their wailing and joined in droning a dramatic funeral song.
Where is he?
His charger returned, but he himself remained far away.
His rifle returned, but he came back no more.
His sword returned, but he himself remained far away.
His spurs returned, but he came back no more!
To this song of the mourners the sobbing widow answered:
My tent is lone;
An unbearable cold surrounds me.
Where is my lion?
Where shall I find one like him?
Misery and fright are my constant companions.
The procession passed, leaving behind it an impression of those earlier times when Arabs, Berbers and Kabyles spent their lives in the saddle in constant fighting and raids. How little they ever imagined that there would come a time after this persistently warlike life when the only reminder of their fighting days would be the funeral songs sung over date, wool and cattle merchants, who had known no weapons other than a shepherd's staff.
I followed the procession and observed that the corpse was carried head foremost, which is not the custom with either Christians or Jews. When the cortège had reached the cemetery, the turban was taken from the head of the deceased and flung three times upon the ground with supplications to Mahomet. As soon as the body had been lowered into the grave, which was done with great care in order to avoid having it touch anything before reach-
