CHAPTER XVIII

A BIDIYAT PARTYThe explorer came across them after passing through uninhabited country for a fortnightGIRLS AT EL FASHER GOING TO MARKETIn the desert, prayers are no mere blind obedience to religious dogma but an instinctive expression of one’s inmost self. The prayers at night bring serenity and peace. At dawn, when new life has suddenly taken possession of the body, one eagerly turns to the Creator to offer humble homage for all the beauty of the world and of life and to seek guidance for the coming day. One prays then, not because one ought, but because one must.Seven o’clock found us entering a wide valley, running a little east of south, with mountains rising high on both sides. The floor of the valley is as flat as a table, patterned with tufts of grass and marked here and there with mimosa-trees and small shrubs, whose leaves when crushed give off a fragrance similar to that of mint. At intervals the ground is carpeted with creeping plants of the colocynth, expanses of green leaves dotted with brilliant yellow globes like grape-fruit. It is from this fruit that the Tebus and Goran makeabra. They boil the pips thoroughly to get rid of their bitter taste and then crush them withdates or locusts in a wooden mortar.Abrais their staple dish.For three hours we proceeded up the valley, and at ten we camped hot and tired but not ill content. We ate a good meal of rice, drank our three glasses of tea, and went to sleep in the shade of a ridge. It was uncomfortable slumber, what with swarming flies and the moving shadow of the ridge, which made each of us shift position from time to time.As I opened my eyes a figure stood near me that seemed to be part of a pleasant dream. She was a beautiful girl of the Goran, the slim graceful lines of whose body were not spoiled by the primitive garments she wore. She carried a bowl of milk, which she offered with shy dignity. I could only accept it and drink gratefully. Then she asked me for medicine for her sister, who had borne no children. When she refused to believe that I had no medicine that would be helpful to her sister, I fell back on my malted milk tablets, a harmless remedy for ailments which were beyond me. I also gave her a Medjidie and a silk handkerchief for herself.A Tebu appeared with a parcel of meat of thewaddanor wild sheep. I gave him macaroni and rice, and he went away happy.After we had eaten I went to see some relics of the presence of men in earlier times. At Arkenu Ihad got to talking with one of the Gorans, and, having satisfied myself about the present inhabitants of Ouenat, I asked him whether he knew anything about any former inhabitants of the oasis.He gave me a startling answer: “Many different people have lived round these wells, as far back as any one can remember. Evendjinnhave dwelt in that place in olden days.”“Djinn!” I exclaimed. “How do you know that?” “Have they not left their drawings on the rocks?” he answered.With suppressed excitement I asked him where. He replied that in the valley of Ouenat there were many drawings upon the rocks, but I could not induce him to describe them further than saying that there were “writings and drawings of all the animals living, and nobody knows what sort of pens they used, for they wrote very deeply on the stones, and Time has not been able to efface the writings.” Doing my best not to show anything like excitement, I inquired whether he could tell me just where the drawings were.“At the end of the valley, where the tail of the valley wags,” he answered.The whole time I remembered this, and after a little time spent in making sure about the water, which is the most important thing, and having a lookround from the top of the hills at the surrounding country, there came the exciting task of going round the oasis. But the most exciting part of it was to find these rock inscriptions, especially as the history that I had been able to collect about the oasis was very scanty. I gathered that Ouenat was thepied-à-terreof Tebus and Goran who were going eastward to attack and despoil the Kababishe. Arkenu and Ouenat, indeed, were very well placed for that purpose, since they provided water for the attacking party and at the same time were too far away for the Kababishe to dare attempt reprisals or try to recover their own belongings.With these drawings in mind, then, I took Malkenni, who had joined the caravan at Arkenu, and toward sunset he led me straight to them. They were in the valley at the part where it drew in, curving slightly with a suggestion of the wagging tail. We found them on the rock at the ground level. I was told there were other similar inscriptions at half a day’s journey, but as it was growing late and I did not want to excite suspicion, I did not go to them.There was nothing beyond the drawings of animals, no inscriptions. It seemed to me as though they were drawn by somebody who was trying to compose a scene. Although primitive in character, they betrayed an artistic hand. The man who drewthese outline figures of animals had a decorative sense. On their wall of rock these pictures were rudely, but not unskilfully carved. There were lions, giraffes, and ostriches, all kinds of gazelles, and perhaps cows, though many of these figures were effaced by time. The carving is from a quarter to half an inch in depth, and the edges of the lines are weathered until in some parts they can be scraped off easily with the finger.BIDIYAT WOMENZAGHAWA GIRL AND HER INFANTI asked who made the pictures, and the only answer I got came from Malkenni, the Tebu, who declared his belief that they were the work of thedjinn.“What man,” he demanded, “can do these things now?”I did not find any traditions about the origin of these interesting rock-markings, but I was struck by two things. There are no giraffes in this part of the country now; nor do they live in any similar desert country anywhere. Also there are no camels among the carvings on the rocks, and one cannot penetrate to this oasis now except with camels. Did the men who made these pictures know the giraffe and not the camel? I reflected that the camel came to Africa from Asia some five hundred yearsB.C.At 5:30 we started for the home camp. We wound our way up a steep mountain path, hardlywide enough in places for a single man and exceedingly dangerous going for the camels. We reached the highest point of the path and then picked our way down to the desert level south of the mountains. At the highest point we reached there were a few peaks around, some two or three hundred meters higher than we were. The camels went up and down the steep path wonderfully well in spite of the darkness, and at 10:30 we were at the foot of the mountains.It seemed best to give the camels a rest, and we halted at eleven for two hours. We had tea, and a Tebu family whose camp was near came to visit us. We snatched a brief sleep and awoke refreshed. There was a cool wind blowing, and the ride home over the level desert was a pleasant relief after the hot work of climbing about among the rocks.We reached camp at 10A.M.of the second and were met with firing of rifles and an agreeable welcome.Wednesday, May 2.On reaching camp we found Sheikh Herri, the Goran chief who is called King of Ouenat and its one hundred and fifty inhabitants. He came the day before to visit me and waited for my return. He was a very nice old man with a calm, dignified face. He brought two sheep, milk, andabrafordiafa. He was keeping Ramadan, and Iinsisted on his staying the night with us. Otherwise I could not offer him hospitality, since he might not eat or drink until sunset.I had a long talk with him and with Mohammed. The old chief was still fond of his own country north of Wadai and sighed when it was spoken of. He belonged to the Hezzi family, which is a ruling family of Goran in northern Wadai. He came to Kufra as a voluntary exile, when the French entered Wadai, and later he settled in Ouenat.I found myself tired after our twenty-eight hours of trekking with only nine hours of rest, but a bath, a meal, and a short sleep made life worth living again in the evening.Bukara had organized a chorus among the men, and the evening was spent with Bedouin, Tebu, and Sudanese songs.Thursday, May 3.Herri came to my tent with a bowl of milk when I got up. When I thanked him, he shook his head sadly.“This is all I have to offer,” he said. “It is not worthy of you. But you will forgive us for not being able to give you the hospitality that you should have.”I assured him that it is the spirit that counts in these matters and not the intrinsic value of the offering. The day was spent in preparations for thestart south, which I hoped would be made on the morrow.Friday, May 4.I made an arrangement with Herri to go with us to Erdi, as an additional guide. Mohammed had not been through this country for a number of years, and I felt that Herri should know it better.In the afternoon I went for a long walk and took photographs of the mountains. By this time all the Tebu and Goran settlements, which are scattered about the oasis wherever there is grazing for their beasts, had heard of our presence, and the people came to visit us. There were many guests for dinner, and it was a very gay camp. It was one of the pleasantest evenings of the trip.Before we leave Ouenat I must say something about Bukara, who is one of the most interesting people in the caravan and a romantic figure. He is tall, slim, and wiry, a typical Bedouin, always cheerful and with a song at his lips at those critical moments in the day, early in the morning or late at night, when the men are tired with the night march and need encouragement.I did not know that he smoked until one day, as I was saddling my horse, I caught him collecting the cigarette-ends from the spot where my tent had stood. After this I shared my cigarettes with him.It was great fun to hand him a packet of the precious articles and see him break into a song and dance of joy.MARKET AT UM BURUBukara is one of the most traveled Bedouins that I have come across. He is only thirty-three, and yet he has traveled to Wadai, Borku, Bornu, and Darfur. He has seen days of good fortune in the past, but to-day he owns but one camel. He has thrown in his lot with my caravan, arranging with Bu Helega that he is to have a share of the money received for the latter’s camels when they are sold at the end of the journey.He speaks most of the dialects of the black tribes and knows a great deal about them. He is also a wonderful mimic. One evening he put on the green cloth that formed a partition in my tent as aburnoosand, with Sad and Hamid bleating like sheep behind him, came to the camp pretending to be a Bedouinsheikh, bringing the two sheep asdiafa. We were kept in roars of laughter, and suddenly Bukara flung away the green cloth and, snatching a spear from one of the Tebus, broke into a Tebu war-dance. A Tebu assisted him by beating a rhythm on one of the small emptyfantasses. This droll exhibition was followed by a concert of Bedouin songs from Cyrenaica, Fezzan, and Tripoli.I have seen Bukara refuse to mount a camel toride when all the Bedouins have yielded to the temptation.