One of my husband’s great amusements in this out-of-the-way garrison was to construct a hiding-place, in front of which he fixed the carcass of some dead animal, and there, gun in hand, to await the wild beasts such as hyenas, jackals, lynxes, and golden foxes, who scented from afar the goodly supper awaiting them. On these occasions they generally found too much pepper, and often suffered from a mortal indigestion. I sometimes accompanied my husband on such expeditions, and greatly enjoyed crouching silently in some hidden corner, listening to the wailing of an approaching hyena, or the querulous squabbling and howling of the shrieking jackals. And then, when the dry sticks cracked and the dead leaves rustled quite close to me under their stealthy pads, my heart would leap into my mouth for fear they should mistake me for their supper. One night whilst thus listening to some approaching creature my husband, crouching about twenty yards from me, suddenly rose up and called out in Arabic, “Who goes there?” I looked round just in time to see an Arab huntsman lowering his gun, which was pointed full at me. He thought I was a hyena!
During the winter, when the snow lay thick on the ground, I preferred staying at home to keep up a huge fire and fabricate hot drinks in readiness for the frozen huntsman’s return; it seemed to me more a wife’s duty!
Another short incident of my life in Teniet-el-Haad may not be uninteresting. My husband had gone to the manœuvres with his Spahis, and our bordj was only guarded by about thirty “Tirailleurs Algerians.” Then, one day, a terrific storm burst over the land. The air was so thick with fine sand that I could not distinguish the trees before my windows, and the sun hung in the sky like a lurid orange ball, seemingly about to drop. The heat was stifling; one gasped for breath, and, although every door and window was hermetically closed, the rooms were full of sand.
Presently a terrible clamour arose from the village—shouts, cries, screams, gun-shots. Then from the bordj courtyard I heard sharp orders given, the clanking of weapons, and finally the sound of a body of infantry running. The wind howled and shrieked, the sand-storm grew denser and denser, and still the clamour continued in the village. I sat in the drawing-room with my little ones around me, wondering if it were a serious revolt, and what would happen to us if it were. For the district of Teniet-el-Haad was a large one, containing thirty thousand Arabs, and we were far from any important garrison, while our protectors, all Arab, consisted of thirty “tirailleurs,” and ten Spahis belonging to the “Commune Mixte.” Pensively I placed my revolver close to my hand, and waited anxiously.
After a few hours the sirocco cleared somewhat, the noise ceased, and the tirailleurs returned. The whole affair, they told me, had been got up by the mountain Arabs against the Jews, who had been “doing” them. So the Arabs had taken the law into their own hands and administered justice by repaying themselves a hundred-fold and making off with their booty up the mountains, well hidden by the sand-storm. In the scuffle a boy and two men were killed, all Jews—so it did not matter, so the folks said.
My husband was second captain at Teniet-el-Haad, having given up his rank as first captain in the Hussars in order to facilitate his return to a regiment. He was therefore the oldest in grade in the 1st Spahis, and the earliest vacancy as first captain fell to him. We had been at Teniet about ten months when he received orders to take command of the Laghouat squadron. It was the beginning of February; snow lay thick and deep on the ground up in this high altitude, and the great question arose how we were to get to Laghouat. Should we take the short cut by carriage across the mountains to Boghar, where the regimental brake would meet us and take us on, or go down to Affreville by the rickety diligence, train to Medeah, and continue by carriage?
Going by train was a difficulty and an extra expense on account of our dogs. We had four—three fox-terriers and a shooting dog. I do not know what he called himself, but he had a double-barrelled nose and an over-frank and exuberant nature. He and Charleston, the old fox, could not bear each other. It was quite impossible to put them together in the dog-box, and to pack them separately would have cost as much as four times as many children. So, in consideration of their feelings and our purse, we decided—oh, irony!—to take the short cut if the snow and slush would allow of a carriage travelling along the narrow mountain tracks.
We consulted the different French and native authorities, and finally decided, if the snow and slush would allow, to take the short cut over the mountains. We started off one fine morning at five, in a small brake lent by a Caid, who also promised to send us four strong mules to an inn some twenty miles off. The first twenty miles were soon done, and at half-past seven we were enjoying some good hot coffee, whilst our Spahi was unharnessing his team and making inquiries as to the whereabouts of the new relay and coachman. Ten minutes after he appeared, with a very concerned face. “Mon capitaine, Sidi Belgacun has sent two mules no bigger than donkeys, and the boy who drives them is a mere baby!”
This sounded cheerful, and with one accord we went out to inspect. The Spahi’s account was unfortunately but slightly exaggerated, and we stood staring at our tiny steeds with dismay. We had still fifty kilometres before us, and the roads for at least twenty-five were nothing but cross-country paths. Should we turn back, or try to find other horses and go on? I voted emphatically for going on. Aided by the Spahi, my husband finally unearthed a man and two horses, and at eight o’clock we set off once more.
Everything again went well for ten kilometres; then our misfortunes really began. When going up a hill the ground grew soft and the wheels of the brake sank in.