CHAPTER XIX

WELL ON THE FRONTIER OF DARFURCHAPTER XIXENTERING THE SUDANI GOT up early in order to open the film-box and refill the cameras while it was still cool. At seven, with Mohammed and Hamad, I set out to visit the well. The valley of Erdi is what is known as akarkur, a long narrow depression in the hills which winds like a snake. It runs to the southward for seven or eight kilometers ending in acul-de-sacwhere the well lies in a shadowy hollow under the rocks. The pool is semicircular in shape, half a dozen meters long and half as broad. The well is like those at Ouenat, although I suspect that in addition to the rain-water it may possibly be fed by a spring. The approach to it is a rocky and somewhat dangerous climb. The night before one of the camels bringing water slipped and hurt itself rather badly.We climbed up to theain, had a rest and tea, and rode home under a hot sun. The valley is beautiful,with its sheer walls of red rock, and the green grass and trees scattered about below them. Mohammed told me that it is the most difficult valley in this region to enter and therefore the easiest to defend.In the late afternoon I climbed the valley wall to watch the fine sunset and the play of the light on the red sand and the rose-colored rocks. The men shaved their heads, trimmed their beards, and washed and mended their clothes, which were becoming very tattered.The grazing here just saved our camels, and it was wise to take this day for rest and recuperation. Mohammed and Herri told me that from now on it would not be practicable to travel at night. The country was too hilly to be safe to traverse in the darkness. All the Bedouins gave Mohammed credit for the way he led the camels over the steep rocks to the valley yesterday.In the evening the dog had a fit of barking, and we suspected that some one was near. We quickly put out the fires, gathered the camels together, made ready the rifles, and put sentries out around the camp; but it was a false alarm.These precautions, like those we take when approaching a well, seem absurd when it is all over and nothing has happened. But in unknown country like this the caravan that did not take them would bevery foolish. An attack by hostile tribesmen or outlaws is far from an improbability.Thursday, May 17.We were up at four and under way at 5:30. The climb out of the valley was as difficult as the descent, and one camel fell, but fortunately without serious results. As we reached the edge of thewadiand looked back I realized the difference between the valleys in these hills and those at Arkenu and Ouenat. There the floor of a valley is on the same level as the plain outside, and one goes into it by a pass as through a gateway. In the region we were now in, the valleys are depressed below the general level of the country, and one drops down into them by winding, rocky paths.In an hour we were out of thewadiand turned to the southeast. We were in a mountainous country of black and red rocks, and it was clear that we could not travel over suchterrainin the dark. At 9:30 we descended into a large valley by a steep path, on which two camels stumbled and threw off their loads. One, carrying water, very nearly broke its neck; but the presence of mind of Abdullahi, who drew a knife and cut the girths, saved the situation. The wooden stopper of one of thefantassescame out, and the water was three-quarters spilled. Fortunately the next well was only three days ahead, and we had an ample supply for even a longer trek. Suchan occurrence as this would have been a disaster if we had been in adaffa, as a long waterless trek between wells is called.On this morning a serious situation arose suddenly which might have had fatal results had it not been for two pieces of luck. Ahmed, the cook who came with me from Egypt, was riding a camel without a bridle. He had asked Hamid, the camelman of Bu Helega, to provide a bridle; but the other, being wise in the ways of camels, knew better than to do so. It is important that the camels be able to graze at will. They are more in need of food than of guidance.Ahmed’s camel, spying a fine tuft of grass, went directly to it. On the way he passed under a tree set thickly with thorns. The rider could not escape the sharp projections, and his face was badly torn. Annoyed by the pain, Ahmed proceeded to curse the camel and the owner of the camels. Hamid instantly retaliated by cursing him and telling him not to curse the noble owner of the animals. I happened to be near, and in my heart I praised the camelman for his loyalty to Bu Helega, his master.Ahmed came quickly off the camel, his face streaked with blood, and went hotly at Hamid. Senussi Bu Hassan, the other Hamid, and Sad, the Aujili, rushed to take the side of their brother Bedouin.Abdullahi ranged himself beside Ahmed, two Egyptians shoulder to shoulder.A WATER-CARRIER IN THE DESERTA WOMAN OF THE FALLATA TRIBEI had had experience of such quarrels before, and I quickly looked to see where the rifles were. It was with deep relief that I saw them safely fastened on the camels’ backs. The men had only sticks to fight with, but, even so, prompt action was necessary before the trouble became more acute.I galloped my horse among the men and pushed him between the two groups of combatants, brusquely ordering Ahmed and Abdullahi to stand back. It was a most difficult moment, with one side my own men and the other the men of my caravan.Senussi Bu Hassan and Hamid looked back, and for the flicker of a second I saw their eyes rest on the slung rifles. One word of encouragement from me to the other party would have meant disaster, for the Bedouins outnumbered us. On the other hand, it was not the time, even if my own men were in the wrong, to humiliate them before the Bedouins.“What do you mean by behaving like children?” I demanded impartially of the men on both sides. “Men like you ought to be ashamed.”Hamid started to speak. “He insulted me.”Ahmed interrupted him. “He attacked me as I came off my camel.”“I don’t care who insulted whom or who attackedwhom,” I declared sharply. “You are all my men, and it is a shame to have you behave like a batch of children.”Just then Zerwali came up. I turned to Abdullahi and then to Senussi Bu Hassan. “And you older men, instead of bringing peace, actually take part in this disgraceful quarrel,” I said severely. “Perhaps I have made a mistake. I should have chosen men for my caravan and not boys.”By this time both parties had begun to cool down and to lose their tense look of men about to spring to the attack. Zerwali, who probably expected me to take the side of my compatriots, Abdullahi and Ahmed, was disarmed and did the unexpected thing.“Put Hamid on the ground,” he ordered the slave Faraj. “I will beat him with my whip.”In a flash the stalwart Faraj laid Hamid unceremoniously on the ground and pinned him there with his knee. Before I could interfere Zerwali’s whip descended twice. But by that time I had dismounted and caught Zerwali’s arm.“This is no matter for punishment,” I asserted. “We don’t know who is to blame. I shall inquire into the matter and punish with my own hands the man who is proved guilty.”Turning to the men I commanded, “Follow the camels.”To Mohammed and Herri, who had kept tactfully out of the affair, I gave the order, “Lead the way,” pointing with my stick.All moved off, and I walked alone, trying to preserve for their benefit my expression of stern disapproval. Zerwali gradually edged nearer to me and spoke deprecatingly.“The bey is not angry over what has happened?” he questioned. “God knows when I got up this morning there was something weighing heavy on my heart. I felt sure that something unpleasant was going to happen. My feeling was reflected in your salutation to me.”I realized that I also had had an uncanny feeling. There was no reason for it, for everything was going smoothly and well. But still something had oppressed me.In a short while both parties felt like children who had been naughty. I observed furtive glances stealing toward me from both sides to see if my anger was abated. But I kept my stern countenance until luncheon.Those who have traveled in the desert and know the Bedouins will realize what a serious possibility this incident contained. A single harsh word interpreted as an insult means shooting if guns are close at hand. If both men had had their rifles and if Ihad been some hundred yards away, as was generally the case, there would almost certainly have been bloodshed. The Bedouins would probably have killed Ahmed and Abdullahi out of hand. Then what could I have done, as an Egyptian, but avenge the killing of my countrymen at whatever cost to myself?How lucky it was that the rifles were lashed to the camels and that I was close at hand!“We are getting near the end of our journey,” said Zerwali. “The men are always quarrelsome then.”By the time this dangerous incident was over, the sun was very hot, and we camped in the valley in the shade of some fine trees. The camels had good grazing while we ate and rested. Before we started in the afternoon Mohammed, Senussi Bu Hassan, Bukara, and Hamid, the camelman, came to ask me to forgive Hamid for having let his anger get the better of him with Ahmed. I pardoned him readily, and he went to Ahmed and kissed his head. Ahmed returned the compliment, and then the quarrel was ended in the best Bedouin tradition.We made our way down the big valley for three hours and camped near its mouth at 7:15. Shortly before halting we saw ahead of us the distant hills of Agah, where the next well lay. The ground before us was flatserira, and it was a relief to see it.On this morning when we were going down into the valley it looked as if all our baggage would be in bits if there were more of these precipices. In places the descent was so rough that for safety we had to unload the camels. The men had to carry the baggage down the steep rocks, often a drop of three feet from boulder to boulder.The new moon had risen as we camped. The next day was Bairam, the feast marking the end of Ramadan, and Zerwali came to say that the men would like to feast according to our Moslem custom. I willingly agreed, since the Agah Hills were in sight before us and the water-supply was ample. Besides, the excellent grazing in this valley would do the camels good.We all rose early the next day (Friday, May 18) and put on clean clothes for the feast-day. We exchanged good wishes and followed them with the prayers appointed for Bairam. There was a look on every face as of men who are thinking of those left behind at home.I produced a few Medjidies and Egyptian notes and distributed them. The coins went to Mohammed, Herri, Hassan, and Arami, who were to leave us before we reached territory where Egyptian notes are current. The rest got the notes, which they would be able to use at El Fasher. To Zerwali I gave twentyrounds of revolver ammunition and a bottle of scent. Another bottle of scent was divided among the men; Bukara received one of my pipes and tobacco to go with it, and he declared that he did not know what to do to return all the kindness I had shown him.