Almost all the animal life of the Sahara is deadly, and the esparto grass picker is constantly facing danger. The clump of esparto, into the bottom of which he must reach to cut the mature stalks, is quite likely to be the lair of a poisonous viper; and if the reptile sinks its fangs into the flesh of the unfortunate picker, long weeks of suffering and disability—perhaps death—are in store for him. Between the bite of a rattler and that of an esparto viper there is little to choose.

The scorpion is another peril to the esparto picker. The great rock-scorpion of the Sahara is about as ugly as the centipede of Arizona and Mexico; in size it is also about as large—from six to ten inches in length. Its sting, too, is about as dangerous as the fangs of the rattler. But the esparto picker has a method of heroic treatment for both the bite of the viper and the sting of the scorpion. He squats calmly upon the sand while a brother picker cuts out the flesh that has been pierced. If he survives the twenty-four hours following, he is pretty likely to pull through. If not—well, the vultures know when and where to look.

The esparto grass is delivered to the nearest local market compressed in bales of five or six hundred weight, held together by a coarse netting of esparto weave, and shipped to Europe. Nearly all of it goes to Great Britain. There it is shredded and made into cordage, coarse cloth, or paper.

But the esparto has a rival so far as its use in making paper is concerned. The wood pulp of Norway and the United States is slowly displacing it, and in time esparto will be but little used except for making cordage or gunny cloth. Already the French Government is having troubles of its own in providing employment for the esparto pickers, but it is not likely that such a useful plant will be discarded; on the contrary, its use is likely to increase in the future.

The camel is the institution upon which the commerce of the desert depends. A more awkward, ungainly beast can hardly be imagined—a shambling collection of humps, bumps, knobs, protruding joints, and sprawling legs seemingly attached to a head and neck in the near foreground. But that shambling gait will carry a load three times as heavy as the stoutest pack mule can bear, and it will carry it twice as far in a day.

A horse or a mule must be fed twice a day, but a camel will worry along for a week at a time with nothing more substantial than its cud. Horses and mules cannot traverse regions where the watering places are more than twelve hours apart, unless water be carried in storage; but the camel is its own storage reservoir, and can carry a supply sufficient to last for ten days.

At the end of his week of fasting the hump of the camel has shrunken to a fraction of its former size. When the animal has a few days of feeding the hump grows to its former proportions again. Indeed, the hump is merely a mass of nutrition ready to be formed into flesh and blood.

A caravan crossing the desert on the road to Jaffa
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