they approach the tribe they propose to rob, they proceed only at night,
and conceal themselves, when two or three leagues from the tents, in the
bed of a river, or among the herbage, or in the mountains. As soon as
the darkness has become dense, they issue from their hiding-place and
try the different _douars_ one after the other, stopping at last at that
which seems the least securely guarded, and where the dogs are the least
wakeful. If the robbers are six in number, four of them remain about
fifty paces from the _douar_, silent and motionless, while the two
others, the most daring and adroit, make their way into the interior.
Before separating, they agree upon a pass-word; and then the two thieves
go to work. If they find the dogs on the watch, they return for a third
companion, whom they station a little way off, in front of the tent
guarded by the vigilant dogs, and they themselves enter the _douar_ from
another quarter. They agree upon the tent they propose to rob; and while
one of them, called the _gaad_, remains as a sentinel beside it, the
other, the _hammaze_, pushes on to the horses. If the latter comes upon
a horse or a mare, fastened only by leather thongs ropes, he unties or
cuts the knot, seizes the animal by the _goulada_, or necklace of
talismans, and leads it to the side opposite to where the dogs are held
engaged by the _layahh_,[76] the third accomplice who was stationed for
that purpose in front of the tent. The _gaad_ stays behind ready to
shoot with a pistol, or to knock down with a stone or stick, the first
man who comes out of the tent, and then to mislead the rest by flying in
a direction different to that taken by his comrade with the horse. He
then rejoins the _layahh_, and the two quickly come up with the
_hammaze_, when all three return to their expectant companions. A second
robbery is committed, if the _douar_, buried in sleep, has had no
suspicion of what was going on; otherwise they prepare for flight. One
of them, placing his folded _haïk_ on the back of the horse so as to use
it for stirrups, starts forward at a gallop, after naming a rendez-vous
for the morrow or the day after. The others, to escape from the pursuit
which is sure to be instituted in the morning, hide themselves during
the whole of the first night. The one who mounted the horse only
continues his flight if the theft has been committed in the first hours
of the night; otherwise, he passes the whole of the morrow concealed in
a dry and stony spot, where the animal would leave no trace.
Should the fastenings of the horse, instead of being woollen, be of
iron, the operation is more difficult. The preliminary arrangements are
the same, but, once fairly at work, the _hammaze_ cautiously raises the
clog up to the knee, and binds it there with his camel's rope, which he
throws round the animal's neck, and leads it out very slowly. As soon as
he has rejoined his comrades and is sufficiently far from the scene of
his exploits, he bethinks him of giving his prize the liberty that is
still wanting. He therefore removes the clog by means of a small saw, or
picklock; at the worst he turns the padlock to the outside of the
animal's legs and shatters it with a pistol ball, or else fills it with
powder and blows it open. The explosion, however, rouses the owners of
the animal, who set out in search of it, but nearly always in vain. The
night is dark, and the robbers separate; though, if things come to the
worst, they abandon their prize to save their lives.
Sometime the master of a tent is troubled by the barking of the dogs,
and awakens his people by calling out to them, _El hayi rah hena_,
"there is somebody here." They go out, and, finding nothing, they
conclude that a hyæna, or a jackal, has occasioned the uproar, and so
turn in again. The thieves then come out of their hiding-places, and
perhaps proceed to some other _douar_ that is less upon the watch.
In preparing for a _khriana_, each one provides himself with a pistol
which he secretes under his burnous, a knife, a thick cudgel with a cord
at one end, and a poniard. If a robber fancies that the dogs will
distinguish him because of the whiteness of his garments, he leaves them
with his comrades, and enters the _douar_ entirely naked, his knife in
one hand and the cudgel in the other. It is a popular belief in the
Sahara that a man in a complete state of nudity is invisible in a dark
night. A vicious horse, or one that is thoroughbred, or entire, is safe
from robbers. Their habit of neighing on seeing a man would betray the
plunderers. To avoid being scented by the dogs the precaution is taken
to stalk up the wind. There are likewise other details which should not
be neglected—the absence of moonlight, for instance. The twenty-first of
the Mussulman month is the right time for setting out, and the night of
the twenty-second is usually the most favourable for the execution of
the enterprise. Dust and a high wind are useful allies, but rain is
treacherous, for, by moistening the soil so as to retain foot-marks, it
favours the pursuit. The cold season is the best for robberies of this
character. There is a common saying: "In winter, cattle-stealing,
because the dog sleeps in the tent. In summer, theft in the tent,
because the dog goes away to sleep."
