XXI
Stephen and Nevill Caird returned from Tlemcen to Algiers, hoping fornews of Victoria, but there was none; and after two days they left forGrand Kabylia.
The prophetic birds at Mansourah had flown in a south-easterlydirection, but when Stephen and Nevill started in search of Josette'smaid Mouni, they turned full east, their faces looking towards the darkheights of Kabylia. It was not Victoria they hoped to find there,however, or Saidee her sister, but only a hint as to their next move.Nevertheless, Nevill was superstitious about the birds, and said toStephen when the car had run them out of Algiers, past Maison Carre,into open country: "Isn't it queer how the birds follow us? I never sawso many before. They're always with us. It's just as if they'd passed onword, the way chupatties are passed on in India, eh? Or maybe Josettehas told her protegees to look after us."
And Stephen smiled, for Nevill's superstitions were engaging, ratherthan repulsive; and his quaintnesses were endearing him more and more tothe man who had just taken up the dropped thread of friendship aftereight or nine years. What an odd fellow Nevill was! Stephen thought,indulgently. No wonder he was worshipped by his servants, and even hischauffeur. No wonder Lady MacGregor adored her nephew, though treatinghim as if he were a little boy!
One of Nevill's idiosyncrasies, after arranging everything to fit acertain plan, was to rush off at the last minute and do somethingentirely different. Last night--the night before starting for GrandKabylia--he had begged Stephen to be ready by eight, at which time thecar was ordered. At nine--having sat up till three o'clock writingletters, and then having visited a lately imported gazelle in itsquarters--Nevill was still in his bath. At length he arrived on thescene, beaming, with a sulky chameleon in his pocket, and flew aboutgiving last directions, until he suddenly discovered that there was aviolent hurry, whereupon he began to be boyishly peevish with thechauffeur for not getting off an hour ago. No sooner had the carstarted, however, than he fell into a serious mood, telling Stephen ofmany things which he had thought out in the night--things which might behelpful in finding Victoria. He had been lying awake, it seemed,brooding on this subject, and it had occurred to him that, if Mounishould prove a disappointment, they might later discover somethingreally useful by going to the annual ball at the Governor's palace. Thisfestivity had been put off, on account of illness in the chiefofficial's family; but it would take place in a fortnight or so now. Allthe great Aghas and Caids of the south would be there, and as Nevillknew many of them, he might be able to get definite informationconcerning Ben Halim. As for Saidee--to hear of Ben Halim was to hear ofher. And then it was, in the midst of describing the ball, and theimportant men who would attend, that Nevill suddenly broke off to besuperstitious about birds.
It was true that the birds were everywhere! little greenish birdsflitting among the trees; larger grey-brown birds flying low; fairy-likeblue and yellow birds that circled round the car as it ran east towardsthe far, looming mountains of the Djurdjura; larks that spouted musiclike a fountain of jewels as they soared into the quivering blue; andgreat, stately storks, sitting in their nests on tall trees or tops ofpoles, silhouetted against the sky as they gazed indifferently down atthe automobile.
"Josette would tell us it's splendid luck to see storks on theirnests," said Nevill. "Arabs think they bring good fortune to places.That's why people cut off the tops of the trees and make nests for them,so they can bless the neighbourhood and do good to the crops. Storkshave no such menial work here as bringing babies. Arab babies have tocome as best they can--sent into the world anyhow; for storks are menwho didn't do their religious duties in the most approved style, so theyhave to revisit the world next time in the form of beneficent birds."