“Why don’t you ride, Bukara?” I asked. “There are several unloaded camels.”“What would mywashoon[wife] say if she heard that her Bukara had ridden between Arkenu and Ouenat?” he replied with scorn in his voice for the thought.He told me that on one occasion he had been intrusted with some fifty camels to take to Ouenat for grazing. He was alone and ran short of food.“For twelve days I ate no meal, except the pips of colocynth, which upset my digestion,” he replied simply. “Then I reached Kufra. The men at Kufra who had sent me for the camels had forgotten to send me food. They had expected me at Kufra earlier.”“But why didn’t you slaughter a camel?” I inquired.“Should I permit the men of Kufra to say that Bukara could not endure hunger and had killed a camel?” he retorted proudly.Bukara is very fond of his wife. When we reached Arkenu he said to me: “I am feeling better now, but I cried like a child when I said good-by to mywashoonat Kufra. It is always like that when I begin my journeys. If the company is good I forget more quickly.”CHAPTER XVIIINIGHT MARCHES TO ERDISUNDAY, May 6.We got away at 6:45P.M.and made a good twelve hours’ trek of fifty-four kilometers. It was a thoroughly tiring performance, however, as the first night’s march was likely to be. The men had had no chance to sleep during the day, but on the contrary had been busier than usual. In spite of our weariness the loads had to be carefully watched and readjusted every now and then. At dawn most of the men dropped back for short naps.One of the camels broke away and ran back toward Ouenat; Malkenni had to leave the caravan at midnight and go after it.There was moonlight the latter half of the night and a refreshing cool breeze at three in the morning. The camels grazed, as they went, on the grass which grew here because of the water coming down from the hills.When we came to make camp one of our bestgirbaswas found torn and half empty. It was a misfortune,for we could not spare water on the trek that was before us. We had to go ten days before reaching a well. Malkenni and the runaway camel did not appear during the day.My diary runs:Monday, May 7.Cloudy all day. Strong northeast wind, which drops in afternoon. Highest temperature 38°. When traveling at night cannot take minimum temperature, which occurs about 2 or 3, as we are on the move at that time. Start at 6:30P.M., halt at 11:30P.M.Make 20 kilometers. Very soft sand, undulating, with drysabatfor grazing.In the afternoon a Tebu arrived with a camel loaded with the luggage that had been on the runaway. He told us that Malkenni’s camel had thrown off its load and run back to the grazing ground at Ouenat, with Malkenni after him. At 11:30 we halted on very soft sand with patches of rock about and grazing ground near Garet Shezzu, to wait for the runaways. They appeared shortly after our arrival; but I decided not to go farther that night. The rest would do us all good.Tuesday, May 8.We started at 4:45P.M.in an oppressive atmosphere under heavy clouds. Two hours later it rained a little, and the Bedouins, whose life depends on rain, instinctively shouted with joy and sang fervently to the camels.EXPLORER’S CAMP AT UM BURUThe ground was undulating, hard, and covered with stones and large gravel. We crossed some smallgherdssoon after starting, and then the country flattened out again, with softer sand. At 3:30A.M.we entered a belt of high sand-dunes and crossed it in an hour and a half. After the dunes the ground became the old familiarseriraagain. Here I found bits of ostrich-shells.Early in the day Arami, Malkenni’s brother, had taken a sack and gone to collecthatab. His name tells his story, for among the Tebus and Goran a man who has killed another is known frankly as Arami. He had said that he would meet us later on. We had no anxiety about him, especially as we were told that he knew the way well.But when we had been two hours on the road and it was growing dark we became anxious and halted to wait for him. We fired many shots to attract his attention and direct him to where we were. The men shouted his name as loud as they could, but all in vain. I turned to Malkenni and asked him what he intended to do.“My brother is mad,” he said. “No one asked him to collecthatab. He left the camp without even having his breakfast. It may be that he has been called by God to his death. When the moon rises I shall leave my camel’s load and return to look for him.If he is alive I shall bring him back with me; if he is dead I shall bury him and join you later.”It was said quite simply and as though it were all a matter of course. The load was shifted from Malkenni’s camel to another, and he set out on the back track. Arami had already had many narrow escapes from death, and every one hoped that it might be so this time. But Mohammed was doubtful.“God is merciful,” he said, “but I think Arami has walked to his fate.”I was afraid he might be right. There was something strange about Arami from the first. I learned that on a trek once from Erdi to Ouenat his water-supply had run out and he had had a “bad thirst,” as the desert people call it. He had reached Ouenat half dead. Such an experience leaves its mark on a man, and it is likely to be long before he is himself again. I had noticed the queer, strained, vague look in his eyes and wondered about it. If he did not come back, the desert, in one of its moods of cruelty, would have claimed its own.In the desert upon the long, waterless treks, the men, from exhaustion, thirst, fatigue, sleeplessness, often lose their heads, and, as the Bedouins say, “walk to their fate”; which means that unless their comrades are on the lookout and keep them with the caravan they walk away into the desert disregarding eventhe animal instinct of the camel to keep with the herd. In such a case, if the wanderer suddenly returns to his senses, he has to sit down where he finds himself and not move. It is understood that his comrades when they are aware of his absence will retrace the tracks of the caravan and then his own tracks upon the sand and so rescue him. I met a Bedouin at Kufra who had been lost for eighteen hours, cut off from the caravan. When he was rescued he was unconscious, suffering badly from thirst. “God was merciful,” he told me, “for I was just able to do my prayers and face God before what I thought was my inevitable death. But we live and die only by the decree of God,” he added with a smile.Wednesday, May 9.Start 4:15P.M., halt at 10:15P.M.Make 24 kilometers. Highest temperature 37°. White clouds and very strong warm wind from the northeast, which continues all day and at night develops into a sand-storm. A few drops of rain fall at 7P.M.The sand-storm lasts from 8 to 10. The ground is ordinaryserira, with soft sand in places. There are no landmarks and no dry grass. We sight distant sand-dunes on our right in the early morning.We marched fourteen and a half hours last night, but we were not very tired. Breakfast and four hours’ sleep found us all refreshed again. Mohammed wanted us to make an early start, as there was adifficultgherdahead which could not be crossed in the dark. So 4:15 found us under way, withseriraunder our feet and a cool northeast wind behind us. Shortly after eight I felt the wind in my face. I was startled, for the wind does not usually shift so suddenly. Besides, the quality of the wind had not changed. This wind in our faces should be coming from the south, and yet it is not warm. There is something strange about it. I look above for the stars, but the sky is completely covered with dark clouds. I take out my compass and am startled to find that we were heading full northeast instead of southwest. Then it is clear to me that Mohammed has “lost his head,” as the Bedouins say, and is leading us in the diametrically opposite direction from the right one.It was a serious moment and one that required tact and careful handling. It is dangerous to undermine a desert guide’s confidence. I got off my camel and, mounting my horse, galloped to where Mohammed is leading the caravan.I realized as I went that the men of the caravan, most of whom were accustomed to this sort of country and this kind of weather, had also a feeling that we were going wrong. But it is the etiquette of the desert that no one may interfere with the guide in any way. The guide of a caravan is exactly like thecaptain of a ship. He is absolute master of the caravan so far as direction is concerned, and must also be consulted as to the starting and halting times.ZAGHAWA CHIEFS COMING OUT TO WELCOME THE PARTY AT UM BURUI had fortunately asked Mohammed before leaving Ouenat as to the direction we were to take and had set my compass to it. As I approach the guide I find him agitated and lacking his habitual cheerful smile and air of self-reliance. I show him the compass and suggest that we are going in the wrong direction. He says nothing but scans the sky anxiously for his favorite Jadi, but in vain, for Polaris is behind the clouds.At this moment the sand-storm, which had been rising, blew out his lantern. The caravan had caught up with us, and every one realized that we had lost our way. Men and camels were huddled together, with the gale and hurtling sand beating upon them. The wind made it impossible to hear one’s own voice, to say nothing of any other man’s.Mohammed’s confidence had completely deserted him, and I could see its effect on the men’s faces. They were all traveled men of the desert, and they know what it meant to lose one’s way in aserira, where there are no landmarks.