“I have only my camel and the clothes on my back,” he said. “He has given me the value of my camel in tobacco.”It was a cheerful camp at breakfast; the men were pleased with their gifts, and I enjoyed their satisfaction. After breakfast we all lay down for a siesta, but got up again promptly, our bodies itching furiously from the assaults of white ants.At 5:45P.M.we made our start and half an hour later emerged from the valley upon theserira. In front of us lay a chain of hills running east and west, in the middle of which was Jebel Islingah, and to the right of it Jebel Agah, to which we were going. Herri said that there was a well also in Jebel Islingah, but that it was difficult to get at. The valley where we had camped was marked by trees on the east side of the entrance to it.It was a hot day, and we moved slowly for six hours, when we reached a belt of sand-dunes, which stopped our progress for the night.Saturday, May 19.We started at 5:15A.M.andmade our final halt at 8P.M.There was a hot northeast wind from the hills, which dropped in the evening. We traveled over soft sand, very undulating, covered with dry grass. As we approached the hills the country became flatter with patches of small black stone.The sun got hot quickly in the morning, and a hot wind was blowing, and so we camped at half-past nine in the shade of atumtumtree. Its protection was welcome, and its bunches of red berries made an attractive pattern over our heads.We started again at 3:30 in spite of the heat, with the hope of reaching the hills of Agah before dark. The camels had to be beaten in order to get them away from the shade of the tree and into the hot sun. By 7:30 we were at the foot of the hills, with the slim moon just coming up. Mohammed suddenly raised the alarm. He had found the fresh tracks of two men leading toward Merdi. A stranger in the desert is an occasion for vigilance until he proves to be not unfriendly. Rifles were quickly unslung; the oil-rags were stripped from their breeches, and cartridges shoved in. The men collected the camels which were scattered out grazing, and Mohammed, Herri, and Senussi Bu Hassan went forward to the valley to reconnoiter. After a careful search they came back to report that there were no tracks leadinginto the valley but that there were fresh tracks leading out of it. We made camp at the entrance, keeping clear of trees and vegetation in case any one approached in the night. We ate dinner rapidly and extinguished our camp-fire. The camels andgirbaswere put in the center of the camp, and the luggage arranged around its edge. Four sentries were posted for the night, and we went to bed. But sleep was difficult because of the oppressive heat and the suspense.Early on the Sunday morning we got up and approached the valley cautiously. We came across fresh tracks of sheep and men and were convinced that some one had a camp in the valley. Mohammed and Herri went ahead, as the inhabitants of this district were Goran and no one else spoke their language. They soon returned with three Gorans. I met them, and we solemnly went through the ceremony of giving and receiving theaman. We advanced toward each other and lay whatever weapons we might be carrying, sword or rifle, on the ground. I addressed them in the time-honored phrases: “I swear by God that we are peaceful men, that we wish you no harm, and that we have no intention of robbing you.” One of them did the same in his turn, and we indulged in brief questions and answers on each side. Who are you? Whence do you come?Whither are you going? On what business? Then we shook hands formally, each took up his weapons, and both sides retired.A WELL NEAR KUTTUM IN DARFUR. WOMEN WORKINGWe tried to buy sheep from them, but they refused to sell. In a short time they went away and returned with three sheep which they offered asdiafa, refusing to accept any money for them. I gave themetkiasof blue cloth as a return courtesy, with which they were delighted. The camels were sent off to the well to drink and to bring back water for the camp, while the men busied themselves with preparations for the great feast of meat. In the afternoon I took photographs and in the evening made observations. The electric torch which I used in reading the theodolite first frightened the Goran boys and then delighted them.The valley of Agah is very picturesque, a long narrow defile between high cliffs, with more vegetation and trees than we had seen thus far. Half-way down its length it divides, one branch leading southwestward to the well and the other southward toward the open desert. The well is similar to that at Erdi, but its water is badly fouled by sheep and camels. The valley is full of birds whose pleasant songs make one think one is at the aviary in the Zoo.We were up while it was dark and the stars were still shining in the clear sky. The Goran came to saygood-by. Arami and Hassan had declined to go further south and left us to return to Ouenat, with Arami’s camel. We wound our way down the eastern fork of the valley, its steep sides protecting us from the sun. On the way we sighted three gazelles, and some of the men gave chase, but the nimble animals climbed the hills and escaped. Hamid, the Zwayi, fired at one and missed, to the scornful delight of the others. Hamid, however, refused to admit complete failure.“By God,” he stoutly maintained, “I hit it. I saw the blood spurt.”It did not matter so much, however, as we still had meat left from thediafaof the Goran.It quickly got too hot for comfort, and the camels, fresh from drinking, refused to go on. We camped in the shade of a tree, but soon discovered that better protection from the sun was to be had in crevices in the rocks. The camels were allowed to graze, and the men settled down to prepare the midday meal. Two sheep were slaughtered, and their flesh, impaled on sticks, was slowly revolved before the fire to roast in the Bedouin fashion. It was delicious. While the meat was being prepared, Sad cut his hand. I saw the blood and asked where it came from.“From Hamid’s gazelle!” said Bukara, and oncemore shouts of laughter went up over the unsuccessful hunter.After lunch I wound my watches, recorded the readings of the aneroid and the maximum and minimum thermometers, and wrote up my diaries, when Hamid the camelman came running to say that a herd of ostriches was near-by. We all grasped our rifles and stood ready. Soon the ostriches appeared, thirty or forty in number. The Bedouins were impatient and opened fire while the distance was too great. The ostriches dashed off into another valley with the men in hot pursuit. Many shots were fired, but Zerwali soon came back to say that nothing had been killed.In a little while Hamid appeared carrying a small ostrich and followed by Senussi Bu Hassan. Both men claimed to have shot the creature, and since there were two bullet-wounds in it, either of which might have been fatal, they appealed to me for judgment; I asked the opinion of the men who saw the shooting, and all agreed that Hamid’s shot felled the bird. I decided in his favor.Later Hamid, the camelman, small and sharp of features and afraid of no animals, not even of snakes, came upon an ostrich in a closed part of the valley and, after attacking it unsuccessfully with stones, rushed at it and caught it round the neck. He wrestled with it manfully, but it landed a kick on hisside from one of its powerful legs and ran away. I was watching the contest through my binoculars and nearly split my sides with laughter. The ostrich mounted a ridge, looked back scornfully at Hamid, who stood cursing it, arranged its feathers, and trotted off with the gait of a gay dowager, leaving him with his hand pressed to his maltreated side.“Has the ostrich hurt you?” I asked solicitously when he returned.“Oh, no,” he replied, quickly taking his hand from his side.“Why didn’t you bring it back, then?” I asked again.“I had to let it go,” he explained with great plausibility. “She was only a female.”One of my great regrets on this trek was that I was unable to follow game as I would have liked to. The night marches between Ouenat and Erdi left me too exhausted in the morning to do anything but record the readings of my scientific instruments and try to snatch two or three hours of sleep before it was too hot. Then our food-supply began to get less and less. I could not stay at Agah where there were plenty of gazelles, ostriches, and wild sheep. Besides, the scarcity of water made me lose no time there, where the well had been so fouled by animals.An old Egyptian army Martini and an Italiancavalry carbine which I was given at Kufra, handy as they would have been for self-defense, were of little use for long-range work on game, especially gazelle. Hunting, therefore, was a diversion which I had to deny myself.SUDANESE TROOPS AND GIRLSThey are singing in welcome to the explorer’s partyIt was very hot, and we could not start until 5P.M.We followed the lovely valley for an hour and then began to climb the hills. As we got to the top we had a fine view of its beauties, all the various shades of green of the trees and shrubs making picturesque patterns with the rosy sand and the redder rocks of the hills guarding the valley. The soft notes of innumerable doves floated up on the cool evening breeze. A gorgeous red and gold sunset completed anensemblenot easy to forget. I stopped my horse and spent a pleasant half-hour lying on a patch of soft sand drinking in the delights of this little bit of paradise. It soon grew dark. The crescent moon showed herself, and far away I heard the Bedouins of my caravan singing. Reluctantly I rose and took the track again.We were soon in different country, broken and very undulating, with distant jagged hills surrounding us. The camels were suffering from the foul water of Agah, and so were the men. We camped early, both on this account and because it is dangerous country to travel by the weak moonlight.We dropped into a soft sand valley about two hundred meters from our route and camped.We got up with the stars still in the sky on Tuesday, May 23, and made our start with a gorgeous sunrise on our left hand. We moved slowly because of the thick shrubs and scattered stones and also because Mohammed and Herri had not been in this country for ten years and were picking their way cautiously.“Mohammed is riding, I suppose,” I said to Hamid, the camelman, as I walked in my favorite place behind the caravan, “or we would not be moving so slowly.”“The gray-haired man is walking, O bey,” said the shrewd fellow quickly. “His track is on the ground.”Once more I was impressed with the keen observation of the Bedouins, especially the camelman. Hamid had already learned the characteristic footprints that each man of the caravan leaves. Of course he knew the track of each camel also.On Wednesday we were up much earlier than usual in our anxiety to reach the well of Enebah. The water of Agah was the worst we had yet tasted, and it was having its effect on both men and camels. A three hours’ trek brought us to the edge of the valley in which the well lay. We dropped down intoit and discovered from tracks of sheep, donkeys, and men that the place was inhabited. Mohammed went forward to meet the men who live there, and gave and received theaman; and soon we were camped by the well. The water was excellent; animals and men both enjoyed the change.There was quite a large Bidiyat camp here, with hundreds of sheep and a few horses for thesheikhs. Presently the whole population, led by thesheikhs, came to greet us. I shook hands with them and distributed scent, putting a little on the hand of each one.In the afternoon they brought sheep asdiafa, and the women (who have a keen business sense) producedsamn—butter—and leather to sell to us. We gave them Medjidies and cloth in exchange. In the evening I took observations. The Bidiyats were frightened at the theodolite and the electric torch, and their suspicions were aroused.One of thesheikhsentered my tent and caught me opening the instrument-case. I shut the case quickly and instantly realized my mistake. I could see in his dark cruel face, with yellow eyes like those of a fox set close together, that he believed I had gold in the box. As he left my tent I ostentatiously ordered Senussi Bu Hassan and Hamid to stand as sentries in the camp. I pointed to them and told thesheikhnot to allow the women and children to approach the camp at night lest my men might make a mistake and shoot at them. It was just a hint that we were wide-awake and that there was no hope of catching us off our guard. I could see that the hint went home.CHAPTER XXTO FURAWIA ON SHORT RATIONSTHE valley of Enebah was covered with soft sand, dotted with shrubs both green and dry and with trees.I had a good night’s rest and was awakened by the hubbub of the Bidiyat women bargaining with the men of my caravan for empty tins. They offered a kind of dry shrub that they called tobacco and milk in return. Five more sheep were brought asdiafa, and more presents were distributed.Encouraged by a cool southeast wind, we started at 3:15P.M., but the wind soon dropped and we made slow progress in the heat. The evening was cooler, however, and we made up a little for lost time. The night was cold.OnFriday, May 25, we were up at four and started an hour and a quarter later. The country was very undulating and broken, and Herri was not sure of the way. We moved slowly because of the difficulty of the going and the uncertainty of theguide. Shortly after nine we dropped into a valley and camped an hour later.Senussi Bu Hassan, who was walking beside me, gave expression to his opinion of the guide and his Bedouin pride.