket, and almost before the keenest pangs of hunger had been satisfied, we pushed away our plates and began to smoke. I am afraid to say how many of those cigars were left when, after a most interesting talk respecting affairs in Tunis, my friend left me shortly before midnight.
CHAPTER X.
A GALE OFF CAPE BON.
A night of misery — No chance of seeing Kairwan — The Great Mosque of Susa — The Vice-Consul’s house — An English captive in Susa — Arab revolvers — Old friends — On board the Ville de Naples — A disturbed meal — Running for shelter — Rounding Cape Bon — Glasgow for ever!
November 3rd.—I have passed some miserable nights in the course of my life, but not many to be compared in absolute wretchedness with that which it was my lot to spend under the roof of the French hotel of Susa. Perhaps some of those nights that I passed some years ago in the detestable gasthof of the detestable town of Mohacs, Lower Hungary, may have been as bad as this; but distance lends enchantment to the view, and from my quarters at Susa I looked with longing eyes even towards the mud huts on the swampy banks of the Danube, where I had once sojourned in wretchedness. It was bitterly cold, so that as I lay upon a bed of shavings, wrapped closely in my camel’s hair burnous, I was chilled to the very marrow. The wind was howling round the corners of the house, and shrieking across the great open roof of the adjoining mosque, and the rain was beating heavily upon the window. As I lay there and thought of the six or seven nights I must spend in the open, with no better shelter than my cloak, whilst I made the journey to Kairwan, I confess that I did not feel in a particularly cheerful frame of mind. But far worse than wind or rain or gloomy thoughts was the Egyptian plague which tormented me within the walls of my chamber. Mosquitoes boomed about my devoted head all night long; and from the bag of shavings on which I lay came forth an army of creeping things to prey upon my flesh. How I longed for morning! When at last it came I rose quite unrefreshed, and performed my ablutions as well as I was able in the small basin of water which I had managed to secure on the previous evening. The room, I need hardly say, was innocent of such an article as a looking-glass; so that my toilette was completed under difficulties. There were two windows to the apartment, and both were heavily barred by means of that curiously curved grating which is one of the distinguishing features of Tunisian houses. From one of them, however, I was able to obtain a good view of the Great Mosque of Susa.
This building is of immense dimensions, and bears distinct traces of its Roman origin. Occupying a site in the heart of the town, its high walls, enclosing it in the form of an octagon, are the most marked architectural feature of the place. No Christian has, of course, ever been allowed to enter it; but by craning my neck from my bedroom window I was able to see probably as much of its interior as was ever beheld by infidel eyes. There was a great courtyard surrounded by a colonnade, the roof of which was supported by many graceful columns. In the centre of this courtyard there was a fountain, round which trees were growing. The mosque itself has not a domed roof such as is common among the mosques of Turkey; but a flat roof, from which rises a rectangular tower. The vast dimensions of the building, its curious architecture, and the mystery which attends its origin, make it a structure of great interest to the traveller, and I was unfeignedly sorry that I could not gather further information respecting it.
Afrigan made his appearance even whilst I was studying the mosque. His face bore a strange resemblance to a plum-pudding. “Oh, sir, the mosquitoes were awful all night,” said he, in lugubrious tones. “Better come on to Kairwan with me, then?” I responded blithely. “Well, you see, sir, my wife—” “Oh, but your wife is a long way off now; so what does it matter what she thinks?” said I, adroitly turning the tables upon him. Afrigan smiled as well as he was able with his swollen face, and he shook his head mournfully. Almost at the same moment there was a knock at the door, and my second domestic, the Maltese gentleman, entered. He was laden with some huge lumps of cheese, with half a dozen loaves, and with a ponderous lantern. Having added these to the store of provisions already accumulated, he proceeded to inform me, with great coolness, that we should not be starting for Kairwan that day. “What do you mean?” I asked, in amazement. “Well, honourable gentleman, the French Colonel says the convoy won’t go to-day, and he cannot tell when one will start.” This was pleasant news. I rushed forth breakfastless in search of Mr. Gallia. He confirmed the intelligence. Whether the Colonel had no wish to be burdened by the presence of an Englishman of an inquiring turn of mind, whether some good-natured friend had quietly put a spoke in my wheel, or whether the case was really as stated, I cannot pretend to say. What is certain is that I was solemnly told that I could not leave Susa that day, and that nothing could be said as to when I could leave. A convoy, it was true, was starting that morning. The Colonel could hardly deny this, inasmuch as I could see for myself some hundreds of laden camels, defiling through the narrow streets for the rendezvous at the Kairwan Gate; but it was only going as far as Wad Loya, the first station on the road, and I could not be allowed to go with it.