“We must camp until the sky clears,” is the chorus.But I know how fatal such a policy would be.They would spend four or five hours brooding over their fate and growing more and more despondent and hopeless. There is no need for a halt, as my compass is a reliable one, and I have checked it many times with the directions pointed out by Mohammed.“This wind comes from the north,” I asserted quietly but with assurance during a lull in the storm, “as it has for the past few days. If it came from the south it would be hot. There is the Jadi, and this is our route.”I pointed to where Polaris must be, unless the compass was all wrong, and then swung around and indicated the way that we should go.“Allah bless you,” replied Mohammed, pulling himself together. “What you say is true.”Senussi Bu Hassan, who was our guide to Kufra, came close to me and in a loud voice confirmed the statement.“Wallahi, you speak truth,” he said firmly. “I had thought of it but could not speak as I had no proof, since the Jadi hides himself behind the clouds.”That was enough for us. We lighted the lantern with difficulty, and with Mohammed and Bu Hassan beside me I led the way.“How are we going to march?” demands a voice from the darkness.“Let the wind fan the back of your black neck,and you won’t go much wrong,” answers Bukara with a laugh.A few hours later Mohammed grips my hand and, pointing to the sand-dunes ahead, ejaculates with deep feeling: “Thegherds! Praise be to God! God is generous!” He is perfectly cheerful again.The storm soon subsided completely, and we were among the sand-dunes. The sky was perfectly clear now, and even the most pessimistic of the men could have no more anxiety. But our little experience in this sand-storm demonstrated what a touch-and-go business desert trekking could be at times. It was only my compass that saved us from a very serious situation.Mohammed was doubtful of the wisdom of trying to cross thegherdsin the darkness, and so we made our camp where we were.Thursday, May 10.Start at 4:15A.M., halt at 8:45A.M., start again at 4:30P.M., halt at 7A.M.(of the 11th). Make 75 kilometers. Fine and clear. Strong cold wind in the early morning, moderating later. Highest temperature 38°. Sand-dunes, 2 kilometers in width, of very soft sand, dangerous in places. Then ordinaryserira. At 5:30P.M.country is interspersed with patches of black and white stone like that before reaching Kufra. At 3A.M.of the 11th enter zone of dry grass on flat soft sands. At 4:30A.M.pass belt of sand-dunes.In the early morning we got under way to crossthegherdsand speedily realized how serious a mistake it would have been to tackle them in the darkness. They were very steep, and the sand was treacherously soft. The camels sank to their knees and had to be helped by the men. It took us three quarters of an hour to cross them. We halted at 9A.M.very hungry, for we had not eaten since lunch the day before. We needed food more than sleep, since the few hours of rest during the night were quite refreshing.It was still hot when we started again at 4:30P.M., but a pleasant northeast breeze tempered the oppressiveness. Herri asked me for a few yards of white cloth to make a turban, because the heat of the sun was affecting his head. I was glad to give it to him. Among the Tebus and Goran onlysheikhswear white.I felt like walking that night and rode my camel less than usual. Since leaving Ouenat I had been walking six or seven hours a night, but that night I did nine. We made good progress until 3A.M., when I suddenly felt or heard something rustle against my ankle-boot. I reached down and found grass. The desert had changed its aspect. The camels were hungry, for we set out from Ouenat with only two days’ food for them, trusting to the opportunities for grazing that we expected to find. So we let themeat as they went along instead of driving them at their best pace.A ZAGHAWA SHEIKHA ZAGHAWA WOMANThat night’s march was tiring for everybody. We had arrears of sleep to make up, and keeping the camels going in grazing country was hard work. Mohammed and Herri both rode most of the way, with Hassan carrying the lantern. Just before dawn, however, Mohammed got down and relieved him. When we rounded up the camels for our morning prayers the men looked more weary than I had ever seen them.Friday, May 11.Start at 4:45P.M., halt at 3:15A.M.(of the 12th). Make 42 kilometers. Clear and fine. No wind. Warm all day and night. Highest temperature 39°. Soft sand covered with dry tufts of grass like a field of ripe corn. At 12:45A.M.pass an ordinarygherd. At 1 enter flatserirawithout grass. At 3:15 halt at sandstone hills, having missed our way.The day was spent in sleeping and eating, and at 4:45P.M.we started with the intention of marching all night. But by ten everybody was tired and sleepy. Even Mohammed was riding his camel. In the next few hours he fell asleep at intervals and because of his fatigue did not look back to correct his direction by Polaris. When a guide neglects the Jadi he is far gone indeed. Senussi Bu Hassan and I felt certain that he was not taking the right coursebut did not want to interfere with him again after the previous night.At 3:15A.M.we came to a ridge of hills, and Mohammed stopped dead. Until now I had been walking behind the caravan and checking from time to time the bearing on which we were going. We had been walking since ten o’clock more to the southward than before. When the caravan halted I rode forward to Mohammed and asked why we were stopping.“This opening in the hills,” he says, pointing in front of him. “I do not recognize it, and I do not know what kind of ground follows it.” Whatever his faults he is perfectly frank.I did not want to arouse any feeling of anxiety in the men, and so I said casually: “Let us camp until daybreak. We are all tired to-night.” I have hardly spoken the words when the camels arebarrakkedand their loads are on the ground. I have never seen men fall so quickly to sleep. Each one wraps himself swiftly in hisjerdand takes shelter from the cold northeast wind behind a piece of luggage.Mohammed goes up the ridge to look about him, and I follow.“I think you have been following the Jadi too much,” I suggest, meaning that he had been going too directly south. I do not intimate that he has been asleep on his camel. I do not want to shakehis self-confidence and have him become demoralized.“Allah bless you,” he murmurs, scanning the horizon anxiously. “I must have done so, for we should not have reached hills so early. I counted on getting to them at dawn. But in the morning God will bring solace.”I am somewhat troubled as I leave him, and lie awake a few minutes hoping that we have not gone far from our proper path. But I am too tired to worry long and go quickly to sleep.Saturday, May 12.At 4:30A.M.Mohammed’s voice is heard. “To prayers, O ye Moslems!” We quickly get up and are under way in an hour. Mohammed puts himself at the head of the caravan, and I join him. He is still troubled, but as we round a corner of the hills he sighs with relief.“Allah be praised. There lies our way.”He points to the northwest corner of the chain of hills, and we make for it. We reach it at 9:45A.M.and pitch camp. The camels are sent a kilometer or two into the hills to graze. Men and camels are in bad shape, and water is getting scarce.In the afternoon Mohammed and Herri go ahead into the hills to make a track in the sand with a tent-pole for us to follow. At 5P.M.we follow them into the sand-dunes and thence into the hills. Thegherdsare fortunately not many, though they are steep enough. But it is the hilly country beyond them that takes it out of us. Our feet keep bumping into stones in the dark, and Bedouin shoes are little protection against such painful encounters. The collisions are particularly numerous and correspondingly trying in the early morning hours when we are terribly sleepy and walk with eyes half shut.On previous nights I have tried the experiment of suddenly firing two or three shots from my rifle to rouse the men to life, and with good results. Each time they have responded with a loud cheer and mended their pace forthwith. But to-night the scheme fails. About three in the morning, the most deadly hour of all, I “empty gunpowder,” but not a voice responds.There is one small compensation, however, in the midst of this dead expanse of fatigue and depression. The crescent moon rises in the early morning, a curved silver thread with a brilliant star above it, an exquisite piece of celestial jewelry. I fix my eyes on their beauty and forget for a moment the bruises that my poor feet are getting.When, a little later, we reach a patch of dry grass, we are all ready to let the camels graze for a while and to give our tired