to April from the snow and the storms which rage among the cliffs.  We are still four thousand feet above the plain, whose depth the swimming eye tries in vain to fathom, yet the snowy peaks above us are inaccessible.  Descending chains of rocks mingled with flint and lime, we attain a more clement landscape.  Kabyle girls crowd around a well called the Mosquitoes’ Fountain, a naked boy plays melancholy tunes on a reed, and the signs of a lower level are abundant in the fields of corn and orchards of olive.  But the rugged mountains, in whose grasp we have found so many wonders, are not left without regret.  The most picturesque part of our course is now behind us, and as day dies upon our crossing through Iferaouenen, we turn back to behold the fine line of the mountains, half sad and regretful,

  While Jove’s planet rises yonder, silent over Africa.

Fourteen expeditions were found necessary by the French between 1838 and 1857 to subdue the Kabyles, who under leaders such as Ben-Salem, Ben-Kassim, the Man-with-the-Mule, the Man-with-the-She-Ass, and other chiefs less celebrated, defended their territory step by step.  In the great chastisement of 1857, Marshal Randon, after subduing this part of the Djurjura ridge in detail, determined to preserve the fruits of victory by two new constructions—­a fort and a military road.  France was to reside among her unwilling colonists, and she was to possess an avenue of escape.  The building of these two conveniences, as we may call them, over the smoking ruins of victory, was a conspicuous example of the excellent engineering genius of the nation.  An English officer, Lieutenant-colonel Walmsley, witnessed, and has left a spirited account of, the great conquest, and the immediate improvement of it.  The strongholds of the Djurjura (it being May, 1857) were taken:  the most difficult, Icheriden, was soon to fall, yielding only to the assault of the Foreign Legion—­that troop of Arabs and of Kabyles from the Zouaoua plain wherefrom we derive the word zouave.  Marshal Randon selected for his fort the key of the whole district:  it was a place known as the Souk-el-Arba ("Market of Wednesday").  It was in the heart of the Beni Raten land, and in a spot where three great mountain-ridges ran down into the plain of the Sebaou.  These ridges, subdued and friendly, would be held in respect by the garrison of the fort, and the other ridge of Agacha, still rebellious, would likewise terminate at the fort.  The works were immediately laid out and quickly built.  As the road sprang into its level flight like magic, the peeping Kabyles, perfectly unaware that they were conquered, laughed in derision.  “It is to help the cowards to run away,” they said.  In due time rose the pale walls of the citadel, with mountains above and hills below.  The Kabyles call it the White Phantom.  Their songs, the “traditions” of illiterate tribes, recite the building of the terrible stronghold:  “The Roumi has arrived at the Market:  he is building there.  Weep, O my eyes! tears of blood.  The children of Raten are valiant men:  they are known as masters of the warlike art.  They fell upon the enemy at Icheriden.  The Franks fell like lopped branches.  Glory to those brave men!  But the Roumi has peeled us like seeds.  The powder talks no more.  The warlike men are fainting.  Cover thyself with mourning, O my head!”