THE COUNTRY OF THE ANT MEN 



By Thomas H. Kearney 



ONE of the most remarkable por- 

 tions of the Sahara Desert is the 

 region known as the Erg. It is 

 a wilderness of great ridges of sand that 

 extends from southeastern Algeria far 

 into the hinterland of Tripoli. In the 

 northern part of the Erg, about midway 

 between the Jerid district of Tunis* and 

 the Oued Rirh Valley in the Algerian 

 Sahara, the oases of the Souf lie hidden 

 among dunes that are almost mountain- 

 ous in size. 



Although less than 200 miles from the 

 termini of three railways — Biskra and 

 Tebessa in Algeria and Gafsa in Tunis — 

 the Souf country is so difficult of access 

 that it is rarely visited by Europeans. 

 I had heard much of its marvels from 

 the natives of the Jerid, and it was there- 

 fore with a feeling of keen anticipation 

 that I started thither from Nefta one 

 November morning (see map, p. 377). 



Our road led first across the western- 

 most prolongation of the salt flat called 

 the Chott el Jerid, which is about 70 feet 

 below sea-level. Near the bank the salt 

 lay like a powdery rime of hoar-frost on 

 the dark-colored mud. As we proceeded 

 across the Chott it became a continuous 

 crust, like ice on a pond, but so thin and 

 transparent that we could plainly see 

 the muddy bottom. Gradually the crust 

 thickened and the mud was visible only 

 where the hoofs of camels and donkeys 

 had broken through. In places the salt 

 had been forced up, as if a mole had 

 made his runways beneath, into a net- 

 work of low ridges. 



Striking displays of mirage were seen 

 here. The rocky hills on the south side 

 of the great salt pond seemed much 

 nearer and higher than was really the 

 case, and their jagged peaks appeared 

 to give place to flat-topped buttes. The 

 center of the Chott assumed the likeness 



* Se "The Date Gardens of the Jerid," by 

 Thomas H. Kearney in National Geographic 

 Magazine, July, 1910. 



of a lake of blue water, with graceful 

 clusters of palms along its shore. 



Climbing the steep bank that marks 

 the western border of this depression, 

 we saw before us a seemingly endless 

 expanse of nearly level country, dotted 

 with hummocks about waist high. Each 

 little mound was crowned by a spiny 

 bush of "retam" or by other gray shrubs 

 of the desert. Among them in every 

 direction wound faintly marked bridle 

 paths. How the Souafa guide found his 

 way through this maze I could not guess. 

 Yet find it he did, rarely hesitating as to 

 which was the right road. He seemed 

 to be guided more by instinct than by 

 reason, for he was generally in a state 

 of half stupor, caused by the hashish 

 which he smoked constantly. 



We rode all day through this dreary 

 region and supped with the clean desert 

 sand for a table. The guide made beds 

 of the coarse grass known as "drinn" — 

 the principal food of camels in the Sa- 

 hara — upon which we spread our blan- 

 kets. The night became so cold that 

 after the first few hours I could sleep 

 but little. There was compensation, 

 however, in the view of the glittering 

 African sky, uninterrupted from the 

 zenith all around to the horizon, that 

 one could enjoy to the utmost while 

 lying on the ground. 



By 10 o'clock the following morning 

 we were engaged in a labyrinth of 

 dunes, laboring up one side of a sand- 

 hill and sliding down the other with our 

 donkeys sinking nearly to their bellies at 

 every step, then following one of the long 

 trough-like stretches of hard ground that 

 lay between the ridges of sand before 

 starting up the next slope. 



The last few miles of our journey was 

 an excessively toilsome climbing and de- 

 scending of enormous dunes, some of 

 which must have been 500 feet high from 1 

 base to summit. Nowhere could we see 

 the smallest leaf or twig, for this sand 



