SKETCH PLAN OF TRACK ROUND JEBEL EL BAYED.
SKETCH PLAN OF TRACK ROUND JEBEL EL BAYED.
SKETCH PLAN OF TRACK ROUND JEBEL EL BAYED.
As we continued to follow his footprints, it becameclear that this was what he was aiming at, for his route, that at first had been running nearly due north, gradually circled round Jebel el Bayed till it ran almost towards the east, evidently with the intention of cutting the tracks that we had made the day before. His trail went steadily on, circling round the great black hill behind us without a single halt to break the monotony of the journey.
We had been following his spoor for about three hours and a half when we reached the point where his trail met and crossed the one that we had made ourselves and, as Qway had not hesitated for a moment, it was clear that in the uncertain moonlight he had passed it unnoticed.
As we continued to follow his tracks, presently it became evident that he had been considerably perplexed. Several times he had halted to look round him from the top of some slight rise in the ground, and had then ridden on again in the same easterly direction and repeated the process.
Abd er Rahman, on seeing these tracks, was beside himself with delight. He slapped his thigh and burst out laughing, exclaiming that Qway was lost, and “Praise be to Allah” had only got five days’ water supply. Abdulla, if anything, seemed even more pleased.
After a time Qway apparently concluded that he would wait till daylight before proceeding any farther, for we found the place where he had lain down to sleep. That he had started off again before dawn was clear from the fact that he had not prayed where he slept, but nearly an hour’s journey farther on.
We followed him for a little farther, but as the afternoon was then far spent, I thought it best to return to the depot for the night, in case Qway should get there before us.
Frequently when out in the desert I had occasion to send Qway, or one of the men away from the caravan, to climb a hill to see if anything was to be seen from the summit, to scout ahead of the caravan, or for some other purpose, and as there was always a risk that the absentee might not get back to the caravan by dark I had a standing arrangement that if anyone got lost from this cause I would send up a rocket half an hour after sunset, and a second one aquarter of an hour later, to enable him to find the camp. These two rockets were accordingly fired from the depot and, moreover, as it was an absolutely windless night, a candle was lighted and left burning on the top of a pile of stones to attract his attention in the dark, if he were anywhere in the neighbourhood. I hoped by this means to induce him to come in and give himself up, in preference to risking a possible death by thirst—but he never materialised.
In the morning we set out again to follow his track. I could not exactly leave him to die of thirst, if he had really got lost, and I also wanted to know what he was doing. As the camels were getting into a very poor condition, owing to the hard work they had had and the short water allowance I had put them on, we left all the baggage in the depot, and took them along with us, carrying only sufficient water for our own use during the day.
We picked up Qway’s trail where we had left it and, after following it for some distance, found where he had reached the old faint footprints left by Abdulla on his first journey, when he had ridden out alone to Jebel Abdulla. They had clearly puzzled him extremely. He dismounted and stood for some time examining the track and scanning the surrounding desert, as was clear from the number of footprints he had left at the place and the number of directions in which they pointed.
After a considerable amount of hesitation, he again set off in the same easterly direction he had been previously following, probably still hoping to find the tracks of the caravan that he had crossed in the moonlight without seeing.
I wanted Abdulla to get on hishaginand follow his tracks at a trot, hoping that in that level country, as Qway was only travelling at a walk, he would be able to overtake him sufficiently to sight him from a distance. But he had not recovered his nerve from the fright he had experienced and flatly refused to leave us, so we continued to follow the tracks together.
After riding for some distance farther, Qway had again climbed to the crest of a low ridge. Here he had stood forsome time, his footprints pointing in all directions, endeavouring to pick up the bearings of the depot and the route that he had followed when he had left it.
But that bit of desert might have been especially made for the purpose of confusing an erring guide. As far as could be seen in all directions stretched a practically level expanse of sandy soil, showing no landmark to guide him, except where the great black bulk of Jebel el Bayed heaved itself up from the monotonous surface. We could tell from his tracks that he had reached that point not much before midday, when, at that time of the year, the sun was almost directly overhead, and consequently of little use to indicate the points of the compass. From where he had stood, Jebel el Bayed itself would have been of little use to guide him, for though the hill had two summits lying roughly east and west of each other, the western one was from that point hidden by the eastern, which was of such a rounded form that it looked almost exactly the same shape from all angles on its eastern side.
Qway at last had evidently given up the problem. He had remounted his camel, ridden round a circle a hundred yards or so in diameter in a final attempt to pick up his bearings, and then had made off at a sharp trot towards the north. Abd er Rahman was in ecstasies.
“Qway’s lost. Qway’s lost.” He turned grinning delightedly to me. “I told you I was a better guide than Qway.” Then he suddenly grew solemn. Much as he hated the overbearing Arab, he had worked with him for two seasons, and, as he had said, there is a bond of union between those who “know thenijem.” “He will die. It is certain he will die. He only had five days’ water, and it is four days since he left the depot. He is not going where the water is, but he is making for the ‘Valley of the Rat.’ It is certain he will die of thirst. His camel has had no water for four days.”
