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Title: The lost oases
Author: Hassanein, Ahmed Mohammed
Language: English
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*** Start of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "The lost oases" ***
THE LOST OASES
[Illustration: HASSANEIN BEY
The Egyptian explorer, in Bedouin clothes starting on his trek of
twenty-two hundred miles across the desert]
* * * * *
THE LOST OASES
* * * * *
BY A. M. HASSANEIN BEY, F.R.G.S.
* * * * *
BEING A NARRATIVE ACCOUNT OF THE AUTHOR’S EXPLORATIONS INTO THE
MORE REMOTE PARTS OF THE LIBYAN DESERT AND HIS REDISCOVERY OF TWO
LOST OASES
* * * * *
WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY THE RIGHT HONORABLE SIR JAMES RENNELL RODD,
G.C.B., G.C.M.G., G.C.V.O. ILLUSTRATED WITH AN ORIGINAL MAP, AND
FROM MANY PHOTOGRAPHS MADE BY THE AUTHOR
* * * * *
[Illustration: logo]
* * * * *
PUBLISHED BY THE CENTURY CO.
NEW YORK AND LONDON
* * * * *
Copyright, 1925, by
The Century Co.
PRINTED IN THE U. S. A.
IN HOMAGE AND GRATITUDE
TO
HIS MAJESTY KING FOUAD I
WHO
BY HIS HELP
AND ENCOURAGEMENT MADE
THIS JOURNEY POSSIBLE
INTRODUCTION
My friend Ahmed Hassanein has asked me to write a few words of
introduction to his record of a remarkable voyage of exploration.
It was the more remarkable because the expedition, the results
of which have enabled him to fill up an important gap in our
knowledge of Africa and to determine with precision positions only
approximately ascertained by that great pioneer in African research,
Gerhardt Rohlfs, was conceived and led by him single-handed without
other assistance or companionship than that of his guides and
personal attendants.
A traveler whose work has been recognized by the award of the
Founder’s Medal of the Royal Geographical Society should need no
introduction to the British public. But I welcome the opportunity
of drawing attention to his achievement in another field, in the
production of a book which will, I feel sure, be acknowledged by
all who read it to have exceptional interest, written in a language
of which he has made himself a master, although it is not his own.
But first, disregarding any protests from his characteristic modesty,
I have to present the author himself, who is only known to the
majority of my countrymen as an intrepid traveler. I have had the
pleasure of his acquaintance for a number of years, since he was the
contemporary and friend of my son at Balliol. After considerable
experience I have come to the conclusion that the experiment of
sending students from the East to reside at a Western university is
one which should only be tried in exceptional cases and with young
men of exceptional character. In the case of Ahmed Hassanein I
think all who know him will agree that it has been an unqualified
success. He has retained all that is best of his own national
and spiritual inheritance, while he has acquired a sympathetic
understanding and appreciation of the mentality and feelings of men
with very different social antecedents and training. It is possible
that the blood of his Bedouin forefathers made intimacy with them
easier for him, since the Briton and the Bedouin not infrequently
find in one another a certain kinship of instinct which compels their
mutual regard. Incidentally it may be mentioned that Ahmed Hassanein
represented the University of Oxford as a fencer. In any case it
is possible for him to be a sincere Egyptian patriot and none the
less to entertain equally sincere friendship with members of the
nation to which justice is not always done by the Younger Egypt.
He began his career at home in the Ministry of the Interior at
Cairo. During the war when martial law was in force in Egypt he
was attached to General Sir John Maxwell, a very old friend of his
country. Now he has entered the diplomatic service, for which a wide
experience of life, rare in so young a man, as well as his linguistic
gifts, eminently qualifies him. He has occasionally consulted me
as an elder friend and as the father of my son on certain matters
of personal interest to himself. I may therefore claim to know him
intimately, and I cannot refrain from recording my testimony that
in all such questions, and especially in a very delicate matter
which he submitted to me, I have always found him generous in his
judgments and, for I know no other way of expressing what I mean,
a great gentleman.
The story of his exploration of desert tracts unknown to geography
and his discovery of two oases whose existence was only a vague
tradition is the record of a great adventure of endurance. It is
told so modestly and with such sober avoidance of overstatement
that readers who have no experience of the vicissitudes of desert
travel may perhaps hardly realize what courage and perseverance
its successful accomplishment demanded. There is also another
virtue besides these which is indispensable for penetration into
regions where the isolated inhabitants regard every intrusion with
profound suspicion, and that is one which Hassanein appears to
possess instinctively, the virtue of tact.
English readers are perhaps rather disposed to think of the desert
in the terms with which romance has made them familiar, for which
the grim reality offers little justification. There is indeed a
romance of the desert, the romance of loyalties and sacrifices
under the shadow of the inevitable, which is an element in the
true romance. And that will not be found lacking in a book which
bears upon it the impress of truth, interpreting the beauty which
the desert can assume, the spiritual influence and inspiration of
the great solitudes, the perpetual consciousness prevailing there
of the narrowness of the border line between life and death.
Apart from its intrinsic interest as a record of discovery and the
light which it throws on the origin, teaching, and influence of the
Senussi fraternity, this volume will be welcome to many because its
pages carry the reader away into the atmosphere of a great peace. He
will be aware for a while of an ambience where the coarse and the
trivial and the competitive do not exist. He will find himself in
touch with men who, unconscious of the urge and tumult of a world
for which they would have no use, lead strenuous but dignified
contemplative lives. And as he perceives how for them privation
and danger and even routine are illuminated by the conviction of
unalterable faith in the guiding hand of Providence, he will probably
formulate the silent hope that these dwellers in the lonely places
may be left untouched by the invasion of the modern spirit. Their
pleasures are as touchingly simple as their thoughts. These thoughts
and these simple pleasures we may for a passing hour share as they
are presented to us by a hand which seems to me to have an unerring
touch in conveying fidelity of outline and color.
In conclusion it is a grateful duty to add that Hassanein Bey has
more than once confirmed to me in conversation what is suggested in
the dedication of his book, namely that he could not have undertaken
his adventurous journey without the assistance and support which
he received from his sovereign. The promotion of enterprise is no
doubt an inherited impulse in King Fouad, and it is gratifying to
feel that his encouragement may confidently be anticipated for that
scientific and historical research for which Egypt still offers
such an ample field.
The achievement of Hassanein Bey and the spirit in which his book is
written cannot fail to appeal to the sympathies of my countrymen,
and he has added another to his services by thus promoting the
spirit of good feeling between the country of his education and
the land of his birth which all are anxious to see restored.
RENNELL RODD.
October 19, 1924.
ACKNOWLEDGMENT
I am deeply indebted to Dr. John Ball, O.B.E., Director of Desert
Surveys of Egypt, who has been good enough to summarize the
scientific results of my expedition in the First Appendix to this
volume. His advice and the instruction which he gave me in the use
of scientific instruments were invaluable. I was indeed fortunate
in being able to draw upon his great knowledge.
The maps of my journey, one of which accompanies this volume,
were kindly prepared by Dr. Ball and Mr. Browne and other members
of the Survey Department of Egypt.
Dr. Hume and Mr. Moon of the Geological Survey of Egypt classified
the geological specimens which I brought back and prepared a report
which is contained in the Second Appendix to this book. By this
willing assistance they added much to the results of my expedition.
Lewa Spinks Pasha, D.S.O., and Meshalani Bey of the Ordnance
Department of the Egyptian War Office were responsible for the
cases and containers and other camp equipment which I used. These
proved to be satisfactory in every way, and I am grateful for the
care and thought which were expended in their preparation.
My old friends Sayed El Sherif El Idrissi and his son Sayed Marghanny
El Idrissi again gave me that good counsel and ready help which I
had received from them in the course of my trip to Kufra in 1921.
Throughout my expedition I received the most friendly and effective
assistance from Colonel Commandant Hunter Pasha, C.B., D.S.O.,
late Administrator of the Frontier Districts Administration; Colonel
M. Macdonnell, late Governor of the Western Desert; Major de Halpert
of the F.D.A.; Captain Hutton, O.C., Sollum; Captain Harrison,
O.C. Armored Cars at Sollum; Abdel Aziz Fahmy Effendi and A. Kmel
Effendi, Mamurs of Sollum and Siwa; Lieutenant Lawler, O.C., Siwa.
When I reached the Sudan my way was made easy and pleasant by
the kindness of his Excellency Ferik Sir Lee Stack Pasha, G.B.E.,
C.M.G., Sirdar and Governor-General of the Sudan, and I cannot let
this opportunity pass of expressing my cordial thanks to all the
officials of the Sudan Government along my route, and especially
to Lewa Midwinter Pasha, C.B., C.M.G., C.B.E., D.S.O., Acting
Governor-General of the Sudan; Lewa Huddleston Pasha, C.M.G.,
D.S.O., M.C., Acting Sirdar; Kaimakam M. Hafiz Bey, O.C. Troops
at Khartum; H. A. MacMichael, D.S.O., Assistant Civil Secretary;
Captain J.E. Philips, M.C. Samuel Atiyah Bey, M.V.O., and Ahmed
El Sayed Pifai of the Sudan Civil Service; Charles Dupuis, Acting
Governor of Darfur; Sagh A. Hilym, S.O., El Fasher; J.D. Craig,
O.B.E., Governor of Kordofan; Bimbashi A. Khalil, S.O., El Obeid;
and the officers, officials, and notables of El Fasher and El Obeid.
