Races, indeed, have lived––aye, for centuries––in a state of community of ideas and sentiments such as I have described in the Isle of Gozo. Perhaps, but only perhaps, the Roman Church of the Middle Ages wished to establish among the nations of Catholic Europe such a state of equality and uniformity of spirit. Hence, no doubt, the reason why she took under her guardianship all the social relations, all the force and manifestations of this life––in 92 fine, man himself, moral and physical man. I will not deny, nor will any one else, that much peaceful happiness, much piety has been established by these means; that human existence in the Middle Ages took an expression of greater fervour and intimacy; that the arts, like flowers, mysteriously developed, unfolded then, and showed to the day a beauty we now admire and deplore, and that the rash and unquiet spirit of modern days cannot imitate. But mind has its rights from all eternity; mind will not be fettered by dogmas, or lulled to sleep by the ringing of a bell; mind has cast aside his swaddling-clothes, and broken the string by which his nurse (the Roman Church) held him, and, in the madness and intoxication of his holiday, has rounded the globe, has traversed all nations, has scaled the Himalayas, and, returning again to Mother Earth, has begun to meditate over the wonders of creation by day, and the stars of heaven by night. We know not, indeed, nor ever shall, perhaps, the number of the stars that shine in the canopy of heaven; we have not yet unveiled the dread mysteries of earth or of sea. Enough: many enigmas are resolved; we know much––we guess at still more. There remains one question unsolved––it is this: Is there more real felicity in our minds now than there was in ancient times? I will confess that if we look at the many, now-a-days, we could scarcely answer this question in the affirmative; yet, it must also be remembered that happiness, which is in part due 93 to mental tyranny, is scarcely true happiness, and that in the few moments of real intellectual dignity some educated man can enjoy more real felicity than the uneducated coal-heaver during many years of uninquiring tranquillity.
But while, with a certain benevolence, I was dilating on the intentions of the Roman Church, I find myself all of a sudden seized with a zeal worthy of Exeter Hall. So I return to my Gozo friends. Living among these simple, Christian islanders, of Moorish descent, one is apt to meditate on the mighty transformations which have swept over Europe and left them untouched.
The reason I recommend the route viâ Malta and Tunis, instead of passing by Algiers, as I did, is the miserable accommodation on board the steamers between Tunis and Algiers. The passengers on these boats are chiefly bagmen and colonists of different nations. We had a Savoyard, a Spaniard, and two or three Frenchmen and Italians at one table; and the noise, and row, and heat after dinner were very edifying. Bottles were quickly emptied, and heads as quickly filled. One of the guests sung songs; another neighed; a third shouted in tragic verse; a fourth spoke Latin; and a fifth preached temperance; a sixth gave himself out for a professor, and his lecture was nearly as follows:––“The earth, my friends, is a cylinder, and men are but little diminutive dots spread over its surface, apparently at hazard; but voilà, the cylinder takes a fancy to turn, the little 94 dots are hustled about, some here, others there, and so emit a sort of vibratory sound, some frequently, others more rarely; and this is the marvellous, complicated music that men call universal history,” &c. &c. A fat-looking German, who kept his nose continually dipped in a glass of punch, inhaling the steam with a very gratified look, observed that he felt as though he was in the refreshment saloon of the Berlin theatre; while the Savoyard kept looking at us through his glass, as though it were a lorgnette, and the red wine streamed down his purple cheeks into his gaping jaws.
And now to proceed to matters of sport. With regard to small game, partridges, ducks, quails, rabbits, &c., there is abundance to be found in Algeria. Near Algiers there is hawking of partridges and hares among the Arab tribes; and, before the French occupation, falconry was the especial amusement of the Arab aristocracy. For shooting of small game I would more especially recommend a caravanserai called Oued el Massin, about half way between Milianah and Teniet. Partridges and woodcock abound there; the quarters, moreover, are remarkably good, and the cuisine, superintended by my friend, Mr. Ball, is by no means despicable. From Oued el Massin, a day’s journey beyond Milianah, I am convinced excellent shooting may be obtained with a couple of good pointers. Quails are also very numerous. Aquatic birds abound in Algeria, more especially on 95 the lake Fetzara, near Bona, in the province of Constantine. Nothing is more beautiful than the lake Fetzara at sunrise; on its banks are a thousand plants and flowers of every colour and hue, and on its waters repose birds of every description and plumage. As yet it is dusk; everything animal and vegetable is in repose; but with the first ray of the sun come sounds and cries of every imaginable description, and thousands, aye, myriads, of birds are everywhere on the wing. In the impetuosity of their flight, they shake, as it were, the plants and flowers on the border of the lake, who thus pay their morning salute to the sun of Africa. A small barque, however, advances (vide picture), and from this frail skiff suddenly appears the flash of a gun. In a moment the whole air is in motion; grebes with their beautiful plumage, flamingoes with flaming wings, wild swans, and ducks, and teals, by thousands whirl through the air.