Abdulla took a more hard-hearted view, and after the way in which Qway had treated him, he could hardly be blamed. “Let the cursed Arab die,” said the Sudani. “The son of a dog is only a traitor.”
We followed Qway’s footprints for a short distance.But he had been travelling very fast, and it was obvious that we should never catch him up. He was off on a non-stop run to Mut, and as our own water supply was by no means too plentiful, I thought we had better follow his example; so I told Abdulla to take us back to the depot. It was then about noon.
Abdulla looked at Jebel el Bayed, glanced at the sun and looked round the horizon, scratched his cheek in perplexity, and said he did not know where the depot was, but he thought it must bethere—he pointed somewhere towards the north-west. Abd er Rahman, however, was emphatic in saying that that was not the right direction, and indicated a point about west as being its position.
After some discussion, as they were unable to agree, Abd er Rahman turned to me and asked me to look at my compass to decide the direction in which we were to go. Unfortunately, I had left the compass in camp and had not been making a traverse of Qway’s tracks, as I had done on the previous day. We had all been too keen on reading Qway’s spoor to pay much attention to the changes in its direction, and so found ourselves in the same dilemma as Qway.
It was a furiously hot still day, and the sun shining almost perpendicularly down made the whole horizon dance with mirage, producing the impression that we were standing on a low sand bank in a vast sheet of water, whose distant shores flickered continuously in the heat haze—a veritable “devil’s sea” as the natives call it.
I had only the vaguest idea as to where the depot lay, but as I had to decide in which direction to go, I told them I felt quite certain that it stood west north-west—about half-way between the two bearings pointed out by the men. It was a mere guess, based on the assumption that they were neither of them very far wrong, but that their errors lay on either side of the true direction. As luck would have it, I was much nearer right than either of the others, a fact that greatly increased their respect for my knowledge of thenijem!
After marching for a couple of hours or so, Abd er Rahman peered for a moment into the distance andannounced that he saw the depot ahead of us. Neither Abdulla nor I could see anything. After some difficulty, however, I managed to identify the object to which Abd er Rahman was pointing, but all I could make out was an indistinct and shapeless blur, dancing and continually changing its shape in the mirage. Abd er Rahman, however, was most positive that it was the goal for which we were making, and, as I knew his extraordinary powers for identifying objects in similar circumstances, we made towards it and found that he had been correct.
We rested in the depot until sunset. Just before starting, it struck us that possibly we might pass Ibrahim and Dahab on the road. The arrangement I had made with them was that, if they failed to see us before reaching the depot, they were to leave as much water there as they could and return at once to Mut. But I wanted to arrange some means by which they should know where we had gone in the event of their reaching the depot. A letter was the obvious method, but Dahab was the only man in the caravan who could read or write, and I was doubtful whether he would come out again, as I had told him not to do so if he got at all knocked up on the journey back to Mut. Ibrahim, of course, was wholly illiterate, like the other two Sudanese, so it was difficult to see how I could communicate with him, if he came out alone. Abd er Rahman, however, was quite equal to the emergency. He told me that he would write Ibrahim a “letter” that he would understand, and, taking a stick scratched hiswasm(tribe mark) deeply into the soil, and then drew a line from it in the direction of Dakhla, the “letter” when finished being as follows:[Symbol], the mark[Symbol]being hiswasm. This letter, Abd er Rahman said, meant, “I, belonging to the tribe who use thiswasm, have gone in the direction of the line I have drawn from it.” This important communication having been completed, we set out on our return journey.
WE travelled after the manner described by Abd er Rahman as that of the Arabs when in difficulties in the desert. We rested, that is, in the middle of the day, marching throughout the morning and through most of the night.
At our last noon halt before reaching the bushes I overhauled the caravan. With the exception of the one big camel the whole of the beasts by this time were in a deplorable condition. Myhaginwas so weak that he was unable even to carry myhurj. Another brute that Abd er Rahman called the “rathermeskin” (feeble) camel, was very emaciated; while one that he calledthe meskinbeast, par excellence, was so excessively attenuated, that, in the photograph I took of him, only the desert appeared!
It was the big camel that pulled us through. The loads of themeskinand the “rathermeskin” camels were both put on to his back, in addition to his ordinary burden, and myhurjwas added to the pile. Moreover, whenever any of us wanted a lift we rode him—and he seemed to like it!
Ibrahim was two days overdue, and, as nothing had been seen of him, I was beginning to feel rather anxious and to fear he had passed us in the dark without our seeing him. During one noon halt, however, Abdulla, who was still rather jumpy, raised the alarm ofharamin(robbers). We immediately collected our ironmongery and turned out to receive them. But to our great relief we found it was only Ibrahim approaching with three camels and another man.
Dahab and one of my camels, we found, had knocked up on the journey to Mut and had had to be left behind. It had taken Ibrahim two days to get more beasts andsomeone to fill Dahab’s place. The new-comer was an elderly Sudani, who had been at Qasr Dakhl with two camels on Ibrahim’s arrival at Mut. He went by the name of Abeh Abdulla.