To Bimbashi G. F. Foley, M.C., O.C. Artillery at El Fasher, I am
grateful for the verse which adorns the last chapter of the book.
I am particularly indebted to Harold Howland and to W. H. L. Watson,
an old Balliol friend, for their invaluable help and advice in the
preparation of this book.
A. M. HASSANEIN.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I THE DESERT
II THE PLANNING OF THE JOURNEY
III THE BLESSING OF THE BAGGAGE
IV SUPPLIES AND EQUIPMENT
V PLOTS AND OMENS
VI THE SENUSSIS
VII THE PEACE OF JAGHBUB
VIII MEALS AND MEDICINE
IX SAND-STORMS AND THE ROAD TO JALO
X AT THE OASIS OF JALO
XI ON THE TREK
XII THE ROAD TO ZIEGHEN WELL
XIII THE CHANGING DESERT AND A CORRECTED MAP
XIV KUFRA: OLD FRIENDS AND A CHANGE OF PLAN
XV KUFRA: ITS PLACE ON THE MAP
XVI THE LOST OASES: ARKENU
XVII THE LOST OASES: OUENAT
XVIII NIGHT MARCHES TO ERDI
XIX ENTERING THE SUDAN
XX TO FURAWIA ON SHORT RATIONS
XI JOURNEY'S END
APPENDICES
I NOTE ON THE CARTOGRAPHICAL RESULTS OF HASSANEIN BEY'S JOURNEY
II CONCLUSIONS DERIVED FROM THE GEOLOGICAL DATA COLLECTED BY
HASSANEIN BEY DURING HIS KUFRA-OUENAT EXPEDITION
III NOTES ON THE GEOLOGY OF HASSANEIN BEY'S EXPEDITION,
SOLLUM-DARFUR, 1923
ILLUSTRATIONS
HASSANEIN BEY
THE OLDEST MAN AT JALO
SIDI HUSSEIN WEIKIL
DOOR TO THE GRAND SENUSSI’S TOMB
THE TOMB OF THE FOUNDER OF THE SENUSSI
CAMEL SERENADING THE CAMP AT OUENAT
A DYING CAMEL
WOMEN OF THE ZAGHAWA TRIBE
SAYED IDRIS EL SENUSSI
THE JUDGE OF JALO
ZERWALI
SIWA
PANORAMA OF JAGHBUB
THE COURTYARD OF THE MOSQUE AT JAGHBUB
A CLOISTER AT THE MOSQUE OF JAGHBUB
THE DOME OF THE MOSQUE AT JAGHBUB
THE EXPLORER’S CARAVAN IN A SAND-STORM
DESERT SANDS COVERING DATE-TREES
THE ZIEGHEN WELL
A HALT IN THE DESERT
THE ARMED MEN OF THE CARAVAN
HAPPY TEBUS AT KUFRA
A BIDIYAT FAMILY
HAWARIA, A LANDMARK OF KUFRA
CAMELS CROSSING THE SAND-DUNES
SAYED MOHAMMED EL ABID
THE HOUSE OF SAYED EL ABID
TEBU GIRL WEARING BEDOUIN CLOTHES
A TEBU WITH HIS CAMEL
SLAVE AT KUFRA
TEBU GIRL CARRYING BURDEN ON HER HEAD
KUFRA
THE OASIS OF HAWARI
SOUTH OF KUFRA
RUINS OF KUFRA
A SENUSSI PRINCE AT KUFRA
GOVERNOR OF KUFRA
ZWAYA CHIEFS AT KUFRA
THE LAKE AT KUFRA
EL TAJ
THE COUNCIL OF KUFRA
TUAREGS IN KUFRA
TWO TUAREGS IN WARRIOR ATTIRE
THE CARAVAN ON THE MOVE IN THE DESERT TO AGAH
SONS OF SHEIKH HERRI
APPROACHING THE HILLS OF ARKENU
IN THE OPEN DESERT
THE HILLS OF ARKENU
THE EXPLORER'S CAMP AT OUENAT
THE CARAVAN APPROACHING THE GRANITE HILLS OF OUENAT
VALLEY OF ERDI
DESERT BREAKING INTO ROCK COUNTRY SOUTH OF OUENAT
THE DESERT FROM THE HILLS OF OUENAT
THE KING OF OUENAT
THE EXPLORER'S KITCHEN IN A CAVE
THE ROCK VALLEY WELLS FOUND AT OUENAT
AT ARKENU
THE MOST IMPORTANT DISCOVERY MADE AT OUENAT
WHITE SAND VALLEY AND EXPLORER'S CAMP
THE CARAVAN ARRIVING AT OUENAT
THE VALLEY OF ERDI
THE FIRST TREE SEEN APPROACHING ERDI
THE EXPLORER'S CAMP IN THE VALLEY OF ERDI
SOUTH OF ERDI
THE CHIEFTAIN OF THE BIDIYAT TRIBE
TWO BIDIYAT MEN
BIDIYAT BELLES
BIDIYAT PRIEST
A BIDIYAT GIRL, WITH HER SISTER
A BIDIYAT GIRL, WITH HER CHILD
A BIDIYAT PARTY
GIRLS AT EL FASHER GOING TO MARKET
BIDIYAT WOMEN
ZAGHAWA GIRL AND HER INFANT
MARKET AT UM BURU
EXPLORER'S CAMP AT UM BURU
ZAGHAWA CHIEFS COMING OUT TO WELCOME THE PARTY AT UM BURU
A ZAGHAWA SHEIKH
A ZAGHAWA WOMAN
A BELLE OF THE ZAGHAWA TRIBE
ZAGHAWA GIRL
WELL ON THE FRONTIER OF DARFUR
A WATER-CARRIER IN THE DESERT
A WOMAN OF THE FALLATA TRIBE
A WELL NEAR KUTTUM IN DARFUR. WOMEN WORKING
SUDANESE TROOPS AND GIRLS
WELL ON THE FRONTIER OF DARFUR
A CHIEF OF THE ZAGHAWA TRIBE OF DARFUR
THE RECEPTION OF THE EXPLORER AT EL FASHER
EL FASHER
MAP
THE LIBYAN DESERT SHOWING THE AUTHOR’S ROUTE
The Lost Oases
CHAPTER I
THE DESERT
On my first trip through the Libyan Desert I took a vow.
We had lost our way, and we had lost all hope. There was no sign of
the oasis we sought, no sign of any well near-by. The desert seemed
cruel and merciless, and I vowed that if ever we came through alive
I would not return again.
Two years later I was back in the same desert, at the same spot
where we had lost our way, and landed at the same well that had
saved our lives on the previous occasion.
The desert calls, but it is not easy to analyze its attraction and
its charm. Perhaps the most wonderful part of desert life is the
desert night. You have walked the whole day on blistered feet,
because even walking was less painful than riding on a camel;
you have kept up with the caravan with eyes half shut; you follow
mechanically the rhythm of the camels’ steps. Your throat is
parched, and there is no well in sight. The men are no more in the
humor to sing. Their faces are drawn with exhaustion, and with eyes
bloodshot they keep a vague, hopeless look on the ever faint line
between the blue of the sky and the dull yellow of the sand. The
sheepskin water-vessels dangle limply on either side of the camels.
We do not talk very much in the desert. The desert breeds
silence. And when we are in trouble we avoid one another’s eyes.
There is no need for speech. Everybody knows what is happening,
and everybody bears it with fortitude and dignity, for to grumble
is to throw blame on the Almighty, a thing that no Bedouin will
do. To the Bedouin, this is the life that was intended for him;
it is the route that God decreed him to take; maybe it leads to
the death that the Almighty has chosen for him. Therefore he must
accept it. No man can run away from that which God has decreed, says
the Bedouin. “Wherever you may be, Death will reach you. . . even
though you take your refuge in fortified towers.”
But it is at such times as these that you vow, if your life is
spared, that you will never come back to the desert again.
Then the day’s work is at an end. Camp is pitched. No tents
are erected, for the men are too exhausted, too careless to mind
what happens to their bodies. And night falls. It may be a starlit
night, or there may be a moon. Gradually a serenity gets hold of
you. Gradually, after a day of silence, conversation starts. Feeble
jokes are cracked. One of the men, probably the youngest of the
caravan, ventures a joke with more cheerfulness than the rest, and
his voice is pitched in a higher key. Unconsciously the Bedouins
attune their voices to that higher, louder pitch, and the volume
of sound increases. The desert is working her charm.
The gentle night breeze revives the spirits of the caravan. In
a few minutes the empty _fantasses_ are used as drums, and there
is song and dance. At the first sound of music men may have been
tending the camels, repairing the luggage or the camels’ saddles,
but that first note brings all the caravan round the embers of
the dying fire. Every one looks at his comrades to make sure that
all are alive and happy; and every one tries to be a little more
cheerful than his neighbor, to give him more confidence. There is a
game of make-believe, a little ghastly in its beginnings. We force
ourselves to be cheerful, to make light of our troubles. “The
camels are all right; I saw to that wound, and it is not so bad
as I thought,” says one. “Bu Hassan says he has sighted the
landmark of the well not far to our right,” says another. We work
ourselves up by degrees to a belief that everything is really all
right. It is bluff, maybe, from beginning to end, but the charm of
the desert has prevailed.