“Those Goran wabble about like camels,” he said. “They do not walk like Bedouins, who fly straight to their goal like birds.”When we took the road again in the afternoon the sun was still very hot. The camels moved slowly, and the men’s singing sounded like broken bagpipes. It was perhaps as well that we were compelled to move slowly, for Herri was more uncertain of the way than ever. Some of the time we followed the track left by a flock of sheep going presumably toward Bao, but at intervals it was lost in the tracts of broken stones.A little after five we dropped into a big valley whose name we discovered later to be Koni-Mina, running east and west and filled with fine trees. Just before reaching it we met a Goran with a few sheep. He came up to me, dropped his sword and spears on the ground, and took off his sandals. We shook hands with many ejaculations of “Keif-halak, tayibeen” (“How are you? Very well.”). It was all the Arabic he knew. Mohammed and Herri then talked with him and learned that there was a Goran camp inthe valley before us. A cattle merchant had also just arrived from Fada in Wadai with sheep and cows on his way to El Fasher. Mohammed and Herri left us and approached the few straw-thatched huts that constituted the Goran camp. We went across the valley and camped on its farther rim.Soon a man came running to ask us to return to the camp and start again the next day. I appreciated the hospitable suggestion but felt that we could not afford to retrace our steps even for two or three kilometers. I thanked him for the invitation and told him that we were in a great hurry. We should camp near-by to wait for our two guides. An hour later Mohammed appeared, full of news from Fada and El Fasher, obtained from the merchant.We were busy that evening overhauling our baggage and repairing damages. All the ropes were getting worn, and the Bedouin woolen bags too. We had been losing much time on the way with reloading and shifting things about. But it was a consolation to know that in a fortnight we should be in El Fasher.We had the most beautiful sunrise on May 26 that I have seen. The brilliant white light on the red and black stones near-by and the distant hills made everything wonderfully clear and distinct. Soon it changed to a warm red glow, and then the golden rays of the sun broke through the thin cloudsand flooded everything. The long shadows cast by rocks and shrubs on the ground looked like black stenciling on the yellow sand. The shadows of the slowly moving caravan made a fantastic pattern.It soon proved to be an oppressively close morning.Herri joined us later in the forenoon with a slaughtered sheep slung on each side of his camel, thediafafrom the Goran camp.We followed sheep and camel tracks and marched from one valley into another until we camped in one of the largest of them, which had many shady trees.It is always a problem whether to stop under the shade of a tree and suffer the attacks of white ants and all sorts of sinister-looking insects or pitch tent in the broiling sun. In future, I shall be inclined to take my chance in the open, as the insects are always with you, while the sun’s heat is over by five or six in the afternoon. The valley in which we camped is called Kap-Terku.We started again at four, with a southeast breeze that made walking not so tedious. There were also a few clouds which tempered the heat of the sun. The camels walked better. In the late afternoon we passed a Goran family, a man, wife, and naked child, and later we found a well. It was seven meters deep and had good water, though the roots of a near-bytree had rotted in it, giving it an unpleasant odor.WELL ON THE FRONTIER OF DARFURWe camped at eight fortunately in a clear space free from shrubs and stones. At one in the morning a hyena visited the camp, and had it not been for the vigilance of Hamid, the camelman, it might have got Baraka, who was tied at night and therefore unable to defend himself. Hamid fired at it impulsively, and with my glasses I saw a dark object running far away in the brilliant moonlight.Sunday, May 27.Start at 5:15A.M., halt at 9:15A.M.start again at 3:45P.M., halt at 7:45P.M.Make 30 kilometers. Highest temperature 38°, lowest 7°. Fine, clear, and calm in the morning. At midday strong hot southeast wind, which drops in afternoon. Few white clouds. Warm and calm in the evening. Very cloudy, with few drops of rain at 10P.M.Valleys of soft sand as before, with low sandstone hills twenty to eighty meters high. Patches of the same stone crop out through the sand.Herri proved himself a bad guide. He predicted that we would reach Bao this morning, but when night came we were not yet there. He knew the places when he saw them, but his sense of direction was faulty. Our water had given out, except for one lastgirba, and it was very hot.We marched until 7:45, when we reached rocky ground, dangerous for the camels even in the clear moonlight. We were on the edge of a large valleywhich Herri declared to be that of Bao, but we could not believe him. Experience had taught me not to permit the last of the water-supply to be used until we had not only seen the well but approached it to make sure that there was drinkable water there. I insisted that the lastgirbashould not be touched that night. We went to bed without dinner, since we could not cook without water.There was, however, the consolation of a beautiful night. I lay in bed watching the play of the moonlight on the clouds. A few drops of rain announced the approach of the rainy season. We were astir early. Empty stomachs do not encourage long sleep. We drove the camels as we had not driven them before. How tired they looked, and how weak! When camels and men are hungry and thirsty, all the other defects in the caravan come out. There was no singing that morning, merely silent, relentless urging forward of the camels and ourselves.The descent into the valley was steep and dangerous. Three camels threw off their loads, which had to be carried by the men down to the level ground and loaded again. At last we saw a few sheep and a straw hut or two. We stopped, and I let the men drink the water from the lastgirba, for which they had asked many times that morning.Herri and Mohammed went ahead and made theirway to the huts. The caravan meanwhile moved directly down the valley toward the well. Soon some blacks of the Goran and Bidiyat tribes came to meet us. We fired our rifles as usual, as if in salutation, but in reality to impress the natives with our preparedness.I noticed that by a curious coincidence those who met us, men and women, were all old. There was not a single young person among them, especially no young woman. However, it did not strike me as extraordinary, but a little later I was surprised to see batches of slim and beautiful girls, brown or black, half naked in their tattered clothes, but holding themselves gracefully erect. As they came along in groups of three and four, I turned to Bukara and asked, “From where are these girls?”Bukara looked at them with great admiration and replied: “Allah be great! These girls are of the village. They thought we were going to rob the village and take away the young girls as slaves, so they sent them out to hide as soon as they sighted our caravan. Now that the men know that we are a peaceful caravan, they have sent word to the girls to come back.”As the girls passed my horse they shyly dropped on their knees in salutation, as is the custom there when addressing a person of higher rank. In this part of the world when one is addressed by some moreexalted person the etiquette is not to stand up but to sit down in token of reverence. One after another these girls dropped to their knees, and in return I gave them the usual Arab blessing, “May God’s peace be on you and His mercy and blessings.” As they rose again the girls bashfully turned to look at my company of admiring Bedouins.We camped at the end of the valley near the well. An hour later thesheikhof the camp came to greet us. We discussed the roads to El Fasher and the direction to be followed. Here Herri looked thoughtful and sad. This was close to his own country, for we were across the frontier of French Wadai now. He had thrown away his rights and run away from the French, leaving all his property and relatives, and gone to the solitary oasis of Ouenat to live in self-inflicted exile.We were getting into a different kind of country. There were many more varieties of birds, including crows, owls, parrots, doves, and others whose names I do not know.In the night a lioness had killed two donkeys, and some of the natives captured one of its young and sent its skin to Fada to be sold. There are several score of blacks of the Goran and Bidiyat tribes at Bao. The women are graceful creatures, clothed with the utmost simplicity. Their dress is either a lengthof cloth wound skilfully around the body, with a narrow strip of cloth for a belt, in which is carried a small knife, or a sheepskin wrapped round the lower part of the body. Their hair is arranged in small plaits. They wear ornaments of silver and ivory, heavy rings in the hair, and bead and amber necklaces. Young girls wear only an apron of cloth or leather. The men have splendid physique, go naked except for a loin-cloth, and carry two or three spears, a sword, and throwing-knife. Onlysheikhswear white robes and large turbans.We gave the women and children macaroni, but they refused to eat it. Instead, they threaded the pieces on strings and made necklaces, which they wore proudly. The business instinct of the Bedouins at once displayed itself. They made necklaces from our little store of macaroni and exchanged them for butter and leather.Herri and Mohammed were to leave us here. They did not care to venture further south. I had some difficulty in finding a guide to take us to Furawia but at last succeeded. A sheep was brought to us asdiafa, and we dined early on Tuesday, intending to make a prompt start in the morning.The guide did not present himself, and I began to feel that the Bidiyat were suspicious of my caravan. At 11P.M.he appeared, however, and I immediatelywoke the men and set them to loading the camels before he had any chance of changing his mind.Wednesday, May 30.Start at 1A.M., halt at 8:30A.M., start again at 4:15P.M., halt at 7:15P.M.Make 40 kilometers. Highest temperature 36°. Fine and clear. Strong and dusty southeast wind. The wind changes to northeast in the afternoon and drops in the evening. Country same as before, except flatter, and with no large valleys and no big trees. At 8:15A.M.across a smallwadirunning east and west.When we started at one o’clock there was a beautiful moon, which made it as clear as in daylight.Herri and Mohammed started with us, as they wished to give the impression to the men of Bao that they were going with us to El Fasher. Otherwise they feared that they might be waylaid. In an hour we had climbed out of the valley. We halted to say good-by to the two guides, who were going to travel only by night on their way back to Ouenat, to avoid detection.As I stood a little apart from the caravan in the moment of farewell to them, I realized that the difficulties through which we had come had drawn us close together. Mohammed was tall, erect, with a piercing eye and an interesting illustration of theself-assurance that life in the desert gives and the fatalistic resignation with which one accepts whatever comes. Herri was a gentle-mannered, unassuming old man with a benign smile and charming manners. There was unquestioned dignity in his movements in spite of an injured left foot which he had to drag when he walked. He was a prince by nature.This was not merely a parting of companions of the trek, but a symbol of the old, having run the race, pointing the onward road to the young. We all forgot that I was the head of a caravan and they my guides. Herri put his hands on my shoulders and spoke with feeling in his voice.