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Copyright © 2022 by McGraw Hill. All rights reserved. Except as
permitted under the United States Copyright Act of 1976, no part of
this publication may be reproduced or distributed in any form or by
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prior written permission of the publisher, with the exception that the
program listings may be entered, stored, and executed in a
computer system, but they may not be reproduced for publication.
ISBN: 978-1-26-428626-3
MHID: 1-26-428626-0
The material in this eBook also appears in the print version of this
title: ISBN: 978-1-26-428625-6, MHID: 1-26-428625-2.
I dedicate this book to my first HR boss, the late John Sharkey, who
guided me to the career path of human resources, becoming my
mentor and inspiring me to do well as an HR professional. He has
left a great legacy for the profession.
—Dory Willer
I dedicate this book with love to my wife, Cheryl. Through days and
nights, thick and thin, and months that have grown into years, you
are always there—sometimes for support, sometimes for your
knowledge and insights, sometimes to push, and sometimes just to
be together. You are my rock. I love you!
—Bill Kelly
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
Glossary
Index
CONTENTS
Acknowledgments
Introduction
Translator: L. A. E. B.
Language: English
C AV E D W E L L E R S
OF
SOUTHERN TUNISIA
BY
L. A. E. B.
CHAP. PAGE
PAGE
SOUTHERN TUNISIA
CHAPTER I
With Drummond Hay in Tunis
Though the midday sun still shone bright and hot, I sat at my ease
and breathed again in the pleasant atmosphere of a cool drawing-
room, from which the stifling air and the flies were excluded by
closely drawn blinds.
I had just arrived from Tunis by rail, over the scorching hot plain,
and past the milky-white shallow lagoon known as the Lake of Tunis.
Beyond Goletta the blue hills seemed to quiver beneath the rays of
the sun, and my eyes were blinded by the dazzling white walls of the
cathedral standing on the heights, where, in olden days, Byrsa, the
fortress of Carthage, stood, defying the invader and the storm.
As we sped over the traces of the mighty circular wall, which
formerly enclosed the town, I caught a glimpse of a white roof
amongst the green trees of a wood, and requested the conductor to
stop the train at the English Consul’s summer abode.
Down a pretty shady avenue I walked to the white summer
palace, with its beautiful columned portico, the finest in all Tunisia.
It is a proud name that my host bears,—a name associated with
unfailing honour in the history of Morocco. His late father, Sir J. H.
Drummond Hay, as England’s Representative, practically led
Morocco’s policy during the past forty years. He represented
Denmark also, and under him his son won his diplomatic spurs.
My host had invited me that we might quietly arrange a plan for
my intended expedition to visit the Berber tribes of Tunisia.
I was aware that in the south-west mountains of the Sahara I
should meet with Berbers of a pure race such as are scarcely to be
found elsewhere. Our country’s excellent Representative, Consul
Cubisol, had procured me a French permit for the journey, without
which it would be difficult for a lonely traveller to visit regions
unfrequented by Europeans.
In the spring, Drummond Hay had made a tour on horseback over
the greater part of Southern Tunisia; he was therefore acquainted,
not only with the localities, but also with several of the native chiefs
who would be able to assist me. He understands the people and
their country thoroughly, for he speaks Arabic like a native, and is
quite conversant with the life, opinions, manners, and customs of the
inhabitants. His wife had travelled far and wide with him in Morocco
when he was serving under his father, and accompanied him to the
capital of Morocco; so she also is well versed in Oriental life.
Together we traced the plan of my
journey, which, in the main, I
afterwards followed. Here I will not
anticipate what I shall relate later; only
premising this—that I owe first and
foremost to Drummond Hay the fact of
having comprised in my journey those
regions which no traveller has as yet
described. To him I was also
afterwards indebted for the elucidation
and explanation of what I had seen
and heard.
Both my host and hostess had
resided for many years in Stockholm,
when Drummond Hay was Consul
there. The north has great attractions
for them, as Drummond Hay’s mother
was a Dane, a Carstensen, being
daughter of the last Danish Consul- DRUMMOND HAY, BRITISH
General at Tangier. CONSUL-GENERAL AT TUNIS.