I was considerably prejudiced in his favour by hearing him invoke the aid of a certain “Sidi Mahmed,” or Mahmed ben Abd er Rahman Bu Zian, to give him his full name, the founder of the Ziania dervishes, a branch of the great Shadhlia order, that plays the rôle of protector of travellers. It is, I believe, better known in north-west Africa than on the Egyptian side. In the Western Sahara “Sidi Bu Zian,” as he is sometimes called, may almost be termed the patron saint of wayfarers in the desert.
Abdulla, when he got into difficulties, used to invoke a certain “Sidi Abd el Jaud,” whose identity I was never able to discover.
Ibrahim had done his job splendidly. During the two days in Mut, he had had the leaking tanks repaired and had borrowed some others from the native officials. He had brought them all out filled to the brim. We watered all the camels, and, when we had given them time to absorb their drink, made a fresh start for the bushes.
When we reached Mut it was evening, and I walked to my lodgings through the quaint old town, stumbling over the uneven surface of the tunnelled street, whose darkness in the gathering dusk was only broken here and there by a gleam of firelight, through some half-opened door. The familiar smell of wood fires, whose smoke hung heavily in the streets, the scraping drone of the small hand-mills that the women were using to grind their flour, and the monotonous thudding as they pounded their rice inside their houses, had a wonderful effect in making me feel at home.
Soon after my arrival the usual boring deputation of the Government officials turned up to felicitate me in conventional terms on my safe return. After thanking them for the loan of the tanks, I asked themamurwhether anything had been heard of Qway. He professed to a total ignorance on the subject and wanted to have full details of what he had been doing. I gave him an accountof Qway’s conduct as shown by his tracks and the empty tanks and asked, as he had nearly done for Abdulla, that he should be immediately arrested.
Themamurhesitated for a moment, then burst out with a passionate “Never! Qway is agada” (sportsman). I pointed out thegadahad, at any rate, walked off with a rifle and telescope of mine, and that I felt certain he had come into the oasis and was hiding. Themamurdid not think he was hiding, but that he would turn up as soon as he heard I had got back—and anyway he declined to send out men to look for him or to have him arrested. I insisted that it was his duty both to find and arrest him, and, after a considerable amount of pressing, he at length gave way to the extent of promising, if Qway did not turn up, to sendaman to look for him “the day after to-morrow.”
This must have constituted a record in energy for an oasis official, and seemed to exhaust his powers altogether. He refused to send a message round to the’omdasto have him detained if he appeared, and shortly after said something about supper and departed.
I was left to reflections that were not over-pleasant. There was no doubt that I had made a great mistake in asking to have Qway arrested, for, even if I could get him tried for the offence, I should have to find some motive for his actions, and I could not see how that could be done without raising the Senussi question in an oasis where, though their numbers were few, they possessed enormous influence. I decided it would be best to confine my accusation against him to that of stealing the rifle and telescope.
The possibility of my being able to secure him seemed extremely remote. The attitude towards me of the natives of the oasis left no doubt in my mind that they would all shield him. The Government officials were obviously of the same frame of mind, and though they might make some show of attempting to arrest him, I felt certain that they would be surreptitiously endeavouring to aid him in his escape. In the background I knew would be the Senussi, using all the great influence they possessedin the oasis, in order to shield their puppet, Qway, and to prevent his capture.
With only three Sudanese and an old Berberine cook at my back, it was difficult to see what I could do. Still, as I had foolishly insisted on his being brought to justice, I had to see it done. The task was not altogether hopeless, for in cases of this description one Sudani is worth a thousandfellahin. But for the time being the only thing to be done in the circumstances was to lie low and await developments.
They soon came. As is often the case when dealing with natives they were rather of the comic opera type. I first located Qway as staying in the Senussizawiain Smint. But the clerk to theqadiin Mut, Sheykh Senussi, whom Qway had told me was “like a brother to him,” finding that I was hot on his trail, and fearing that the Senussia might become involved, moved him on to Rashida, and then, like the mean sneak that he was, came round, and, to curry favour with me, told me where he was.
I went off at once and saw themamur; told him I had heard that Qway was in Rashida, reminded him that this was “the day after to-morrow,” on which he had promised to send “aman” to look for him, and called on him to carry out his promise.
Themamurendeavoured to avoid doing so; but after some trouble, I at length managed to get him to send a man at once.
I was in themerkazthe next day when he returned. He rode pattering up on a donkey, dismounted, shuffled into the room, saluted clumsily and made his report. According to instructions he had gone to Rashida and seen Qway, and given him themamur’smessage that he was to come into Mut. But Qway had said that he did not want to come. The man had argued with him, and had done his best to persuade him to come; but Qway had stuck to it that he really did not want to, so he had climbed again on to his donkey and ridden back to Mut to report progress.