Like all other Arabs, the robber believes that Allah does not disdain to
give him warnings—whence superstitious hopes and fears. If, on leaving
the _douar_, he meets a black mare, dirty, lean, and altogether in bad
condition, it is an evil omen and he goes back again. Another bad sign
is to hear yourself called by people who know not whither you are going.
To see two partridges is an auspicious augury, but one by itself
portends calamity. To find yourself, on starting, confronted by a
cheerful, courageous person, well dressed, and well mounted, infallibly
betokens success. An old woman, blind or maimed, and covered with rags,
will certainly prevent you from succeeding. Start, however, with perfect
confidence, if you have met a beautiful woman, richly dressed, to whom
you have said: "Open thy girdle, Fatma, for that will bring us good
fortune." She will not refuse to open to you the door to riches. It is
equally desirable to see on one's road a woman carrying milk, and to
drink a mouthful of it.
On their return, the robbers divide their spoils. The vow made to the
marabouts who were invoked is scrupulously fulfilled. The chief of the
_douar_, and the woman who opened her girdle, each receives a present.
The share that falls to the lot of the _hammaze_ is the largest; for it
is he who has played the most important part, and incurred the greatest
risks.
CAMEL-STEALING.
Camel-stealing is practised in the same manner as horse-stealing. They
choose full grown camels,—or, at least, such as no longer cry—or
she-camels with foal. Having removed the clogs, the robbers prick the
animal with a poniard or knife to make it go off, and get on its back as
soon as they are far enough away from the tents. All that night they
travel on, and if at daybreak they do not feel that they have gone
sufficiently far to escape the pursuit of horsemen, they halt and
conceal themselves in a spot the soil of which does not retain
foot-marks. The pursuers give up the chace if they find no traces of the
fugitives. In the other event they often recover what they have lost;
and, unless the robbers let go their prize and hide themselves, they may
pay for their daring with their life.[77] This is the supreme moment for
invocations and vows. "O Sidi Abd-el-Kader," cries the robber, on seeing
the enemy close at hand, and in dread of discovery, "if thou wilt save
us yet this one time, we will make in thy honour an _ouadâa_ for the
poor." In the Sahara, Sidi Abd-el-Kader-el-Djilaly is the patron of
robbers. This very undesirable patronage is due to the charity of the
holy marabout, who shrinks from leaving in trouble those who invoke his
name.
SHEEP-STEALING.
Sheep are but a poor prey, and more troublesome than profitable. They
walk slowly, and it is impossible to drive them far enough away by the
day after the theft. The Arabs, therefore, content themselves with
stealing from an enemy, in his absence, to feed themselves while lying
in ambush. Nevertheless, the opportunity is sometimes tempting. A flock
is seen grazing at a distance from the _douars_. The shepherd is lying
down, asleep, or in some other way occupied. It is yet early morning,
and there is time to cover a considerable distance before sunset, when
the flocks are driven home, and the theft is likely to be discovered.
Sometimes, therefore, they risk the hazard. Striking the negligent
shepherd a heavy blow on the head with a stick, they throw dust into
his eyes, and, tying his hands behind him, draw over his face the hood
of his burnous. The robbers then share with one another the task of
driving off the flock, broken up into small sections, each taking a
separate course, and going slowly at first, but after a while quickening
their pace. On the morrow, after traversing none but lonely paths, they
meet again at an appointed spot. In an affair of this kind they take the
shepherd with them, and set him free only in the middle of the night,
when they have nothing more to fear from him.
WAR BETWEEN DESERT TRIBES.
A caravan has been plundered—the women of the tribe have been
insulted—the right of water and pasturage has been disputed. These are
wrongs which no _razzia_, not even the terrible _tehha_, can
sufficiently avenge. The chiefs, therefore, assemble and decide upon
war. Then they write to the chiefs of all their allied tribes, and claim
their aid. The allies are loyal and faithful—are they not also enemies
of the tribe to be chastised? Have they not the same sympathies, the
same interests, as those who summon them? Are they not an integral part
of the confederation? Not a single tribe will refuse to send a
contingent in proportion to its importance. But the allies are distant.