England has great interests in
Tunis, not only directly on account of the many Maltese living there
under British protection, but also indirectly, more especially since the
French settled in the country; it will therefore be understood that the
post of British Representative is one of confidence.
CHAPTER II
Susa
“A happy journey until our next meeting, and may Allah preserve you
from cholera!”
These were the parting words of my friend Gauckler, Inspector of
Antiquities and Arts, who bade me a last farewell at the Italian
railway station of Tunis.
Numbers of flamingoes stalked along the shores of the lagoon,
showing like white patches on the blue-grey expanse of water. Out
on the horizon, where the lake ended, I could see Goletta’s white
houses, and beyond them a deep, dark blue line—the
Mediterranean.
At midday the heat was stifling, but after we reached Goletta Bay
the sun sank rapidly, and the air grew cooler as a little steamer took
us through the entrance to the harbour, past the homeward-bound
fishing-boats. Just at sunset we reached our large steamer. To the
north, Carthage’s white church on the heights near Marsa appeared
on the horizon, and, in the south, the blue mountains of Hammamlif.
Amid the noisy whistling of the steamer, mingled with screams
and shouts, I tumbled on board with my numerous bundles and
packages; finding my way at last to the saloon, where a frugal dinner
awaited us.
Next morning, when I went on deck, the coast lay like a flat, grey
stripe ahead of us. I went forward and enjoyed the fresh sea breeze
for which I had so longed in Tunis. Near the bows of the ship were
two dolphins. One of them rose to the surface of the water and
spouted a stream of spray through the little orifice in its head, then
sank again. The other then rose in its turn.
The white bundles on the fore part of the deck now began to stir
into life, and each as it rose threw back its burnous, and showed a
dark face. One Arab had with him his whole family. He had spread a
rush mat on which, amongst their numerous belongings, lay, closely
packed, husband, wife (perhaps wives), several children and a large
poodle. A roguish little girl came to discover what I was
contemplating. She was sweet, brown, and clean, and peeped up at
me, hiding her face the while with one hand, evidently conscious of
wrong-doing. The tips of her fingers and toes were stained red with
henna, which was not unpleasing. Soon after, a closely veiled figure,
apparently the mother, came to fetch the little one. I had just time to
perceive that she was pretty, as she threw back a fold of her haik to
wrap round her child and herself. What a charming picture they
made as they leant against the bulwarks and gazed towards the
land!
Upon a slope, quite near, lay Susa—white, white, everything was
white.
On the summit of the slope were some towers and a crenelated
wall, and on the seashore beneath, yet another wall. Below lay the
harbour, too shallow, however, for our ship to enter; we had therefore
to lie out in the open.
A boat took me to the quay, where some twenty black-eyed boys
of all ages, with gleaming teeth and red caps, lay watching for their
prey. As the boat drew alongside, they rushed down to seize my
luggage. The boatmen attempted to push them aside, but,
nevertheless, one caught up my little handbag, another my umbrella,
and a third my photographic apparatus. There was nothing for me to
do but to jump ashore and chase the thieves. It was long before I
could collect everything under the charge of one lad. Then, with a
couple of smart taps right and left, my little guide and I marched up
to the Kasba, where the Commandant lives. Here are the magazines
and barracks, and here, too, I knew that I should find a collection of
antiquities.
Susa was originally a Phœnician colony, and played no small part
in the Punic Wars. Trajan called it “Hadrumetum,” and made it the
capital of the province. It was laid waste by the Vandals, rebuilt by
Justinian, and destroyed by Sid Obka, who utilised the greater
portion of its ancient materials to build the holy city of Kairwan. Later
the town was rebuilt by the Turks, who had here for a long time one
of their hiding-places for their piratical fleets. The town was therefore
assaulted by Charles V. in 1537, and again by Andreas Doria in
1539, and, lastly, was occupied without a struggle on the 10th of
September 1881, by a force under General Etienne. It is, after Tunis,
the most important town in the Regency, and is governed by a
Khalifa in the name of the Bey.
SUSA.