But Nevill did not want to answer questions about storks and theirhabits. He had tired of them in a moment, and was passionatelyinterested in mules. "There ought to be an epic written about the mulesof North Africa!" he exclaimed. "I tell you, it's a great subject. Lookat those poor brave chaps struggling to pull carts piled up with casksof beastly Algerian wine, through that sea of mud, which probably goesall the way through to China. Aren't they splendid? Wait till you'vebeen in this country as long as I have, and you'll respect mules as Ido, from army mules down to the lowest dregs of the mule kingdom. Idon't ask you to love them--and neither do they. But how they work herein Africa--and never a groan! They go on till they drop. And I don'tbelieve half of them ever get anything to eat. Some day I'm going tostart a Rest Farm for tired mules. I shall pay well for them. A man Iknow did write a paean of praise for mules. I believe I'll have ittranslated into Arabic, and handed about as a leaflet. These natives aregood to their horses, because they believe they have souls, but theytreat their mules like the dirt under their feet." And Nevill beganquoting here and there a verse or a line he remembered of the "mulemusic," chanting in time to the throbbing of the motor.
"Key A minor, measure common, One and two and three and four and-- Every hoof-beat half a second Every hoof-beat linked with heart-beat, Every heart-beat nearer bursting. Andantino sostenuto: In the downpour or the dryness, Hottest summer, coldest winter; Sick and sore and old and feeble, Hourly, hourly; daily, daily, From the sunrise to the setting; From the setting to the sunrise Scarce a break in all the circle For the rough and scanty eating, For the scant and muddy drinking, For the fitful, fearful resting, For the master haunted-sleeping. Dreams in dark of God's far heaven Tempo primo; tempo sempre."
And so, through pools of wild flowers and the blood of poppies, theirroad led to wild mountain scenery, then into the embrace of theDjurdjura mountains themselves--evil, snow-splashed, sterile-seemingmountains, until the car had passed the fortified town of Tizi Ouzou, anovergrown village, whose name Stephen thought like a drunken term ofendearment. It was market-day there, and the long street was so full ofKabyles dressed apparently in low-necked woollen bags, of soldiers inuniform, of bold-eyed, scantily-clad children, and of dyed sheep andgoats, that the car had to pass at a walk. Nevill bought a good deal ofKabyle jewellery, necklaces and long earrings, or boxes enamelled incrude greens and reds, blues and yellows. Not that he had not alreadymore than he knew what to do with; but he could not resist the handsomeunveiled girls, the wretched old women, or pretty, half-naked childrenwho offered the work of the neighbouring hill villages, or familyheirlooms. Sometimes he saw eyes which made him think of Josette's; butthen, all beautiful things that he saw reminded him of her. She was anobsession. But, for a wonder, he had taken Stephen's advice in Tlemcenand had not proposed again. He was still marvelling at his own strengthof mind, and asking himself if, after all, he had been wise.
After Tizi Ouzou the mountains were no longer sterile-seeming. The roadcoiled up and up snakily, between rows of leering cactus; and far belowthe densely wooded heights lay lovely plains through which a great riverwandered. There was a homely smell of mint, and the country did not lookto Stephen like the Africa he had imagined. All the hill-slopes weregreen with the bright green of fig trees and almonds, even at heights sogreat that the car wallowed among clouds. This steep road was the roadto Fort National--the "thorn in the eye of Kabylia," which pierces sodeeply that Kabylia may writhe, but revolt no more. Already it wasalmost as if the car had brought them into another world. The men whooccasionally emerged from the woolly white blankets of the clouds, weremen of a very different type from the mild Kabyles of the plains theyhad met trooping along towards Algiers in search of work.
These were brave, upstanding men, worthy of their fathers who revoltedagainst French rule and could not be conquered until that thorn, FortNational, was planted deeply in heart and eye. Some were fair, and evenred-haired, which would have surprised Stephen if he had not heard fromNevill that in old days the Christian slaves used to escape from Algiersand seek refuge in Kabylia, where they were treated as free men, and noquestions were asked.
Without Fort National, it seemed to Stephen that this strange Berberpeople would never have been fo
rced to yield; for looking down frommountain heights as the motor sped on, it was as if he looked into avast and intricate maze of valleys, and on each curiously pointed peakclung a Kabyle village that seemed to be inlaid in the rock likeseparate bits of scarlet enamel. It was the low house-roofs which gavethis effect, for unlike the Arabs, whom the ancient Berber lords of thesoil regard with scorn, the Kabyles build their dwellings of stone,roofed with red tiles.