It is as though a man were deeply in love with a very fascinating
but cruel woman. She treats him badly, and the world crumples in
his hand; at night she smiles on him, and the whole world is a
paradise. The desert smiles, and there is no place on earth worth
living in but the desert.
Song and dance take out from the men of the caravan the little
vitality that is left after the ravages of the day. Their spirit is
exhausted, and they fall asleep. They sleep beneath the beautiful
dome of the sky and the stars. Few people in civilization know
the pleasure of just sitting down and looking at the stars. No
wonder the Arabs were masters of the science of astronomy! When
the day’s work is done the solitary Bedouin has nothing left but
to sit down and watch the movements of the stars and absorb the
uplifting sense of comfort that they give to the spirit. These stars
become like friends that one meets every day. And when they go,
it is not abruptly as when men say farewell at a parting, but it
is like watching a friend fade gradually from view, with the hope
of seeing him again the following night.
“To prayers, O ye believers; prayers are better than sleep!”
The cry comes from the first man of the caravan to awake. A few
stars are still scattered in the sky. The men get up, and there is
nothing better illustrates the phrase “collect their bodies.”
Every limb is aching, and again their throats are parched. Yet
what changed men they are! There is hope in them, confidence,
perhaps an inward belief that all will come well.
The world then is a gray void, and only the morning fire breaks
the cold north breeze. Our eyes instinctively turn to the east
where the sun is rising. If there are no clouds, there comes a
yellowish tinge in the sky that throws a curious elusive, elongated
shadow behind camels and men, so faint that you can scarcely call
it a shadow at all. Then comes a reddish tinge that gives warmth.
It is just between dawn-break and sunrise that there is color in
the desert. Once the sun is risen there is nothing but the endless
stretch of blue and yellow, and the blue fades and fades until by
midday the sky is almost wrung dry of color.
Morning brings new vitality; night brings peace and serenity.
These are the hours wherein one learns the desert’s charm.
In the silence of these vast open spaces human sensitiveness
becomes so sharpened that eventually the desert traveler feels
the nearness of some inhabited oasis. Likewise his instinct tells
him of the few hundred miles that separate him from any breathing
thing. In the silent infinity of the desert, body, mind, and soul
are cleansed. Man feels nearer to God, feels the presence of a
mighty Power from which nothing any longer diverts his attention.
Little by little an inevitable fatalism and an unshakable belief in
the wisdom of God’s decree bring resignation even to the extent
of offering his life to the desert without grudge. There are times
when he feels that it really does not matter. . . .
The desert brings out the best that is in every man. Civilization
confronts the crowd with danger, and each one fights for himself
and his own safety. In the desert self becomes less and less
important. Each tries to do the best he can for his comrades.
Let disaster threaten a caravan, there may be one man who can see
a chance to save himself, but I do not believe there is a Bedouin
who would desert his comrades and so save his own life. One of the
most appalling things that can happen in the desert is a shortage
of water, and you would think that in such a case you would try
to keep what water you have for yourself. Instead of that, you
find yourself with your favorite water-bottle, taking it in your
arms, going round the men asking would any of them like a drink,
as nonchalantly as though there were plenty of it and to spare. The
question of personal safety is eliminated. Whatever happens, let it
happen to the whole caravan; you do not want to escape alone. That
is the feeling that gets hold of you.
[Illustration: MAP OF THE LIBYAN DESERT]
I never cease to marvel at the Bedouin serenity and courage,
which nothing disturbs. In desert travel there are three elements:
camels, water-supply, the guide. Camels, the best of them, and for
no apparent reason, give in, as it happened when I left Kufra and
one of my best camels died on the second night, while, on the other
hand, the weakest camel of the caravan, which left Kufra tottering
under its load, went through the whole trip, about 950 miles, and
arrived tottering at El Fasher. “God will protect it,” said its
Bedouin owner when rebuked for bringing such a sorry animal, and in
truth God did protect it. The death of a camel is a serious matter,
for it means throwing away most, perhaps the whole, of its load.
Water is carried chiefly in sheepskins, and the best of sheepskins,
tested for days and weeks beforehand, have suddenly started to
leak or the water to evaporate from them; or in night trekking two
camels may bump together and cause one or two sheepskins to burst.
And then the guide, for various reasons, may say that his head has
gone round and round, which means he has lost his head; if there
are clouds that hide the sun for a few hours, or one mistake in a
landmark, it may cause the guide to lose his way. But there is one
thing still more necessary than these three items: camels, water,
guide. It is Faith, profound and illimitable Faith.
The desert can be beautiful and kindly, and the caravan fresh
and cheerful, but it can also be cruel and overwhelming, and the
wretched caravan, beaten down by misfortune, staggers desperately
along. It is when your camels droop their heads from thirst and
exhaustion; when your water-supply has run short and there is no
sign of the next well; when your men are listless and without hope;
when the map you carry is a blank, because the desert is uncharted;
when your guide, asked about the route, answers with a shrug of the
shoulders that God knows best; when you scan the horizon, and all
around, wherever you look, it is always the same hazy line between
the pale blue of the sky and the yellow of the sand; when there is
no landmark, no sign to give the slightest excuse for hope; when
that immense expanse looks like, feels like a circle drawing tighter
and tighter round your parched throat—it is then that the Bedouin
feels the need of a Power bigger even than that ruthless desert. It
is then that the Bedouin, when he has offered his prayers to this
Almighty Power for deliverance, when he has offered up his prayers
and they have not been granted, it is then that he draws his _jerd_
around him, and, sinking down upon the sands, awaits with astounding
equanimity the decreed death. This is the faith in which the journey
across the desert must be made.
The desert is terrible, and it is merciless, but to the desert all
those who once have known it must return.
CHAPTER II
THE PLANNING OF THE JOURNEY
This is the story of a journey which I made in 1923 from Sollum on
the Mediterranean to El Obeid in the Sudan, some two thousand two
hundred miles. In the course of it I was fortunate enough to discover
two “lost” oases, Arkenu and Ouenat, which previously had not
been known to geographers. My journey was primarily a scientific
expedition, but I have tried in this book to avoid wearying the
reader with technical matter and to write a straightforward narrative
which may be of some interest even to those who are not acquainted
with Egypt, the Sudan, or the Libyan Desert.
It had always been my greatest ambition to penetrate to Kufra, a
group of oases in the Libyan Desert, which had only once been visited
by an explorer. In 1879 the intrepid German, Rohlfs, had succeeded,
but he had barely escaped with his life, and all his note-books
and the results of his scientific observations were destroyed.
In 1915 I had been fortunate enough to meet in Cairo Sayed Idris El
Senussi, the famous head of the Senussi brotherhood, when he was
returning from a pilgrimage to Mecca. The capital of the Senussi
is Kufra, and when in 1917 I went on a mission to Sayed Idris with
Colonel the Honorable Milo Talbot, C.B., R.E., a distinguished
officer, who had retired from the Egyptian Army but had returned
to the service during the Great War, and renewed my acquaintance
with that notable man at Zuetina, a little port near Jedabia in
Cyrenaica, I seized the opportunity and told him of my ambition.
Sayed Idris was most sympathetic and asked me to let him know when
I proposed to make the expedition, so that he might give me the
help and countenance without which a journey to Kufra could not
be undertaken. I met him again at Akrama near Tobruk and told him
then that I would set out as soon as I was free from my war duties.
At Tobruk, Francis Rodd, an old Balliol friend, was with me, and
we decided that we would go together.
When the war was over Mrs. Rosita Forbes (now Mrs. A. McGrath)
brought me a letter of introduction from Mr. Rodd and asked that
she might join us. We proceeded to plan an expedition _à trois_,
but, when the time came, Mr. Rodd was prevented from making one of
the party. Finally in 1920 Mrs. Forbes and I set out by ourselves,
and with the friendly cooperation of the Italian authorities and
the promised countenance and assistance of Sayed Idris—he provided
us with our caravan—we reached Kufra in January, 1921.
But this trip to Kufra, interesting as it was, only tempted me to
explore the vast unknown desert which lay beyond. There were rumors,
too, of “lost” oases which even the people of Kufra knew only
by hearsay and tradition, and I returned to Cairo resolved to make
another expedition and instead of coming straight back from Kufra,
as Mrs. Forbes and I had done, to strike south across the unknown
desert until I came to Wadai and the Sudan.
Again on the first trip our only scientific instruments were an
aneroid barometer and a prismatic compass. It was not, therefore,
possible for me to make exact scientific observations, and all that
I brought back was notes for a simple compass traverse of the route
based on the meager material I had obtained. I was eager to check
Rohlfs’s observations and to determine once and for all the place
of Kufra on the map.
In 1922, then, I submitted my plan for a journey across the desert
from the Mediterranean to the Sudan to his Majesty King Fouad I,
who had been gracious enough to display his interest in my first
trip by decorating me with the Medal of Merit. He sympathized
warmly with my project, directed that I should be given long leave
of absence from my official duties, and later caused the expenses
of the expedition to be defrayed by the Egyptian Treasury. Indeed,
my expedition could not possibly have met with the success that it
did, had it not been for his Majesty’s invaluable support.
