Chapter IX: Over Aglat Merteba to the Matmata Mountains

Over a slightly undulating plain with mountains on either side, we rode for some distance in the intense heat. On the way we met a Spahi from the Bureau at Gabés, followed by a boy. Hamed was pleased to see a comrade, and lingered to talk to him. It appeared that the Spahi should by rights have been at his post near Aglat Merteba, where we were to stay the night, but our friend the Khalifa of El Hamma had sent him no provisions for three days, and, driven by hunger, he had been compelled at last to desert his post to seek food. He was then on his way to El Hamma to meet his officers, who, he knew, were to be there.

On account of the cholera, which, though then decreasing, had recently raged in the south, especially in the oasis near the shott, in Nafta, and in the yet more northerly Gofsa, a cordon of Spahis had been established to prevent communication between not only the infected and the healthy regions of Tunisia itself, but also with the frontier of Tripoli. Meanwhile cholera broke out amongst the Spahis, who were then mostly recalled; but on the particularly menacing roads to the oases on the coast, some posts had been left, especially near the wells, to prevent wayfarers from the stricken districts from penetrating farther.

The plain extended on every side. The mountain to our left rose higher, that to the right retreated in a westerly direction. But far away to the south we could perceive the blue outlines of the Matmata mountains. We passed a dead camel, picked clean by the jackals, and paced quickly along the track, over stony ground, or on the dry golden-brown plain, where there was no vegetation worthy the name.

It was just sunset when we saw before us, in a hollow by a river bed, two small dark peaks. These were empty tents belonging to the Khalifa, and under which the Spahis and herdsmen had lately been encamped.

Now there was not a living soul to be seen. The tattered canvas of the empty tents was supported by weak poles and pegs. Broken pottery, esparto straw, and refuse were scattered untidily about. We drew water out of the paved well in the only water-skin we had. From this both ourselves and our horses drank, for there was no water-trough, and we had brought neither bottles nor pitchers, expecting to find the camp occupied.

A small caravan of some half-score camels came by, travelling northwards. The drivers fetched a little water, whilst their beasts continued on their way.

We secured our horses to pegs, each by the off foreleg, and gave them a little alfa straw, as there was no barley, and it would be late ere the guide, who was to bring some, could arrive. Then we spread our rugs in the open air between the tents, and prepared to enjoy our evening meal of dried meat and bread. After it was over I lit a cigarette, and lay down, whilst Hamed slumbered. The moon was rising, and I listened to the horses grazing and a cricket chirping. Thus a long time passed. Once a bird flew over the hollow, otherwise no sound broke the stillness of the night. It turned very cold, so I put on, besides my burnous, the haik I brought as a gift to the bridegroom, and, wrapping myself up, lay down in one of the tents, which, though open at the side, protected me from the rays of the moon, for, in the south, sleeping in the moonlight causes illness—so say the Arabs at least.

I had dozed an hour, when I was roused by the neighing of our horses. I looked out, but there was nothing to be seen. Hamed also rose, but could not discover anything. So we lay down again, using our saddles as pillows, but soon heard footsteps, and a voice speaking. It was the guide, who had trudged all the way, carrying a little barley for our horses. When we had fed them we gave the guide some bread, as he had only dates with him, and then tried to sleep again. We were disturbed once more by the Spahi returning from El Hamma. From him I learnt that he had complained to the officers, who had reprimanded the Khalifa—the mild, amiable Khalifa.

Before daybreak Hamed and I were in our saddles, and pacing along in the wake of our guide, who, closely wrapped in his burnous, led the way with long strides.

At dawn we passed a mound that was completely covered with stones, and somewhat later we came upon other knolls, shaped like tumuli, and also covered with stones.

“Those,” said Hamed, “are ruins from the time of the Romans.”

On the plains we saw herdsmen driving their cattle. In one spot, lines in the form of a large square had been scratched with a stick on the hard surface of the earth. These are drawn by the herdsmen about their cattle, when they collect them for the night, that jackals or other wild animals may not venture to attack them—at least, this was Hamed’s explanation.

As the distance from the mountains to the south and south-east decreased, we passed various tracks leading to several dry torrent beds; these were the paths from Gabés to the mountains. Far away to the south appeared a faint blue line at the base of which I knew were the villages of Tujud, Zaraua, and Tamezred.

At seven o’clock it began to grow hot. Our guide threw his burnous over his shoulder, and, placing his staff at the back of his neck, grasped the two ends with outstretched arms. Thus he stepped briskly forward over the uneven stony ground, or on the flat hard clay surface, that was riddled with holes by the jerboas.

In the quivering sunshine we saw herds of sheep and goats grazing in charge of a guardian.

After again crossing a couple of dry watercourses we reached once more the vicinity of the mountains. Before us lay a valley, in the distance were palms and olives, and far away at the highest part of the valley a single upright palm. This the guide indicated, saying it was our destination; as Hadeij, the end of our journey, and where we were expected for the wedding feast, was not far thence.

I now dismissed the guide, who said he would return in a direct line across country to El Hamma. His white figure was soon left far behind us, as we rode down the valley with the mountains on either side. To our right I was told there was a little cave village. I did not distinguish it, but we passed the palm and olive trees belonging to the inhabitants.

On the slope of the hill farther on, still to our right, lay the village of Judlig—that of many women.

At last we came to a torrent racing into a broad valley, and knew that we were nearing Hadeij. The bottom of the valley was uneven and furrowed, and scattered with palms with fan-shaped crowns.