They cannot arrive within a week or ten days, and in the meantime
counsels are taken, and the passion of the warriors excited by the
proclamations of the chiefs:—
"You are warned, O servants of Allah! that we have to exact vengeance
from such a tribe that has offered us such or such an insult. Shoe your
horses. Supply yourselves with provisions for a fortnight. Forget not
the wheat, the barley, the dried meat, and the butter. You must provide
not only for your own wants, but also that you may be able to afford a
generous hospitality to the horsemen of such and such tribes that are
coming to our assistance. Command your prettiest women to hold
themselves in readiness to accompany us, and to array themselves in
their finest garments, and adorn their camels and litters to the utmost
of their power. Do you yourselves also put on your handsomest dresses,
for with us it is a matter of _nif_ [self-love]. Keep your arms in good
condition. Supply yourselves with powder, and be assembled on such a day
at such a spot. The horseman who owns a mare and does not come, the
foot-soldier who possesses a gun and stays at home, shall be fined, the
former twenty ewes and the latter ten."
Every able-bodied man, though he should have to go on foot, is bound to
join in the expedition. Before setting out, the chiefs confide the
flocks, tents, and baggage of the tribe to the care of experienced
veterans, who are likewise charged to exercise a sort of police
supervision over this assembly of women, children, invalids, and
shepherds.
The enemy, on their part, likewise make their preparations. Warned by
travellers, by friends, and even by relatives whom they claim in the
opposite party, they hasten to write in all directions to assemble their
allies. Their flocks, tents, and baggage they place in a secure spot,
and then assign a rendez-vous to the horsemen with the least possible
delay. To guard against a surprise, they select a position suitable for
defence, and await whatever may happen. They have not long to wait. The
tribe that has taken up arms to avenge itself is very soon on the march,
for it has not lost a single moment. On the evening before their
departure, all the auxiliary chiefs join those who have summoned them,
and, in the presence of the marabouts, take the following oath on the
sacred book of Sidi Abd-Allah:—
"O friends! let us swear by the truth of the sacred book of Sidi
Abd-Allah that we are brothers, that all our guns shall be as one, and
that, in dying, we will all die by the same sabre. If you call us by
day, we will come by day, and if you summon us by night, we will hasten
to you by night."
Having taken this oath, they arrange to start on the following morning.
At the appointed hour a man of high birth, noble among the noblest,
mounts on horseback, orders his women, borne on camels, to follow him,
and gives the signal. There is a general movement, and all set out. The
eye is dazzled by the strange and picturesque confusion, the many-hued
crowd of horses, warriors, and camels bearing rich palanquins in which
the women are inclosed. Here are the foot-soldiers, who march by
themselves—there the horsemen, who superintend the female procession.
Others, again, more impetuous and thoughtless, dash on in front or
spread out on the flanks, but rather as hunters than as scouts, and with
their greyhounds run down the gazelle, the hare, the antelope, and the
ostrich. The chiefs, however, are more serious. Upon their shoulders
rests the whole responsibility. To them will accrue the largest share of
the plunder, if the expedition succeed; and upon them, also, in the
event of failure, will fall imprecations, ruin, and shame. They,
therefore, consult together and form their plans. Lastly, come the
camels that carry the supplies. Thus the host advances, adapting itself
to the irregularities of the ground, all in wild confusion, every one
noisy and joyous, thinking much of the adventure, nothing of the
fatigue, dreaming of glory, not of danger. The warriors relate their
former exploits, while the players on the flute accompany them,
inspiriting or interrupting them, and the women utter joyful cries. And
above all this uproar are heard the loud reports of fire-arms. The
firing ceases, and a young and handsome horseman strikes up one of those
love-songs, through which the ardour of their passion scatters strange
images and striking colours, and which, in the desert, have always a
fresh charm for these chivalrous nations.
My heart burns with fire
For a woman come forth from paradise;
O ye who know not Meryem [Mary],
That miracle of the one Allah,
I will show you her portrait.
Meryem, she is Osman Bey himself
When he appears with his standards,
And the roll of his drums,
And his _goums_ following behind.
Meryem, she is a blood mare
That lives in luxury
In a gilded palace;
And loves the leafy shade,
And drinks limpid water,
And will have negro slaves to wait upon her.
Meryem, she is the moon of stars
That betrays robbers;
Or, rather she is the palm-tree
Of the country of the Beni-Mezab,[78]
The fruit of which grows so high
That no one can gather it.