“May God bless you and give you strength,” he said. “There is your road.” He pointed to an opening in the distant hills. I murmured a few words in a voice that I could scarcely trust not to tremble and turned away to my caravan. The two dignified but somehow pathetic figures, both exiles from their own land, faded away in the moonlight.We halted at dawn for our morning prayers and at 8:30 to camp for the day. There were tracks of lions about. We started again early in the afternoon, but the men were tired, having had little sleep the previous night, and we marched only three hours. The sheep which had been given us escaped, and in the moonlight Hamid and Sad went after it, bleatinglike sheep themselves to attract it, but with no success.Thursday, May 31.Start at 3:45A.M., halt at 8:45A.M., start again at 3:30P.M., halt at 7:30P.M.Make 36 kilometers. Highest temperature 37°, lowest 5°. Fine, clear, and calm. Southeast wind in the afternoon, which changed to northeast and dropped toward evening. Calm evening and night, with full moon and few white clouds.An uneventful day.Shortly after an early start on Friday, June 1, the guide got sleepy and “lost his head.” We were soon traveling due west instead of southeast. I did not interfere until we stopped for morning prayers at five, but then I asked him quietly if he had intended to march to the westward. He was surprised but admitted frankly his error. Fortunately, we had not been going wrong for long.At 6:30 we passed a hill called Tamaira, on which stood a dry tree marking the boundary between Wadai and the Sudan. From the boundary-post we dropped into Wadai Hawar, a large valley full of big trees, which is said to extend westward to Wadai and eastward toward the Sudan. In Wadai, it is called Wadi Hawash.The soil in thewadiis very fertile, and the men from Wadai and Darfur come to it in the autumn for grazing. We camped here for the midday halt andfound tracks of giraffe. In the afternoon we walked through high dry grass as though in a great field of ripe corn.THE CHIEF OF THE ZAGHAWA TRIBE OF DARFURReceiving the explorer and his party on entering the frontiersThe men of the caravan were getting worn out, all the more as clothing was tattered, shoes at the last gasp; and to add to our inflictions we had much trouble withhaskanit, a small, very hard, hooked thorn which grows on a low bush and attaches itself to whosoever brushes against it, when it is extremely difficult to extract.I heard Bukara describing to Hamid a giraffe and an elephant. The giraffe, he said, has the head of a camel, the hoofs of a cow, and the hind quarters of a horse. His word picture of the elephant was grotesque and much exaggerated, to impress the man from the north.We made a very early start on Saturday, June 2, to make sure of reaching Furawia that day. At 5A.M.we passed on our right the landmark of Hagar Kamra-ra, ten kilometers away, and an hour later passed another, Hagar Urdru, a hill about eighty meters high and two hundred meters long.Hagaris the Sudanese word forgara, or small hill. Then we started dropping into the valley of Furawia. It was the largest valley and the most inhabited that we had come across. Its people are Zaghawa and a few Bidiyat.We camped at nine near a Bidiyat camp and soon heard the distressing news that no food was to be obtained at Furawia. This was contrary to my expectation. I made haste to find a messenger to take a letter to the governor of Darfur at El Fasher, asking him to send me provisions and cloth to clothe my men, who were in rags. After much hesitation, caused apparently by fear of my men, the Zaghawasheikhof a camp near-by came, driven by curiosity, to visit us. He was under the Sudanese Government, and I pounced on him and offered him three pounds to take a letter from me to Saville Pasha, Governor of Darfur. It was liberal pay, and in addition I threatened him with much unpleasantness should he hesitate or refuse. I told him he must start at dawn the next day. After murmuring something about having no animal to carry him, he went away and soon returned to say that he would take my letter to El Fasher. He intended to go on horseback. This was good news, for we had had no sugar for three weeks and had been obliged to sweeten our tea as best we could with pounded-up dates. Flour and rice had also given out, and a scanty diet of macaroni prepared with bad water is very monotonous.I moved the camp near to one of the wells in the valley and tried to buy a sheep to cheer up my men. But it was getting dark, and none of the inhabitantscame near our camp. We watered the camels and settled down for the night, not very well satisfied with life.I was suddenly surprised to hear my men singing and apparently as cheerful as though they had had a good meal. I called Zerwali and Bukara over and asked them what was the singing about when there was no sugar and little food and things were generally disagreeable.“We can breathe now,” answered Zerwali. “We have entered the Sudan and feel ourselves at last in safety.”“Were you so fearful, then, of this journey we have made?” I asked.“At Kufra all our relations said that we were ‘walking for our fate’ when we took this road,” explained Bukara. “‘Your fates are written,’ they said to us, ‘but may God protect you.’ We wondered if perhaps they might not be right.”“You heard at Kufra,” said Zerwali, “how some people offered you encouragement to take this route, while many advised against it. Those who favored it were malicious men who simply hoped that they would never see you again.”It was then also that Zerwali—who, now that we were nearing the end of the trip, felt himself more free to talk—told me that the houses of Sadaida andJehilat of the Zwaya tribe at Hawari and Kufra had strongly resented my second visit and held a meeting to discuss the best means of either destroying the caravan or preventing me from coming back.Then I realized what pluck it had taken for these men to come with me by the strange and unknown way without a murmur of protest. I was proud of them.At 2A.M.Hamid, who was acting as sentry, woke me to say that the messenger had arrived and was ready to take my letter to El Fasher. Two letters were all written and ready under my pillow, one to Saville Pasha and the other to the officer in command at Kuttum, the outpost on the way to El Fasher, asking him to make sure that my letter to El Fasher reached its destination. I was glad the messenger had come so early. The sooner we got new supplies the happier we should all be. I promised him a few extra dollars if he would deliver the letter to El Fasher in four days. I bade him a very warm God-speed and watched him ride off in the moonlight on a quite strong if ragged-looking horse.CHAPTER XXIJOURNEY’S ENDSLEEP came slowly to me that first night at Furawia. I was excited as I had not been since saying good-by to Lieutenant Bather at Sollum and beginning the journey. Now I was in touch again with the outside world and the journey was really over, even though it would still be a month or more before I should exchange my caravan for other methods of travel. The “lost” oases of Arkenu and Ouenat were no longer lost, and, if my observations proved to be as accurate as I hoped they were, a good map could now be made of this strip of the Libyan Desert from Jalo to Furawia.We spent three full days at Furawia getting used to the damp climate we had come into and trying to get enough to eat to keep us from feeling miserable. Dark clouds hovered over our heads much of the time, and every day it rained. My men gorged themselves with mutton, but the lack of sugar for the tea and other provisions rather took the edge off their enjoyment of these feasts.On June 6 we started south in the afternoon and climbed slowly out of the valley. We passed many flocks of sheep and cattle going home, followed by slim girls and boys clad in nothing but a loin-cloth or strings of beads.It was quite different from the desert we had come through. We were following a beaten track and passing frequently small villages of straw huts, women carryinghatab, and other signs of habitation.Near one of the villages I told the caravan to go ahead and pointed out to them where we would camp. I followed with my horse. There were a few points of interest geographically, and I had to take some observations. As I was nearing the camp I heard voices curiously upraised, a mixture between men wailing and singing. My first thought was that some of the men of the caravan had got into trouble with the natives. I spurred on my horse and as I was approaching the camp my mind was relieved, for I heard thetom-tomof the drum and women’s voices singing. It was just after sunset, and in the dusk I could not distinguish clearly the crowd that was moving toward me, but soon one of my men came rushing up to tell me they had had the most cordial reception from the men and women of the village, who insisted on coming out to receive “thesheikhof the caravan.” He had hardly broken this news tome when a bevy of young girls, some singing, others dancing, surrounded my horse, who responded as befitted a Bedouin horse and started prancing. The women raisedlu-lias, and I was urged by my Bedouins to empty gunpowder. The crowd made way for my horse, and I walked him a short distance off, turned around, came rushing back, and pulled him up dead. By that time I had got out my rifle, and as my horse stopped dead I fired my shot, in Bedouin fashion, at the feet of the first row of beautiful damsels. They were half frightened and half delighted. Then six of them surrounded the horse, circling round me, and gave me theshabaal; that is to say, with a sudden twist of the head they whirled their tresses toward me as a woman of southern Europe might throw a rose. In response, I put my finger on each girl’s forehead and, holding my rifle high in the air, twirled it round her head, crying “Abshir bil kheir!” (“Rejoice in the bounty of God!”). We then formed ourselves into a procession and proceeded to the camp. The moment they saw me coming surrounded by all those girls the Bedouins fired in the air in honor of the occasion. The Bedouin is very chivalrous, and such is his idea of honoring the ladies. Afterward I distributed scent to all the girls, who went away very happy, and it was a most cheerful evening in the camp.The next day we reached Um Buru, thirty-eight kilometers from Furawia. We camped near the well, and the next morning I was awakened early by sounds of cattle and sheep coming to water. An hour later a busy market was being held alongside our camp. We had unwittingly pitched our tents close by the big tree that marked the center of the market-place. Only women took part in the market, bringing butter, leather, mats, maize, cotton, and salt, which they bartered with each other without the use of money. Meanwhile the men lay about at their ease and did nothing. As I watched such a scene as this and others not unlike in the villages of the Sudan, I found myself wondering whether the black women were not after all better off as slaves in a Bedouin household. Here they do all the work that is done, caring for cattle and sheep, doing the housework, and preparing meals and making the favorite beveragemerissafor their men, carrying on the business of the market—everything. As slaves they would have only certain circumscribed duties and some opportunity for leisure. As I turned this over in my mind, however, I seemed to catch something in the sound of their talk and their laughter that slaves do not have. Perhaps there is something in the feeling of liberty after all, even when it is accompanied by drudgery.

