The Horses of the Sahara and the Manners of the Desert

by E.‏ Daumas

But if the murderer be the master of a great tent, and sufficiently influential to induce the tribe to exercise forbearance towards him, and therefore refuses to pay any blood money, he will sooner or later expiate that refusal with his life, which the vendetta will overtake though justice lag behind. From his death, however, will arise a deadly feud, as I have already shown. I could give many instances of the vendetta; and the one that follows, being equally illustrative of the customs of a powerful Saharene tribe, the Shamba, and of those of a people of the Great Desert, the Touareg, separated from one another by at least two hundred leagues, will afford a just notion of those obstinate hatreds, of that thirst for vengeance which always embody themselves in the same acts of violence. A band of the Shamba, commanded by Ben-Mansour, chief of Ouargla, surprised, near the Djebel-Baten, some Touaregs who were watering their camels in the Oued-Mia, under the leadership of Kheddash, chief of the Djebel-Hoggar. An implacable hatred, the origin of which is unknown, divides the Shamba from the Touaregs—the latter, besides, being in a state of perpetual vendetta against the Saharenes, either because they are Berbers and not Arabs, or because they levy a tax on the caravans to and from Soudan. A bloody conflict ensued, and the Touaregs were put to the rout, leaving ten of their party dead upon the ground, and among them their chief, whose headless body they found some days afterwards. Ben-Mansour had carried off his head, which he exposed, as a trophy of his victory, over one of the gates of Ouargla. The tidings spread mourning throughout the Djebel-Hoggar, and an oath was taken: "May my tent be destroyed if Kheddash be not avenged!" Kheddash left behind him a widow of great beauty named Fetoum, and one young child. According to usage, Fetoum was entitled to rule, assisted by the Council of Nobles, until such time as her son should be of age to assume the leadership. One day, therefore, when the leading men were assembled in her tent, she said to them: "My brethren, whichever of you will bring me Ben-Mansour's head shall have me for wife." That same evening all the young men of the mountain armed themselves for war, and went to her, saying: "To-morrow we will set out with our servants to seek thy wedding present." And at the dawn of day three hundred Touaregs, commanded by Ould-Biska, a cousin of Kheddash, set out on their march to the northward. Hardly had they taken up their position at their first halt, when they beheld coming up behind them half a score of camels with riders, and among them one fleeter of foot and more richly accoutred than the others. They at once recognized the camel of Fetoum, for Fetoum had come in person to join their little army. She was greeted with loud acclamations, for it seemed to them, and perhaps with reason, that she had come expressly to be able more promptly to fulfil her promise. It was the month of May, when water is to be found in every ravine, and the sands are clothed with herbage. During the halt on the eighth day, the scouts came in with the news that a strong body of the Shamba, commanded by Ben-Mansour, were driving their flocks towards the grazing grounds of the Oued-Nessa. The Shamba, however, having received intelligence of the approach of the Touaregs, had turned suddenly towards the north and had already gained the Oued-Mzab. But their retreat was speedily discovered, and by a forced march of a day and a night, the Touaregs placed themselves in ambush in ravines and brushwood at a distance of only a few leagues from the enemy, who had now no suspicion of their presence. All that day they rested, and when night came they again took to the plain, putting their camels to a long swinging trot. At length about midnight the barking of the dogs betrayed the douar of which they were in search. The next moment, on a signal given by Ould-Biska, they dashed forward uttering their war-cry. Of the Shamba, at the most not more than five or six escaped, and one even of these was wounded by Ould-Biska who, with a thrust of his long spear, struck him in the loin. Run away with by his mare, the ill-fated horseman, rolling from side to side but still keeping his seat, went on a few steps, but presently he sank forward and fell over on to the sand, dragging down with him in his fall a child seven or eight years of age whom he had till then kept concealed in his burnous. "Ben-Mansour! Ben-Mansour! knowest thou Ben-Mansour?" demanded Ould-Biska. "He was my father—behold him!" replied the boy, calm and erect beside the dead body. At that moment, Fetoum came up, followed, surrounded, and closely hemmed in by a group of the Touaregs. "It is I who have slain him!" cried Ould-Biska. "And it shall be done as I said," answered Fetoum; "but take thy poniard, open the body of the accursed, tear out his heart, and throw it to the dogs."

While Ould-Biska, kneeling on the ground and stooping over the corpse, proceeded to execute this order, Fetoum, her lips compressed and her whole frame trembling with nervous excitement, gloated over the shocking spectacle. And when at last the slougui had finished their horrible repast, her revenge being now complete, Fetoum remounted her mahari and gave the signal for retreat, without taking any heed of the booty her followers were piling up, or of the flocks they were driving together. As to the son of Ben-Mansour, his life was spared, but they abandoned him to his fate. For two days he remained there, weeping, thirsting, hungering, and exposed to the sun, but on the third day he was found by some shepherds who conveyed him to Ouargla, where he was living in 1845. Thus the dogs of the Touaregs have eaten the heart of the chief of the Shamba, and it may be easily imagined that this will be the subject of an undying feud, that will know neither respite nor mercy.

