Biskra, The Ziban Queen 



589 



have no pockets, and the money went into 

 their mouths. 



Five other oases are passed, Chetnah, 

 Droh, Sidi-Khabil, Seriana, and Garta, 

 and at length we approached the mud 

 wall which surrounds the sacred oasis. 

 Four thousand Arabs live in this village, 

 and the mud houses are thickly packed, 

 the streets narrow and indescribably 

 dirty, with rivulets of muddy water run- 

 ning down the center. The tiny shops 

 are open to the street, in Eastern fashion, 

 and behind their wares the cross-legged 

 merchants sit in stoic indifference. The 

 most primitive of tools and of workman- 

 ship characterize the bazaars, and there 

 is a lack of the attractive objects one 

 sees in most oriental towns and shops, 

 only the necessities of existence having 

 place here. 



Half -naked boys play a game with 

 sticks and ball, hockey, perhaps — or, stay, 

 can it be an Arabian form of golf? Per- 

 haps that quick cry means "fore" in the 

 Arabian tongue. Who knows ? Heads of 

 veiled women peer out behind the screen 

 of a hanging blanket in the back of a 

 shop, and an Arab, somewhat cleaner 

 than any we have yet seen, accosts us in 

 fair French, assuring us he is the only 

 person in the oasis who speaks other than 

 Arabic, and offering his services as 

 cicerone. 



A short and decisive bargain, and we 

 follow our guide, followed in our turn 

 by what seems half the population of the 

 village, to whom we appear to be some- 

 thing in the nature of "freaks." Imme- 

 diately behind us three lank fellows in 

 torn brown burnouses brandish long 

 bamboo rods to keep the curious popu- 

 lace from too near approach. 



Through tortuous, winding streets we 

 reach the square old mosque, built of 

 mud and plaster, and said to be the most 

 ancient Mohammedan building in Africa. 

 It is a place of pilgrimage for the faith- 

 ful, this tomb of a saint, and there are 

 at least a hundred devotees at prayer in 

 the place. Rags are tied over our 

 Christian feet, and we follow our guide 

 into the dark old mosque. Quiet it is and 

 still, though just at the entrance a group 



of ascetic-looking fellows, Mohammedan 

 "divinity students," are loudly repeating 

 prayers from old tablets, swaying to and 

 fro on their knees as they chant their 

 supplications. But within quiet reigns, 

 and the kneeling or prostrate pilgrims do 

 not move as we creep softly by. The 

 flat roof is upheld by rude columns, one 

 of which, with its spiral ornamentations, 

 suggests that its first use was probably in 

 some Roman building. The moslem 

 "half-orange," though ruder here than 

 in the delicate alabaster of the Alham- 

 bra, arches over, with its seat for the 

 Mufti on the eastern side, and beside it 

 is a carved door of fine workmanship. 



The shrine of Sidi-Okba is in a sort 

 of chantry screened off from the mosque, 

 and is of the common Marabout shape. 

 It is hung round with ostrich eggs, chains 

 and amulets of silver and copper, and, 

 what appears to be particularly precious, 

 a large gilt mirror frame. On a near 

 pillar is a rude inscription in quaint 

 Arabic, or Cufic, said to be the oldest 

 Arabic inscription extant, and grand in 

 its simplicity : "This is the tomb of 

 Okba, son of Nafa. May God have 

 mercy upon him." The minaret is said, 

 according to Arab legends, to tremble 

 visibly when the saint is invoked accord- 

 ing to a prescribed form. But, though it 

 is leaning and insecure, we felt no trem- 

 ble as we ascended the high, winding 

 stairs. Emerging upon the roof, the 

 fascination of the sudden apparition of 

 the Saharan scene held us fast. The level 

 desert stretched before us, a golden sea 

 of sand, the dark islands of distant oases 

 recalling the simile of the panther's skin. 

 Grander far is it than the surface of the 

 ocean without a sail, the far-off line 

 where earth and sky melt into one sug- 

 gestive of distance, mystery, and un- 

 known existence, that "dry country 

 abounding in dates." 



The flat roofs of the village surrounded 

 us, and many a veiled woman's figure, 

 swaying and bowing with monotonous 

 genuflection, reminded us that the femi- 

 nine faithful resort to the housetops to 

 pray. 



Across the sand dunes and by the 