bodies a brief respite. At dawn we halt again for morning prayers. We havebarely risen from our knees when most of the men wrap themselves in theirjerdsand fall on the beautiful red sand like white stones. The caravan goes limping on, and the sleepers join us presently, I hope a little refreshed.My limbs ache this morning and cannot be made comfortable. I try every possible position on my camel and every possible pace and stride in walking, but none of them are of any avail. My eyelids too seem weighted with lead.At six we have the good fortune to come across a few patches of green grass and make camp, having marched for thirteen tormented hours. Eyes are bloodshot, and bodies are protesting in every muscle and sinew. In a half-hour it is a dead camp.Sunday, May 13.We were up at 10A.M.for breakfast. The men went to sleep again, but I could not. We started again at 5:15P.M., and this evening things were worse than ever. The country had become more undulating and broken, and both camels and men found the going disastrously painful. Camels were continually being left behind as we wound about among the dunes and little hills of rock. They found bits of grass and fell to grazing. It was very difficult to see them against the red sand spotted with patches of dark stone.The singing stopped early that night, the surestsign that the men were dead tired. Zerwali told me that Mohammed had come to him to say that we had better camp early and not try to march too long to-night. The going was so difficult and we changed directions so often to go around the elevated points and stone outcroppings that there was danger of our losing our way. But Zerwali, knowing how averse I am to any delay, had told the guide that I wanted to make a night’s march of it.At last the walking was so hard and camels were so continually left behind that I felt there was no use in going farther. If I had needed any more proof that the men were spent it would have been supplied by the fact that Hassan, the Wajangi, ordinarily a sturdy walker, had taken to a camel early in the evening and had not come off it.We camped at 11:30P.M.I wrapped myself in myjerdand told the men not to bother about making a shelter for me. I am sure I did not move from the first position I dropped into until five. I got up with a stiff back and aching legs.The morning air was serene and refreshing, and the sight of the men busy and eager to go ahead made me forget my physical discomforts. In spite of the new spirit of cheerfulness which the morning brought, however, things were not too encouraging for us. The country was nearly as bad for trekking as itcould be. The men seemed to be losing confidence in Mohammed and Herri. The camels were in bad condition, and our water was very low.Monday, May 14.Start at 6A.M., halt at 9A.M., start again at 5:30P.M., halt at 10P.M.Make 30 kilometers. Fair and clear. Cool northeast breeze at 7A.M., which drops at midday. Calm evening and night. Highest temperature 32°. Soft sand covered with grass, both green and dry. Shortly after start in afternoon country changes into undulating ground with valleys full of green grass and drynisha. This is one of the signs that we are approaching Erdi. At 6:30P.M.hilly again for about 4 kilometers, and then we pass a big valley with grazing and trees.As we started again in the morning I intended to go forward for four or five hours, but it speedily got too hot, and we camped at nine. The four hours’ rest had its good effect, and no one went to sleep until we had had breakfast.In the afternoon Mohammed and Herri went ahead again to mark the way, as there was even more difficult going before us.The caravan got under way at 5:30P.M.Our water had become scarce and bad, and the camels looked weak and exhausted. We were anxious to reach Erdi as soon as possible. Shortly after the start Bukara and Arami—not the one who wentaway into the desert and disappeared, but another who had also killed his man—found the track of a bigwarranor lizard, and we followed it to its hole. A little sport was a pleasant relief. We dug into the hole, but the lizard was not at home. We traced its track to a pile of rocks and after twenty minutes of excavation caught the creature.The Bedouins and blacks use the fat of thewarranas medicine for rheumatism and say that if one carries its head about with him he is safe against black magic. Its skin hung in a house is reputed to keep snakes at a distance. Thewarrandoes not bite, but it has a tail like a whip with which it can do damage. Arami skinned the creature for me.We followed the track made by our guides but lost it many times in the dark and wasted time finding it again. At last it began to wabble about, and I realized that Mohammed was by no means certain of his direction. I ordered the men to camp and fired shots into the air. Shortly we were joined by Mohammed and Herri, who were relieved that I had decided to halt. The guide told me that he could not be sure of his road in this country in the darkness, but that he knew we were not far from the well.For the first time since leaving Ouenat we had five solid hours of undisturbed sleep. Before going to bed I talked to Arami about Erdi and its wells.A BELLE OF THE ZAGHAWA TRIBEWith silver rings in her hair and ivory and silver banglesZAGHAWA GIRLNote the thatched roof on the building in the foreground“Mohammed is a good guide by daylight,” he said, “but he is old, and at night he does not see much. Besides, he has not been to this country for several years. We should have camped at the first well this evening, but we have missed it. But God knows best.” I told him to say nothing of this to the men, lest they should grow more panicky and blame Mohammed.I prepared my sleeping-bag and sat down to think. This was the most discouraging moment of the journey. The men had lost confidence and had suffered much from the heat; the camels were dead beat, largely from the same cause; the guide was not sure of the way; and the water was scarce and bad. Any one of these circumstances would have been enough to make one anxious, but all together made a devastating assault upon one’s nerve.As I reviewed the difficulties and dangers of the trip thus far, there flashed through my mind the thought that neither the mad Arami nor his brother Malkenni, who went to find him, had been seen again. I found myself wondering whether Fate intended to rob me of what I had been able to achieve. If Fate is malicious, this was an opportune moment to strike. If I had missed Arkenu and Ouenat, it would not have been so hard. But now that I had made my modest achievement, I felt I should like to get backhome with it. But—God knows best. I wondered if it would be a sleepless night. But the magic of the desert again came into play, and I was surprised to find my eyelids growing heavier. The sleep that came was sweet.Tuesday, May 15.We were up at four. Still uncertain where we were, Herri, Mohammed, and I went forward to make a reconnaissance, when suddenly the red hills of Erdi leaped into view. I satisfied myself by a good look through my binocular that we were not mistaken, and an hour later we started toward them. Before we started there was a discussion as to whether we should camp on the hills above the valley in which the well lies or go down into it. The descent would be hard on the camels, but nevertheless we decided to make it and camp on the floor of thewadi. In case of an attack by marauders we should at least have possession of the water-supply.We had been steadily climbing through rough defiles between cliffs of red rock, and suddenly we came out on the top of a high cliff with the pleasantwadiof Erdi lying stretched out below us. It is a narrow valley, about ten kilometers long by not more than one hundred meters wide, surrounded by sheer cliffs of red rock. Trees and green grass, after the monotonousseriraand the bare, unfriendly rocksthat we have been traversing since Ouenat, suggest all the traditional connotations of the phrase “an oasis in the desert.” As we approached the well, Mohammed and Herri went forward again to reconnoiter the ground. The blacks are always cautious when they come to a well. They do not approach it directly but send a man or two ahead to make sure that if any one is already there he is not a stranger or at least not an enemy. So the two guides will not only mark out the path we are to follow but will discover if we need be on our guard when approaching a well.We picked our way laboriously down the rough path into the valley and pitched camp at its northern end. The well lies at the extreme south, and there is no way of getting to it safely from above—without great risk to the camels—except where we came down.A huge meal of rice and freshly baked bread, combined with our pleasant surroundings, made us all as cheerful as a wedding party. My anxious thoughts of the previous night seemed now like an absurd nightmare, and yet there was plenty of truth in them. There is often in the desert only a hair’s-breadth between safety and comfort and disaster.After three glasses of stimulating tea, over which we all lingered luxuriously, the men went off to thewell to water the camels and to bring back water for the camp. When they returned, a shave, a bath, and clean clothes restored all my self-respect and confidence, and life seemed very good again.At five in the afternoon I climbed the wall of the valley with the theodolite and took observations. Zerwali went with Senussi Bu Hassan and Arami on a hunt forwaddan, the mountain sheep, but they came back unsuccessful. I asked Arami if it were the fault of the sportsmen. “Wallahi [by God], no, they shoot straight, but God was merciful to thewaddan.”Night fell on a camp of rested camels and cheerful, singing men. I felt I should have none but pleasant dreams to-night.

