Great Extent of the Ancient City.––Marsa, on the Sea-shore.––Carthaginian Catacombs near Camatte.––Quail Shooting.––Trait of Honesty in the Arabs.––The Arab Character.––Anecdotes concerning them.
The second time I went to the ruins I went, like Scipio, to weep, not over Carthage, but the loss of my breakfast; and the more so that it was to have been a very good one––a regular pic-nic, or fÊte champÊtre––under olive-trees, or orange-trees, or palms, shaded from the scorching rays of Phoebus. Champagne, Burgundy (my favourite wine), were to crown the repast. Nor was the food to be only corporal, but eke mental, as the great explorer––the great excavator––was to be there, to have explained that this was a theatre, that an aqueduct; the god to whom this temple or that altar was dedicated; and how many four-in-hands, driven by fast young Phoenician guardsmen, would have been able to pass each other down that “via longa.” How many stones made up that house; and that this was a bath, and not a harem; and that a certain statue of some celebrity––whose name I had never heard, and never shall––was, by some, supposed to lie 100 feet under this marble 77 pillar, though, according to others, he might be 102 feet deep interred––for all of which, I daresay, I should have been the wiser and the better; but I was sufficiently mundane to regret my dÉjeÛner the most. The fact is, A–––, whose back was not sufficiently recovered to accompany me riding, and the American Consul and Davies, had gone with the edibles and beverages in a carriage, and were to have met me at the temple of some god. But, unfortunately, I mistook the deity’s name, and afterwards found that their shrine lay ten miles off from the one I worshipped at. This will give one a good idea of the vastness of the ancient city, and struck me more than all the lectures and description in the world. Where people were crowded like bees, as in our London, buying and selling, and riding and driving, some 2,000 years past––occupied then, as now, in all the frivolities of this empty world––to find a complete solitude––a desert nearly––where wander the jackal and hyena! A very clever people, no doubt, these same Phoenicians were, to judge by their edifices; yet they had not discovered the theory of water finding its own level, as the peculiar construction of an aqueduct proves, the remains of which still exist, and which was to convey water some forty miles from the interior. There was a Roman city built over the Punic one, and the latter alone, of course, interests, as the former is seen any day, at Pompeii, in better perfection. Besides Angelo and myself, there was not a 78 human being in view––yes, there are three Arab youths reclining behind that ruin of a wall, motionless as statues; I thought they were statues at first. Two have long flint guns, perhaps to keep crows off the corn, or shoot quails; or, perhaps, to shoot me if they can; for I have a fine gold chain, not to mention a ring, which would maintain them till they died of old age––which could keep them in ease and elegance for a couple of years, at the least. You have yet to learn, if you know it not, that ten Arabs, fine men though they be, with such rusty weapons as yours, are barely a match for one European with an arm such as mine. But, my poor boys, there is no chance for you. I have, you see, a revolver with six barrels. When you see that, your brow droops as much as your eyes sparkled when you saw the chain. It is fancy, on my part, most probably; so, off my horse, and off with my clothes. The sun was scorching, and I took a delicious swim in the sea, and then rode on to Marsa, where is a ruin (everything is in ruins here) of modern date––the late Bey’s palace––a most superb edifice. I said a ruin, yet it is scarcely a ruin, though fast becoming so. Marsa is a sort of watering-place for the Christians of Tunis during the heat of summer. A–––’s description of the part he visited I will give: “I went with Davies and the Yankee Consul to see the catacombs of Carthage, near Camatte, which completely undermined a large mountain by the sea coast. They contain rows of niches for the coffins, and each chamber communicates with 79 others. They hold some twenty coffins each. Some skeletons have been found, and nails; the former crumbled to pieces immediately, on being exposed to the air. These catacombs are now inhabited by hyenas and jackals, and had a strong odour of those animals.” It is supposed they extend for miles, but the impurity of the atmosphere precludes entrance to any distance.
My third visit was to shoot quails on ground where, centuries ago, Hannibal had passed at the head of his bronzed legions, amid admiring groups of citizens, the bands playing, perhaps, “Partant pour l’Italie.” The migration of quails takes place at this season, and, with a good retrieving spaniel, hundreds may be shot. But they lie very close, and require a dog to put them up. They are by no means easy to shoot, and require snipe shot. They lie in the young corn, which is very thick and thriving here as on the field of Waterloo. As I had put up No. 6 shot by mistake, and had no spaniel, I bagged but few comparatively, some twenty. A great number of these quails are sent alive to England, and on board the Italian steamer from Sicily there were about twenty large cages, containing about fifty live quails each, which they told me were going to Britain; they had been caught like larks by the net.
By the way, I had here a proof of Arab honesty, refreshing as an oasis in the desert. Riding back through a village to Goutelle (where I was staying, previously to embarking for Malta), I dropped my 80 powder-flask, unawares to myself. I had not passed two minutes when I heard a loud halloo, and turning, perceived an Arab running at full speed to me with my powder-flask. Now, powder is what Arabs prize more than gold even, precious stones, or tobacco, yet they might easily have taken this without my knowing anything. On my offering him coin worth about sixpence, the Arab, in broken lingua Franca, made me comprehend he preferred a few charges of powder, which I immediately gave, and which he carefully wrapped up in some old paper. I record this, because at Tunis and elsewhere, we hear of nothing but Arab dishonesty and thieving propensities. Is it true, and this exception a proof of the rule? or are all these stories false? It is hard to say.
They are a curious race, apparently a mass of contradictions. One thing is certain; you must not treat them in the du haut en bas style. They are very proud, and naturally regard every Christian ipso facto as individually inferior to the Mussulman, more specially in the far interior, where Christians have not as yet penetrated. A––– and his party had started for Kef, malgrÉ my dissuasions. The fact of a man going to explore Punic ruins with one going to discover Mauritanian lions, was, to my mind, like mixing oil and vinegar, or fire and water, or eating meat with your knife, or soup with a fork, or taking two helpings of soup, or anything else incongruous. D––– was to be their interpreter. The Arabs there 81 told them that a lion can carry away a camel on his back, but not lift a sheep. This they firmly believe. The reason assigned is, that in former times (when animals spoke), the lion said, “I will carry off this sheep, with or without the consent of Allah;” and Allah said to the lion, “You shall not;” and from that time the monarch has never been able to lift a sheep. At one time the man and the lion were great friends, and the lion did not know he was stronger than the man. One day, as they were out walking together, a thorn ran into the lion’s foot; he limped, and stopped to pull it out, when the man, in derision, said, “What! so strong a creature hurt with a thorn?” Then the lion in anger ran the thorn into the man’s eye, who cried out with pain. This proved to the lion the man’s inferiority, and ever after they were declared enemies. At a place called Tibursok, where A–––’s party passed on their road to Keff, not a Christian, or even a Jew, were to be seen, consequently the Arabs were very intolerant. D––– walked into this town alone, in front of the party, and, speaking Arabic well, questioned one of the Arabs about some ruin, when another came up and said, “Why do you attend to that dog of a Christian?” D––– took no notice, when the other shouted out, “Cursed be your father, your mother, and all the members of your house.” D––– then collared him; the Arab inquired, “What for?” “Because you cursed my relatives,” said D–––, seeing the rest of 82 the party with the Bey’s escort coming up, “and now, just show me the Caid’s residence, and I will have you bastinadoed.” However, as some of the other Arabs crowded round and begged for mercy, D––– thought it better to let him off.
