Gafsa, general view. (Photo by M. Brichard)

      Needless to say, this news aroused deep emotions. The outraged public demanded vengeance and grieved for the death of this brave explorer; they insisted that the ruthless Tuareg chieftain, whose name was held up to public loathing, pay for this crime and for his many other attacks on caravans. The French authorities decided to mount an expedition to capture him, to punish him for his crimes, and, in so doing, to eliminate his nefarious influence on the native tribes, who were known to be gradually moving toward the eastern part of the continent and settling in the southern part of Tunisia and Tripolitania. The heavy commercial traffic that traveled through these regions was in danger of being disrupted, or even destroyed, if the Tuareg were not completely subdued. An expedition was therefore ordered. Both the governor-general of Algeria and the resident-general in Tunisia commanded that it be supported by the cities in the region of the chotts and sebkha, where military outposts had been established. For this difficult campaign, which was expected to yield such important results, the Ministry of War assigned a squadron of spahis commanded by Captain Hardigan.

      A detachment of some sixty men arrived at the port of Sfax aboard the Chanzy. A few days after disembarking they left the coast and headed west, with their Arab guides and with their supplies and tents carried on the backs of camels. They would replenish their supplies in the towns and villages of the interior, Tozeur and Gafsa among others, and there was no lack of oases in the Djerid region.

      The captain had under his command a junior captain, two lieutenants, and several noncommissioned officers, including Sergeant Nicol.

      Since the sergeant was with the expedition, that meant that his old brother Giddup and the faithful Ace-of-Hearts were necessarily part of it as well.

      The expedition, pacing its marches regularly so as to ensure the success of its journey, crossed the entire Tunisian Sahel, or grassland region. After passing through Dar el Mehalla and El Quittar, it came to Gafsa, in the Henmara region, to rest for forty-eight hours.

      The town of Gafsa occupies a plateau surrounded by hills, on a large bend of the Wadi Bayoeh. Several kilometers beyond the hills rises a formidable range of mountains. Of all the settlements of southern Tunisia, Gafsa has the largest population, which lives in an urban area of houses and shacks. It is dominated by the Kasbah, where Tunisian soldiers used to stand guard, but which is now manned by French and native troops. Gafsa can also boast of being a literate community and has a number of schools where Arabic and French are taught. Industry thrives there also, in the form of cloth weaving and the manufacture of silk haiks and blankets and burnouses made from the wool provided by the Hammâmma tribe’s many sheep. One can still see the termil, baths built during the Roman period, and thermal springs whose temperature ranges from twenty-nine to thirty-two degrees centigrade.

      In Gafsa, Captain Hardigan obtained more precise information about Hadjar. The Tuareg band had been observed in the vicinity of Ferkane, a hundred and thirty kilometers to the west. It was a long distance to cover but, to a spahi, weariness and danger mean nothing.

      When the members of the detachment learned how much energy and endurance their leaders expected of them, they could not wait to start out. As Sergeant Nicol put it, “I’ve spoken to my old brother, and he’s ready to do double route marches if need be. And Ace-of-Hearts would like nothing better than to be in the front ranks.”

      Well supplied with provisions, the captain set out with his men, heading southwest. First they had to go through a forest of no fewer than a hundred thousand palm trees, which contained another composed entirely of fruit trees.

      They passed through only one settlement of any size between Gafsa and the Algerian-Tunisian frontier. This was Chebika, where the information they had received about the presence of the Tuareg chieftain was confirmed. He was wreaking havoc among the caravans traveling through the far regions of the province of Constantine, adding new attacks on persons and property to his already long dossier of crimes.

      A few days’ march from there, when the commandant had crossed the border, he made great haste to reach the village of Négrine, on the banks of Wadi Sokhna.

      The day before he arrived, the Tuareg had been spotted a few kilometers to the west, between Négrine and Ferkane, on the banks of Wadi Djerich, which flows toward the large chotts in that region.

      Hadjar, who was accompanied by his mother, was reported to have about a hundred men. Captain Hardigan had only about half that number, but he and his spahis would have attacked without hesitation. African troops are not frightened by odds of two to one, and they had often fought under even less favorable conditions.

      That was exactly what happened when the detachment reached the neighborhood of Ferkane. Hadjar had been forewarned and was not eager to rush into battle. It would be better, he reasoned, to let the squadron advance farther into this harsh region of large chotts, to harass it with continual attacks, and to send out a call to the nomadic Tuareg, who were moving through the country and would certainly not refuse to join Hadjar, since he was well known to all the Tuareg tribes. Moreover, now that Captain Hardigan had picked up their trail, he would not abandon it and would no doubt pursue them as far as necessary.

      In view of this, Hadjar had decided to slip away. If he could cut off the squadron’s retreat after recruiting new partisans, he could probably annihilate the little detachment that had been sent out against him. This would add an even more deplorable catastrophe to the one that had befallen Carl Steinx.

      Hadjar’s plans were frustrated, however, while his band was trying to move up Wadi Sokhna to reach the base of Djebel Cherchar in the north. A platoon led by Sergeant Nicol, who had been alerted by Ace-of-Hearts, cut off their line of advance. Fighting broke out and the rest of the detachment soon joined in as well. Rifle and musket shots rang out, interspersed with revolver fire. Some of the Tuareg were killed and some of the spahis wounded. Half of the Tuareg forced their way out and managed to escape, but their leader was not among them.

      As Hadjar was spurring his horse to its fastest gallop in an attempt to rejoin his comrades, Captain Hardigan was riding in pursuit, also at top speed. Hadjar tried in vain to knock him out of the saddle with a shot from his pistol. The bullet went wide of its mark. Suddenly his horse lunged to the side and Hadjar, slipping from his stirrups, fell to the ground. Before he had time to get up, one of the lieutenants hurled himself upon him. Other spahis hurried to the scene and held him down, despite his desperate efforts to break free.

      Djemma rushed forward and would have reached her son if she had not been grabbed by Sergeant Nicol. But half a dozen Tuareg managed to pull her away from him, and the brave dog’s attempts to attack them as they dashed away with the old woman were in vain.

      “I had the she-wolf,” cried the sergeant, “but she slipped through my fingers. Here, Ace-of-Hearts, come here,” he repeated, calling the animal back. “Anyway, the wolf cub is a good prize.”

      Hadjar