A BIDIYAT PARTYThe explorer came across them after passing through uninhabited country for a fortnightGIRLS AT EL FASHER GOING TO MARKET

A BIDIYAT PARTYThe explorer came across them after passing through uninhabited country for a fortnight

A BIDIYAT PARTY

The explorer came across them after passing through uninhabited country for a fortnight

GIRLS AT EL FASHER GOING TO MARKET

In the desert, prayers are no mere blind obedience to religious dogma but an instinctive expression of one’s inmost self. The prayers at night bring serenity and peace. At dawn, when new life has suddenly taken possession of the body, one eagerly turns to the Creator to offer humble homage for all the beauty of the world and of life and to seek guidance for the coming day. One prays then, not because one ought, but because one must.

Seven o’clock found us entering a wide valley, running a little east of south, with mountains rising high on both sides. The floor of the valley is as flat as a table, patterned with tufts of grass and marked here and there with mimosa-trees and small shrubs, whose leaves when crushed give off a fragrance similar to that of mint. At intervals the ground is carpeted with creeping plants of the colocynth, expanses of green leaves dotted with brilliant yellow globes like grape-fruit. It is from this fruit that the Tebus and Goran makeabra. They boil the pips thoroughly to get rid of their bitter taste and then crush them withdates or locusts in a wooden mortar.Abrais their staple dish.

For three hours we proceeded up the valley, and at ten we camped hot and tired but not ill content. We ate a good meal of rice, drank our three glasses of tea, and went to sleep in the shade of a ridge. It was uncomfortable slumber, what with swarming flies and the moving shadow of the ridge, which made each of us shift position from time to time.

As I opened my eyes a figure stood near me that seemed to be part of a pleasant dream. She was a beautiful girl of the Goran, the slim graceful lines of whose body were not spoiled by the primitive garments she wore. She carried a bowl of milk, which she offered with shy dignity. I could only accept it and drink gratefully. Then she asked me for medicine for her sister, who had borne no children. When she refused to believe that I had no medicine that would be helpful to her sister, I fell back on my malted milk tablets, a harmless remedy for ailments which were beyond me. I also gave her a Medjidie and a silk handkerchief for herself.

A Tebu appeared with a parcel of meat of thewaddanor wild sheep. I gave him macaroni and rice, and he went away happy.

After we had eaten I went to see some relics of the presence of men in earlier times. At Arkenu Ihad got to talking with one of the Gorans, and, having satisfied myself about the present inhabitants of Ouenat, I asked him whether he knew anything about any former inhabitants of the oasis.

He gave me a startling answer: “Many different people have lived round these wells, as far back as any one can remember. Evendjinnhave dwelt in that place in olden days.”

“Djinn!” I exclaimed. “How do you know that?” “Have they not left their drawings on the rocks?” he answered.

With suppressed excitement I asked him where. He replied that in the valley of Ouenat there were many drawings upon the rocks, but I could not induce him to describe them further than saying that there were “writings and drawings of all the animals living, and nobody knows what sort of pens they used, for they wrote very deeply on the stones, and Time has not been able to efface the writings.” Doing my best not to show anything like excitement, I inquired whether he could tell me just where the drawings were.

“At the end of the valley, where the tail of the valley wags,” he answered.

The whole time I remembered this, and after a little time spent in making sure about the water, which is the most important thing, and having a lookround from the top of the hills at the surrounding country, there came the exciting task of going round the oasis. But the most exciting part of it was to find these rock inscriptions, especially as the history that I had been able to collect about the oasis was very scanty. I gathered that Ouenat was thepied-à-terreof Tebus and Goran who were going eastward to attack and despoil the Kababishe. Arkenu and Ouenat, indeed, were very well placed for that purpose, since they provided water for the attacking party and at the same time were too far away for the Kababishe to dare attempt reprisals or try to recover their own belongings.

With these drawings in mind, then, I took Malkenni, who had joined the caravan at Arkenu, and toward sunset he led me straight to them. They were in the valley at the part where it drew in, curving slightly with a suggestion of the wagging tail. We found them on the rock at the ground level. I was told there were other similar inscriptions at half a day’s journey, but as it was growing late and I did not want to excite suspicion, I did not go to them.

There was nothing beyond the drawings of animals, no inscriptions. It seemed to me as though they were drawn by somebody who was trying to compose a scene. Although primitive in character, they betrayed an artistic hand. The man who drewthese outline figures of animals had a decorative sense. On their wall of rock these pictures were rudely, but not unskilfully carved. There were lions, giraffes, and ostriches, all kinds of gazelles, and perhaps cows, though many of these figures were effaced by time. The carving is from a quarter to half an inch in depth, and the edges of the lines are weathered until in some parts they can be scraped off easily with the finger.

BIDIYAT WOMENZAGHAWA GIRL AND HER INFANT

BIDIYAT WOMEN

ZAGHAWA GIRL AND HER INFANT

I asked who made the pictures, and the only answer I got came from Malkenni, the Tebu, who declared his belief that they were the work of thedjinn.

“What man,” he demanded, “can do these things now?”

I did not find any traditions about the origin of these interesting rock-markings, but I was struck by two things. There are no giraffes in this part of the country now; nor do they live in any similar desert country anywhere. Also there are no camels among the carvings on the rocks, and one cannot penetrate to this oasis now except with camels. Did the men who made these pictures know the giraffe and not the camel? I reflected that the camel came to Africa from Asia some five hundred yearsB.C.

At 5:30 we started for the home camp. We wound our way up a steep mountain path, hardlywide enough in places for a single man and exceedingly dangerous going for the camels. We reached the highest point of the path and then picked our way down to the desert level south of the mountains. At the highest point we reached there were a few peaks around, some two or three hundred meters higher than we were. The camels went up and down the steep path wonderfully well in spite of the darkness, and at 10:30 we were at the foot of the mountains.

It seemed best to give the camels a rest, and we halted at eleven for two hours. We had tea, and a Tebu family whose camp was near came to visit us. We snatched a brief sleep and awoke refreshed. There was a cool wind blowing, and the ride home over the level desert was a pleasant relief after the hot work of climbing about among the rocks.

We reached camp at 10A.M.of the second and were met with firing of rifles and an agreeable welcome.

Wednesday, May 2.On reaching camp we found Sheikh Herri, the Goran chief who is called King of Ouenat and its one hundred and fifty inhabitants. He came the day before to visit me and waited for my return. He was a very nice old man with a calm, dignified face. He brought two sheep, milk, andabrafordiafa. He was keeping Ramadan, and Iinsisted on his staying the night with us. Otherwise I could not offer him hospitality, since he might not eat or drink until sunset.

I had a long talk with him and with Mohammed. The old chief was still fond of his own country north of Wadai and sighed when it was spoken of. He belonged to the Hezzi family, which is a ruling family of Goran in northern Wadai. He came to Kufra as a voluntary exile, when the French entered Wadai, and later he settled in Ouenat.

I found myself tired after our twenty-eight hours of trekking with only nine hours of rest, but a bath, a meal, and a short sleep made life worth living again in the evening.

Bukara had organized a chorus among the men, and the evening was spent with Bedouin, Tebu, and Sudanese songs.

Thursday, May 3.Herri came to my tent with a bowl of milk when I got up. When I thanked him, he shook his head sadly.

“This is all I have to offer,” he said. “It is not worthy of you. But you will forgive us for not being able to give you the hospitality that you should have.”

I assured him that it is the spirit that counts in these matters and not the intrinsic value of the offering. The day was spent in preparations for thestart south, which I hoped would be made on the morrow.

Friday, May 4.I made an arrangement with Herri to go with us to Erdi, as an additional guide. Mohammed had not been through this country for a number of years, and I felt that Herri should know it better.

In the afternoon I went for a long walk and took photographs of the mountains. By this time all the Tebu and Goran settlements, which are scattered about the oasis wherever there is grazing for their beasts, had heard of our presence, and the people came to visit us. There were many guests for dinner, and it was a very gay camp. It was one of the pleasantest evenings of the trip.

Before we leave Ouenat I must say something about Bukara, who is one of the most interesting people in the caravan and a romantic figure. He is tall, slim, and wiry, a typical Bedouin, always cheerful and with a song at his lips at those critical moments in the day, early in the morning or late at night, when the men are tired with the night march and need encouragement.

I did not know that he smoked until one day, as I was saddling my horse, I caught him collecting the cigarette-ends from the spot where my tent had stood. After this I shared my cigarettes with him.It was great fun to hand him a packet of the precious articles and see him break into a song and dance of joy.

MARKET AT UM BURU

Bukara is one of the most traveled Bedouins that I have come across. He is only thirty-three, and yet he has traveled to Wadai, Borku, Bornu, and Darfur. He has seen days of good fortune in the past, but to-day he owns but one camel. He has thrown in his lot with my caravan, arranging with Bu Helega that he is to have a share of the money received for the latter’s camels when they are sold at the end of the journey.