This was a wild, tormented world, broken into a hundred sharp mountainridges which seemed to cut the sky, because between the high peaks andthe tangled skein of far-away villages surged foaming seas of cloud,which appeared to separate high, bright peaks from shadowed vales, byincredible distances. As far as the eye could travel with utmoststraining, away to the dark, imposing background of the Djurdjura range,billowed ridges and ravines, ravines and ridges, each pointing pinnacleor razor-shelf adorned with its coral-red hamlet, like a group ofpoisonous fungi, or the barnacles on a ship's steep side. Such anextraordinary landscape Stephen had never imagined, or seen except on aJapanese fan; and it struck him that the scene actually did resemblequaint prints picturing half-real, half-imaginary scenes in old Japan.
"What a country for war! What a country for defence!" he said tohimself, as Nevill's yellow car sped along the levels of narrow ridgesthat gave, on either hand, vertical views far down to fertile valleys,rushed into clouds of weeping rain, or out into regions of sunlight andrainbows.
It was three o'clock when they reached Michelet, but they had notstopped for luncheon, as both were in haste to find Mouni: and Mouni'svillage was just beyond Michelet. Since Fort National, they had been inthe heart of Grand Kabylia; and Michelet was even more characteristic ofthis strange mountain country, so different from transplanted Arabiabelow.
Not an Arab lived here, in the long, straggling town, built on the crestof a high ridge. Not a minaret tower pointed skyward. The Kabyle placeof worship had a roof of little more height or importance than thosethat clustered round it. The men were in striped brown gandourahs ofcamel's hair; the lovely unveiled women were wrapped in woollen foutahsdyed red or yellow, blue or purple, and from their little ears heavyrings dangled. The blue tattoo marks on their brown cheeks andforeheads, which in forgotten times had been Christian crosses, gavegreat value to their enormous, kohl-encircled eyes; and their teethwere very white as they smiled boldly, yet proudly, at Stephen andNevill.
There was a flight of steps to mount from the car to the hotel, and asthe two men climbed the stairs they turned to look, across a profoundchasm, to the immense mass of the Djurdjura opposite Michelet's thinledge. From their point of view, it was like the Jungfrau, as Stephenhad seen it from Muerren, on one of his few trips to Switzerland.Somehow, those little conventional potterings of his seemed pitiablenow, they had been so easy to do, so exactly what other people did.
It was long past ordinary luncheon time, and hunger constrained the twomen to eat before starting out to find the village where Mouni and herpeople lived. It was so small a hamlet, that Nevill, who knew Kabyliawell, had never heard of it until Josette Soubise wrote the name for himon one of her own cards. The landlord of the hotel at Michelet gaverapid and fluent directions how to go, saying that the distance was twomiles, but as the way was a steep mountain path, les messieurs must goon foot.
Immediately after lunching they started, armed with a present for thebride; a watch encrusted with tiny brilliants, which, followingJosette's advice, they had chosen as the one thing of all otherscalculated to win the Kabyle girl's heart. "It will be like a fairydream to her to have a watch of her own," Josette had said. "Her friendswill be dying of envy, and she will enjoy that. Oh, she will search hersoul and tell you everything she knows, if you but give her a watch!"
For a little way the friends walked along the wild and beautiful road,which from Michelet plunges down the mountains toward Bougie and thesea; but soon they came to the narrow, ill-defined footpath described bythe landlord. It led straight up a steep shoulder of rock which at itshighest part became a ledge; and when they had climbed to the top, at adistance they could see a cluster of red roofs apparently falling down aprecipice, at the far end.
Here and there were patches of snow, white as fallen lily-petals on thepansy-coloured earth. Looking down was like looking from a high waveupon a vast sea of other waves, each wave carrying on its apex a fewbits of broken red mosaic, which were Kabyle roofs; and the pale sky wasstreaked with ragged violet clouds exactly like the sky and cloudspainted on screens by Japanese artists.
