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.

Thus once more my hopes of seeing Kairwan vanished, and on this occasion finally. My leave of absence was drawing to an end, and I could not hang on for an indefinite period at Susa. If I were not permitted to start at once, I must give up all hope of going at all. To this painful conclusion I was presently brought. So, after all, the tinned meats, the pickles, the cheese, the bread, the candles, had all to be returned to their vendor. Never in my life had I a harder task than that of inducing this gentleman to take back his corned beef and sardines. After a struggle, which lasted nearly an hour, he finally, as a great favour, consented to do so at a reduction of fifty per cent. upon the price I had paid him for the same things the day before. It was almost as difficult to get rid of my Maltese friend of the villainous countenance. I paid him handsomely for the very small services he had rendered me; and he went away cursing me audibly. “I think, sir,” said Afrigan, “that is an impudent man, and you might do a worse thing than to kick him.” I agreed with Afrigan from the bottom of my heart. As for Afrigan himself, he was in the seventh heaven of delight when he found that the expedition to Kairwan was abandoned. “Oh, sir, that is better. I could not bear to think of a gentleman like you sleeping among the soldiers on the open ground for a whole week in weather like this. I lay awake all last night—I could not sleep for thinking about you.” “Come, come, Afrigan: no humbug, if you please! You know it was the mosquitoes that kept you awake.” “Well, sir, the mosquitoes were very bad; that is quite true; but it was worse when I thought of you lying out in all that rain. But now we’ll go home and say nothing at all to our wives about Kairwan. I shan’t say anything to mine about Susa either.” And then Afrigan lighted a cigarette, and strolled off in search of a coffee-house, humming a gay Arab tune.

I went to breakfast with Mr. Gallia at his house. Nowhere in the world, I imagine, is a man’s house so entirely his castle as it is in these semi-savage Arab towns on the north coast of Africa. For the European resident in a place like Susa there is absolutely no attraction outside the walls of his own home. He has no society; such a thing as a dinner-party, or a party of any kind, is absolutely unknown. He cannot frequent the miserable Arab cafés or the still more miserable Maltese dram-shops: he cannot enjoy that unfailing resource of the Englishman who finds himself stranded in a dull place, a walk out into the country. My friend Mr. Gallia goes down once or twice a day to the office of the old Turkish harbour-master of Susa, and sits there for half an hour, smoking, drinking steaming hot coffee, and looking out upon the beautiful bay, whilst he listens to the gossip of the port. But these visits to the shore form the only variety in his monotonous life. All the other hours of the day must be spent within the walls of his own home, and the only society he meets with is that of his own family. It will be seen, then, of what importance the house is in a town like Susa. The exteriors of the houses here, like those in the Arab quarter of Tunis, are miserable in the extreme. The residences of even the wealthiest merchants bear a strong outward resemblance to stables or barns. But it does not do in this part of the world to judge by outward appearances; and just as the fairest features that ever adorned one of the _houris_ of Paradise may be concealed under the hideous yashmak, so the most luxurious of abodes may be found within these rough whitewashed walls.