He speaks most of the dialects of the black tribes and knows a great deal about them. He is also a wonderful mimic. One evening he put on the green cloth that formed a partition in my tent as aburnoosand, with Sad and Hamid bleating like sheep behind him, came to the camp pretending to be a Bedouinsheikh, bringing the two sheep asdiafa. We were kept in roars of laughter, and suddenly Bukara flung away the green cloth and, snatching a spear from one of the Tebus, broke into a Tebu war-dance. A Tebu assisted him by beating a rhythm on one of the small emptyfantasses. This droll exhibition was followed by a concert of Bedouin songs from Cyrenaica, Fezzan, and Tripoli.

I have seen Bukara refuse to mount a camel toride when all the Bedouins have yielded to the temptation.

“Why don’t you ride, Bukara?” I asked. “There are several unloaded camels.”

“What would mywashoon[wife] say if she heard that her Bukara had ridden between Arkenu and Ouenat?” he replied with scorn in his voice for the thought.

He told me that on one occasion he had been intrusted with some fifty camels to take to Ouenat for grazing. He was alone and ran short of food.

“For twelve days I ate no meal, except the pips of colocynth, which upset my digestion,” he replied simply. “Then I reached Kufra. The men at Kufra who had sent me for the camels had forgotten to send me food. They had expected me at Kufra earlier.”

“But why didn’t you slaughter a camel?” I inquired.

“Should I permit the men of Kufra to say that Bukara could not endure hunger and had killed a camel?” he retorted proudly.

Bukara is very fond of his wife. When we reached Arkenu he said to me: “I am feeling better now, but I cried like a child when I said good-by to mywashoonat Kufra. It is always like that when I begin my journeys. If the company is good I forget more quickly.”

NIGHT MARCHES TO ERDI

SUNDAY, May 6.We got away at 6:45P.M.and made a good twelve hours’ trek of fifty-four kilometers. It was a thoroughly tiring performance, however, as the first night’s march was likely to be. The men had had no chance to sleep during the day, but on the contrary had been busier than usual. In spite of our weariness the loads had to be carefully watched and readjusted every now and then. At dawn most of the men dropped back for short naps.

One of the camels broke away and ran back toward Ouenat; Malkenni had to leave the caravan at midnight and go after it.

There was moonlight the latter half of the night and a refreshing cool breeze at three in the morning. The camels grazed, as they went, on the grass which grew here because of the water coming down from the hills.

When we came to make camp one of our bestgirbaswas found torn and half empty. It was a misfortune,for we could not spare water on the trek that was before us. We had to go ten days before reaching a well. Malkenni and the runaway camel did not appear during the day.

My diary runs:

Monday, May 7.Cloudy all day. Strong northeast wind, which drops in afternoon. Highest temperature 38°. When traveling at night cannot take minimum temperature, which occurs about 2 or 3, as we are on the move at that time. Start at 6:30P.M., halt at 11:30P.M.Make 20 kilometers. Very soft sand, undulating, with drysabatfor grazing.

In the afternoon a Tebu arrived with a camel loaded with the luggage that had been on the runaway. He told us that Malkenni’s camel had thrown off its load and run back to the grazing ground at Ouenat, with Malkenni after him. At 11:30 we halted on very soft sand with patches of rock about and grazing ground near Garet Shezzu, to wait for the runaways. They appeared shortly after our arrival; but I decided not to go farther that night. The rest would do us all good.

Tuesday, May 8.We started at 4:45P.M.in an oppressive atmosphere under heavy clouds. Two hours later it rained a little, and the Bedouins, whose life depends on rain, instinctively shouted with joy and sang fervently to the camels.

EXPLORER’S CAMP AT UM BURU

The ground was undulating, hard, and covered with stones and large gravel. We crossed some smallgherdssoon after starting, and then the country flattened out again, with softer sand. At 3:30A.M.we entered a belt of high sand-dunes and crossed it in an hour and a half. After the dunes the ground became the old familiarseriraagain. Here I found bits of ostrich-shells.

Early in the day Arami, Malkenni’s brother, had taken a sack and gone to collecthatab. His name tells his story, for among the Tebus and Goran a man who has killed another is known frankly as Arami. He had said that he would meet us later on. We had no anxiety about him, especially as we were told that he knew the way well.

But when we had been two hours on the road and it was growing dark we became anxious and halted to wait for him. We fired many shots to attract his attention and direct him to where we were. The men shouted his name as loud as they could, but all in vain. I turned to Malkenni and asked him what he intended to do.

“My brother is mad,” he said. “No one asked him to collecthatab. He left the camp without even having his breakfast. It may be that he has been called by God to his death. When the moon rises I shall leave my camel’s load and return to look for him.If he is alive I shall bring him back with me; if he is dead I shall bury him and join you later.”

It was said quite simply and as though it were all a matter of course. The load was shifted from Malkenni’s camel to another, and he set out on the back track. Arami had already had many narrow escapes from death, and every one hoped that it might be so this time. But Mohammed was doubtful.

“God is merciful,” he said, “but I think Arami has walked to his fate.”

I was afraid he might be right. There was something strange about Arami from the first. I learned that on a trek once from Erdi to Ouenat his water-supply had run out and he had had a “bad thirst,” as the desert people call it. He had reached Ouenat half dead. Such an experience leaves its mark on a man, and it is likely to be long before he is himself again. I had noticed the queer, strained, vague look in his eyes and wondered about it. If he did not come back, the desert, in one of its moods of cruelty, would have claimed its own.

In the desert upon the long, waterless treks, the men, from exhaustion, thirst, fatigue, sleeplessness, often lose their heads, and, as the Bedouins say, “walk to their fate”; which means that unless their comrades are on the lookout and keep them with the caravan they walk away into the desert disregarding eventhe animal instinct of the camel to keep with the herd. In such a case, if the wanderer suddenly returns to his senses, he has to sit down where he finds himself and not move. It is understood that his comrades when they are aware of his absence will retrace the tracks of the caravan and then his own tracks upon the sand and so rescue him. I met a Bedouin at Kufra who had been lost for eighteen hours, cut off from the caravan. When he was rescued he was unconscious, suffering badly from thirst. “God was merciful,” he told me, “for I was just able to do my prayers and face God before what I thought was my inevitable death. But we live and die only by the decree of God,” he added with a smile.

Wednesday, May 9.Start 4:15P.M., halt at 10:15P.M.Make 24 kilometers. Highest temperature 37°. White clouds and very strong warm wind from the northeast, which continues all day and at night develops into a sand-storm. A few drops of rain fall at 7P.M.The sand-storm lasts from 8 to 10. The ground is ordinaryserira, with soft sand in places. There are no landmarks and no dry grass. We sight distant sand-dunes on our right in the early morning.

We marched fourteen and a half hours last night, but we were not very tired. Breakfast and four hours’ sleep found us all refreshed again. Mohammed wanted us to make an early start, as there was adifficultgherdahead which could not be crossed in the dark. So 4:15 found us under way, withseriraunder our feet and a cool northeast wind behind us. Shortly after eight I felt the wind in my face. I was startled, for the wind does not usually shift so suddenly. Besides, the quality of the wind had not changed. This wind in our faces should be coming from the south, and yet it is not warm. There is something strange about it. I look above for the stars, but the sky is completely covered with dark clouds. I take out my compass and am startled to find that we were heading full northeast instead of southwest. Then it is clear to me that Mohammed has “lost his head,” as the Bedouins say, and is leading us in the diametrically opposite direction from the right one.

It was a serious moment and one that required tact and careful handling. It is dangerous to undermine a desert guide’s confidence. I got off my camel and, mounting my horse, galloped to where Mohammed is leading the caravan.

I realized as I went that the men of the caravan, most of whom were accustomed to this sort of country and this kind of weather, had also a feeling that we were going wrong. But it is the etiquette of the desert that no one may interfere with the guide in any way. The guide of a caravan is exactly like thecaptain of a ship. He is absolute master of the caravan so far as direction is concerned, and must also be consulted as to the starting and halting times.

ZAGHAWA CHIEFS COMING OUT TO WELCOME THE PARTY AT UM BURU

I had fortunately asked Mohammed before leaving Ouenat as to the direction we were to take and had set my compass to it. As I approach the guide I find him agitated and lacking his habitual cheerful smile and air of self-reliance. I show him the compass and suggest that we are going in the wrong direction. He says nothing but scans the sky anxiously for his favorite Jadi, but in vain, for Polaris is behind the clouds.