I completed my preparations, and in December, 1922, I had collected
my baggage in the house of my father so that in accordance with
the ancient practice of my race it might be blessed before I set
out on my expedition across the Libyan Desert.
CHAPTER III
THE BLESSING OF THE BAGGAGE
“Allah yesadded khatak—may God guide your steps.” The Arabic
words fell reverently on the air of the great bare room, where
candlelight and clouds of drifting incense contended for supremacy.
Along the walls bulked a strange collection of baggage: big boxes,
little boxes, sheepskin water-bags, tin _fantasses_ for carrying
water, stuffed food-sacks, bales of tents, carrying-cases of leather
and metal containing scientific instruments, and my own personal
kit. After the bustle of getting everything corded and tied and
strapped and arranged in order, a hush had come as we took our stand
in the middle of the room. Outside, the Egyptian night had fallen,
and across the garden the faint hum of the evening life of Cairo
entered our windows.
We were three: myself; Abdullahi, a Nubian from Asswan, who was
to be one of my most trusted men; and Ahmed, also from Asswan,
looking half a wreck after a spell of city life as he stood beside
us, but later to prove himself an excellent cook and on the trek
“the life of the party.”
[Illustration: THE OLDEST MAN AT JALO]
[Illustration: SIDI HUSSEIN WEIKIL]
Before us stood a tall old man with white flowing beard dressed
in a deep orange-colored silk _kuftan_. His delicately wrinkled
features spoke of the peace that comes with saintliness. His long
slim fingers clicked softly against each other the amber beads of
a rosary. The white smoke from the incense in the wrought-silver
censer, held by a servant beside him, mounted in a delicate
spiral. The saintly man put aside his rosary and lifted his hands,
palms upward, toward heaven. His voice, thin with age but clear with
conviction, sounded the prayer for those about to go upon a journey.
“May God guide your steps, may He crown your efforts with success,
and may He return you to us safe and victorious.”
He went round the room, swinging the censer rhythmically before each
pile of baggage and uttering little prayers. This was the traditional
ceremony of the blessing of the baggage, made sacred by ages of
Arab usage at the setting out of a caravan. It has largely fallen
into disuse in these latter days, but in the house of my father,
who walks through life deeply absorbed in scholarship and the
faith of the Prophet, it was the most natural thing in the world,
when the only son was going forth into the desert.
As I stood before the saintly man to receive his blessing, I was
no longer an Egyptian of to-day but a Bedouin going back to the
desert where his father’s fathers had pitched their tents.
Then I turned and went to my father.
For fifteen years, since I had been sent to Europe for my education,
our ways had rarely met. Sometimes I wished that I had studied the
subjects in which he was interested so that I might profit by his
profound learning.
“He is going to live in another generation; let him get the
education he will need for it,” my father had said once of a
fellow-scholar of mine. But now when I was returning to the desert
from which our forefathers had come we knew what was in each
other’s minds and understood.
After a moment’s silence, he put his hands on my shoulders
and prayed, “May safety be your companion, may God guide your
steps, may He give you fortitude, and may He give success to your
undertakings.”
The baggage blessed, Abdullahi and Ahmed took the heavy stuff and
set out for Sollum, leaving with me the scientific instruments
and the cameras for more careful handling. On December 19 I left
Alexandria by boat for Sollum.
CHAPTER IV
SUPPLIES AND EQUIPMENT
The twenty-first found me disembarking at Sollum, which is a tiny
seaport close to the western frontier of Egypt. There we were to
take camel and go by way of Jaghbub to Jalo, the important center
of desert trade where our own caravan would be organized and the
great trek southward begun. A journey like this of mine always
has several starting-points, each with its own variety of emotions
and experiences. In the dimly lighted, incense-scented room in my
father’s house the enterprise was a kind of dream, fascinating in
its possibilities but hardly yet real. At Sollum came the practical
reality of assembling stores and equipment, packing and repacking to
get everything into the smallest compass and most convenient shape
for handling, checking it all over to make sure that nothing had
been forgotten, and arranging with camel-owners for the first stage
of the trip. At Jalo would came the third start, with my own caravan
at my back, and the road to Kufra, already traversed but still by
no means familiar, before me. Then the last setting out of all, as I
rode out of Kufra with my face toward the unknown and the unexplored.
Abdullahi and Ahmed were already at Sollum, with the heavy baggage,
and the camels were arranged for, the agreement only awaiting my
approval. We proceeded to get our outfit and supplies in order.
Some description of the two Egyptians who accompanied me throughout
the expedition may be of interest. Abdullahi was a Nubian from
Asswan, heavily built, well set up and strong, with a pair of small
eyes, deeply set, that could mask a malicious sense of humor with
great indifference or dignity. A man of about forty, he was well
educated and knew his Koran well. I met him first in 1914, when he
was attached to the Idrissi family in Egypt, and I took an enormous
liking to him because of his deeply rooted sense of humor and his
loyalty. He was honest, too, extremely honest, and therefore I put
him in charge of the commissariat. In Abdullahi’s kit one could
always find anything that was needed from strips of leather with
primitive Bedouin needles for mending shoes to elaborate contrivances
for propping up a broken tent-pole. He was ready, moreover, with
“inaccuracies” to suit every situation, whether he wanted me
to appear to be a wandering Bedouin from Egypt, or a merchant,
or an important government official when we landed in the midst of
officialdom in the Sudan. Abdullahi had one peculiarity: between
sunset and an hour or two later it was apparently a most difficult
task to keep him awake; though he might be sitting down holding
a discussion, he would go on dozing as he sat. On one occasion we
had just finished dinner, and, it being about the hour, Zerwali, my
Bedouin loyal companion, who joined our caravan at Jalo, as a joke
took a lot of _zatar_ (a strong scent used for flavoring tea) and
put it in Abdullahi’s tea. In between dozes, the latter woke up,
tasted his tea, knew what had happened, said nothing, but simply put
back his glass. After a while, however, Abdullahi turned round and
said to Zerwali, “I believe you are expecting a man to see you;
I think I hear him coming.” As Zerwali got up to look, Abdullahi
quietly changed round the glasses, so that Zerwali drank the highly
“flavored” tea while Abdullahi dozed off peacefully once more.
[Illustration: DOOR TO THE GRAND SENUSSI’S TOMB]
[Illustration: THE TOMB OF THE FOUNDER OF THE SENUSSI
The tomb, which is covered with an embroidered green silk cloth,
is inclosed in a heavy brass cage. From the ceiling of the great
tomb hang many crystal candelabra, the gifts of the sultans of
Turkey and the khedives of Egypt. The floor is strewn with very
valuable Persian rugs.]
Abdullahi’s business instinct came out at its best when we
arrived at inhabited country toward the end of the journey and were
short of food. He collected all the odds and ends of the caravan,
including empty tins and bottles of medicine, even the few used
Gillette blades, and bartered them with the natives for butter,
milk, spices, and leather.
It was Abdullahi also who was greatly upset when I showed my film
of the expedition at a lecture given before H. M. King Fouad at the
Royal Opera House in Cairo. When Abdullahi found that he appeared in
many of the pictures with a tattered shirt, he resented being shown
to his king in such an unsuitable garment and asked if something
could not be done so that he should appear in a shirt that was
cleaner and less well worn.
Ahmed too was a Nubian from Asswan, a slight, wiry fellow who never
gave in. He was my valet and cook. Although very well educated, he
became a cook because he liked to live a free life; had he become
a religious man, as his father wished, he would have been obliged
to lead a model life, and that apparently did not appeal to him. He
was always cheerful, and though no one in the caravan did so much
cursing, the Bedouins did not mind him. At a word that Ahmed said,
had it come from any other, there would have been bloodshed, but the
Bedouins got accustomed to him, and there was only one row. After
his cooking was over Ahmed used to sit down with the Bedouins and
scorn their knowledge of religion; he would prove his superiority by
reciting from memory bits of poetry about religion and the Arabic
language and some of the Prophet’s sayings. Never once did
Ahmed fail to make me a glass of tea even in circumstances of the
greatest difficulty. On one occasion after a whole night’s trek he
was suffering badly from a hurt foot, and as we were pitching camp
I told him casually that I did not want any breakfast or tea until I
had slept and ordered him to go to bed at once. Nevertheless, just as
I was getting my shelter ready, Ahmed arrived with a steaming glass
of tea. He cursed all the Bedouins, but there was no Bedouin in the
caravan for whom, if he felt ill, Ahmed would not do everything in
his power to give him relief. He had learned gradually the use of
such medicines as I had, and frequently when in doubt would bring
me a little bottle to ask whether it was quinine or aspirin.
The requirements for a desert trek are simple, and the list of
what one takes with one is almost stereotyped. For food there are,
first of all, flour, rice, sugar, and tea. All the people of the
desert are very fond of meat, but it naturally cannot be carried.