WELL ON THE FRONTIER OF DARFUR

ENTERING THE SUDAN

I GOT up early in order to open the film-box and refill the cameras while it was still cool. At seven, with Mohammed and Hamad, I set out to visit the well. The valley of Erdi is what is known as akarkur, a long narrow depression in the hills which winds like a snake. It runs to the southward for seven or eight kilometers ending in acul-de-sacwhere the well lies in a shadowy hollow under the rocks. The pool is semicircular in shape, half a dozen meters long and half as broad. The well is like those at Ouenat, although I suspect that in addition to the rain-water it may possibly be fed by a spring. The approach to it is a rocky and somewhat dangerous climb. The night before one of the camels bringing water slipped and hurt itself rather badly.

We climbed up to theain, had a rest and tea, and rode home under a hot sun. The valley is beautiful,with its sheer walls of red rock, and the green grass and trees scattered about below them. Mohammed told me that it is the most difficult valley in this region to enter and therefore the easiest to defend.

In the late afternoon I climbed the valley wall to watch the fine sunset and the play of the light on the red sand and the rose-colored rocks. The men shaved their heads, trimmed their beards, and washed and mended their clothes, which were becoming very tattered.

The grazing here just saved our camels, and it was wise to take this day for rest and recuperation. Mohammed and Herri told me that from now on it would not be practicable to travel at night. The country was too hilly to be safe to traverse in the darkness. All the Bedouins gave Mohammed credit for the way he led the camels over the steep rocks to the valley yesterday.

In the evening the dog had a fit of barking, and we suspected that some one was near. We quickly put out the fires, gathered the camels together, made ready the rifles, and put sentries out around the camp; but it was a false alarm.

These precautions, like those we take when approaching a well, seem absurd when it is all over and nothing has happened. But in unknown country like this the caravan that did not take them would bevery foolish. An attack by hostile tribesmen or outlaws is far from an improbability.

Thursday, May 17.We were up at four and under way at 5:30. The climb out of the valley was as difficult as the descent, and one camel fell, but fortunately without serious results. As we reached the edge of thewadiand looked back I realized the difference between the valleys in these hills and those at Arkenu and Ouenat. There the floor of a valley is on the same level as the plain outside, and one goes into it by a pass as through a gateway. In the region we were now in, the valleys are depressed below the general level of the country, and one drops down into them by winding, rocky paths.

In an hour we were out of thewadiand turned to the southeast. We were in a mountainous country of black and red rocks, and it was clear that we could not travel over suchterrainin the dark. At 9:30 we descended into a large valley by a steep path, on which two camels stumbled and threw off their loads. One, carrying water, very nearly broke its neck; but the presence of mind of Abdullahi, who drew a knife and cut the girths, saved the situation. The wooden stopper of one of thefantassescame out, and the water was three-quarters spilled. Fortunately the next well was only three days ahead, and we had an ample supply for even a longer trek. Suchan occurrence as this would have been a disaster if we had been in adaffa, as a long waterless trek between wells is called.

On this morning a serious situation arose suddenly which might have had fatal results had it not been for two pieces of luck. Ahmed, the cook who came with me from Egypt, was riding a camel without a bridle. He had asked Hamid, the camelman of Bu Helega, to provide a bridle; but the other, being wise in the ways of camels, knew better than to do so. It is important that the camels be able to graze at will. They are more in need of food than of guidance.

Ahmed’s camel, spying a fine tuft of grass, went directly to it. On the way he passed under a tree set thickly with thorns. The rider could not escape the sharp projections, and his face was badly torn. Annoyed by the pain, Ahmed proceeded to curse the camel and the owner of the camels. Hamid instantly retaliated by cursing him and telling him not to curse the noble owner of the animals. I happened to be near, and in my heart I praised the camelman for his loyalty to Bu Helega, his master.

Ahmed came quickly off the camel, his face streaked with blood, and went hotly at Hamid. Senussi Bu Hassan, the other Hamid, and Sad, the Aujili, rushed to take the side of their brother Bedouin.Abdullahi ranged himself beside Ahmed, two Egyptians shoulder to shoulder.

A WATER-CARRIER IN THE DESERTA WOMAN OF THE FALLATA TRIBE

A WATER-CARRIER IN THE DESERT

A WOMAN OF THE FALLATA TRIBE

I had had experience of such quarrels before, and I quickly looked to see where the rifles were. It was with deep relief that I saw them safely fastened on the camels’ backs. The men had only sticks to fight with, but, even so, prompt action was necessary before the trouble became more acute.

I galloped my horse among the men and pushed him between the two groups of combatants, brusquely ordering Ahmed and Abdullahi to stand back. It was a most difficult moment, with one side my own men and the other the men of my caravan.

Senussi Bu Hassan and Hamid looked back, and for the flicker of a second I saw their eyes rest on the slung rifles. One word of encouragement from me to the other party would have meant disaster, for the Bedouins outnumbered us. On the other hand, it was not the time, even if my own men were in the wrong, to humiliate them before the Bedouins.

“What do you mean by behaving like children?” I demanded impartially of the men on both sides. “Men like you ought to be ashamed.”

Hamid started to speak. “He insulted me.”

Ahmed interrupted him. “He attacked me as I came off my camel.”

“I don’t care who insulted whom or who attackedwhom,” I declared sharply. “You are all my men, and it is a shame to have you behave like a batch of children.”

Just then Zerwali came up. I turned to Abdullahi and then to Senussi Bu Hassan. “And you older men, instead of bringing peace, actually take part in this disgraceful quarrel,” I said severely. “Perhaps I have made a mistake. I should have chosen men for my caravan and not boys.”

By this time both parties had begun to cool down and to lose their tense look of men about to spring to the attack. Zerwali, who probably expected me to take the side of my compatriots, Abdullahi and Ahmed, was disarmed and did the unexpected thing.

“Put Hamid on the ground,” he ordered the slave Faraj. “I will beat him with my whip.”

In a flash the stalwart Faraj laid Hamid unceremoniously on the ground and pinned him there with his knee. Before I could interfere Zerwali’s whip descended twice. But by that time I had dismounted and caught Zerwali’s arm.

“This is no matter for punishment,” I asserted. “We don’t know who is to blame. I shall inquire into the matter and punish with my own hands the man who is proved guilty.”

Turning to the men I commanded, “Follow the camels.”

To Mohammed and Herri, who had kept tactfully out of the affair, I gave the order, “Lead the way,” pointing with my stick.

All moved off, and I walked alone, trying to preserve for their benefit my expression of stern disapproval. Zerwali gradually edged nearer to me and spoke deprecatingly.

“The bey is not angry over what has happened?” he questioned. “God knows when I got up this morning there was something weighing heavy on my heart. I felt sure that something unpleasant was going to happen. My feeling was reflected in your salutation to me.”

I realized that I also had had an uncanny feeling. There was no reason for it, for everything was going smoothly and well. But still something had oppressed me.

In a short while both parties felt like children who had been naughty. I observed furtive glances stealing toward me from both sides to see if my anger was abated. But I kept my stern countenance until luncheon.

Those who have traveled in the desert and know the Bedouins will realize what a serious possibility this incident contained. A single harsh word interpreted as an insult means shooting if guns are close at hand. If both men had had their rifles and if Ihad been some hundred yards away, as was generally the case, there would almost certainly have been bloodshed. The Bedouins would probably have killed Ahmed and Abdullahi out of hand. Then what could I have done, as an Egyptian, but avenge the killing of my countrymen at whatever cost to myself?

How lucky it was that the rifles were lashed to the camels and that I was close at hand!

“We are getting near the end of our journey,” said Zerwali. “The men are always quarrelsome then.”

By the time this dangerous incident was over, the sun was very hot, and we camped in the valley in the shade of some fine trees. The camels had good grazing while we ate and rested. Before we started in the afternoon Mohammed, Senussi Bu Hassan, Bukara, and Hamid, the camelman, came to ask me to forgive Hamid for having let his anger get the better of him with Ahmed. I pardoned him readily, and he went to Ahmed and kissed his head. Ahmed returned the compliment, and then the quarrel was ended in the best Bedouin tradition.

We made our way down the big valley for three hours and camped near its mouth at 7:15. Shortly before halting we saw ahead of us the distant hills of Agah, where the next well lay. The ground before us was flatserira, and it was a relief to see it.On this morning when we were going down into the valley it looked as if all our baggage would be in bits if there were more of these precipices. In places the descent was so rough that for safety we had to unload the camels. The men had to carry the baggage down the steep rocks, often a drop of three feet from boulder to boulder.

The new moon had risen as we camped. The next day was Bairam, the feast marking the end of Ramadan, and Zerwali came to say that the men would like to feast according to our Moslem custom. I willingly agreed, since the Agah Hills were in sight before us and the water-supply was ample. Besides, the excellent grazing in this valley would do the camels good.

We all rose early the next day (Friday, May 18) and put on clean clothes for the feast-day. We exchanged good wishes and followed them with the prayers appointed for Bairam. There was a look on every face as of men who are thinking of those left behind at home.

I produced a few Medjidies and Egyptian notes and distributed them. The coins went to Mohammed, Herri, Hassan, and Arami, who were to leave us before we reached territory where Egyptian notes are current. The rest got the notes, which they would be able to use at El Fasher. To Zerwali I gave twentyrounds of revolver ammunition and a bottle of scent. Another bottle of scent was divided among the men; Bukara received one of my pipes and tobacco to go with it, and he declared that he did not know what to do to return all the kindness I had shown him.

“I have only my camel and the clothes on my back,” he said. “He has given me the value of my camel in tobacco.”

It was a cheerful camp at breakfast; the men were pleased with their gifts, and I enjoyed their satisfaction. After breakfast we all lay down for a siesta, but got up again promptly, our bodies itching furiously from the assaults of white ants.

At 5:45P.M.we made our start and half an hour later emerged from the valley upon theserira. In front of us lay a chain of hills running east and west, in the middle of which was Jebel Islingah, and to the right of it Jebel Agah, to which we were going. Herri said that there was a well also in Jebel Islingah, but that it was difficult to get at. The valley where we had camped was marked by trees on the east side of the entrance to it.

It was a hot day, and we moved slowly for six hours, when we reached a belt of sand-dunes, which stopped our progress for the night.

Saturday, May 19.We started at 5:15A.M.andmade our final halt at 8P.M.There was a hot northeast wind from the hills, which dropped in the evening. We traveled over soft sand, very undulating, covered with dry grass. As we approached the hills the country became flatter with patches of small black stone.