One peculiarity all the houses have in common, and that is that they are capable of being easily defended from attack. The house is generally built in the form of a hollow square. The ground story is occupied with cellars and offices; and one narrow flight of stairs gives access to the living apartments. All the windows being heavily barricaded, it is only necessary to defend the staircase in order to make the house secure; and as the precaution adopted in mediæval castles is used here, and the wells are carried up through thick stone walls to the first floor of the houses, there is every convenience for withstanding a siege. Mr. Gallia’s house presents all these characteristics of the local architecture. It has, besides, an historic interest. A hundred years ago Susa shared with Tunis and Algiers the distinction of being a favourite haunt of those seawolves the Turkish and Arab pirates of the Mediterranean, and at that time the house now occupied by the Vice-Consul of England was the home of the most notorious of the pirate chiefs. As I walked through the lofty, comfortable rooms, I could not help wondering whether any hapless fellow-countryman of mine had found himself here in servitude to his barbarous captor; and even as I thought of English captives in Susa, I found myself face to face with one. She was a willing captive, it is true; for she was the mother of Mr. Gallia. A fine-looking Englishwoman, with pleasant features and a kindly smile, she was, I need hardly say, a most welcome apparition in such a place. More than forty years before she had left her native town of Dover, in order to come to Africa, and she had never since seen England. There were no railways in her part of the country when she quitted it; for more than two-score years Time had been doing its work, and a thousand great changes had been wrought in the condition of English society. But she knew nothing of them. As the wife of an Italian gentleman, as the mother of a numerous family, she had lived her placid, uneventful life in this dull city, hardly venturing to quit the shelter of her own home, whilst the busy world outside was going on its own way. Mrs. Gallia had still a good command of the English language, and seemed not a little pleased to meet with one of her fellow-countrymen, the first whom she had seen for many months. After breakfast I inspected some of the chief objects of interest in the house. Among these were some of the magnificent carpets of Kairwan, the work of the chief ladies of that holy city. Still more interesting, however, was the large collection of arms which Mr. Gallia has formed. This collection is, I believe, unique in north Africa, and is well worth a detailed description. All manner of Moorish, Arab, and Negro weapons are represented here, as well as shields and headpieces. But perhaps the most interesting of all the specimens in the collection are a sword found at Gabes, which there is every reason to believe was a relic of the Crusades, and a remarkable Arab rifle with _revolving_ barrels! Truly, there is nothing new under the sun. Here in Susa, in the old house of a Turkish pirate, I found a rusty time-worn weapon, certainly more than a hundred years old, in which the idea of that modern invention the revolver, was not only distinctly foreshadowed, but carried out in almost all its details.

And now the time came for me to say good-bye to Susa. I first made an expedition to the bazaar in order to purchase, if possible, a Kairwan carpet; but none were to be had. The war had for the moment put an end to the manufacture, or at least to the sale, of these carpets. Then I went down through the narrow, muddy streets, to the beach. The sky was gloriously blue; a strong wind was blowing, which tempered the heat of the sun; but still the warmth was quite as great as that of an English July, and one found it difficult to realize the fact that this was a November day. I had decided to return to Tunis with Afrigan by the _Ville de Naples_. It was disappointing, and even humiliating, to go back without having seen Kairwan; but there was no help for it. Susa, I must say, I was unreservedly glad to leave. Beautiful as is the situation in which it stands, and fair as is its outward appearance, it is, upon the whole, the most unpleasant place of temporary residence in which I ever found myself stranded.

The water in the bay was very rough, and when I stepped on board the little boat that was to take me to the ship which lay at the distance of half a mile from the shore, I told the men to get me on board as quickly as possible. They asked if they might wait for two gentlemen who were going to another vessel, and, somewhat reluctantly, I consented. What was my surprise and pleasure to find that these gentlemen were the purser and the surgeon of the _Charles Quint_, the “Corsican brothers” of my journey from Marseilles to Tunis. They came smartly along the wharf, arm-in-arm as usual, and with that look of sobriety, not to say solemnity, on their young faces which contrasted so curiously with their years. I think their pleasure at our meeting equalled my own. We shook hands warmly, and exchanged notes about Susa, of which we had formed precisely similar opinions. A very nervous twenty minutes was that which followed, as our little boat shipped sea after sea, and danced about in the most eccentric fashion on the top of the waves. At last, however, we reached the _Ville de Naples_, the side of which rose like a vast wall from the sea. I made a desperate jump and landed on the ladder, waved my adieux to my friends of the _Charles Quint_, and climbing to the deck, congratulated myself upon the fact that this splendid ship was far too huge in its dimensions to be disturbed by any sea she would be likely to encounter in the Mediterranean.

Alas! for my inexperience. I was now about to encounter the worst storm I had ever met with in any part of the world. The sole passengers on board besides myself were Afrigan and a young German, who was the agent of a Marseilles wine and sardine firm. The latter shared the saloon with me. About noon we sailed; the wind freshened immediately afterwards, and we soon found ourselves in the midst of a gale, whilst the motion of the vessel was so great that it became almost impossible to keep one’s feet. I had looked forward eagerly to the dinner-hour, remembering the privations of Susa. When it came I was surprised to find myself the only person at the table. Neither my fellow-passenger nor the ship’s officers appeared upon the scene; and the crash of the crockery on the table almost drowned the roar of the tempest outside. But we are creatures of habit. I sat in my comfortable arm-chair and enjoyed the good things spread before me without thinking of the storm, or of the somewhat white faces of the stewards who waited upon me. The sense of having escaped from the miseries of the hotel of Susa seemed to drown all thought upon other subjects.