Themamurwas greatly relieved. He had done everything I had asked him to do. He had sent a man on aGovernment donkey to fetch Qway; but Qway did not want to come. What more could he do? It was of no use asking Qway to come if he did not wish to. He was very sorry, but he had done the most he could.
I suggested that perhaps he might send a policeman—a real policeman in uniform with a rifle, not aghaffir—and give him instructions that, if Qway again refused to come, he was to BRING him. But themamurdid not see his way to doing this. Why should he arrest Qway? What had he done? Stolen a rifle had he? Had he any cartridges? He still had twenty cartridges and a rifle had he? No, he could not possibly arrest him. Qway might be old, but the Arabs were very wild fellows, and he had no troops—only a few armed police.
A long discussion followed, and at last a solution of the difficulty occurred to themamur. He said he could not arrest Qway, but he would send a policeman to bring back the rifle and cartridges. Did that satisfy me? It didn’t. I said I must have Qway as well. After a long discussion he at last agreed to send to fetch him, if I would send a message by the policeman to tell Qway that he was not to shoot him!
The next day themamurcame round to see me, looking immensely relieved. He said that the policeman had gone to Rashida to fetch Qway, but found that he had left the village, so now there was nothing more to be done. He evidently felt that he was now clear of all responsibility in the matter.
I had thus lost track of Qway, and began to despair of ever being able to get hold of him. But the next day Abd er Rahman, who all along had been indefatigable in trying to pick up information of his whereabouts, told me that Qway had been seen near Tenida dressed up as afellah[4]—a fact that caused the little Sudani the keenest amusement.
So I sent Abdulla to go off on hishaginto Tenida, under pretence of buying barley, and to try and find Qway, and, if he succeeded, to tell him from me to come at once to Mut.
The next day I went down to themerkazto enquire whether there was any news. I saw the police officer, who told me that he had just had certain news that Qway had left the oasis and taken the road to the Nile Valley. So, as he was now out of his jurisdiction—which seemed to greatly relieve him—he was in a position to draw up theproces verbalabout the telescope and gun that he had stolen, a piece of information that was distinctly depressing. I began to wonder what was the best thing to do next.
This problem, however, solved itself. I had just finished lunch when a timid knock came at the door, and in walked Qway!
The old brute had evidently had a terrible time of it. He had allowed himself to become the tool of the Senussi, but his plans having miscarried, he had got lost and nearly died of thirst in the desert, for, as I afterwards discovered, he had been nearly two days without any water—and two very hot days they had been—and it had only been the excellence of his camel that had pulled him through.
He looked ten years older. His eyes were bleary and bloodshot, his cheeks sunken, his lips parched and cracked, his beard untrimmed, and he had an unkempt, almost dirty, appearance.
He laid the rifle and telescope on my bed, fumbled in his voluminous clothing and produced a handful of cartridges, took some more out of his pocket, from which he also produced a rosary—the Senussi mostly carry their beads in this way and not round their neck as in the case of most Moslems. He then unknotted a corner of his handkerchief and took out two or three more cartridges and laid them all on the table.
“Count them, Your Excellency,” he said. “They are all there.” I found that the tale of them was complete.
He looked sadly down to the ground and sighed profoundly. “I have been working very badly,” he said, “very badly indeed. I am a broken thing. I am the flesh and you are the knife.” It certainly looked remarkably like it.
I asked him what excuse he had to make for his conduct. He looked at me for a moment to see what line he hadbetter take, and the one that he took was not particularly complimentary to my intelligence.
“It was very hot, Your Excellency—very hot indeed. And I was alone and anafritclimbed up on to my camel.”
At this point I thought it might be advisable to have a witness, so I sang out for Dahab.
“No, Effendim, not Dahab. Don’t call Dahab,” said Qway in a much perturbed voice. Presumably he thought Dahab would be less likely to be convinced by his story than I would. Dahab entered the room with surprising promptness—the doors in the oasis are not sound-proof.
I told Qway to get on with his story of theafrit, which promised to be a good one.
“There was anafrit, Your Excellency, that got up behind me on my camel and kept on telling me to go there and to do this, and I had to do it. It was not my fault the water was upset. It was theafrit. I had to do what he told me.” Then, hearing a snort from Dahab, he added that there was not only oneafrit, but many, and that that part of the desert was full of them.
I thought it time to stop him. I told him I had heard quite enough, and that he had to come round with me to themerkaz. This upset him terribly.
“No, not themerkaz, Your Excellency. Not themerkaz. In the name of Allah do not take me to themerkaz. Take everything I have got, but do not take me to themerkaz.”
But to themerkazhe had to go. We called in at the camel yard to pick up the other men, as they might be wanted as witnesses, and then proceeded in a body to the Government office, Qway all the way attempting to bribe me to let him off by offering me his belongings, among which, with an obvious pang, he expressly offered me his camel.
We met themamurat the door of themerkaz, and Qway immediately rushed forward to try and kiss his hand. Themamur, however, would have nothing to do with him. Like nearly all thefellahinhe backed the winner, and I for the moment had come out on top.