One must either shoot it by the way or go without. Tea is the drink
in the Libyan Desert, rather than coffee, and for that there are
two reasons. The first is religious; the second is practical. Sayed
Ibn Ali El Senussi, the founder of that interesting brotherhood
that controls the destinies of the country through which I was to
travel, forbade his followers all luxuries. His prohibition included
tobacco and coffee but, for some reason, did not extend to tea. His
followers, therefore, are tea-drinkers, if you can call by the same
name the delicate, aromatic, pale fluid that graces the tea-tables
of Europe and America and the murky, bitter liquid which sustains
the Bedouin on his marches and revives him at the day’s end. The
second reason is that tea is a stimulant to work on, while coffee
is not. Tea is the thing with which to finish off each meal of the
desert day and to refresh the weary traveler at the end of a hard
day’s trek, leaving coffee for the less strenuous life of the
oasis and the home.
After these staples come dates; or perhaps they ought to be put
first. The camels live on dates, as does the whole caravan when
other foods are exhausted or there is no time to halt and cook a
meal. But the dates are not the rich, sweet, sugary things one is
accustomed to for dessert or a picnic delicacy in western lands.
The date which one must use for desert travel has little sugar
about it. Sugar breeds thirst, and where wells are days apart the
water-supply is not to be prodigally spent.
I took some tinned things with me, bully beef, vegetables and fruits;
but tins are heavy, and to carry enough food in tins for a long trek
would demand a score of extra camels or more. There was a little
coffee in our stores, but we seldom drank it. I used most of it
for presents to the friends we made along the way. A few bottles of
malted milk tablets proved useful for emergency lunches when food
ran low. The Bedouins, however, were not keen on them. “They fill
us up,” they said, “without the pleasure of the taste.”
[Illustration: CAMEL SERENADING THE CAMP AT OUENAT
Desert changing into grass country]
[Illustration: A DYING CAMEL
This is a great catastrophe, as his load has to be thrown away]
That was our commissary list, except for salt and some spices,
especially pepper for the _asida_, a pudding of boiled flour and
oil, made pepper hot. There was little variety; but variety is
the one thing one has to give up when one’s supplies are to be
carried by animals who must themselves live chiefly on what they
can carry. There were no luxuries, no matter how pleasant they might
have been to relieve the monotony of rice, unleavened bread, dates,
and tea. If one has experience in desert travel and the wisdom to
learn by it, one takes no foods of which there is not enough to
feed every one in the caravan. On the trek in the desert there is
no distinction of rank or class, high or low.
The sole exception to the rule of no luxuries was tobacco. Since
only one of the men who were with me at any time on the trip smoked,
however, this was no real violation of the rule. A stock of Egyptian
cigarettes and tobacco afforded me constant pleasure and comfort
throughout the journey.
Next comes water, the one great and unceasing problem of desert
travel. Men have lived for an unbelievable number of days without
food, whether from necessity or from curiosity. But the man who
could go for four days without water would be a miracle. A desert
is a desert just because it lacks water. The desert traveler must
think first of his drinking supply.
We carried water in two ways. The regular supply was held in
twenty-five _girbas_, the traditional sheepskin water-carrier of
the desert. Each holds from four to six gallons—and is easily
burst if two camels carrying _girbas_ bump together in the dark
on a rocky road! So the reserve water-supply for emergencies is
carried in _fantasses_. They are long tin containers, oblong or
oval shaped in cross-section to hang easily along the camel’s
side. We had four _fantasses_ holding four gallons each and four
others holding twelve gallons each. Our full supply, therefore,
was something like two hundred gallons, enough to last our caravan,
when it was finally organized, on the longest trek from well to well
that we were likely to encounter. We carried only our reserve supply
in _fantasses_, although they were less liable to injury, because
the _girbas_, when empty, took up so little space. All twenty-five
of them could be carried on one camel, while only two _fantasses_
went to a camel, full or empty. We had no camels to spare.
There were also some individual water-bottles, but most of them
were soon discarded because the men hated the nuisance of carrying
them. A few were kept for cooling water later on in the journey when
the weather became hot. The evaporation of the moisture through
the canvas sides of the bottles or bags kept the water within at
a pleasant temperature.
Four tents, two bell-shaped and two rectangular, and numerous
cooking-utensils, of which the chief was a huge brass _halla_
or bowl for boiling rice, made up the tale of our equipment. For
emergencies there was a medicine-chest, with quinine, iodine, cotton
and bandages, bismuth salicylate for dysentery, morphine tablets and
a hypodermic syringe, anti-scorpion serum—which was to plunge me
into an apparently serious predicament and rescue me from it—zinc
ointment for eczema, indigestion tablets, and Epsom salts. I had
a primitive surgical kit and a few dental instruments and remedies
which a dentist friend had given me. I was equipped to take care
of the simple every-day ills; if anything more serious befell,
I should have to say, “Recovery comes from God.”
For hunting and possible defense I took three rifles, three automatic
pistols, and a shot-gun. By the time of our return the shot-gun
had been given as a present, and the rest of the arsenal had been
increased by six rifles and one pistol. When the rifles arrived at
Sollum in their characteristically shaped boxes, it was immediately
rumored through the town that I was carrying a machine-gun, for
some mysterious purpose which gossip elaborated to suit itself.
In order to make the report of what I found and saw as vivid
and truthful as possible I took five cameras. Three of them were
Kodaks, which functioned perfectly to the end; one a more elaborate
instrument with a focal-plane shutter, which was ruined by the
penetrating sand; and the last a cinema machine. For all the cameras
I carried Eastman Kodak films, which were packed with elaborate
care, first in air-tight tins, then in tin cases, sawdust filled,
and finally in wooden boxes. These precautions in packing proved to
be none too great, in view of the intense heat of the first part of
the route and the rain and dampness which we encountered later on
in the Sudan. For the cinema camera I took nine thousand feet of
film. Fortune was with me in all the photographic work. The films
were not developed until my return eight months later to Egypt,
but the percentage of failures was gratifyingly low. For clothing
I took the usual Bedouin garb of white shirts and long drawers,
both made of calico, and a woolen _jerd_, the voluminous Bedouin
wrap; also silk jackets and waistcoats and cloth drawers like
riding-breeches, but reaching to the ankles; the latter were used
only on ceremonious occasions, such as entering or leaving an oasis;
there were naturally a few changes of each. I did not wish to put on
the desert dress until the end of the first stage of the journey,
so I left Sollum in old khaki coat and riding-breeches, which had
already seen their best days. With yellow Bedouin slippers on my
feet, the only possible wear in desert travel, and a Jaeger woolen
night-cap on my head, for the weather was keenly cold, I must have
been an amusing figure when we made our start.
[Illustration: WOMEN OF THE ZAGHAWA TRIBE
The women do all the work of watering the cattle and sheep, looking
after the home and the men-folk. They work far less as slaves in
North Africa than they do as free women in their own country.]
When traveling into unknown lands, especially in the East, it is
important to be able to make presents to those of prominence whom
you meet. I had what seemed to me an enormous supply of silks,
copper bowls, and censers inlaid with silver, bottles of scent,
silk handkerchiefs, silver tea-pots and tea-glasses, silver
call-bells—which the Bedouin is delighted to be able to use for
summoning his slaves instead of the usual clapping of the hands.
When I saw all this array being packed, I felt sure that we should
bring half of it back with us. But by the time we had reached Kufra,
I discovered that not only those who were of use to me this time but
every one who had rendered the slightest service on my previous trip
was expectant of reward for services rendered. What with postponed
expectations and the opportunities which the present trip afforded
for making presents, we had none too many of the goods I have
mentioned. In making these gifts, however, I did not feel that it was
so much an endeavor to smooth the way of my expedition as a courtesy
from a Bedouin of the town to his brother Bedouin of the desert.
Most important of all for the ultimate value of the expedition, if
it was to have any, was the scientific apparatus, which is detailed
in Dr. Ball’s report in the appendix.
The fortnight at Sollum was filled with busy days. Simple as our
equipment was, everything had to be as nearly right as thought
and care could achieve. Things carried on camel-back, put on each
morning and taken off each night and built into barricades against
weather and possible attacks, must be snugly and securely packed.
At the end of a day’s trek, careless or tired camelmen often find
it easier to let boxes and bundles drop without ceremony from the
camels’ sides than to handle them with proper care.
CHAPTER V
PLOTS AND OMENS
My plans were all made for a trek straight south to Jaghbub when,
two days before the date determined upon for the start, an incident
happened which disquieted me.
I was sitting one evening in my room in the little government
rest-house, busy with the figures of my scientific observations.
There came a knock at the door. I could not imagine who could want
me at that hour, but I went to the door and opened it a little way.
A Bedouin whom I did not know was standing there, muffled Bedouin
fashion in his _jerd_. I shut the door quickly and demanded, “Who
are you?”
“A friend,” was the answer, which somehow did not convince me.
“What is your name and your business?” I asked.
“I am a friend, and I have something to tell you which you ought
to know,” explained my visitor through the closed door.
I opened the door and demanded what he had to tell. He came in.
“You are going by the straight road to Jaghbub?” he half queried.
I nodded assent.
“Don’t go,” he continued with vigor.
“Why not?” I asked.
“The bey is a rich man,” he said. “He carries with him great
stores of the bounty of God, and the Bedouins are greedy. The rumor
is that you have many boxes of gold.”
I could see that he half believed it, though he was pretending
not to.
