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AT LAST THE TOWERS OF TOUGGOURT
But despite the interest of the journey itself, every mile of its infinitely varied monotony having for us the charm of novelty, we hail with delight the first glimpse of Touggourt's mosques and towers which distinctly outline themselves against a rosy sky just as the day is dying. Behind us lie more than one hundred and fifty miles of sandy trail, over which we must soon retrace our steps; but there before us is the capital of the Oued Rirh, the mysterious Touggourt, so vaguely mentioned in books of history or travel, so far from the trodden highways of the world. The last stage of the journey has been a long one,—thirty-five miles of deep yielding sand. Onr weary animals, the fourth relay of the day, can barely crawl. Yet, once within the city-gates, they respond to the lash, and we make a most spirited entry into the market-place,—horses at full gallop, whip cracking, driver shouting, and a mob of natives giving chase to witness the arrival of the strangers at Touggourt's primitive hotel.