The sun got hot quickly in the morning, and a hot wind was blowing, and so we camped at half-past nine in the shade of atumtumtree. Its protection was welcome, and its bunches of red berries made an attractive pattern over our heads.

We started again at 3:30 in spite of the heat, with the hope of reaching the hills of Agah before dark. The camels had to be beaten in order to get them away from the shade of the tree and into the hot sun. By 7:30 we were at the foot of the hills, with the slim moon just coming up. Mohammed suddenly raised the alarm. He had found the fresh tracks of two men leading toward Merdi. A stranger in the desert is an occasion for vigilance until he proves to be not unfriendly. Rifles were quickly unslung; the oil-rags were stripped from their breeches, and cartridges shoved in. The men collected the camels which were scattered out grazing, and Mohammed, Herri, and Senussi Bu Hassan went forward to the valley to reconnoiter. After a careful search they came back to report that there were no tracks leadinginto the valley but that there were fresh tracks leading out of it. We made camp at the entrance, keeping clear of trees and vegetation in case any one approached in the night. We ate dinner rapidly and extinguished our camp-fire. The camels andgirbaswere put in the center of the camp, and the luggage arranged around its edge. Four sentries were posted for the night, and we went to bed. But sleep was difficult because of the oppressive heat and the suspense.

Early on the Sunday morning we got up and approached the valley cautiously. We came across fresh tracks of sheep and men and were convinced that some one had a camp in the valley. Mohammed and Herri went ahead, as the inhabitants of this district were Goran and no one else spoke their language. They soon returned with three Gorans. I met them, and we solemnly went through the ceremony of giving and receiving theaman. We advanced toward each other and lay whatever weapons we might be carrying, sword or rifle, on the ground. I addressed them in the time-honored phrases: “I swear by God that we are peaceful men, that we wish you no harm, and that we have no intention of robbing you.” One of them did the same in his turn, and we indulged in brief questions and answers on each side. Who are you? Whence do you come?Whither are you going? On what business? Then we shook hands formally, each took up his weapons, and both sides retired.

A WELL NEAR KUTTUM IN DARFUR. WOMEN WORKING

We tried to buy sheep from them, but they refused to sell. In a short time they went away and returned with three sheep which they offered asdiafa, refusing to accept any money for them. I gave themetkiasof blue cloth as a return courtesy, with which they were delighted. The camels were sent off to the well to drink and to bring back water for the camp, while the men busied themselves with preparations for the great feast of meat. In the afternoon I took photographs and in the evening made observations. The electric torch which I used in reading the theodolite first frightened the Goran boys and then delighted them.

The valley of Agah is very picturesque, a long narrow defile between high cliffs, with more vegetation and trees than we had seen thus far. Half-way down its length it divides, one branch leading southwestward to the well and the other southward toward the open desert. The well is similar to that at Erdi, but its water is badly fouled by sheep and camels. The valley is full of birds whose pleasant songs make one think one is at the aviary in the Zoo.

We were up while it was dark and the stars were still shining in the clear sky. The Goran came to saygood-by. Arami and Hassan had declined to go further south and left us to return to Ouenat, with Arami’s camel. We wound our way down the eastern fork of the valley, its steep sides protecting us from the sun. On the way we sighted three gazelles, and some of the men gave chase, but the nimble animals climbed the hills and escaped. Hamid, the Zwayi, fired at one and missed, to the scornful delight of the others. Hamid, however, refused to admit complete failure.

“By God,” he stoutly maintained, “I hit it. I saw the blood spurt.”

It did not matter so much, however, as we still had meat left from thediafaof the Goran.

It quickly got too hot for comfort, and the camels, fresh from drinking, refused to go on. We camped in the shade of a tree, but soon discovered that better protection from the sun was to be had in crevices in the rocks. The camels were allowed to graze, and the men settled down to prepare the midday meal. Two sheep were slaughtered, and their flesh, impaled on sticks, was slowly revolved before the fire to roast in the Bedouin fashion. It was delicious. While the meat was being prepared, Sad cut his hand. I saw the blood and asked where it came from.

“From Hamid’s gazelle!” said Bukara, and oncemore shouts of laughter went up over the unsuccessful hunter.

After lunch I wound my watches, recorded the readings of the aneroid and the maximum and minimum thermometers, and wrote up my diaries, when Hamid the camelman came running to say that a herd of ostriches was near-by. We all grasped our rifles and stood ready. Soon the ostriches appeared, thirty or forty in number. The Bedouins were impatient and opened fire while the distance was too great. The ostriches dashed off into another valley with the men in hot pursuit. Many shots were fired, but Zerwali soon came back to say that nothing had been killed.

In a little while Hamid appeared carrying a small ostrich and followed by Senussi Bu Hassan. Both men claimed to have shot the creature, and since there were two bullet-wounds in it, either of which might have been fatal, they appealed to me for judgment; I asked the opinion of the men who saw the shooting, and all agreed that Hamid’s shot felled the bird. I decided in his favor.

Later Hamid, the camelman, small and sharp of features and afraid of no animals, not even of snakes, came upon an ostrich in a closed part of the valley and, after attacking it unsuccessfully with stones, rushed at it and caught it round the neck. He wrestled with it manfully, but it landed a kick on hisside from one of its powerful legs and ran away. I was watching the contest through my binoculars and nearly split my sides with laughter. The ostrich mounted a ridge, looked back scornfully at Hamid, who stood cursing it, arranged its feathers, and trotted off with the gait of a gay dowager, leaving him with his hand pressed to his maltreated side.

“Has the ostrich hurt you?” I asked solicitously when he returned.

“Oh, no,” he replied, quickly taking his hand from his side.

“Why didn’t you bring it back, then?” I asked again.

“I had to let it go,” he explained with great plausibility. “She was only a female.”

One of my great regrets on this trek was that I was unable to follow game as I would have liked to. The night marches between Ouenat and Erdi left me too exhausted in the morning to do anything but record the readings of my scientific instruments and try to snatch two or three hours of sleep before it was too hot. Then our food-supply began to get less and less. I could not stay at Agah where there were plenty of gazelles, ostriches, and wild sheep. Besides, the scarcity of water made me lose no time there, where the well had been so fouled by animals.

An old Egyptian army Martini and an Italiancavalry carbine which I was given at Kufra, handy as they would have been for self-defense, were of little use for long-range work on game, especially gazelle. Hunting, therefore, was a diversion which I had to deny myself.

SUDANESE TROOPS AND GIRLSThey are singing in welcome to the explorer’s party

SUDANESE TROOPS AND GIRLS

They are singing in welcome to the explorer’s party

It was very hot, and we could not start until 5P.M.We followed the lovely valley for an hour and then began to climb the hills. As we got to the top we had a fine view of its beauties, all the various shades of green of the trees and shrubs making picturesque patterns with the rosy sand and the redder rocks of the hills guarding the valley. The soft notes of innumerable doves floated up on the cool evening breeze. A gorgeous red and gold sunset completed anensemblenot easy to forget. I stopped my horse and spent a pleasant half-hour lying on a patch of soft sand drinking in the delights of this little bit of paradise. It soon grew dark. The crescent moon showed herself, and far away I heard the Bedouins of my caravan singing. Reluctantly I rose and took the track again.

We were soon in different country, broken and very undulating, with distant jagged hills surrounding us. The camels were suffering from the foul water of Agah, and so were the men. We camped early, both on this account and because it is dangerous country to travel by the weak moonlight.

We dropped into a soft sand valley about two hundred meters from our route and camped.

We got up with the stars still in the sky on Tuesday, May 23, and made our start with a gorgeous sunrise on our left hand. We moved slowly because of the thick shrubs and scattered stones and also because Mohammed and Herri had not been in this country for ten years and were picking their way cautiously.

“Mohammed is riding, I suppose,” I said to Hamid, the camelman, as I walked in my favorite place behind the caravan, “or we would not be moving so slowly.”

“The gray-haired man is walking, O bey,” said the shrewd fellow quickly. “His track is on the ground.”

Once more I was impressed with the keen observation of the Bedouins, especially the camelman. Hamid had already learned the characteristic footprints that each man of the caravan leaves. Of course he knew the track of each camel also.

On Wednesday we were up much earlier than usual in our anxiety to reach the well of Enebah. The water of Agah was the worst we had yet tasted, and it was having its effect on both men and camels. A three hours’ trek brought us to the edge of the valley in which the well lay. We dropped down intoit and discovered from tracks of sheep, donkeys, and men that the place was inhabited. Mohammed went forward to meet the men who live there, and gave and received theaman; and soon we were camped by the well. The water was excellent; animals and men both enjoyed the change.

There was quite a large Bidiyat camp here, with hundreds of sheep and a few horses for thesheikhs. Presently the whole population, led by thesheikhs, came to greet us. I shook hands with them and distributed scent, putting a little on the hand of each one.

In the afternoon they brought sheep asdiafa, and the women (who have a keen business sense) producedsamn—butter—and leather to sell to us. We gave them Medjidies and cloth in exchange. In the evening I took observations. The Bidiyats were frightened at the theodolite and the electric torch, and their suspicions were aroused.

One of thesheikhsentered my tent and caught me opening the instrument-case. I shut the case quickly and instantly realized my mistake. I could see in his dark cruel face, with yellow eyes like those of a fox set close together, that he believed I had gold in the box. As he left my tent I ostentatiously ordered Senussi Bu Hassan and Hamid to stand as sentries in the camp. I pointed to them and told thesheikhnot to allow the women and children to approach the camp at night lest my men might make a mistake and shoot at them. It was just a hint that we were wide-awake and that there was no hope of catching us off our guard. I could see that the hint went home.

TO FURAWIA ON SHORT RATIONS

THE valley of Enebah was covered with soft sand, dotted with shrubs both green and dry and with trees.

I had a good night’s rest and was awakened by the hubbub of the Bidiyat women bargaining with the men of my caravan for empty tins. They offered a kind of dry shrub that they called tobacco and milk in return. Five more sheep were brought asdiafa, and more presents were distributed.

