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.