At this moment the sand-storm, which had been rising, blew out his lantern. The caravan had caught up with us, and every one realized that we had lost our way. Men and camels were huddled together, with the gale and hurtling sand beating upon them. The wind made it impossible to hear one’s own voice, to say nothing of any other man’s.

Mohammed’s confidence had completely deserted him, and I could see its effect on the men’s faces. They were all traveled men of the desert, and they know what it meant to lose one’s way in aserira, where there are no landmarks.

“We must camp until the sky clears,” is the chorus.

But I know how fatal such a policy would be.They would spend four or five hours brooding over their fate and growing more and more despondent and hopeless. There is no need for a halt, as my compass is a reliable one, and I have checked it many times with the directions pointed out by Mohammed.

“This wind comes from the north,” I asserted quietly but with assurance during a lull in the storm, “as it has for the past few days. If it came from the south it would be hot. There is the Jadi, and this is our route.”

I pointed to where Polaris must be, unless the compass was all wrong, and then swung around and indicated the way that we should go.

“Allah bless you,” replied Mohammed, pulling himself together. “What you say is true.”

Senussi Bu Hassan, who was our guide to Kufra, came close to me and in a loud voice confirmed the statement.

“Wallahi, you speak truth,” he said firmly. “I had thought of it but could not speak as I had no proof, since the Jadi hides himself behind the clouds.”

That was enough for us. We lighted the lantern with difficulty, and with Mohammed and Bu Hassan beside me I led the way.

“How are we going to march?” demands a voice from the darkness.

“Let the wind fan the back of your black neck,and you won’t go much wrong,” answers Bukara with a laugh.

A few hours later Mohammed grips my hand and, pointing to the sand-dunes ahead, ejaculates with deep feeling: “Thegherds! Praise be to God! God is generous!” He is perfectly cheerful again.

The storm soon subsided completely, and we were among the sand-dunes. The sky was perfectly clear now, and even the most pessimistic of the men could have no more anxiety. But our little experience in this sand-storm demonstrated what a touch-and-go business desert trekking could be at times. It was only my compass that saved us from a very serious situation.

Mohammed was doubtful of the wisdom of trying to cross thegherdsin the darkness, and so we made our camp where we were.

Thursday, May 10.Start at 4:15A.M., halt at 8:45A.M., start again at 4:30P.M., halt at 7A.M.(of the 11th). Make 75 kilometers. Fine and clear. Strong cold wind in the early morning, moderating later. Highest temperature 38°. Sand-dunes, 2 kilometers in width, of very soft sand, dangerous in places. Then ordinaryserira. At 5:30P.M.country is interspersed with patches of black and white stone like that before reaching Kufra. At 3A.M.of the 11th enter zone of dry grass on flat soft sands. At 4:30A.M.pass belt of sand-dunes.

In the early morning we got under way to crossthegherdsand speedily realized how serious a mistake it would have been to tackle them in the darkness. They were very steep, and the sand was treacherously soft. The camels sank to their knees and had to be helped by the men. It took us three quarters of an hour to cross them. We halted at 9A.M.very hungry, for we had not eaten since lunch the day before. We needed food more than sleep, since the few hours of rest during the night were quite refreshing.

It was still hot when we started again at 4:30P.M., but a pleasant northeast breeze tempered the oppressiveness. Herri asked me for a few yards of white cloth to make a turban, because the heat of the sun was affecting his head. I was glad to give it to him. Among the Tebus and Goran onlysheikhswear white.

I felt like walking that night and rode my camel less than usual. Since leaving Ouenat I had been walking six or seven hours a night, but that night I did nine. We made good progress until 3A.M., when I suddenly felt or heard something rustle against my ankle-boot. I reached down and found grass. The desert had changed its aspect. The camels were hungry, for we set out from Ouenat with only two days’ food for them, trusting to the opportunities for grazing that we expected to find. So we let themeat as they went along instead of driving them at their best pace.

A ZAGHAWA SHEIKHA ZAGHAWA WOMAN

A ZAGHAWA SHEIKH

A ZAGHAWA WOMAN

That night’s march was tiring for everybody. We had arrears of sleep to make up, and keeping the camels going in grazing country was hard work. Mohammed and Herri both rode most of the way, with Hassan carrying the lantern. Just before dawn, however, Mohammed got down and relieved him. When we rounded up the camels for our morning prayers the men looked more weary than I had ever seen them.

Friday, May 11.Start at 4:45P.M., halt at 3:15A.M.(of the 12th). Make 42 kilometers. Clear and fine. No wind. Warm all day and night. Highest temperature 39°. Soft sand covered with dry tufts of grass like a field of ripe corn. At 12:45A.M.pass an ordinarygherd. At 1 enter flatserirawithout grass. At 3:15 halt at sandstone hills, having missed our way.

The day was spent in sleeping and eating, and at 4:45P.M.we started with the intention of marching all night. But by ten everybody was tired and sleepy. Even Mohammed was riding his camel. In the next few hours he fell asleep at intervals and because of his fatigue did not look back to correct his direction by Polaris. When a guide neglects the Jadi he is far gone indeed. Senussi Bu Hassan and I felt certain that he was not taking the right coursebut did not want to interfere with him again after the previous night.

At 3:15A.M.we came to a ridge of hills, and Mohammed stopped dead. Until now I had been walking behind the caravan and checking from time to time the bearing on which we were going. We had been walking since ten o’clock more to the southward than before. When the caravan halted I rode forward to Mohammed and asked why we were stopping.

“This opening in the hills,” he says, pointing in front of him. “I do not recognize it, and I do not know what kind of ground follows it.” Whatever his faults he is perfectly frank.

I did not want to arouse any feeling of anxiety in the men, and so I said casually: “Let us camp until daybreak. We are all tired to-night.” I have hardly spoken the words when the camels arebarrakkedand their loads are on the ground. I have never seen men fall so quickly to sleep. Each one wraps himself swiftly in hisjerdand takes shelter from the cold northeast wind behind a piece of luggage.

Mohammed goes up the ridge to look about him, and I follow.

“I think you have been following the Jadi too much,” I suggest, meaning that he had been going too directly south. I do not intimate that he has been asleep on his camel. I do not want to shakehis self-confidence and have him become demoralized.

“Allah bless you,” he murmurs, scanning the horizon anxiously. “I must have done so, for we should not have reached hills so early. I counted on getting to them at dawn. But in the morning God will bring solace.”

I am somewhat troubled as I leave him, and lie awake a few minutes hoping that we have not gone far from our proper path. But I am too tired to worry long and go quickly to sleep.

Saturday, May 12.At 4:30A.M.Mohammed’s voice is heard. “To prayers, O ye Moslems!” We quickly get up and are under way in an hour. Mohammed puts himself at the head of the caravan, and I join him. He is still troubled, but as we round a corner of the hills he sighs with relief.

“Allah be praised. There lies our way.”

He points to the northwest corner of the chain of hills, and we make for it. We reach it at 9:45A.M.and pitch camp. The camels are sent a kilometer or two into the hills to graze. Men and camels are in bad shape, and water is getting scarce.

In the afternoon Mohammed and Herri go ahead into the hills to make a track in the sand with a tent-pole for us to follow. At 5P.M.we follow them into the sand-dunes and thence into the hills. Thegherdsare fortunately not many, though they are steep enough. But it is the hilly country beyond them that takes it out of us. Our feet keep bumping into stones in the dark, and Bedouin shoes are little protection against such painful encounters. The collisions are particularly numerous and correspondingly trying in the early morning hours when we are terribly sleepy and walk with eyes half shut.

On previous nights I have tried the experiment of suddenly firing two or three shots from my rifle to rouse the men to life, and with good results. Each time they have responded with a loud cheer and mended their pace forthwith. But to-night the scheme fails. About three in the morning, the most deadly hour of all, I “empty gunpowder,” but not a voice responds.

There is one small compensation, however, in the midst of this dead expanse of fatigue and depression. The crescent moon rises in the early morning, a curved silver thread with a brilliant star above it, an exquisite piece of celestial jewelry. I fix my eyes on their beauty and forget for a moment the bruises that my poor feet are getting.