They met not a soul as they walked, but while the village was still faraway and unreal, the bark of guns, fired quickly one after the other,jarred their ears, and the mountain wind brought a crying of raitas,African clarionettes, and the dull, yet fierce beat of tom-toms.
"Now I know why we've met no one," said Nevill. "The wedding feast'sstill on, and everybody who is anybody at Yacoua, is there. You know, ifyou're an Arab, or even a Kabyle, it takes you a week to be marriedproperly, and you have high jinks every day: music and dancing andeating, and if you've money enough, above all you make the powder speak.Mouni's people are doing her well. What a good thing we've got thewatch! Even with Josette's introduction we mightn't have been able tocome near the bride, unless we had something to offer worth her having."
The mountain village of Yacoua had no suburbs, no outlying houses. Theone-story mud huts with their pointed red roofs, utterly unlike Arabdwellings, were huddled together, with only enough distance between fora man and a mule or a donkey to pass. The best stood in pairs, with awalled yard between; and as Stephen and Nevill searched anxiously forsome one to point out the home of Mouni, from over a wall which seemedto be running down the mountain-side, came a white puff of smoke and astrident bang, then more, one after the other. Again the wailing of theraita began, and there was no longer any need to ask the way.
"That's where the party is--in that yard," said Nevill, beginning to beexcited. "Now, what sort of reception will they give us? That's the nextquestion."
"Can't we tell, the first thing, that we've come from Algiers with apresent for the bride?" suggested Stephen.
"We can if they understand Arabic," Nevill answered. "But the Kabylelingo's quite different--Berber, or something racy of the soil. I oughtto have brought Mohammed to interpret."
So steeply did the yard between the low houses run downhill, that,standing at the top of a worn path like a seam in some old garment, thetwo Europeans could look over the mud wall. Squalid as were the mud hutsand the cattle-yard connecting them, the picture framed in the squareenclosure blazed with colour. It was barbaric, and beautiful in itssavagery.
Squatting on the ground, with the last rank against the house wall, wereseveral rows of women, all unveiled, their uncovered arms jewelled tothe elbows, embracing their knees. The afternoon sunlight shone on theirceremonial finery, setting fire to the red, blue and green enamel oftheir necklaces, their huge hoop earrings and the jewelled silver chainspinned to their scarlet or yellow head-wrappings, struck out strangegleams from the flat, round brooches which fastened their gaily stripedrobes on their shoulders, and turned their great dark eyes into browntopazes. Twenty or thirty men, dressed in their best burnouses, drapedover new gandourahs, their heads swathed in clean white muslin turbans,sat on the opposite side of the court, watching the "powder play"furnished by two tall, handsome boys, who handled with delicate graceand skill old-fashioned, long-muzzled guns inlaid with coral and silver,heirlooms perhaps, and of some value even to antiquaries.
While the powder spoke, nobody had a thought for anything else. All eyeswere upon the boys with the guns, only travelling upward in ecstasy towatch the puffs of smoke that belched out round and white as fatsnowballs. Then, when the music burst forth again, and a splendidlyhandsome young Kabyle woman ran forward to begin the wild dance of thebody and of the hands--dear to the mountain men as to the nomads of thedesert--every one was at first absorbed in admiration of her movements.But suddenly a child (one of a dozen in a row in front o
f all the women)tired of the show, less amusing to him than the powder play, and lookingup, saw the two Roumis on the hill behind the wall. He nudged hisneighbour, and the neighbour, who happened to be a little girl, followedwith her eyes the upward nod of his head. So the news went round thatstrangers had come uninvited to the wedding-feast, and men began tofrown and women to whisper, while the dancer lost interest in her owntinklings and genuflections.
It was time for the intruders to make it known that business of somesort, not idle curiosity, had brought them on the scene, and Nevillstepped forward, holding out the visiting card given him by Josette, andthe crimson velvet case containing the watch which Stephen had bought inAlgiers.