It was whilst I was thus enjoying myself that the captain appeared, with a somewhat perturbed face, to inform me that he did not like the look of things; that the gale was increasing, and that the _Ville de Naples_ being without cargo was not easily manageable. He had determined, therefore, to run into Kalybia Bay for shelter, provided he could obtain the assent of the passengers to his doing so. Now, I wished particularly to get back to Tunis as speedily as possible, in order that I might catch a boat that I knew was to start on the following day for Malta. Moreover I did not believe in the danger of which the captain spoke. No English captain, I thought, would have spoken of running for shelter under the circumstances. However, as any man who has travelled much must be aware, there is one golden rule from which the wise traveller never departs. That is, to leave the captains of ships and the drivers of carriages to manage their own business. So with unfeigned reluctance I expressed my assent to his proposal, and an hour later we found ourselves at anchor in smooth water under the lee of Kalybia Point. There were no fewer than five other vessels riding at anchor here, sheltering from the gale. One of these was a man-of-war. How strange it was, as I retired to rest, to look from my port at the lights of these vessels, which were so near to us, and yet of which I knew so little! We had all found shelter for a night in this little bay; all having run from a common danger. To-morrow we should be speeding each on his own path, and every trace of our meeting would have vanished.

Amid a very heavy gale from the south-east we started again for Tunis, about six o’clock in the morning. No sooner had we left the shelter of the bay than we found ourselves in the midst of a tremendous sea. Huge green waves, topped with foam, were sweeping down upon us with a force and might that was almost majestic; and the great ship rolled and tossed upon the troubled waters as if she had been no bigger or heavier than a cork. We came round Cape Bon at the very height of the storm, and a grander sight than that which was then presented to me I never beheld. I had been lashed upon the hurricane deck for safety, and as I sat there, at times almost losing my breath when the ship dipped suddenly, and at other times looking up in wonder upon the huge mass of the hull which seemed to be reared above my head as it mounted the waves, I felt like one who was looking on at the most glorious and exciting of contests. How our noble ship fought with those angry seas; and how resolute they seemed to be in their determination to overcome her! One wave after another came on in endless succession. There seemed no chance for the vessel; yet she met each successive foe with dauntless breast. The shriek of the wind through the rigging drowned all other sounds. The din was indeed appalling. The great rocky buttresses of Cape Bon, which I had seen a year ago bathed in summer sunshine, stood out as bulwarks against the raging sea, which broke upon every point in columns of spray that rose hundreds of feet in height. The motion of the ship, the splendour of the scene around me, the glorious freshness of the battling winds which buffeted my cheeks and almost tore my coat from my back, filled me with a strange sense of exultation. I could have shouted aloud with delight, as we rode royally over the billows, and resisted the tremendous pressure of the tempest, which strove furiously to drive us to our doom upon Cape Bon. Thoughts coursed through my mind even more quickly than the spray flew through the air around me, and my brain was quickened, my blood warmed, in a way of which I had known nothing for months. But all the time one knew how near we were to death. A break-down of any kind in the engine-room, nay, a momentary error on the bridge, would have been fatal to every soul on board.

Whilst I thus revelled in the “violent delights” of the storm, heedless of the “violent ends” to which they might be the precursors, poor Afrigan and my other fellow-traveller were in truly doleful state. There must be something demoralizing about sea-sickness, or rather about the freedom from it. How otherwise can one account for the fact that even the most amiable of men, if he were to find himself exempt from that malady whilst everybody else around him suffered from it, would feel puffed up with a sense of his own superiority, as though, forsooth, it was a matter of personal credit to himself that his stomach happened to be rather more like that of an ostrich than the stomachs of his fellow-passengers? Breakfast was not served until we had left Cape Bon far behind us and were running into the Gulf of Tunis. My forlorn fellow-passenger, the captain, first and second lieutenants, purser, and doctor came to the table when the meal began; but long before it was finished I and the first lieutenant found ourselves in sole possession of the board. The extraordinary motion of the ship had driven everybody else, including even the captain, away. My companion and I were busily discussing the beauties of Glasgow, when at last the ship was brought to anchor off Goletta. He was the only man I ever met with who declared that Glasgow was infinitely to be preferred as a place of residence to London! And he was no Glaswegian, but a sunburnt native of Marseilles.