The Horses of the Sahara 45

The Horses of the Sahara 45

The following sentiments are ascribed to sheep:—

 

"I love the close hand, that is, to belong to a miser who would neither

sell us, nor slaughter us for the entertainment of his guests.

 

"I love distant market-places; for when they are near to my master, for

one reason or another we are sold, or slaughtered.

 

"And every day a new house; that is, fresh and more abundant pasturage."

 

Sheep are the fortune of the child of the desert. He says of them:

"Their wool serves to make our tents, our carpets, our garments, our

horse-cloths, our sacks, our nose-bags, our camel's-packs, our ropes,

our cushions. And what remains in excess of our own necessities we sell

in the _kuesours_ or in the Tell, when we go there, after harvest, to

buy grain. Their flesh we eat, or give it to be eaten by the guests of

Allah. Dried in the sun, it will keep, and be of use to us in our

journeys. Their milk is very serviceable to our families, whether as

drink or food. We make of it _leben_ or _sheneen_ [sour milk], and what

is over we give to our horses. We also get butter from it, which enters

into the preparation of our food, or which we exchange in the _kuesours_

for dates. Of their skin we make cushions, and buckets to draw water

from the well. With it we ornament the _aâtatouches_[90] of our women,

or we dress it for shoe-leather. We have no need to plough, or sow, or

reap, or thresh out the corn, or to fatigue ourselves like vile slaves,

or like the wretched inhabitants of the Tell. No; we are independent, we

pray, we trade, we hunt, we travel, and if we have occasion to procure

that which others can only obtain by sweat and toil, we sell our sheep,

and forthwith provide ourselves with arms, horses, women, jewels,

clothes, or whatever else affords us gratification, or embellishes our

existence. The owner of sheep has no need to labour, nor is he ever in

want of anything. So Allah has willed it!"

 

 

 

 

LIFE IN THE DESERT.

 

 

In studying life in the desert, I have been greatly struck by its

analogy to that of the Middle Ages, and by the resemblance which exists

between the horseman of the Sahara and the knight of our legends,

romances, and chronicles. This analogy will appear yet more real, this

resemblance yet more striking, on a close observation of the accessory

characteristics which I now propose to sketch with a rapid hand.

 

By the Arab of the Sahara, I do not mean a dweller in the _kuesours_.

The latter is rallied by the wandering tribes as much as the inhabitants

of the Tell, and receives at their hands all sorts of derisive epithets.

Grown fat through his habits of indoor and commercial life, he is called

"the father of the belly," the grocer, the pepper-dealer. This rearer of

fowls—the Arab of the tent possesses no fowls—this shopkeeper resembles

the simple citizen of all countries and of all times. He is, at bottom,

the villain, the churl of the Middle Ages. He is the Moorish citizen of

Algiers—he has the same placid, apathetic, crafty physiognomy.

 

It is of the master of the tent that I propose to speak: of him who is

never more than fifteen to twenty days without changing his abode; of

the genuine Nomad, of him who never enters "the tiresome Tell" but once

a year, and then only to purchase grain. My horseman, my hunter, my

warrior is the man with a hardy iron-nerved constitution, a complexion

embrowned by the sun, limbs well proportioned, in stature rather tall

than short, but making light of the advantage of height, "of that lion's

skin on a cow's back," unless adroitness, activity, health, vigour and,

above all, courage be combined with it. But if he values courage, he

also pities rather than despises, and never insults those who "want

liver." It is not their fault, he good-humouredly remarks, but the will

of Allah. His abstinence cannot be exceeded, but, accommodating himself

to circumstances, he never neglects an opportunity of making a good and

hearty meal. His ordinary diet is simple and without much variety; but,

for all that, when the necessity arises, he understands how to entertain

his guests in a becoming manner. When the _ouadâa_, or peculiar festival

of a tribe, or _douar_, comes round, at which his friends will be

present, he would not offer them the slight implied by his absence, and

though it may be at a distance of thirty or forty leagues, he will not

fail to go there and fill himself with food. Besides, they know well

that he is quite ready to return their hospitality, and that they have

not to do with one of those stingy town traders who never offer more

than a space of four square feet to sit down in, a pipe of tobacco, and

a cup of coffee either without any sugar at all, or sugared only after

many preliminary phrases, carefully enunciated in recommendation of

coffee without sugar.

 

Among the Arabs, everything concurs to give power to the development of

the natural man. Nervous, hardy, sober, though occasionally displaying a

vigorous appetite, their eyesight is keen and piercing. They boast that

they can distinguish a man from a woman when two to three leagues

distant, and a flock of camels from a flock of sheep at double that

distance. Nor is this mere bragging. The extent and clearness of their

vision arise, as in the case of our sailors, from the incessant habit of

looking far ahead over an immense and objectless space. And, accustomed

as they are to scenes and objects always the same and which encircle

them within narrow limits, it would be strange if they did not recognize

them under almost any circumstances. Nevertheless, diseases of the eye

are very common. The refraction of the sun's rays, the dust and

perspiration cause numerous misadventures, such as ophthalmia and

leucoma, and blind and one-eyed men are numerous in many parts of the

desert—for instance, among the Beni-Mzab, at El Ghrassoul, Ouargla, and

Gourara.

 

The dweller in the desert, in infancy and youth, has beautiful white,

even teeth; but the use of dates as his habitual and almost exclusive

diet spoils them as he advances in years. When a tooth is entirely

decayed, he is compelled to have recourse to the armourer or farrier,

who is privileged to torture his patient, to break his jaw with his

pincers, and tear away the gums together with the tooth that was

troubling him.