“This man is a traitor, a regular traitor,” said thejudge, who had not yet tried him and who had previously told me he was a sportsman; but I had got the best of the deal, and, moreover, was shortly returning to Egypt and might report on him to one of the inspectors; so he determined to show me how an Egyptian official can do justice when he takes off his coat for the job. He bustled in to the office and began arranging the papers fussily on his table. The police officer also came in and prepared to take down the depositions.
Having got things to his satisfaction, themamurordered the prisoner to be brought in. He arrived between two wooden-looking policemen.
“Well, traitor, what have you got to say for yourself?” Then, as it occurred to him that he had overlooked one of the formalities, he asked Qway his name.
“Qway, Effendim.”
“Qway what?” asked themamurirritably.
“Qway Hassan Qway, Your Presence. My grandfather was a Bey.”
“A Bey?” snorted themamur.
“Yes, Your Excellency.”
“Where did he live?”
“Near Assiut, Your Excellency. Perhaps he wasn’t a Bey. I don’t know. Perhaps he was amamuror a police officer. I don’t quite know what he was, but he worked for the Government.”
“Bey!” repeated themamurcontemptuously. “Mr. Harden Keen says you upset some water. What do you say to it?”
“Yes, I upset the water. But I could not help it. It was a very hot day . . .”
“Liar!” said themamur.
“Na’am?” said Qway, rather taken aback.
“I said liar,” shouted themamur, thumping the table. Qway, who was a high-spirited old fellow, found this more than he could stand, and began to get nettled. It was entirely characteristic of our position in Egypt at that time that at this juncture, Qway, the accused, should turn to me, the accuser, for protection from the judge.
“Itwasa hot day, Effendim, wasn’t it?”
Badly as he had behaved, I was getting to be very sorry for him, and I had taken a strong dislike to thatmamur. So I replied that it was one of the hottest days that I ever remembered.
Themamurcould not contradict me, but looked distinctly uncomfortable and shifted uneasily in his chair. He told Qway to go on. Qway, who was beginning to recover his composure, proceeded to make the most of the victory he had gained over him.
“As I said, Effendim, it was a hot day—veryhot, and I am an old man and perhaps it was the sun. I don’t know what it was, but anafrit—”
“Allah!” said themamur, spreading out his hands, “anafrit?” Qway began to get a bit flurried.
“Yes, Effendim, anafrit.”
“Liar,” repeated themamur. “Isaidyou were a liar.”
Qway looked round again for help, but I was not going to bolster up that statement. Themamurbegan to examine him as to the exact nature of thatafrit. Qway broke down, stammered and generally got into a terrible mess. At the last themamur, having elicited from him in turn the fact that there was oneafrit, that there were two, that there had been a crowd of them, and finally that there were none at all, went on to the next stage and asked what had happened afterwards.
Qway explained that after leaving the depot he had ridden for two days to the south-west, and then had turned back and circled round Jebel el Bayed and finally ridden off to the east.
“The east?” said themamur. “I thought Dakhla lay to the north.”
“The north-east, Effendim,” corrected Qway. “Rather north of north-east.”
“Then why did you go to the east? Were you lost?”
Qway stammered worse than ever. Themamurrepeated his question. Two tears began to roll down Qway’s cheeks and his great gnarled hand went up to hide his twitching lips.
“Yes,” he said, with a great effort. “I was lost.” Being an Arab he did not lie—at least not often.
“But you are a guide. And you got lost!”
“Yes,” stammered Qway. To have to own to a merefellahthat he, the great desert guide, had lost his way, must have been most intensely humiliating; for the favourite gibe of thebedawinto thefellahinis that they are “like women,” and get lost directly they go in the desert.
No Egyptian could have resisted such a chance. Themamurbegan to question Qway minutely as to where, how and when he had got lost, and to the exact degree of lostness at each stage of the proceedings; and Qway, to his credit be it said, answered quite truthfully.
When he could rub it in no further, themamurbegan to question him as to the remainder of his journey. Qway described how he had had to go two days without water and had almost ridden his camel to death in order to get back to our tracks, and how he and his camel had eventually managed to get back to Dakhla more dead than alive.
“You were hiding when you got back. Where did you hide?”
Qway hesitated a moment, then asked him in a low voice if he need answer. Themamurdid not press that question. It was a distinctly ill-advised one. Qway had been in the Senussizawiaat Smint. He put a few more questions to him, then told him again that he was a traitor and that his work had been “like pitch,” and asked me what I wanted done next. I suggested that he might perhaps call a few witnesses, so Abdulla was brought in.
Abdulla had entirely recovered from the scare he had had in the desert, and, though Qway had tried to let him down, themamur’streatment of him seemed to have softened his views towards him. Thereisa bond of union between those who “know thenijem” and Qway, too, was in difficulties, and Mohammedans are usually sympathetic towards each other in those circumstances, so Abdulla tried to get Qway off.
Themamurasked him what he knew about the case.
“Effendim,” he said, “I think Qway went mad.”