“The camelmen have agreed with friends on the road that you shall
be waylaid and robbed. You will lose your money and probably your
life.”
“One can always fight,” I suggested.
“Perhaps,” he agreed, “if you had plenty of men of your own.”
I had n’t, so I proceeded to question him further about his
information. The story seemed straight enough, and when I learned
that my visitor was a relative of a man to whom I had done a good
turn when on the last mission to the Senussis, I felt that it
would be wise to believe him. I thanked him for his warning, and he
went away into the night. I sat down to consider the unpleasantly
melodramatic situation.
[Illustration: SAYED IDRIS EL SENUSSI]
The desert people are quick to ferret out your purpose if they can,
and, if they cannot, to build up imaginary stories to account for
what you are and have and intend to do. Much of our paraphernalia
was in boxes. Boxes, to the Bedouin mind, mean treasure. If three
rifles in a case could be translated into a machine-gun, why should
not cameras and instruments in boxes be translated into gold and
bank-notes? It was no wonder that the men whose camels we had hired
were convinced that I was going into the desert with vast wealth
for some unknown purpose. It was quite possible that they planned
to rob me. It was a cheerful outlook for the very beginning of our
journey. A fight, no matter how successful, would be a poor start
for our undertaking. I decided that it would be better to avoid
this first obstacle in our path rather than to encounter it.
Promptly the next day the camel-owners whose pleasant little plan
had been revealed to me found themselves discharged. Others with
their camels were forthwith hired to take me to Siwa. Instead
of the straight line to Jaghbub we would go along the two other
sides of the triangle whose apices were Sollum, Siwa, and Jaghbub.
It would materially lengthen this first part of our journey, but,
after all, time and distance were less important than safe arrival.
The road by way of Siwa had several advantages. It lay in Egyptian
territory and not in the country inhabited by the tribes to which
the first set of camelmen belonged. In the second place, it ran
through more frequented territory, where a treacherous waylaying of
our caravan would have been more perilous to the waylayers. Lastly,
our quick departure after the change of plan gave the conspirators
no time to develop any new plot if they had wanted to. It looked
safe, and it proved to be as safe as it looked.
On January 1 the caravan started, and three days later Lieutenant
Bather very kindly took me in a motor-car to catch up with it. We
found the caravan at Dignaish, thirty-six miles out; and, saying
good-by to the lieutenant, I took up the journey.
It was then a six days’ trek to Siwa. Our spare time was profitably
spent in camouflaging the boxes and cases in our luggage to look
like the usual Bedouin impedimenta. The only event of interest during
the six days was the first of three good omens that foretold success
to the trip. On the fifth day in the late afternoon I saw a gazelle
feeding a little distance off our track. Without other thought than
the pleasant anticipation of fresh meat, I set out after it. As I
went I heard discouraging shouts and howls from the men behind me. I
could not understand their reluctance to have me go after the game,
in view of the Bedouin’s love of meat. I imagined that they were
afraid I would be led away some distance from them and thus hold up
the progress of the caravan. The reason did not seem sufficient,
and so I pursued my quest. After some chase I got a shot at the
gazelle and brought it down.
As I approached the caravan with my game, I was surprised again.
The men came running toward me with waving arms and shouts of joyful
congratulation. I understood their present state of mind no more
than I had their former one, until the explanation was forthcoming.
Then I learned that among the Bedouins the first shot fired at
game after a caravan sets out is the critical one. If it is a miss,
disaster is certain to overtake the caravan before the journey’s
end. If it is a hit, fortune will smile upon the whole undertaking.
The men of the caravan had been reluctant to see me put our luck
to the test so soon. If I had remembered the Bedouin travel lore,
I should have saved my first shot at game until we reached El Fasher,
six months later.
We were three days in Siwa, hiring other camels for the trek to
Jaghbub and making a few final preparations. Siwa was the last
outpost of the world I was leaving behind. There the postal service
and the telegraph end. Beyond that point there is nothing to be
bought except the products of the desert, or occasionally a little
rice or cloth, perhaps at exorbitant prices. In my three days I
enjoyed the hospitality and valuable assistance of the Frontier
Districts Administration, in the persons of the _mamur_ and town
officials and of Lieutenant Lawler, in command of the troops there.
Siwa is the biggest and most charming of oases; springs of wonderful
water, excellent fruit, the best dates in the world, picturesque
scenery, and the quaintest and most interesting of customs. For
example, if a woman loses her husband she is kept forty days without
washing, and nobody sees her. Her food is passed through a crack in
the door. When the forty days have expired, she goes to bathe in
one of the wells, and everybody tries to avoid crossing her path,
for she is then called _ghoula_ and is supposed to bring very bad
luck to anybody who sees her on that day of the first bath.
In the date market, called the _mistah_, all the dates are piled
together, the best quality and the most inferior. No one thinks of
touching one date that does not belong to him or mixing the dates
together with a view to gaining an advantage thereby. On the other
hand, anybody can go into a _mistah_ and eat as much as he likes
from the best quality without paying a _millième_, but he must
not take any away with him.
[Illustration: THE JUDGE OF JALO
He studied as a boy under the Grand Senussi, the founder of the
sect. He can quote from memory all the incidents that took place
in his time, giving day and year of every event.]
In Siwa there is a shrine of a saint where people may deposit their
belongings for safety. If a man is going away he can take his bags
with the most valuable things and put them near this shrine, and
nobody would dream of touching them. Literally, if any one left a
bundle of gold there, no one would touch it, because of the very
simple but unshakable belief in them that if you touch anything
near that shrine and it does not belong to you, you would have bad
luck for the rest of your life.
When I was ready to leave Siwa, my little group of personal retainers
had doubled in number. At Sollum I had added to Abdullahi and Ahmed
a man of the Monafa tribe named Hamad. He was the hardest-working
individual in the entire caravan. I never saw him tired. He
took charge of my camel and later of the horse which I secured
at Kufra. The fourth member of the group was Ismail, a Siwi. He
looked like a weakling, but on the trek he was always the last
man to give in and ride a camel. Ismail was the one whom I used to
take with me when prospecting for geological specimens or making
elaborate scientific observations. Coming from an oasis in Egyptian
territory where the post and the telegraph made connection with the
outside world, he had less of the wild Bedouin’s suspicion that
interprets every simple action of the stranger into something with
an ulterior motive. Why should the bey be chipping off bits of rock,
the Bedouin might say to himself, unless there were gold in it,
or he intended to come and conquer the country? Not so Ismail.
If the bey wanted a bit of rock, that was for the bey to say.
We left Siwa on the fourteenth with our new caravan. Our last link
with the outside world was broken. At the first stop I took off my
faded khaki and put on the Bedouin costume and felt myself now a
part of the desert life. The effect upon the men was immediate. Till
now they had approached me with embarrassment and awkwardness. Now
they came up naturally, kissed my hand in Bedouin fashion, and said,
“Now you are one of us.”
Our second good omen befell us a few miles out of Siwa. We found
dates in our path, where some unfortunate date merchant taking
his cargo to market had had an accident. Dates in the way are a
promise of good fortune for the journey. Often, when a Bedouin is
setting out with his caravan, friends will go secretly ahead and
drop dates where he will be sure to pass them. With my first shot
and the gazelle and the dates in the path, we had every reason to
be cheerful. But the best omen of all was to come.
I had sent two men ahead with a letter to Sayed Idris at Jaghbub,
to inform him of my approach. In the desert one does not rush upon
a friend or a dignitary headlong and unannounced. There should be
time for both to put on fresh clothing and go with dignity to the
meeting as becomes gentlemen of breeding.
Two days out from Siwa I was riding some distance behind the caravan
and presently came upon it halted. I asked the reason for the unusual
stop and received the reply, “Messengers have come to say that
Sayed Idris will be here within an hour.” The men could scarcely
conceal their excitement. To be met by the great head of the Senussis
himself at the beginning of our journey was the most auspicious of
omens. The rest of the message was indicative of the etiquette of
the desert. “He asks the bey to camp so that he may come to him.”
We immediately made camp, and before long the vanguard of Sayed
Idris’s caravan appeared and made camp in their turn a short
distance away. A half-hour later Sayed Idris himself, with his
retinue, advanced toward my camp, and I went to meet him.
Sayed Idris met me with warm cordiality, and we renewed the
acquaintance made on our previous meetings with deep gratification
on my part and apparent pleasure on his. The former trip could never
have been successful without the countenance he gave to it and the
assistance he rendered; how much more the present one, which was to
take me three times as far and into more completely unknown regions.
In his tent we lunched on rice, stuffed chicken, and sweet Bedouin
cakes, followed by glasses of tea delicately scented with mint
and rose-water. I told him of my plans and gave him news of the
outside world. He was interested to know the final issue of the
Peace Conference at Versailles.
At his suggestion, I brought all the men of my caravan to his tent
to receive his blessing. As I stood with them and heard the familiar
words fall from his lips, there came irresistibly to my mind that
moment in the incense-shrouded room in Cairo and my father’s
blessing upon my undertaking. Then my imagination had leaped out to
meet the vision of the desert, the camels, the Bedouin life. Now
the need for imagination was gone. I was in Bedouin kit, with the
camels of my caravan behind me, and the road to the goal I sought
stretching ahead.