Meryem, rather is she the gazelle,
Bounding in the desert.
The hunter covers her young;
She sees the powder flash,
Leaps forward to receive the ball,
And dies to save its life.
She appointed to meet me
On Monday night.
My heart beat, she came,
All enveloped in silk,
And threw herself into my arms.
Meryem has no sister [no equal]
In the four corners of the world!
She is worth all Tunis and Algiers,
Tlemcen and Mascara,
Their shops, their shop-keepers,
And their perfumed stuffs.
She is worth the vessels
That traverse the azure deep with their sails,
Going in search of the riches
Which Allah has created for us.[79]
She is worth five hundred mares
The fortune of a tribe,
When they hasten to the fight
Beneath their proud riders.
She is worth five hundred she-camels
Followed by their little ones,
Besides a hundred negroes of the Soudan,
Stolen by the Touarueg[80]
To serve Mahommedans.
She is worth all the wandering Arabs,
Happy and independent,
And those with fixed abodes,
Unhappy victims
Of the caprice of Sultans.
Her head is adorned with pure silk,
Whence escapes in flowing curls
Her black hair perfumed with musk,
Or with amber from Tunis;
Her teeth, you would say they were pearls
Set in the reddest coral,
And her eyes, charged with blood,
Wound like the arrows
Of the savage inhabitants of Bernou.[81]
Her saliva, I have tasted it,
Is the sugar of dried grapes,
Or the honey of bees
In the flower of spring time.
Her neck is the mast of a ship
That ploughs the deep seas,
With its white sails
To float along with the wind.
Her throat resembles the peach
Which is seen ripening on the tree;
Her shoulders are like polished ivory,
And her rounded ribs
Are the haughty sabres
Drawn by the Djouad[82]
When weary of using their fire-arms.
How many valiant horsemen
Have died for her in battle!
Oh! would that I possessed
The best horse of the desert,
To ride pensive and alone
By the side of her white she-camel!
That horse would fill with rage
The young men of the Sahara.
I hunt, I pray, I fast,
And follow the laws of the Prophet:
But, were I forced to go to Mecca,
Never would I forget Meryem.
Yes, Meryem, with thy black lashes
Thou wilt always be beautiful,
And as delightful as a gift.
At the end of a few hours the heat becomes unpleasant, and a halt is
called. The tents are pitched, breakfast is prepared, and the horses are
unbridled and allowed to graze—and all rest themselves. As the sun goes
down, the heat diminishes—it is now between two and three in the
afternoon. To your saddles and forward, ye daring cavaliers! Display in
a brilliant fantasia the worth of your horses and of yourselves. The
women behold you; show them what you can do with a horse and a gun. Ah!
more than one of you shall be rewarded for his prowess. Do you see that
negro? He is bearing to one of you the recompense of his skill in
managing his arms and his steed. He is the messenger to whose care one
of the lovely spectators has confided the secret of her love, in
charging him to deliver to the hero of the fantasia her _khrolkhral_, or
anklets, or her _mekhranga_, or necklace of cloves.
It is not enough, however, to be a brave and skilful horseman—it is
incumbent on thee, also, to be discreet. Thou hast a friend; to-morrow
thou wilt give him thy horse and thy garments. Urge him strongly, for
thy sister[83] wishes it, to show himself in the midst of the _goum_
upon thy steed and in thy dress, so as to deceive the other horsemen.
In the mean time thou wilt pass unperceived as a humble foot-soldier,
and wilt walk beside the camel that bears thy mistress. Attention! watch
the favourable moment, and slip into her palanquin. She is just as
impatient as thyself, and stretches her hand to thee. Profit by this
assistance, and let thy movements outstrip suspicion.
In love, as in war, fortune favours the bold, but they have likewise the
largest share of perils. If such meetings are frequent and nearly always
successful, there is nevertheless risk to life; for, if the lovers are
ever surprised, both of them perish without mercy. But who is there to
betray them? All who surround them are in their favour. The lover tells
his good fortune to his friends, all of whom are anxious to forward his
happiness, and ten or a dozen _douros_ have been sent to his mistress.