Encouraged by a cool southeast wind, we started at 3:15P.M., but the wind soon dropped and we made slow progress in the heat. The evening was cooler, however, and we made up a little for lost time. The night was cold.

OnFriday, May 25, we were up at four and started an hour and a quarter later. The country was very undulating and broken, and Herri was not sure of the way. We moved slowly because of the difficulty of the going and the uncertainty of theguide. Shortly after nine we dropped into a valley and camped an hour later.

Senussi Bu Hassan, who was walking beside me, gave expression to his opinion of the guide and his Bedouin pride.

“Those Goran wabble about like camels,” he said. “They do not walk like Bedouins, who fly straight to their goal like birds.”

When we took the road again in the afternoon the sun was still very hot. The camels moved slowly, and the men’s singing sounded like broken bagpipes. It was perhaps as well that we were compelled to move slowly, for Herri was more uncertain of the way than ever. Some of the time we followed the track left by a flock of sheep going presumably toward Bao, but at intervals it was lost in the tracts of broken stones.

A little after five we dropped into a big valley whose name we discovered later to be Koni-Mina, running east and west and filled with fine trees. Just before reaching it we met a Goran with a few sheep. He came up to me, dropped his sword and spears on the ground, and took off his sandals. We shook hands with many ejaculations of “Keif-halak, tayibeen” (“How are you? Very well.”). It was all the Arabic he knew. Mohammed and Herri then talked with him and learned that there was a Goran camp inthe valley before us. A cattle merchant had also just arrived from Fada in Wadai with sheep and cows on his way to El Fasher. Mohammed and Herri left us and approached the few straw-thatched huts that constituted the Goran camp. We went across the valley and camped on its farther rim.

Soon a man came running to ask us to return to the camp and start again the next day. I appreciated the hospitable suggestion but felt that we could not afford to retrace our steps even for two or three kilometers. I thanked him for the invitation and told him that we were in a great hurry. We should camp near-by to wait for our two guides. An hour later Mohammed appeared, full of news from Fada and El Fasher, obtained from the merchant.

We were busy that evening overhauling our baggage and repairing damages. All the ropes were getting worn, and the Bedouin woolen bags too. We had been losing much time on the way with reloading and shifting things about. But it was a consolation to know that in a fortnight we should be in El Fasher.

We had the most beautiful sunrise on May 26 that I have seen. The brilliant white light on the red and black stones near-by and the distant hills made everything wonderfully clear and distinct. Soon it changed to a warm red glow, and then the golden rays of the sun broke through the thin cloudsand flooded everything. The long shadows cast by rocks and shrubs on the ground looked like black stenciling on the yellow sand. The shadows of the slowly moving caravan made a fantastic pattern.

It soon proved to be an oppressively close morning.

Herri joined us later in the forenoon with a slaughtered sheep slung on each side of his camel, thediafafrom the Goran camp.

We followed sheep and camel tracks and marched from one valley into another until we camped in one of the largest of them, which had many shady trees.

It is always a problem whether to stop under the shade of a tree and suffer the attacks of white ants and all sorts of sinister-looking insects or pitch tent in the broiling sun. In future, I shall be inclined to take my chance in the open, as the insects are always with you, while the sun’s heat is over by five or six in the afternoon. The valley in which we camped is called Kap-Terku.

We started again at four, with a southeast breeze that made walking not so tedious. There were also a few clouds which tempered the heat of the sun. The camels walked better. In the late afternoon we passed a Goran family, a man, wife, and naked child, and later we found a well. It was seven meters deep and had good water, though the roots of a near-bytree had rotted in it, giving it an unpleasant odor.

WELL ON THE FRONTIER OF DARFUR

We camped at eight fortunately in a clear space free from shrubs and stones. At one in the morning a hyena visited the camp, and had it not been for the vigilance of Hamid, the camelman, it might have got Baraka, who was tied at night and therefore unable to defend himself. Hamid fired at it impulsively, and with my glasses I saw a dark object running far away in the brilliant moonlight.

Sunday, May 27.Start at 5:15A.M., halt at 9:15A.M.start again at 3:45P.M., halt at 7:45P.M.Make 30 kilometers. Highest temperature 38°, lowest 7°. Fine, clear, and calm in the morning. At midday strong hot southeast wind, which drops in afternoon. Few white clouds. Warm and calm in the evening. Very cloudy, with few drops of rain at 10P.M.Valleys of soft sand as before, with low sandstone hills twenty to eighty meters high. Patches of the same stone crop out through the sand.

Herri proved himself a bad guide. He predicted that we would reach Bao this morning, but when night came we were not yet there. He knew the places when he saw them, but his sense of direction was faulty. Our water had given out, except for one lastgirba, and it was very hot.

We marched until 7:45, when we reached rocky ground, dangerous for the camels even in the clear moonlight. We were on the edge of a large valleywhich Herri declared to be that of Bao, but we could not believe him. Experience had taught me not to permit the last of the water-supply to be used until we had not only seen the well but approached it to make sure that there was drinkable water there. I insisted that the lastgirbashould not be touched that night. We went to bed without dinner, since we could not cook without water.

There was, however, the consolation of a beautiful night. I lay in bed watching the play of the moonlight on the clouds. A few drops of rain announced the approach of the rainy season. We were astir early. Empty stomachs do not encourage long sleep. We drove the camels as we had not driven them before. How tired they looked, and how weak! When camels and men are hungry and thirsty, all the other defects in the caravan come out. There was no singing that morning, merely silent, relentless urging forward of the camels and ourselves.

The descent into the valley was steep and dangerous. Three camels threw off their loads, which had to be carried by the men down to the level ground and loaded again. At last we saw a few sheep and a straw hut or two. We stopped, and I let the men drink the water from the lastgirba, for which they had asked many times that morning.

Herri and Mohammed went ahead and made theirway to the huts. The caravan meanwhile moved directly down the valley toward the well. Soon some blacks of the Goran and Bidiyat tribes came to meet us. We fired our rifles as usual, as if in salutation, but in reality to impress the natives with our preparedness.

I noticed that by a curious coincidence those who met us, men and women, were all old. There was not a single young person among them, especially no young woman. However, it did not strike me as extraordinary, but a little later I was surprised to see batches of slim and beautiful girls, brown or black, half naked in their tattered clothes, but holding themselves gracefully erect. As they came along in groups of three and four, I turned to Bukara and asked, “From where are these girls?”

Bukara looked at them with great admiration and replied: “Allah be great! These girls are of the village. They thought we were going to rob the village and take away the young girls as slaves, so they sent them out to hide as soon as they sighted our caravan. Now that the men know that we are a peaceful caravan, they have sent word to the girls to come back.”

As the girls passed my horse they shyly dropped on their knees in salutation, as is the custom there when addressing a person of higher rank. In this part of the world when one is addressed by some moreexalted person the etiquette is not to stand up but to sit down in token of reverence. One after another these girls dropped to their knees, and in return I gave them the usual Arab blessing, “May God’s peace be on you and His mercy and blessings.” As they rose again the girls bashfully turned to look at my company of admiring Bedouins.

We camped at the end of the valley near the well. An hour later thesheikhof the camp came to greet us. We discussed the roads to El Fasher and the direction to be followed. Here Herri looked thoughtful and sad. This was close to his own country, for we were across the frontier of French Wadai now. He had thrown away his rights and run away from the French, leaving all his property and relatives, and gone to the solitary oasis of Ouenat to live in self-inflicted exile.

We were getting into a different kind of country. There were many more varieties of birds, including crows, owls, parrots, doves, and others whose names I do not know.

In the night a lioness had killed two donkeys, and some of the natives captured one of its young and sent its skin to Fada to be sold. There are several score of blacks of the Goran and Bidiyat tribes at Bao. The women are graceful creatures, clothed with the utmost simplicity. Their dress is either a lengthof cloth wound skilfully around the body, with a narrow strip of cloth for a belt, in which is carried a small knife, or a sheepskin wrapped round the lower part of the body. Their hair is arranged in small plaits. They wear ornaments of silver and ivory, heavy rings in the hair, and bead and amber necklaces. Young girls wear only an apron of cloth or leather. The men have splendid physique, go naked except for a loin-cloth, and carry two or three spears, a sword, and throwing-knife. Onlysheikhswear white robes and large turbans.

We gave the women and children macaroni, but they refused to eat it. Instead, they threaded the pieces on strings and made necklaces, which they wore proudly. The business instinct of the Bedouins at once displayed itself. They made necklaces from our little store of macaroni and exchanged them for butter and leather.

Herri and Mohammed were to leave us here. They did not care to venture further south. I had some difficulty in finding a guide to take us to Furawia but at last succeeded. A sheep was brought to us asdiafa, and we dined early on Tuesday, intending to make a prompt start in the morning.

The guide did not present himself, and I began to feel that the Bidiyat were suspicious of my caravan. At 11P.M.he appeared, however, and I immediatelywoke the men and set them to loading the camels before he had any chance of changing his mind.

Wednesday, May 30.Start at 1A.M., halt at 8:30A.M., start again at 4:15P.M., halt at 7:15P.M.Make 40 kilometers. Highest temperature 36°. Fine and clear. Strong and dusty southeast wind. The wind changes to northeast in the afternoon and drops in the evening. Country same as before, except flatter, and with no large valleys and no big trees. At 8:15A.M.across a smallwadirunning east and west.

When we started at one o’clock there was a beautiful moon, which made it as clear as in daylight.

Herri and Mohammed started with us, as they wished to give the impression to the men of Bao that they were going with us to El Fasher. Otherwise they feared that they might be waylaid. In an hour we had climbed out of the valley. We halted to say good-by to the two guides, who were going to travel only by night on their way back to Ouenat, to avoid detection.

As I stood a little apart from the caravan in the moment of farewell to them, I realized that the difficulties through which we had come had drawn us close together. Mohammed was tall, erect, with a piercing eye and an interesting illustration of theself-assurance that life in the desert gives and the fatalistic resignation with which one accepts whatever comes. Herri was a gentle-mannered, unassuming old man with a benign smile and charming manners. There was unquestioned dignity in his movements in spite of an injured left foot which he had to drag when he walked. He was a prince by nature.

