The feeling began to grow, however, that the hero was shirking.  He showed no haste to be off.  At length, one night Major Bravida went to Baobab Villa and said very solemnly, “Tartarin, you must go!”

It was a terrible moment for Tartarin, but he realised the solemnity of the words, and, looking around his cosy little den with a moist eye, he replied at length in a choking voice, “Bravida, I shall go!” Having made this irrevocable decision, he now pushed ahead his final preparations with some show of haste.  From Bompard’s he had two large trunks, one inscribed with “Tartarin of Tarascon.  Case of Arms,” and he sent to Marseilles all manner of provisions of travel, including a patent camp-tent of the latest style.

II.—­Tartarin Sets off to Lion-Land

Then the great day of his departure arrived.  All the town was agog.  The neighbourhood of Baobab Villa was crammed with spectators.  About ten o’clock the bold hero issued forth.

“He’s a Turk!  He’s wearing spectacles!” This was the astonished cry of the beholders, and, sure enough, Tartarin had thought it his duty to don Algerian costume because he was going to Algeria.  He also carried two heavy rifles, one on each shoulder, a huge hunting-knife at his waist and a revolver in a leather case.  A pair of large blue spectacles were worn by him, for the sun in Algeria is terribly strong, you know.

At the station the doors of the waiting-room had to be closed to keep the crowd out, while the great man took leave of his friends, making promises to each, and jotting down notes on his tablets of the various people to whom he would send lion-skins.

Oh, that I had the brush of an artist, that I might paint you some pictures of Tartarin during his three days aboard the Zouave on the voyage from Marseilles!  But I have no facility with the brush, and mere words cannot convey how he passed from the proudly heroic to the hopelessly miserable in the course of the journey.  Worst of all, while he was groaning in his stuffy bunk, he knew that a very merry party of passengers were enjoying themselves in the saloon.  He was still in his bunk when the ship came to her moorings at Algiers, and he got up with a sudden jerk, under the impression that the Zouave was sinking.  Seizing his many weapons, he rushed on deck, to find it was not foundering, but only arriving.

Soon after Tartarin had set foot on shore, following a great negro porter, he was almost stupefied by the babel of tongues; but, fortunately, a policeman took him in hand and had him directed, together with his enormous collection of luggage, to the European hotel.

On arriving at his hotel, he was so fatigued that his marvellous collection of weapons had to be taken from him, and he had to be carried to bed, where he snored very soundly until it was striking three o’clock.  He had slept all the evening, through the night and morning, and well into the next afternoon!