Themamurflung himself back in his chair and spread out his hands.
“Allah!” he exclaimed. “Are you a doctor?”
This little pantomime was completely thrown away onthe stolid Abdulla. He looked at themamurwith the amused curiosity that he would have shown to a performing monkey.
“No,” he said, in his slow stupid way. “I am not a doctor, of course—but I know a fool when I see one!”
Themamurconcluded that he had heard enough of Abdulla’s evidence. I began to wonder if the Sudani was quite so “feeble in the head” as he had been represented!
“I find that Qway is a traitor. His work has been like pitch. What do you want me to do with him?” asked the judge.
I suggested, as delicately as I could, that that was a question to be decided by the court, and not by the accuser. After a whispered conversation with the police officer across the table, themamurannounced that he intended to put him in prison and send him, when the camel-postman went, in about a week’s time, to Assiut to be tried.
The attitude of the men towards Qway changed completely after his trial. There was no longer any need to be afraid of him. Their resentment at his conduct in the desert had had time to cool down. He had been bullied by afellah mamur, been forced to confess in public that he had disgraced himself by getting lost in the desert, had been arrested by a Sudani and publicly paraded through the oasis dressed as afellah. His humiliation was complete and could scarcely have been more thorough. Thebedawininstinct for revenge had been amply satisfied. Hatred is generally largely composed of fear, or jealousy, and there was certainly no room for either where Qway was concerned. Moreover, the men had the usual feeling of compassion for those in adversity that forms one of the finest traits in the Mohammedan character.
So far as I was concerned, I was feeling rather sorry for my erring guide, to whom I had taken a strong liking from the start, for he had only been made a tool by the Senussi, who were the real culprits. So having once got him convicted, I told themamurI did not want him to be severely punished, provided that “the quality of mercy was not strained.”
Dahab told me Qway was confined in irons and being fed only on bread and water. So I sent him some tea and sugar, with a message to the police that they might take the irons off and that I would “see them” before I left the oasis. Dahab asked for money to buy a quite unnecessary number of eggs for my consumption. I never enquired what became of them all; but the same evening he asked for leave to go to the doctor’s house, and started off with bulging pockets in the direction of themerkaz. He came back again with them empty shortly afterwards, saying that he had been told that Qway was resigned and very prayerful. The Sudanese, as I afterwards heard, sent him some cheese and lentils, to which Abdulla added a handful of onions, so altogether Qway must have rather enjoyed himself in prison.
HAVING disposed of the question of Qway, I went off to Rashida for the fête of Shem en Nessim (the smelling of the breeze). The officials of the oasis were also there, and we celebrated the day in the usual manner. In the morning we put on clean clothes and took our breakfast out of doors to “smell the breeze.” Then we went up among the palm plantations to a primitive swimming bath the’omdahad made by damming up a stream from one of his wells. The natives stripped and disported themselves in the water, swimming about, splashing each other and enjoying themselves immensely.
After the bath they dressed again and we lay about under the palms till lunch was brought out to us. We lounged about on the ground, sleeping and talking till late in the afternoon, when a woman from the village appeared, who had been engaged by the’omdato dance. A carpet was spread for her to perform on, and we lay round and watched her. She looked quite a respectable woman, and it was certainly a quite respectable dance that would have been an addition to “Chu-Chin-Chow,” but themamurtook occasion to be shocked at it. He sat with his back half turned to the woman, watching her out of the corner of his eye, however, and apparently enjoying the performance. Though I was unable to detect anything in the slightest degree wrong in the dance, the delicate susceptibilities of themamurwere so outraged that—as he was not on good terms with the’omdaof Rashida—he felt it his duty to report him to the Inspector in Assiut for having an immoral performance in his private grounds. Government under the Egyptianmamursis a wonderful institution!
The next day I returned to Mut to pack up. A number of callers came round to see me during the short remainingtime I stayed in the town. For since I had come out on top, the whole oasis had become wonderfully friendly.
Among them was the Sheykh el Afrit from Smint. He was extremely oily in his manner and kept on addressing me as “Your Presence the Bey!” He gave me a lot of information aboutafrits. He spoke in the tone of a man who had had a lifelong experience in the matter. It was most important, he said, to use the right kind of incense when invoking them, as if the wrong sort were used theafritalways became very angry and killed the magician—it seemed to be a dangerous trade.
He told me a lot of information of the same nature and gave me a number of instances of encounters withafritsto illustrate his remarks. Among them he mentioned—quite casually—that it had been anafritthat had led Qway astray. The object of his visit had apparently been to put this opinion, as an experienced magician, before me, for he left almost immediately afterwards.
Among my other visitors was the’omdaof Rashida, who said he had come into Mut as he had a case to bring before themamuragainst his cousin Haggi Smain. He, too, stood up for Qway. He was the only native of the oasis who had the backbone to openly champion his cause.
