tte oACne Dr Ci YO THE SANDS 
faster and faster swayed the lines of 
men. 
After what seemed a long time a young 
man jumped from the front line and ran 
toward the chaotiche, or priest, who had 
arisen and given him his hand to kiss; 
whereupon he immediately stripped to 
the waist, keepiag on only a pair of white 
Oriental trousers. 
A wooden box full of scorpions had 
been brought over to me to look at. There 
were black, yellow, and white, and I 
knew from experience how dangerous 
they were. An under- priest, “bache 
chaotiche,” stood upon a sort of stool 
and held high above his head a large 
scorpion by the tail. The fanatic howled, 
snapped, and jumped for it, the way a 
mad-dog snaps at persons, and his eyes 
had an unnatural stare and glassy look, 
and he foamed and frothed at the mouth. 
After a few seconds the bache chaotiche 
dropped the scorpion into the fanatic’s 
open mouth. He gave one snap and 
gulped it down alive, to be followed in 
an instant by another. By this time 
about 20 men and youths were stripped 
to the waist, all snapping and frothing at 
the mouth. The first fanatic came so 
near me that I could feel his hot breath 
on my face. 
RITES OF TORTURE 
An under-priest had brought up two 
round swords the size of my little finger 
and about one meter in length. ‘The 
chaotiche seized the flesh and muscles of 
the fanatic’s shoulder, and, with a quick 
thrust, drove the florette through so that 
about 15 inches protruded on either side 
of the shoulder. He then did the same 
with the second sword to the other 
shoulder. T'wo more florettes had been 
brought up by an under-priest. All the 
swords had handles of hardwood shaped 
like a large ball. 
The fanatic braced himself and the 
chaotiche, chanting a verse from the 
Koran, drove the sword into one side of 
the abdomen. ‘The second sword was 
done likewise on the other side of the 
abdomen; and, with these four swords 
sticking into him, the fanatic walked 
1081 
about, and the bache chaotiche followed 
him and at every other step hit with full 
force, with a kind of sledge hammer, on 
the hard wooden balls fastened as han- 
dles to the swords, driving them deeper 
at every blow. 
The leaves of the “prickly pear” had 
been brought in in large baskets, and 
other fanatics, instead of being thrust 
through with swords, laid down and 
rolled on a bed of prickly pear leaves (not 
the Burbank variety, without thorns), 
and men covered their bodies with more 
leaves. The chanting and beating of the 
tom-toms continued meanwhile. 
The noise of the music and the you- 
you-yous of approval from the women, 
hidden behind great lattice screens; the 
close air and the odor of incense, min- 
gled with the smell of sweat, made me 
almost nauseated. About 70 men—old, 
middle-aged, and young—underwent this 
terrible ordeal. 
The swords were pulled out by the 
chaotiche or moudadem, who placed what 
looked like a large bandana handkerchief 
about the sword and over the wound and 
with great force jerked out the sword. 
The fanatic would throw his arms around 
the neck of the moudadem and cling to 
him, while he whispered a few words of 
comfort into his ear. Immediately his 
eyes would lose their glassy stare and his 
face relax and become normal. 
EXPLANATION OF THESE TORTURES 
During my journey through the T'rog- 
lodyte country, in extreme southern Tu- 
nisia, I was frequently permitted, as 
guest of the cadi, to see the Aissaouas 
at their rites. One moonlight night, as 
everything was in full swing—Brebisch, 
Mohammed, and I sitting on the flat roof, 
the courtyard being too small to contain 
all that wanted to follow the service—the 
captain of the “Affaires Indigenes” came 
up with several officers leaving for Mo- 
rocco the next morning. Immediately 
everything stopped. The officers were 
non-believers, and they would not con- 
tinue their religious rites. No threats 
of imprisonment or punishment were of 
avail, 
