inducted into the mysteries of contradiction by the heavy rain which, on the day following our arrival (August 28th), had washed out the streets of Algiers, and by the storm which a few days later broke upon us in our crossing of the Djurjura Mountains. The fact is, as our charming hostess informed us, heavy showers are in this region by no means a rare occurrence, even at this season of the year.
Promptly on the morning of September 7th, when the oasis had yet hardly awakened to the call of dawn, we found our cabriolet waiting for us, its three sorry-looking horses bowed down to the work that had been prepared for them. A stalwart semi-Arab, uniformed in the white garb which is thought best to ward off the heat of the desert sun, stood for our driver, and it was fortunate for us that his linguistic attainments covered the French language as well as his native tongue. Like many of his tribe, he had accepted the language of his conquerors; but, again, like others, although without any good reason that he had to give, he was not disposed to look placidly upon the continuous march of civilization which the French had inaugurated. Being young in years, the good old times were merely a tradition with him—a tradition not in itself sufficient to warm enthusiasm within his breast, nor to eradicate that germ of laziness which had taken possession of his body. Ben-Sali was at times excruciatingly lazy, although at the start he served us and himself about equally well; later in the day, when the monotony of his work began to assert itself, and when the desert heat had almost continuously forced from his brow huge beads of perspiration, he withdrew to silent meditation and to the enjoyment of a lone pipe—at intervals goading on his horses to better work, at other times roundly berating them for their shortcomings. Poor animals! they had a hard work before them and accomplished it well, but they received no consideration from their driver.
The early start, giving us the better part of four hours before the sun succeeded in dissipating the banks of clouds which veiled the eastern sky, made the first part of our journey truly delightful. There was no desert heat to be distinguished from any other form of heat, and if anything, the morning could l)e more nearly called cool than warm—at least, so the outdoor air appeared compared with the confined atmosphere of our hotel rooms. Driving into the Sahara may appear strange to those whose only conception of the desert is based upon the old notion that it is an almost endless expanse of soft and shifting sand and nothing else. But drive in one readily can, and even behind a trio of horses whose vigor and strength were less marked than they were in our own animals. The roadway was fairly marked out for most of its course, appearing at times as the solid basement rock of the region, while elsewhere it