To my men the experience of being blessed by Sayed Idris himself
was the greatest augury of success that we could have had. Nothing
could harm us now.
In the afternoon we said farewell, both camps were broken, and both
caravans took up the march, Sayed Idris going east into Egypt and
I west to Jaghbub and the long trail into the desert. As we marched
my men insisted on following the track made by the caravan of Sayed
Idris, to prolong the great good fortune that had befallen us.
CHAPTER VI
THE SENUSSIS
Any story of the Libyan Desert would not be complete without some
consideration of the Senussis, the most important influence in that
region. The subject is a complicated one. Justice might be done to
it if an entire volume were available, but within the limits of a
chapter only the important points of Senussi history can be touched.
The Senussis are not a race nor a country nor a political entity nor
a religion. They have, however, some of the characteristics of all
four. In fact they are almost exclusively Bedouins; they inhabit,
for the most part, the Libyan Desert; they exert a controlling
influence over considerable areas of that region and are recognized
by the governments of surrounding territory as a real power in the
affairs of northeastern Africa; and they are Moslems. Perhaps the
best short description of the Senussis would be as a religious order
whose leadership is hereditary and which exerts a predominating
influence in the lives of the people of the Libyan Desert.
The history of the brotherhood may be roughly divided into four
periods. In each it took its color from the personality of the
leader. These were respectively Sayed Ibn Ali El Senussi, the
founder; Sayed El Mahdi, his son; Sayed Ahmed, the nephew of the
latter; and Sayed Idris, the son of El Mahdi, the present head of
the brotherhood.
Sayed Mohammed Ibn Ali El Senussi, known as the Grand Senussi,
was born in Algeria in the year 1202 after the Hegira, which
corresponds to 1787 in the Christian calendar. He was a descendant
of the Prophet Mohammed and had received an unusually scholarly
education in the Kairwan University, in Fez, and at Mecca, where
he became the pupil of the famous theologian Sidi Ahmed Ibn Idris
El Fazi. He developed an inclination to asceticism and a conviction
that what his religion needed was a return to a pure form of Islam
as exemplified in the teachings of the Prophet.
At the age of fifty-one he was compelled to leave Mecca by the
opposition of the older _sheikhs_, who challenged his orthodoxy. He
returned through Egypt to Cyrenaica and began to establish centers
for teaching his doctrines among the Bedouins.
At this point an explanation of the meaning of three Arabic words
will elucidate the text. They are _zawia_, _ikhwan_, and _wakil_.
A _zawia_ is a building of three rooms, its size depending on
the importance of the place in which it is situated. One room
is a school-room in which the Bedouin children are taught by the
_ikhwan_; the second serves as the guest-house in which travelers
receive the usual three days’ hospitality of Bedouin custom; in
the third the _ikhwan_ lives. The _zawia_ is generally built near
a well where travelers naturally stop. Attached to the _zawia_
is often a bit of land which is cultivated by the _ikhwan_. The
_ikhwan_ are the active members of the brotherhood, who teach its
principles and precepts. _Ikhwan_ in Arabic is really a plural form,
which means “brothers.” But the singular of the word is never
used, _ikhwan_ having come to be used for one or more. A _wakil_
is the personal representative or deputy of the head of the Senussis.
The Grand Senussi found the Moslems of Cyrenaica fallen into
heresies and in danger of rapid degeneration, not only from a
religious but from a moral point of view. Some small examples may
serve to illustrate this point.
At Jebel Akhdar, in the north of Cyrenaica, certain influential
Bedouin chiefs had established a sort of Kaaba, an imitation of
the true one at Mecca to which every believer who could possibly
do so should make his pilgrimage. These founders of a false Kaaba
tried to establish the theory that a pilgrimage thither was a worthy
substitute for the _haj_, the authentic pilgrimage to the central
shrine of Islam.
[Illustration: ZERWALI
Head man of the explorer’s caravan]
The keeping of the month of Ramadan as a time of abstinence and
religious contemplation is an important tenet of the Moslem faith.
The Bedouins used to go before the beginning of Ramadan to a certain
valley called Wadi Zaza, noted for the multiple echo given back
by its walls. In chorus they would shout a question, “Wadi Zaza,
Wadi Zaza, shall we keep Ramadan or no?” The echo of course threw
back the last word of the question, “No—no—no!” Those who
had appealed thus to the oracle would then go home justified in
their own minds in their desire to forego the keeping of the fast.
There were also prevalent among the Bedouins remnants of old
barbaric customs—such as the killing of female children “to
save them from the evils which life might bring”—which stood
between them and their development into worthy exponents of Islam.
In such circumstances what the founder of the Senussi brotherhood
had to give, in his teaching and preaching of a return to the pure
tenets of Islam, met a poignant need.
Sayed Ibn Ali El Senussi founded his first _zawia_ on African soil
at Siwa, which is in Egypt close to the western frontier. From
that point he moved westward into Cyrenaica, establishing _zawias_
at Jalo and Aujila. He traveled westward through Tripoli and Tunis,
gradually spreading his teachings among the Bedouins. His reputation
as a saintly man and a scholar had preceded him, and he was much
sought after by the Bedouin chiefs, who vied with one another to
give him hospitality.
On his return to Cyrenaica in the year 1843 he established at Jebel
Akhdar near Derna a large _zawia_ called El Zawia El Beda, the White
Zawia. Until this time he had no headquarters but led the life of a
wandering teacher. He settled down at El Zawia El Beda and received
visits from the leading Bedouin dignitaries of Cyrenaica.
The Grand Senussi preached a pure form of Islam and strict adherence
to the laws of God and his Prophet Mohammed.
His teachings may perhaps be best illustrated by a passage from a
letter to the people of Wajanga, in Wadai, the original of which
I saw at Kufra and translated. The passage reads as follows:
We wish to ask you in the name of Islam to obey God and His
Prophet. In his dear Book he says, praise be to him, “O ye,
who are believers, obey God and obey the Prophet!” He also says,
“He who obeys the Prophet has also obeyed God.” He also says,
“He who obeys God and His Prophet has won a great victory.”
He also says, “Those who obey God and the Prophet, they are with
the prophets whom God has rewarded.”
We wish to ask you to obey what God and His Prophet have ordered;
making the five prayers every day, keeping the month of Ramadan,
giving tithes, making the _haj_ to the sacred home of God [the
pilgrimage to Mecca], and avoiding what God has forbidden—telling
lies, slandering people behind their backs, taking unlawfully
other people’s money, drinking wine, killing men unlawfully,
bearing false witness, and the other crimes before God.
In following these you will gain everlasting good and endless
benefits which can never be taken from you.
The principal concern of the founder of the Senussis was with the
religious aspect of life. He did not set out to be a political leader
or to grasp temporal power. He counseled austerity of life with the
same enthusiasm with which he practised it. He taught no special
theological doctrines and demanded acceptance of no particular
dogmas. He cared much more for what his followers did than for any
technicalities of belief. His only addition to the Moslem ritual
was a single prayer, which he wrote and which the Senussis use,
called the _hezb_. It is not opposed to anything taught by the
older theologians, nor does it add anything to what is found in the
Koran. It is simply expressed in different language. In the letter
to the people of Wajanga, which I have quoted, another passage
described his mission, which God had laid upon him, as that of
“reminding the negligent, teaching the ignorant, and guiding him
who has gone astray.”
He forbade all kinds of luxurious living to those who allied
themselves with his brotherhood. The possession of gold and jewels
was prohibited—except for the adornment of women—and the use of
tobacco and coffee. He imposed no ritual and only demanded a return
to the simplest form of Islam as it was found in the teaching of
the Prophet. He was intolerant of any intercourse, not only with
Christians and Jews, but with that part of the Moslem world which,
in his conviction, had digressed from the original meaning of Islam.
In the year 1856 Sayed Ibn Ali founded at Jaghbub the _zawia_
which eventually developed into the center of education and
learning of the Senussi brotherhood. His choice of Jaghbub was
not haphazard or accidental but a demonstration of his wisdom and
practical sagacity. He conceived it to be of the first importance
to reconcile the different tribes of the desert to each other
and to bring peace among them. One more quotation from his letter
illustrates this point:
We intend to make peace between you and the Arabs [the people of
Wajanga to whom this letter is addressed are of the black race] who
invade your territory and take your sons as slaves and your money.
In so doing we shall be carrying out the injunction of God, who
has said, “If two parties of believers come into conflict, make
peace between them.” Also we shall be following his direction,
“Fear God, make peace among those about you, and obey God and
his Prophet if you are believers.”
[Illustration: SIWA
One of the most historic oases of northern Africa. It was noted for
its temple of Amon even before the time of Herodotus, and Alexander
the Great came here to consult the oracle. In the middle distance,
slightly to the right, is the covered market-place. Lofty structures
indicate that Siwa was at one time a point of defense from desert
tribes.]
Jaghbub was a strategic point for his purpose. It stood midway
between tribes on the east and on the west who had been in constantly
recurring conflict. With his headquarters there the Grand Senussi
could bring his influence to bear on the warring rivals and carry out
the command of the Prophet to “make peace among those about you.”