Some time after he had gone, I had to go round to themerkaz. I could hear a tremendous row going on inside as I approached. Someone kept thumping a table and two or three men were shouting and bawling at each other and, judging from the sounds that proceeded from the court, all Bedlam might have been let loose there.
But I found that it was only themamur“making the peace” among the Rashida people. The’omdaof Rashida and two of his brothers were bringing an action against their cousin, Haggi Smain, who owned part of the same village. The row stopped for a while as I came in, and the proceedings were conducted for a few minutes in an orderly manner. Then they went at it again, hammer and tongs, bawling and shouting at each other, and at themamur, who was endeavouring to effect a reconciliation, at the top of their voices. Themamurat first spoke in a quiet persuasive tone, but soon he lost his temper and wasas bad as they were. He banged with his fist on the table and yelled to them to be silent and listen to what he had to say. The’omdashouted back that it was not he, but Haggi Smain that was interrupting the proceedings, while Haggi Smain himself foaming at the mouth and at times almost inarticulate with rage, screamed back that it was the’omdawho was making all the noise.
The cause of all this hullabaloo was as follows: Haggi Smain had an orange tree growing on his property, one branch of which projected beyond his boundary and overhung some land belonging to the’omda. Three oranges had fallen off this branch on to the’omda’sterritory and the case had been brought to decide to whom these three oranges belonged. Their total value was a farthing at the outside.
I left next day for Egypt. As I got on my camel to start, themamurand Co. announced that they intended to walk with me for part of the way. As this was calculated to increase my prestige with the other natives, I decided to keep them with me for some time.
I rode—and themamurwalked—which was quite as it should have been, for these little distinctions carry great weight among these simple natives. Themamur, I was glad to see, was wearing a pair of new brown boots fastened with a metal clasp over the instep, and having soles about as thin as dancing pumps. The road was rough and baked very hard by the sun in those places where it was not boggy. Themamur, I fancy, was not used to much pedestrian exercise and soon became very obviously footsore.
I saw him look longingly at an unloaded camel, so told Dahab to get up on it and ride. Several times he hinted that he had come far enough, but I merely had to look surprised and displeased to keep him trotting along beside me for another mile. He had not shown up well while I had been in the oasis, and he realised that in a very few days I should be seeing one of the Inspectors about Qway, so was desperately anxious not to do anything to displease me.
At last I decided to take a short cut. We left the road, such as it was, and went straight across country over avery rough stretch of desert. I called out to Abdulla to hurry up the camels, as they were going too slowly, with the result that the limpingmamurand the fat oldqadibegan to fall behind. The farce was becoming so obvious that all my men were grinning at them and Abd er Rahman sarcastically whispered to me that he thought themamurmust be getting tired.
When I had got them well away from the road, and two or three miles from any habitation, I looked back and suddenly discovered themamurwas limping, and asked him why on earth he had not told me before that his feet were all covered with blisters. I insisted that he should go back at once to Mut.
On the way to Assiut, in the train, I saw old Sheykh Mawhub, the Senussi, going, as he said, to Cairo. But I was not in the least surprised to find that he broke his journey at Assiut, where he lay doggo in the native town, pulling strings in themudiriato get his catspaw, Qway, out of his difficulties—unfortunately with considerable success.
I went round to themudiriaas soon as I got to the town, only to find that the English Inspector was away, so I asked to see themudir(native governor of the province). Themudirdid not think Qway had been tried, but would I go up into the town and ask at themamur’soffice? There I was requested to wait while they made enquiries. They made them for about three-quarters of an hour, and then a man came in with an ill-concealed grin and announced that Qway had just that moment been tried and had been acquitted!
I went round to interview themudiragain—rather indignantly this time. He was bland and courteous—but firm. He had been acquitted, he said because I had said that I did not want him to be severely punished, and because I had given him a good character the year before. The course of true law never did run smooth in Egypt!
I tried to get this decision reversed by applying to a very exalted personage. He told me, however, that the Government did not want to raise the Senussi question and were anxious to avoid an incident on the frontier, and he was afraid that he could not take the matter up.
I had to get the best of Qway somehow and, as the regulation methods of dealing with him had failed me, I took the law into my own hands—which is quite the best place to keep it in Egypt—and fined him the balance of his pay, which amounted to about twenty pounds. I afterwards heard that the Senussi, in order to prevent Qway from having a grievance against them, had bakhshished him £42 worth of cotton; so I got at the real culprits in the end; but it was a roundabout way of doing it.
Thanks to Qway and the Senussi, the results of my second year did not come up to my expectations, for the main work I had planned for the season was, of course, the fifteen days’ journey to the south-west of Dakhla, which I hoped would take me to Owanat. Instead of this we had not been able to get farther than the centre of the desert, so far as we could estimate where the middle lay.
DURING my first two seasons I had managed to get out to the middle of the desert and had succeeded in mapping a large area of it; but the main object to which these two years had been devoted—the crossing of the desert from north-east to south-west had not been attained—there seemed no prospect of my being able to accomplish it, for Owanat, the first stage on the journey, was evidently so far out that it could only be reached by adopting some elaborate system of depots or relays, that Qway’s escapade had shown to be too dangerous. The Senussi had certainly won the first trick in the game; but I did not feel at all inclined to let them have things all their own way.