Nor is this all. Her confidential servant has received two or three
_douros_, and money has been freely distributed among her slaves and
attendants. All, therefore, keep a good watch, and give timely notice to
the lover when he must glide out of the litter, in the midst of the
disorder and confusion caused by the pitching of the camp at the
approach of night.
Previous to sunset, the chiefs reconnoitre a spot suitable for an
encampment. It must be supplied with water, grass, and shrubs for
fire-wood. On arriving at the place selected, each tent is pitched, the
horses are unbridled and hobbled, as are also the camels, the negroes go
in search of wood and grass, the women prepare the food, and they all
sup. A thousand little scenes impart to a camp of this kind an aspect
full of charm and novelty. Then total darkness envelopes the scene,
unless there happens to be moonlight. The fires are extinguished—there
is nothing alight to diminish the darkness. In the Sahara, oil and wax
are alike unknown. Immediately after supper, each tent selects a man to
watch the animals and the baggage. It is his business to prevent thefts,
which his most active vigilance is, nevertheless, powerless to avert.
Not robbers alone wait for the night. Protected by the same obscurity,
the lover, with the privity of his mistress, cautiously approaches the
tent in which she reposes, raises the canvass, and guided by a devoted
slave, takes the place of the husband who, fatigued by the day's
journey, is sleeping in the men's chamber,—for in the tents of the
desert there are always two distinct compartments, one for men, the
other for women. Besides, it is deemed disgraceful for a man to pass the
whole night by the side of his wife. There is nothing therefore, to
interfere with these clandestine meetings. The presence of the two or
three other wives permitted by the Mussulman law would certainly not be
considered an obstacle. According, to an Arab proverb, only a Jewess
surpasses Shitan in trickery, but next to Shitan comes the Mussulmanee.
It is a thing unheard of in the desert that women should denounce one
another. But if, perchance, the adventure should seem too hazardous, the
woman issues from the tent when every one is asleep, and proceeds to a
spot she has indicated to her lover by means of one of the usual
intermediary agents, the negroes and shepherds.
At the very hour that happy lovers meet, are accomplished schemes of
vengeance. A rejected lover penetrates into the tent of the woman who
has treated him with scorn, goes up to her, and shoots her with a
pistol. At the sound of the explosion, the other women jump up, run
against one another, and utter shrieks. The murderer, however, has had
time to disappear, and the crime, perpetrated unseen, nearly always
remains unpunished. Love adventures are common in the Sahara. Willingly
or unwillingly, an Arab woman is sure to have lovers. The jealous
precautions of the husbands excite and foment to an unnatural degree the
libertine propensities of the women, by the very restraints that are
placed upon them. To whatever class they belong, they pass their time in
inventing stratagems to deceive their husbands while they are young,
and, when they are old, to facilitate the amours of others.
The night is over; the sky is covered with a golden light; it is time to
depart. The chiefs now send forward scouts to reconnoitre the enemy's
position, and to form an opinion, from external signs, of his moral
condition, and of the reinforcements he has received. The scouts advance
very cautiously, and, when they are nearing the hostile camp, travel
only at night. One of them is then detached on foot, who takes advantage
of every irregularity of the ground to avoid being noticed, and
oftentimes, disguised in rags, penetrates boldly into the midst of the
_douars_. There he makes himself acquainted with the number of
foot-soldiers, horses, and tents; observes whether they are laughing and
amusing themselves, or if sadness reigns in the camp; and then returns
to communicate the result of his investigations. The scouts remain all
night in a concealed spot, impatient to discover what will be the
attitude of the enemy at sunrise. If he executes the fantasia and
discharges his fire-arms,—if shouts of joy are heard, and singing, and
the sound of the flute,—it is certain that he has received
reinforcements, and troubles himself very little about the approaching
attack.
The tribe continues its march until it is not above nine or ten leagues
from the enemy. The advance has been made by short stages. The baggage,
the women, the foot-soldiers, are so many causes of delay; but what has
chiefly retarded the advance are the orders of the chiefs, who are
desirous to afford time for reflection to those they proposed to
chastise. It was acting prudently, and they were influenced by powerful
motives. Who knew but that terms of peace might be asked for,
accompanied by many presents for themselves, the leading councillors?
Examples were not wanting to that effect—indeed, it was the usual
custom. For them would be the cotton stuffs, the garments of cloth, the
guns mounted in silver, the anklets, and the _douros_! When an affair
takes such turn as this, an amicable arrangement is not far distant.