I will not dwell any further upon customs impressed with such savage energy. By way of contrast, I will now trace some family sketches, commencing with the reverence attached to the paternal authority. So long as the child is in his infancy, the tent belongs to him, and his father is in some respects the first of his slaves. His sports are the delight of the family, his whims the life and soul of the domestic circle. But as soon as he attains to puberty, he is taught the utmost deference. He is not even allowed to speak in the presence of his father, or to attend the same meetings. This absolute respect which he is bound to exhibit towards the head of the family, he is also obliged to pay to his eldest brother. However, notwithstanding their aristocratic severity, the customs of the Arabs do not come up to the gloomy rigour of the Roman Patricians. A father, for instance, would never condemn his son to death unless he has dishonoured his couch—for any other offence he would merely banish him from his presence.

Thus far I have sketched with a coarse and rapid pencil the character of the Arab aristocracy; I will now endeavour to represent the actual life of a noble in some of its most solemn moments.

The day on which a child is born in a great tent is one of much rejoicing. Every one visits the father of the new-born, and says to him: "May thy son be happy!" And while the men press round the father, the mother is not neglected, for the women of the tribe flock to see her. Both men and women have their hands full of presents, proportioned to their means. From camels, sheep, and costly apparel, down to grain and dates, all the treasures of the desert abound in the tent which Allah has just visited with his blessing. The recipient of all these tokens of affection and respect is obliged to exercise a large hospitality. Sometimes for twenty consecutive days, he feeds and entertains his guests. These festivals in the desert have that air of grandeur which belongs to all the scenes that are enacted in this solemn theatre of primitive life.

As soon as the child is old enough, he learns to read and write, which is an innovation among the djouad, for until recently the marabouts alone cultivated letters. The man of the sword, like our mediæval barons, held learning in contempt. It seemed to him that, in cultivating his mind, some sort of injury was done to his energy of character. But since they have beheld the humblest of our soldiers possessed of knowledge without their courage being impaired, the Arabs have changed their opinion on the subject. Besides, those who took service with us soon discovered that education conferred a title to favours. Many of them too, murmur to one another with a tone of sad resignation: "Formerly we were able to live in ignorance, for peace and happiness were with us; but in this time of trouble through which we are compelled to pass, science must come to our aid." Our influence thus gradually accomplishes, in the very heart of the desert, the work of civilisation, of which some among us speak so despondingly, and others so lightly.

The culture of letters, however, does not lead, in the education of the Arab, to any neglect of the art of managing a horse or of handling fire-arms. As soon as a child can sit on a horse, he is placed, first of all, on the back of a colt, and then on the full grown animal. When his frame begins to take form, he is taken out hunting, and taught to fire at a mark, and to bury his spear in the flanks of a wild boar. By the time he has attained his sixteenth or seventeenth year, has learned the Koran, and has been accustomed to fast, he is married. The Prophet has said: "Marry when young. Marriage subdues the glance of the man's eye, and regulates the conduct of the woman." Up to that epoch, paternal tenderness watches over the purity of his manners with unceasing vigilance. The lad is never left to himself. A tutor or an attendant accompanies him wherever he goes. Men of dissolute habits and women of a loose course of life are carefully kept away from him. He is expected to bring to the companion of his life a body in robust health, and a soul untainted by pollution. They select for him a youthful maiden of birth equal to his own, of unspotted reputation, and, if possible, of great beauty. It is the women of the family who ascertain these points, being permitted to examine the tents in which dwell young girls of marriageable years. A betrothal takes place, followed in due time by the wedding.

The first of these days of festival, which like those at the birth of a child, last for some time, is called nahr refoude, or the day of the rape. Four or five hundred horsemen, magnificently attired, riding their finest horses, carrying their most valuable arms, and conducted by the kinsmen of the bride, proceed to the tent of the latter. They are accompanied by women closely veiled and mounted on camels and mules. The youngest and most beautiful damsels of the tribe are chosen for this joyful mission. The journey, which sometimes lasts three days, is one continual fantasia. The horsemen gallop to and fro, there is a constant discharge of fire-arms, and the women utter that long drawn cry of love and joy which fills the heart of the children of the desert with ineffable emotion. At the arrival of this triumphal procession, the father of the bride comes forth and exclaims "You are welcome, O guests of Allah!" Then follow banquetings and rejoicings until the morrow, when they again set out. This time the bride forms one of the cavalcade, mounted on a camel, or mule, richly caparisoned. She has taken no leave of her father. An almost false sense of delicacy forbids her to appear in his presence at a moment when her fate is about to undergo an entire change. She is equally prohibited from seeing her elder brothers. Her girlhood's life is finished. Henceforth she belongs to another family.

When she is on the point of starting, her mother tenderly embraces her and says: "You are going away from those from whose loins you sprang. You are going far away from the nest that has so long sheltered you, and whence you issued forth to learn to walk, and that in order to go to a man whom you know not, and to whose society you have never been accustomed. I advise you to be to him as a slave, if you wish that he should be to you as a servant. Be satisfied with little. Keep a constant watch over all that is likely to come under his eyes, and let not his eyes ever behold an evil action. See to his food and his sleep. Hunger causes anger, the want of sleep produces ill humour. Take care of his property. Treat his kinsfolk and slaves with kindness. Be dumb as to his secrets. When he rejoices, show no signs of sorrow. When he is sorrowful, show no signs of joy. Allah will bless you!"

While this nuptial journey is being accomplished, the bridegroom prepares a tent richly ornamented, which he places under the safeguard of some of his friends. Into this the bride enters with her mother and female relatives. A choice banquet is presented to her, and outside a festival is celebrated, which, with gunpowder and music, combines all that enters into the desert notion of rejoicing. At ten at night the husband glides into the tent, now silent and deserted.