It was, however, pointed out to me that the omens to any further journeys were by no means propitious just then, as the natives were much excited over the Italian invasion of Tripoli, and, moreover, the Senussi were clearly prepared to take an active hand in the game and, even at that time, were evidently contemplating an invasion of Egypt, should a suitable opportunity occur.
The latter fact, however, seemed to me to cut both ways, for the Senussi were quite wide-awake enough to realise that, if an European got scuppered by them, some form of punitive expedition was extremely likely to follow, which might force them into hostilities at an inconvenient time—so I concluded that they would just as unwillingly start scrapping as I would myself—and that was saying a good deal.
As crossing the desert seemed an impracticable scheme just then, I abandoned that part of my programme, and as there were plenty of other large areas waiting to be explored, decided to try a different district, and set outto explore as much as possible of the unknown parts of the eastern and western sides of the huge depression in which lies the oasis of Farafra.
I intended, too, to visit the little oasis of Iddaila, that lies not far to the west of Farafra, and I hoped to score a trick off the Senussia by making a dash into the dunes to the south-west of Farafra and locating the oasis of Dendura, that was used sometimes by them as a half-way house when travelling from Egypt to Kufara.
Unfortunately—though I did not learn this till afterwards—before my start some rag of a native paper in Cairo announced that I had come out again to Egypt and intended to go in disguise to Kufara, and a copy of the paper had been sent out to that oasis itself. This was a piece of pure invention on the part of that journal that led to rather unpleasant consequences.
I was advised to take as my guide some man who was admittedly a member of the Senussia and camel drivers of the same persuasion. The advice did not commend itself very strongly to me; but in deference to the views of those whom I expected to know a good deal more of the country than I did, I so far accepted it as to decide on taking a Senussi guide and one or two of his camel men, while adding Abd er Rahman, Ibrahim and Dahab as well to the caravan—Abdulla unfortunately was not available.
I eventually engaged a man called Qwaytin, who was stated to be reliable. Haggi Qwaytin Mohammed Said—to give him his full name—though a native of Surk in Kufara Oasis, at that time was living in the Nile Valley, in the Manfalut district, near Assiut. For some time he had acted as a tax-collector among the Bedayat for ’Ali Dinar, the Sultan of Darfur, and when he was inclined to be communicative could impart a considerable amount of information about unknown parts of the desert. He seemed to have led a fairly wandering existence and to be at home in most parts of North and Central Africa; at any rate he had a Bedayat wife in Darfur, a Tawarek one somewhere near Timbuktu and one—if not two—others near Manfalut.
He was a queer fellow, and I did not altogether take afancy to him. When I told him that I already had two camel drivers and did not want more, he was very much put out and declared that he could not trust his camels to strangers. Eventually we compromised the question by arranging that he should take three men and that I, in addition, should bring Abd er Rahman, Ibrahim and Dahab.
I asked to see the men he was going to bring with him. The three he produced—Mohanny, Mansur and ’Abd el Atif—were even less prepossessing than Qwaytin himself. They were typical specimens of the low-classbedawincamel drivers that the camel owners engage on nominal wages, to take charge of their beasts when they hire them out. They proved to be most indifferent drivers. But Qwaytin and his men were such an obviously feeble lot that, with my three men to back me up, I had no doubt of being able to deal with them, if they gave any trouble.
I intended to pump Qwaytin as dry as I could of the information he could give me of the unknown parts of the desert and, with the assistance of my own men, to compel him, by force if necessary, to take me within sight of Dendura, after we had left Farafra.
These preliminaries having been gone through, I sent for Abd er Rahman and Ibrahim to come up and join me in Assiut—Dahab was already with me. While waiting in the little Greek pub, where I stayed for the arrival of my men, I made the acquaintance of an educated Egyptian, who was engaged in some sort of literary work, the exact nature of which I was unable to discover. His English was excellent, and he was evidently anxious to practise it, for he stuck to me like a leech.
He was never tired of dilating on the beauties of Arabic as a literary language. In Arabic literature, he said, the great thing was to use as many metaphors as possible, and the best metaphors were those that were the most obscure or, as he expressed it, that made the reader “work his brain” the most. Certainly some of the examples he gave left nothing whatever to be desired in that direction.
He insisted in coming to see me off at the station, where he explained that he had lain awake for a considerablepart of the night, in order to be able to think of a really good metaphor for me at parting.
It certainly was a poser. If, he said, he described a man as having a very cowardly dog, what should I think he meant? I suggested various possible solutions: that he was a brutal man who thrashed his dog unmercifully; that he was a very poor man who could not afford to buy a good one; or a very mean man who nearly starved the beast to death. As none of them was correct, I asked him to explain. But he preferred to keep me on tenterhooks and declined to do so, chuckling with delight at the way in which he was making me “work my brain.”