Is it really to be believed that Nature has affixed (so to speak) some danger to everything charming? One is almost tempted to say so, after examining the enchanting borders of this lake, whose azure waters flow from the mountainous frontier of Tunisia to the opulent plains of Bona. You botanists, who are attracted by the singular colour or strange beauty of some plant or flower here, beware how you approach. Under this magnificent vegetation a trap––a mortal trap––is laid: the banks are of quick-sand! One step, and you meet death––a horrible death. The earth gives way, and 96 you disappear without a trace, for those delicious flowers and plants close up their ranks again, like immortelles over your sepulchre. Listen:––A French cavalry officer came from Bona to shoot flamingoes on this lake. He was accompanied by his servant, also on horseback. He shot a flamingo, who tumbled just on the border of the lake, and dispatched his servant to fetch the bird. At three or four yards from the bird, the soldier disappeared with his horse; and some Arabs, coming up, at the cries of the officer (for the Mussulman believes that the genius of the lake, propitious to Mahometans, devours the profane European), with difficulty saved his servant. As soon as the soldier was out of danger, he cried out, with all the gasconade of a Frenchman, “Je ne laisserai pas là ce maudit oiseau, cause de ma mésaventure!” In spite of the energetic dissuasions of the natives, whom, by the way, he could not understand, he advanced on foot; but the earth opened again––he disappeared. One moment his head remained above this liquid ground, one moment he cried for aid, and the abyss had swallowed its prey. However, at certain points, this lake is quite approachable; and, there being several barques, excellent sport may be had. I would, however, recommend sportsmen to procure a letter of introduction to some neighbouring grandee. There is an excellent caravanserai close by, at Ain Mokra. For gazelles one must go quite into the interior of the desert––to Boussada and Laghouat––in the great 97 Sahara desert. Ghazella is, in the Arab language, the synonym for beauty and velocity.
Those persons who really desire sport, however, I would recommend to travel from Algiers to Tunisia by land, and, if possible, let them pass by Kef, which is the frontier town. In the vicinity of this town there are, no doubt, plenty of lions; and my friend (who visited it with Dr. Davies, the celebrated explorer and excavator at Carthage) heard of several there, though his stay was so short that he did not succeed in bagging one. For lion-hunting, as for many other things, “il faut bien de la patience.” Thus it very frequently happens that a man may search without success for months and months for the whereabouts of a lion, and then, suddenly, when your hunter is least prepared for it, and perhaps unarmed, the monarch of the desert will present himself to his astonished gaze. Notwithstanding the formidable character attributed to the lion, he will rarely attack any man unless previously molested. There are three sorts of lions in North Africa––the black, the tawny, and the grey, though the latter is by some supposed to be the same genus as the tawny, only grizzled by age. There are two ways of hunting the lion, by day and by night. That by day is by battue, when a whole tribe turns out to “beard the lion in his den” and make him break cover. Those who are well armed are posted at the outlets of the cover or beaten tracks by which the lion generally passes; any Europeans who assist are usually 98 so stationed; they, however, need have but little fear, for the monarch almost always attacks the tawny native by preference. Is it from sympathy of colour, similia similibus gaudent, or from a sort of instinct that the European is better armed, or because he supposes the Arab will make a better repast? The other way of killing the lion is in ambuscade, of which there are two or three kinds. Sometimes the hunters dig a hole in the ground near the spot where the lion is in the habit of passing by night; over this hole they throw branches of trees, which they cover with stones and mortar; they then place some bait near, which can be commanded through holes made in the covering, and when the lion approaches to examine the carcase, he is immediately brought down. Another way of shooting is from a tree. My friend, Count Zamoyski, who has a residence at the Lake Fetzara, shot several in this way. I will, however, refer the reader to Jules Gérard’s book for a description of this kind of sport. I did not stay long enough in North Africa to be able to judge of it myself. What I recount now with regard to lion hunting is from hearsay, not from personal experience.
The panther is a more dangerous animal than the lion, and much more cunning. Like his relative, the cat, he is very difficult to kill, and it must be a well-directed ball through the head or heart that will prevent him from avenging his wound. For the rest, he is hunted much as the lion. I will not mention 99 the jackal and hyena, both of which animals can be shot after dusk from the tent or hut, by throwing out some carcase or bait before sunset to attract them. Let us pass to that animal which, in my opinion, of all creatures presents by far the best sport on the coast of Barbary––I mean, of course, the wild boar, or halouf, as he is called in the Arabic language.
I had long had a desire to hunt the halouf. On my arrival at the Caid’s house at Solyman (about twenty miles from Tunis), an old Arab named Mahmoud was sent for, who was reported to be, like Nimrod, a mighty hunter before the Lord and before the tribes.
The next day we started before sunrise to the river, where the boar was supposed to be.
En route I questioned my Arab by interpreter. “The halouf,” he replied, “when wounded, is as dangerous as the lion. I have,” he continued, “myself seen a boar repulse the attack of a young lion.”