This was not merely a parting of companions of the trek, but a symbol of the old, having run the race, pointing the onward road to the young. We all forgot that I was the head of a caravan and they my guides. Herri put his hands on my shoulders and spoke with feeling in his voice.

“May God bless you and give you strength,” he said. “There is your road.” He pointed to an opening in the distant hills. I murmured a few words in a voice that I could scarcely trust not to tremble and turned away to my caravan. The two dignified but somehow pathetic figures, both exiles from their own land, faded away in the moonlight.

We halted at dawn for our morning prayers and at 8:30 to camp for the day. There were tracks of lions about. We started again early in the afternoon, but the men were tired, having had little sleep the previous night, and we marched only three hours. The sheep which had been given us escaped, and in the moonlight Hamid and Sad went after it, bleatinglike sheep themselves to attract it, but with no success.

Thursday, May 31.Start at 3:45A.M., halt at 8:45A.M., start again at 3:30P.M., halt at 7:30P.M.Make 36 kilometers. Highest temperature 37°, lowest 5°. Fine, clear, and calm. Southeast wind in the afternoon, which changed to northeast and dropped toward evening. Calm evening and night, with full moon and few white clouds.

An uneventful day.

Shortly after an early start on Friday, June 1, the guide got sleepy and “lost his head.” We were soon traveling due west instead of southeast. I did not interfere until we stopped for morning prayers at five, but then I asked him quietly if he had intended to march to the westward. He was surprised but admitted frankly his error. Fortunately, we had not been going wrong for long.

At 6:30 we passed a hill called Tamaira, on which stood a dry tree marking the boundary between Wadai and the Sudan. From the boundary-post we dropped into Wadai Hawar, a large valley full of big trees, which is said to extend westward to Wadai and eastward toward the Sudan. In Wadai, it is called Wadi Hawash.

The soil in thewadiis very fertile, and the men from Wadai and Darfur come to it in the autumn for grazing. We camped here for the midday halt andfound tracks of giraffe. In the afternoon we walked through high dry grass as though in a great field of ripe corn.

THE CHIEF OF THE ZAGHAWA TRIBE OF DARFURReceiving the explorer and his party on entering the frontiers

THE CHIEF OF THE ZAGHAWA TRIBE OF DARFUR

Receiving the explorer and his party on entering the frontiers

The men of the caravan were getting worn out, all the more as clothing was tattered, shoes at the last gasp; and to add to our inflictions we had much trouble withhaskanit, a small, very hard, hooked thorn which grows on a low bush and attaches itself to whosoever brushes against it, when it is extremely difficult to extract.

I heard Bukara describing to Hamid a giraffe and an elephant. The giraffe, he said, has the head of a camel, the hoofs of a cow, and the hind quarters of a horse. His word picture of the elephant was grotesque and much exaggerated, to impress the man from the north.

We made a very early start on Saturday, June 2, to make sure of reaching Furawia that day. At 5A.M.we passed on our right the landmark of Hagar Kamra-ra, ten kilometers away, and an hour later passed another, Hagar Urdru, a hill about eighty meters high and two hundred meters long.Hagaris the Sudanese word forgara, or small hill. Then we started dropping into the valley of Furawia. It was the largest valley and the most inhabited that we had come across. Its people are Zaghawa and a few Bidiyat.

We camped at nine near a Bidiyat camp and soon heard the distressing news that no food was to be obtained at Furawia. This was contrary to my expectation. I made haste to find a messenger to take a letter to the governor of Darfur at El Fasher, asking him to send me provisions and cloth to clothe my men, who were in rags. After much hesitation, caused apparently by fear of my men, the Zaghawasheikhof a camp near-by came, driven by curiosity, to visit us. He was under the Sudanese Government, and I pounced on him and offered him three pounds to take a letter from me to Saville Pasha, Governor of Darfur. It was liberal pay, and in addition I threatened him with much unpleasantness should he hesitate or refuse. I told him he must start at dawn the next day. After murmuring something about having no animal to carry him, he went away and soon returned to say that he would take my letter to El Fasher. He intended to go on horseback. This was good news, for we had had no sugar for three weeks and had been obliged to sweeten our tea as best we could with pounded-up dates. Flour and rice had also given out, and a scanty diet of macaroni prepared with bad water is very monotonous.

I moved the camp near to one of the wells in the valley and tried to buy a sheep to cheer up my men. But it was getting dark, and none of the inhabitantscame near our camp. We watered the camels and settled down for the night, not very well satisfied with life.

I was suddenly surprised to hear my men singing and apparently as cheerful as though they had had a good meal. I called Zerwali and Bukara over and asked them what was the singing about when there was no sugar and little food and things were generally disagreeable.

“We can breathe now,” answered Zerwali. “We have entered the Sudan and feel ourselves at last in safety.”

“Were you so fearful, then, of this journey we have made?” I asked.

“At Kufra all our relations said that we were ‘walking for our fate’ when we took this road,” explained Bukara. “‘Your fates are written,’ they said to us, ‘but may God protect you.’ We wondered if perhaps they might not be right.”

“You heard at Kufra,” said Zerwali, “how some people offered you encouragement to take this route, while many advised against it. Those who favored it were malicious men who simply hoped that they would never see you again.”

It was then also that Zerwali—who, now that we were nearing the end of the trip, felt himself more free to talk—told me that the houses of Sadaida andJehilat of the Zwaya tribe at Hawari and Kufra had strongly resented my second visit and held a meeting to discuss the best means of either destroying the caravan or preventing me from coming back.

Then I realized what pluck it had taken for these men to come with me by the strange and unknown way without a murmur of protest. I was proud of them.

At 2A.M.Hamid, who was acting as sentry, woke me to say that the messenger had arrived and was ready to take my letter to El Fasher. Two letters were all written and ready under my pillow, one to Saville Pasha and the other to the officer in command at Kuttum, the outpost on the way to El Fasher, asking him to make sure that my letter to El Fasher reached its destination. I was glad the messenger had come so early. The sooner we got new supplies the happier we should all be. I promised him a few extra dollars if he would deliver the letter to El Fasher in four days. I bade him a very warm God-speed and watched him ride off in the moonlight on a quite strong if ragged-looking horse.

JOURNEY’S END

SLEEP came slowly to me that first night at Furawia. I was excited as I had not been since saying good-by to Lieutenant Bather at Sollum and beginning the journey. Now I was in touch again with the outside world and the journey was really over, even though it would still be a month or more before I should exchange my caravan for other methods of travel. The “lost” oases of Arkenu and Ouenat were no longer lost, and, if my observations proved to be as accurate as I hoped they were, a good map could now be made of this strip of the Libyan Desert from Jalo to Furawia.

We spent three full days at Furawia getting used to the damp climate we had come into and trying to get enough to eat to keep us from feeling miserable. Dark clouds hovered over our heads much of the time, and every day it rained. My men gorged themselves with mutton, but the lack of sugar for the tea and other provisions rather took the edge off their enjoyment of these feasts.

On June 6 we started south in the afternoon and climbed slowly out of the valley. We passed many flocks of sheep and cattle going home, followed by slim girls and boys clad in nothing but a loin-cloth or strings of beads.

It was quite different from the desert we had come through. We were following a beaten track and passing frequently small villages of straw huts, women carryinghatab, and other signs of habitation.

Near one of the villages I told the caravan to go ahead and pointed out to them where we would camp. I followed with my horse. There were a few points of interest geographically, and I had to take some observations. As I was nearing the camp I heard voices curiously upraised, a mixture between men wailing and singing. My first thought was that some of the men of the caravan had got into trouble with the natives. I spurred on my horse and as I was approaching the camp my mind was relieved, for I heard thetom-tomof the drum and women’s voices singing. It was just after sunset, and in the dusk I could not distinguish clearly the crowd that was moving toward me, but soon one of my men came rushing up to tell me they had had the most cordial reception from the men and women of the village, who insisted on coming out to receive “thesheikhof the caravan.” He had hardly broken this news tome when a bevy of young girls, some singing, others dancing, surrounded my horse, who responded as befitted a Bedouin horse and started prancing. The women raisedlu-lias, and I was urged by my Bedouins to empty gunpowder. The crowd made way for my horse, and I walked him a short distance off, turned around, came rushing back, and pulled him up dead. By that time I had got out my rifle, and as my horse stopped dead I fired my shot, in Bedouin fashion, at the feet of the first row of beautiful damsels. They were half frightened and half delighted. Then six of them surrounded the horse, circling round me, and gave me theshabaal; that is to say, with a sudden twist of the head they whirled their tresses toward me as a woman of southern Europe might throw a rose. In response, I put my finger on each girl’s forehead and, holding my rifle high in the air, twirled it round her head, crying “Abshir bil kheir!” (“Rejoice in the bounty of God!”). We then formed ourselves into a procession and proceeded to the camp. The moment they saw me coming surrounded by all those girls the Bedouins fired in the air in honor of the occasion. The Bedouin is very chivalrous, and such is his idea of honoring the ladies. Afterward I distributed scent to all the girls, who went away very happy, and it was a most cheerful evening in the camp.

The next day we reached Um Buru, thirty-eight kilometers from Furawia. We camped near the well, and the next morning I was awakened early by sounds of cattle and sheep coming to water. An hour later a busy market was being held alongside our camp. We had unwittingly pitched our tents close by the big tree that marked the center of the market-place. Only women took part in the market, bringing butter, leather, mats, maize, cotton, and salt, which they bartered with each other without the use of money. Meanwhile the men lay about at their ease and did nothing. As I watched such a scene as this and others not unlike in the villages of the Sudan, I found myself wondering whether the black women were not after all better off as slaves in a Bedouin household. Here they do all the work that is done, caring for cattle and sheep, doing the housework, and preparing meals and making the favorite beveragemerissafor their men, carrying on the business of the market—everything. As slaves they would have only certain circumscribed duties and some opportunity for leisure. As I turned this over in my mind, however, I seemed to catch something in the sound of their talk and their laughter that slaves do not have. Perhaps there is something in the feeling of liberty after all, even when it is accompanied by drudgery.

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