When, a little later, we reach a patch of dry grass, we are all ready to let the camels graze for a while and to give our tired bodies a brief respite. At dawn we halt again for morning prayers. We havebarely risen from our knees when most of the men wrap themselves in theirjerdsand fall on the beautiful red sand like white stones. The caravan goes limping on, and the sleepers join us presently, I hope a little refreshed.

My limbs ache this morning and cannot be made comfortable. I try every possible position on my camel and every possible pace and stride in walking, but none of them are of any avail. My eyelids too seem weighted with lead.

At six we have the good fortune to come across a few patches of green grass and make camp, having marched for thirteen tormented hours. Eyes are bloodshot, and bodies are protesting in every muscle and sinew. In a half-hour it is a dead camp.

Sunday, May 13.We were up at 10A.M.for breakfast. The men went to sleep again, but I could not. We started again at 5:15P.M., and this evening things were worse than ever. The country had become more undulating and broken, and both camels and men found the going disastrously painful. Camels were continually being left behind as we wound about among the dunes and little hills of rock. They found bits of grass and fell to grazing. It was very difficult to see them against the red sand spotted with patches of dark stone.

The singing stopped early that night, the surestsign that the men were dead tired. Zerwali told me that Mohammed had come to him to say that we had better camp early and not try to march too long to-night. The going was so difficult and we changed directions so often to go around the elevated points and stone outcroppings that there was danger of our losing our way. But Zerwali, knowing how averse I am to any delay, had told the guide that I wanted to make a night’s march of it.

At last the walking was so hard and camels were so continually left behind that I felt there was no use in going farther. If I had needed any more proof that the men were spent it would have been supplied by the fact that Hassan, the Wajangi, ordinarily a sturdy walker, had taken to a camel early in the evening and had not come off it.

We camped at 11:30P.M.I wrapped myself in myjerdand told the men not to bother about making a shelter for me. I am sure I did not move from the first position I dropped into until five. I got up with a stiff back and aching legs.

The morning air was serene and refreshing, and the sight of the men busy and eager to go ahead made me forget my physical discomforts. In spite of the new spirit of cheerfulness which the morning brought, however, things were not too encouraging for us. The country was nearly as bad for trekking as itcould be. The men seemed to be losing confidence in Mohammed and Herri. The camels were in bad condition, and our water was very low.

Monday, May 14.Start at 6A.M., halt at 9A.M., start again at 5:30P.M., halt at 10P.M.Make 30 kilometers. Fair and clear. Cool northeast breeze at 7A.M., which drops at midday. Calm evening and night. Highest temperature 32°. Soft sand covered with grass, both green and dry. Shortly after start in afternoon country changes into undulating ground with valleys full of green grass and drynisha. This is one of the signs that we are approaching Erdi. At 6:30P.M.hilly again for about 4 kilometers, and then we pass a big valley with grazing and trees.

As we started again in the morning I intended to go forward for four or five hours, but it speedily got too hot, and we camped at nine. The four hours’ rest had its good effect, and no one went to sleep until we had had breakfast.

In the afternoon Mohammed and Herri went ahead again to mark the way, as there was even more difficult going before us.

The caravan got under way at 5:30P.M.Our water had become scarce and bad, and the camels looked weak and exhausted. We were anxious to reach Erdi as soon as possible. Shortly after the start Bukara and Arami—not the one who wentaway into the desert and disappeared, but another who had also killed his man—found the track of a bigwarranor lizard, and we followed it to its hole. A little sport was a pleasant relief. We dug into the hole, but the lizard was not at home. We traced its track to a pile of rocks and after twenty minutes of excavation caught the creature.

The Bedouins and blacks use the fat of thewarranas medicine for rheumatism and say that if one carries its head about with him he is safe against black magic. Its skin hung in a house is reputed to keep snakes at a distance. Thewarrandoes not bite, but it has a tail like a whip with which it can do damage. Arami skinned the creature for me.

We followed the track made by our guides but lost it many times in the dark and wasted time finding it again. At last it began to wabble about, and I realized that Mohammed was by no means certain of his direction. I ordered the men to camp and fired shots into the air. Shortly we were joined by Mohammed and Herri, who were relieved that I had decided to halt. The guide told me that he could not be sure of his road in this country in the darkness, but that he knew we were not far from the well.

For the first time since leaving Ouenat we had five solid hours of undisturbed sleep. Before going to bed I talked to Arami about Erdi and its wells.

A BELLE OF THE ZAGHAWA TRIBEWith silver rings in her hair and ivory and silver banglesZAGHAWA GIRLNote the thatched roof on the building in the foreground

A BELLE OF THE ZAGHAWA TRIBEWith silver rings in her hair and ivory and silver bangles

A BELLE OF THE ZAGHAWA TRIBE

With silver rings in her hair and ivory and silver bangles

ZAGHAWA GIRLNote the thatched roof on the building in the foreground

ZAGHAWA GIRL

Note the thatched roof on the building in the foreground

“Mohammed is a good guide by daylight,” he said, “but he is old, and at night he does not see much. Besides, he has not been to this country for several years. We should have camped at the first well this evening, but we have missed it. But God knows best.” I told him to say nothing of this to the men, lest they should grow more panicky and blame Mohammed.

I prepared my sleeping-bag and sat down to think. This was the most discouraging moment of the journey. The men had lost confidence and had suffered much from the heat; the camels were dead beat, largely from the same cause; the guide was not sure of the way; and the water was scarce and bad. Any one of these circumstances would have been enough to make one anxious, but all together made a devastating assault upon one’s nerve.

As I reviewed the difficulties and dangers of the trip thus far, there flashed through my mind the thought that neither the mad Arami nor his brother Malkenni, who went to find him, had been seen again. I found myself wondering whether Fate intended to rob me of what I had been able to achieve. If Fate is malicious, this was an opportune moment to strike. If I had missed Arkenu and Ouenat, it would not have been so hard. But now that I had made my modest achievement, I felt I should like to get backhome with it. But—God knows best. I wondered if it would be a sleepless night. But the magic of the desert again came into play, and I was surprised to find my eyelids growing heavier. The sleep that came was sweet.

Tuesday, May 15.We were up at four. Still uncertain where we were, Herri, Mohammed, and I went forward to make a reconnaissance, when suddenly the red hills of Erdi leaped into view. I satisfied myself by a good look through my binocular that we were not mistaken, and an hour later we started toward them. Before we started there was a discussion as to whether we should camp on the hills above the valley in which the well lies or go down into it. The descent would be hard on the camels, but nevertheless we decided to make it and camp on the floor of thewadi. In case of an attack by marauders we should at least have possession of the water-supply.

We had been steadily climbing through rough defiles between cliffs of red rock, and suddenly we came out on the top of a high cliff with the pleasantwadiof Erdi lying stretched out below us. It is a narrow valley, about ten kilometers long by not more than one hundred meters wide, surrounded by sheer cliffs of red rock. Trees and green grass, after the monotonousseriraand the bare, unfriendly rocksthat we have been traversing since Ouenat, suggest all the traditional connotations of the phrase “an oasis in the desert.” As we approached the well, Mohammed and Herri went forward again to reconnoiter the ground. The blacks are always cautious when they come to a well. They do not approach it directly but send a man or two ahead to make sure that if any one is already there he is not a stranger or at least not an enemy. So the two guides will not only mark out the path we are to follow but will discover if we need be on our guard when approaching a well.

We picked our way laboriously down the rough path into the valley and pitched camp at its northern end. The well lies at the extreme south, and there is no way of getting to it safely from above—without great risk to the camels—except where we came down.

A huge meal of rice and freshly baked bread, combined with our pleasant surroundings, made us all as cheerful as a wedding party. My anxious thoughts of the previous night seemed now like an absurd nightmare, and yet there was plenty of truth in them. There is often in the desert only a hair’s-breadth between safety and comfort and disaster.

After three glasses of stimulating tea, over which we all lingered luxuriously, the men went off to thewell to water the camels and to bring back water for the camp. When they returned, a shave, a bath, and clean clothes restored all my self-respect and confidence, and life seemed very good again.

At five in the afternoon I climbed the wall of the valley with the theodolite and took observations. Zerwali went with Senussi Bu Hassan and Arami on a hunt forwaddan, the mountain sheep, but they came back unsuccessful. I asked Arami if it were the fault of the sportsmen. “Wallahi [by God], no, they shoot straight, but God was merciful to thewaddan.”

Night fell on a camp of rested camels and cheerful, singing men. I felt I should have none but pleasant dreams to-night.

Back to Index Next