W. G. Windham

Passage to Bona.––State of Affairs on Board.––Bona.––The Lake Metitza.––Ain Mokra.––Wild Duck Shooting on the Lake.

We bade adieu to B–––, who had given us letters of recommendation to the Admiral, for a first-class cabin to Bona––a thing difficult to achieve on board the steamers here, as civilians are only allowed second-class accommodation, the state cabin being reserved for the use of naval and military officers, as the steamers on this line rank as men of war. The boat was much crowded with soldiers, sailors, and Arabs, and we had to share a most miserable berth with eight other occupants. We had arrived too late to procure cabin places, and were obliged to dine in an unsavoury den, reeking with pestilential odours. Most of the Frenchmen grumbled loudly at the miserable accommodation afforded in return for their money. Steaming along past a fine coast, we reached Dellis about eight o’clock. I got Angelo to bring me my sheepskin and cloak, and preferred sleeping on deck to passing the night in a locality which, for the horrors it contained, might have figured as a scene in Dante’s “Inferno.”

The gentle music of the sailors, swabbing the deck, awoke me next morning. I found we were off Bougie, a most beautifully-situated place, entirely surrounded by snow-covered mountains. Here are distinctly to be seen the ruins of the old wall supposed to have been built by the Vandals. A rather tedious day on board, but the occupation of watching the coast, which is very fine, varied the monotony of the voyage. We passed Djigelli at about twelve, and Philippeville at nine in the evening, when I retired to rest, and, the Fates be thanked, it was in a fresh cabin.

There was a Jewess on board, a rather pretty personage, who slept in the same cabin with six men, most of them French officers, with a coolness that astonished me. Her husband was in the berth opposite her; she did not appear to feel the discomforts of her position, but chatted away gaily in Arabic and French throughout the whole passage. I don’t think she quitted her berth once.

At half-past six on Saturday, the 25th of March, came Angelo to announce to me that we were off Bona. This is a very strongly fortified place. We were rowed ashore by Maltese boatmen, and, amid a great crowd and bustle on the quay, landed, and went to the HÔtel de France. The proprietors were very civil, and assigned us a room at the top of the house, looking out on the place. We sallied forth in quest of horses to take us to the market-place. An Arab, 43 who spoke some very broken and dilapidated Italian, took us round the market and through the streets, shouting “Reel Ain Mokra!” Several Arabs came up and offered us their horses, but the steeds had such a forlorn look, that we declined the accommodation, and settled to start by carriage next morning.

Accordingly, on Monday, the 26th of March, we set out at five o’clock, on a most wretched morning. The vehicle was the most miserable locomotive contrivance I ever saw. Drawn by two horses, it pounded and churned along a most detestable road. We were obliged to get out several times, and in one place we stuck in the mud for twenty minutes. It was only by dint of putting our united shoulders to the wheel, that we succeeded in extricating our unhappy chariot from its stationary position. At length our eyes were gladdened by the sight of the defile which opens on the lake Metitza, where Count Z–––’s property is situated. Though of Polish origin, the Count is an Englishman, and has, I believe, been an officer. Right gladly we alighted from the carriage, and, loading our guns, prevailed on some Italian fishermen to take us out in a boat for a pop at the wild ducks which we saw flying about by hundreds, bagged a few, and then returned to find that the Count’s keeper had come down, under the impression that we were poachers, with a firm determination to take us into custody there and then. The production of our letter of recommendation brought him back to civility, and 44 produced an offer to take us out shooting; Count Z––– himself was absent in London.

There is an establishment here for the manufacture of oil from putrid fish, which agreeable occupation announced itself in the shape of such an overpowering odour, that I seized a glass of cognac, and fled precipitately, taking my way towards the caravanserai of Ain Mokra. Poor old Nero, whom I had brought with me, got into a scrape here, and narrowly escaped being drowned. It appears that the putrid entrails of the fish are thrown into a kind of pond, which is thus filled with a slimy mixture resembling clay, and exhaling a most horrible odour when exposed to the sun’s rays. Nero contrived, in some way or other, to slip into this delectable compound, and there he would have remained, had I not laid hold of him and pulled him out by main force. I at once had him washed and scrubbed, and even emptied some scent on him, but in vain; for days afterwards, poor Nero carried about with him a reminiscence of his odoriferous adventure, which rendered his absence most desirable to the comfort and well-being of his friends. I sallied forth about four miles from Ain Mokra, and lay in ambush for boars, but none appeared, and only shot some jackals––a very poor substitute for the nobler game I had missed.

At five, next morning, I went out to shoot on the lake. I got Angelo to row a boat slowly among the reeds, and soon saw hundreds of wild ducks, teals, 45 and large white birds of whose name I am ignorant; they looked to me like flamingoes. I could only succeed in bagging a few, as they were exceedingly shy, and made off as soon as the boat approached; moreover, the rushes were not thick enough to afford us an effectual concealment. As the miasma from the lake was sufficiently powerful to threaten fever, we returned to the caravanserai, where we breakfasted, and, after shooting a few quails, returned in our carriage, at one o’clock, to Bona. My driver, who sat beside me, was a very loquacious old soldier, who had served in the campaigns against the Arabs under Baraguay d’Hilliers and Youssouf, and been present at the capture of Milianah and Medeah. The Arabs, he said, never met the French fairly en bataille rangÉe, but always fired from ambush at the rear-guard, and in this way killed a great number of men. He described the conduct of the Arabs to their prisoners as very merciless. They never gave quarter, and frequently mutilated their captives; the women, in this particular, being more cruel than the men. I was informed, on my return, that the party who came out last year to shoot, had only killed four lions in as many months, though they had “all appliances and means to boot,” and always kept several Arabs in their pay.