 

The genuine chief, the real great lord, rarely leaves the saddle, and

very seldom goes on foot, though he wears both boots and shoes. The

common Arab, however, is an indefatigable walker, and in the course of a

day will get over an incredible distance. His ordinary pace is what the

French call the _pas gymnastique_ [which is quicker than the English

"double"], and what he himself calls a dog-trot. On flat ground, he

generally takes off his shoes, if he happens to have any, partly that he

may walk faster and more comfortably, and partly that he may not wear

them out. Consequently, his foot is like that of antique statues, broad

and flat, and with the toes wide apart. He is never troubled with corns,

and more than once Christians, who have insinuated themselves into

caravans, have been detected by this infallible sign and expelled. The

sole of the foot acquires such hardness, that neither sand nor stones

affect it, and a thorn sometimes penetrates to the depth of several

lines without being felt. In the desert, properly so called, however,

the sand during the great heat of summer is so burning hot that it is

impossible to walk upon it with naked feet. Even the horses are obliged

to be shod, or their feet would become painful and diseased. The dread

of being bitten by the _lefâ_, a viper whose venom is fatal, also

compels the Arabs themselves to wear buskins rising above the ankle.

 

The most common disease of the foot is the _cheggag_, or chaps, which

are healed by having grease rubbed in, and by being afterwards

cauterised with a hot iron. Sometimes these chaps are so long and deep

that they are obliged to be sewed up. The thread used for the purpose is

made of camel's sinews dried in the sun, and split into parts as fine as

silk; spun camel's hair is, likewise, employed. All the inhabitants of

the desert make use of this thread to mend their saddles, and bridles,

and wooden platters. Every one carries about with him a housewife, a

knife, and a needle.

 

Not a few turn their powers of pedestrianism to a good account, and make

it their profession. Hence come the runners and messengers, who gird

themselves tightly with a belt. These who are called _rekass_ undertake

affairs of great urgency. They will do in four days what the ordinary

runners take ten to accomplish. They scarcely ever stop, but if they

find it necessary to rest they count sixty inhalations of the breath and

start again immediately. A _rekass_ who receives four francs for going

sixty leagues thinks himself well paid. This modest reward, however, is

the more highly appreciated because it is paid in actual money. Specie

is rare, and is the smallest portion of an Arab's fortune. The

restricted circulation, and the facility of providing for the principal

necessities of life without buying or selling, by simply having

occasional recourse to barter are far from lowering the value of coined

money.

 

In the desert a special messenger travels night and day, and sleeps only

two hours in the twenty-four. When he lies down he fastens to his foot a

piece of cord of a certain length, to which he sets fire; and, just as

it is nearly burned out, the heat awakens him. In 1846, an Arab, named

El-Thouamy, a native of Leghrouât, was sent by the Kalifa

Sid-Hamed-ben-Salem to Berryân, a town situated in the country of the

Beni-Mzab. Starting at five in the morning from Kuesyr-el-Heyrân, he

reached his destination about seven in the evening of the same day. In

fourteen hours he had covered 168 kilomètres, travelling at the rate of

twelve kilomètres an hour. This same Thouamy set out one day from

Negoussa to go to Berryân, a distance of 180 kilomètres, charged with an

important message, and accomplished the journey in sixteen hours. During

both of these courses this man eat only a few dates and drank about two

_litres_ of water.

 

In 1850, El-Ghiry, of the tribe of the Mokhalif, was hunting the

ostrich, and, while wholly absorbed in chasing a _delim_, his horse

broke down just as his last drop of water was exhausted. All trace of

his companions was lost. For thrice twenty-four hours he wandered about

at random, in the desert, without food or water. During the day he slept

under a _bethoum_, and walked all night. His family had given him up

entirely, when at length they saw him approaching. At first they could

hardly recognize him, so utterly exhausted was he, so blackened by the

sun, and reduced to such a skeleton. He afterwards related that he

believed he owed his life to his dreams, in which he beheld his mother

tending him, and giving him something to eat and drink. These visions,

he said, had comforted and sustained him in his sore distress.

 

Let us now pass on from these examples of vigour and abstinence, which

might be multiplied to infinity, and give a tolerably correct estimate

of the goods and chattels of a Saharene nomad. This inventory will

afford a far better idea of life in the desert than can be obtained from

a long description. I take a man of influential family, and assume that

his household is constituted after the following fashion. Himself, four

wives, four sons, the wives of two of his sons, each of whom has a

child, four negroes, four negresses, two white men servants, two white

women servants: in all, twenty-five souls. He may also, of course, have

daughters, but they are sure to be married, and are no further trouble

to him. Such a household as this will possess:

 

A spacious tent in thoroughly good condition, to make

which will require sixteen pieces of woollen cloth,

forty cubits long by two in width, each worth from 7

to 8 _douros_, making a total of about 112 _douros_.

 

Two Arab beds, or rather carpets of shaggy wool,

thirty cubits in length by five broad; dyed with

madder, 20 _douros_ each; if dyed with kermes, 25

_douros_ 50

 

A carpet, twelve cubits long by four wide, hung up as

a curtain to separate the men's apartment from that of

the women. It is dyed with kermes and costs 16

 

Six cushions, to contain wearing apparel and used as

pillows: the price of each is 2 _douros_ 12

 

Six cushions of tanned antelope's skin, also used to

contain dresses and spun wool, and to lean against in

the tent 6

 

Six pieces of woollen stuff, made into a sort of

palanquin carried on camels' backs, and in which the

women travel 12