From a practical standpoint Jaghbub was an unpromising place in which
to set up such a center of educational and religious activity as the
Grand Senussi had in contemplation. It is not much of an oasis, if
indeed it can be called an oasis at all. Date-trees are scarce there,
the water is brackish, and the soil very difficult to cultivate. Its
strategic importance, however, was clear, and without hesitation he
selected it as the site of his headquarters. The raids made upon
each other by the tribes to the east and the west were brought to
an end through his influence. He settled many old feuds not only
between those tribes but among the other tribes in Cyrenaica.
Sayed Ibn Ali lived for six years after establishing himself at
Jaghbub and extended his influence far and wide. The Zwaya tribe,
who had been known as the brigands of Cyrenaica, “fearing neither
God nor man,” invited him to come to Kufra, the chief community
of their people, and establish a _zawia_ there. They agreed to give
up raiding and thieving and attacking other tribes and offered
him one third of all their property in Kufra if he would come to
them. He could not go in person but sent a famous _ikhwan_, Sidi
Omar Bu Hawa, who established the first Senussi _zawia_ at Jof in
Kufra, and began the dissemination of the teachings of the Grand
Senussi among the Zwayas. Sayed Ibn Ali also commissioned _ikhwan_
to go into many other parts of the Libyan Desert, and before his
death all the Bedouins on the western frontier of Egypt and all
over Cyrenaica had become his disciples.
He died in the year 1859, and was buried in the tomb over which
rises the _kubba_ of Jaghbub.
The Grand Senussi was succeeded by his son Sidi Mohammed El Mahdi,
who was sixteen years old when his father died. In spite of his
youth his succession as head of the order was strengthened by two
circumstances. It was remembered that on one occasion, at the end of
an interview with his father, El Mahdi was about to leave the room,
when the Grand Senussi rose and performed for him the menial service
of arranging his slippers, which had been taken off on entering. The
founder of the order then addressed those present in these words:
“Witness, O ye men here present, how Ibn Ali El Senussi arranges
the slippers of his son, El Mahdi.” It was realized that he
meant to indicate that the son not only would succeed the father
but would surpass him in holiness and sanctity.
Then too there was an ancient prophecy that the Mahdi who would
reconquer the world for Islam would attain his majority on the first
day of Moharram in the year 1300 after the Hegira, having been born
of parents named Mohammed and Fatma and having spent several years in
seclusion. Each part of this prophecy was fulfilled in the person of
El Mahdi. The choice as successor to the Grand Senussi fell upon him.
When Sayed El Mahdi reached his majority there were thirty-eight
_zawias_ in Cyrenaica and eighteen in Tripolitania. Others were
scattered over other parts of North Africa; and there were nearly
a score in Egypt. It has been estimated that between a million and
a half and three million people owed spiritual allegiance to the
head of the brotherhood when El Mahdi became its active head. He
was the most illustrious of the Senussi family.
He saw from the first that there was more scope for the influence
of the brotherhood in the direction of Kufra and the regions to
the southward than in the north. In the year 1894 he removed his
headquarters from Jaghbub to Kufra. Before his departure he freed
all his slaves, and some of them and their children are still to
be found living at Jaghbub.
His going to Kufra marked the beginning of an important era in the
history of the Senussis and also in the development of trade between
the Sudan and the Mediterranean coast by way of Kufra. The difficult
and waterless trek between Buttafal Well near Jalo and Zieghen Well
just north of Kufra became in El Mahdi’s time a beaten route
continually frequented by trade caravans and by travelers going
to visit the center of the Senussi brotherhood. “A man could
walk for half a day from one end of the caravan to the other,”
a Bedouin told me.
The route from Kufra south to Wadai was also a hard and dangerous
journey in those days, and El Mahdi caused the two wells of Bishra
and Sara to be dug on the road from Kufra to Tekro.
Under the rule of the Zwaya tribe of Bedouins, who had conquered
Kufra from the black Tebus, that group of oases was the chief
center of brigandage in the Libyan Desert. The Zwayas are a warlike
tribe, and in the days before the coming of the Senussis they were
a law unto themselves and a menace to all those who passed through
their territory. Each caravan going through Kufra north or south was
either pillaged or, if lucky, was compelled to pay a route tax to the
Zwayas. These masters of Kufra were induced by El Mahdi to give up
this exacting of tribute. He realized the importance of developing
the trade of the oases and of the routes across the Libyan Desert
from the north to the south. He strove to make desert travel safe,
and in his day, Bu Matari, a Zwaya chieftain, told me at Kufra,
a woman might travel from Barka (Cyrenaica) to Wadai unmolested.
El Mahdi also extended the circle of influence of the Senussis in
many directions. _Ikhwan_ were sent out to establish _zawias_ from
Morocco as far east as Persia. But his greatest work was in the
desert, among the Bedouins and the black tribes south of Kufra. He
made the Senussis not only a spiritual power in those regions, and a
powerful influence for peace and amity among the tribes, but a strong
mercantile organization under whose stimulus trade developed and
flourished. In the last years of his life he undertook to extend the
influence of the brotherhood to the southward in person. He had gone
to Geru south of Kufra when his death came suddenly in the year 1900.
The sons of El Mahdi were then minors, and his nephew Sayed Ahmed was
made the head of the brotherhood. He was the guardian of Sayed Idris,
who, as the eldest son of El Mahdi, was his legitimate successor.
The new head of the Senussis made an abrupt departure from the
policies of his predecessors. He sought to combine temporal and
spiritual power. When the Italians took over Cyrenaica and Tripoli
from the Turks, Sayed Ahmed attempted to unite his spiritual power
as head of the brotherhood with the remnants of temporal and military
power left by the Turks. Then the Great War broke out, and he allowed
himself to be persuaded by Turkish and German emissaries to attack
the western frontier of Egypt. The effort was a complete failure,
and Sayed Ahmed was compelled to go to Constantinople in a German
submarine.
The third of the Senussi leaders saw things differently from the
Grand Senussi and his son. They had realized that a spiritual leader
cannot be beaten on his own ground, whereas if he takes the field in
quest of temporal supremacy it requires only a few military reverses
to destroy his prestige. The power of Sayed Ibn Ali El Senussi and
Sayed El Mahdi lay in themselves and in the spiritual influence
that radiated from them. Sayed Ahmed surrendered this influence to
rely upon arms, ammunition, and circumstances. When these failed,
there was nothing left.
From the hands of Sayed Ahmed the Senussi leadership fell to the
lineal successor, Sayed Idris. He derives a considerable part of
the prestige which he undoubtedly possesses from the fact that he
is the son of El Mahdi. But even without that advantage his own
personal qualities would be an adequate foundation for success in
the important position to which he has been called. He combines
gentleness of disposition with firmness of character to a high
degree. He has the loyal allegiance and support not only of the
Senussi _ikhwan_ but of the people of the Libyan Desert.
In 1917 an agreement was entered into by the Italian Government with
Sayed Idris, as head of the Senussi brotherhood, by which his right
to administer the affairs of the oases of Jalo, Aujila, Jedabia,
and Kufra was expressly recognized. This agreement was again ratified
two years later at Regima. Unfortunately in 1923 a misunderstanding
between the parties to this agreement caused it to lapse. It is
to be hoped, however, that a new arrangement will be entered into
between Sayed Idris and the Italian authorities which will restore
to these oases of the Libyan Desert their peace and prosperity.
There can be no question that the influence of the Senussi
brotherhood upon the lives of the people of that region is good.
The _ikhwan_ of the Senussis are not only the teachers of the
people, both in the field of religion and of general knowledge,
but judges and intermediaries both between man and man and between
tribe and tribe. The letter to the people of Wajanga already quoted
clearly illustrates how the Grand Senussi laid down this office of
peace-making as the duty of the Senussi brothers. It was developed
and made even more important by his great son, El Mahdi.
The importance of these aspects of the Senussi rule in maintaining
the tranquillity and well-being of the people of the Libyan Desert
can scarcely be overestimated.
CHAPTER VII
THE PEACE OF JAGHBUB
On the afternoon of the second day after the meeting with Sayed
Idris we saw the snow-white _kubba_ (dome) of the mosque at Jaghbub
rising before us. In proper Bedouin fashion we camped a short
distance from the town and sent a messenger ahead to announce our
arrival. Two hours later he returned to say that they were ready
to receive us. The caravan went forward, and as it approached the
walls we fired our rifles in the air. We were met at the gate by
Sidi Hussein, the _wakil_, or representative of Sayed Idris in
the town, accompanied by a group of _ikhwan_, who are teachers in
the school. The students lined up along the way and gave a cheer
as we went through. The warmth of the welcome aroused an echo in
our hearts.
Entering Jaghbub was to me like coming home. Two years before
it had been close to the finish of our journey; now it stood
as a starting-point, one of several, it is true, but still a
starting-point, on the greater journey that was to come. The first
time at Jaghbub had been marked by the reaction that comes when
the long trek is over. Now I was expectant and excited. Journey’s
end and trek’s beginning are both great moments, but the emotions
they arouse are not the same.
I was impatient to start again. But one month and four days were
to pass before I took the road, for there were no camels waiting
for me. Before leaving Sollum I had sent a man, Sayed Ali El Seati,
by the direct route to Jaghbub to hire camels and have them waiting
when I should arrive over the longer route by way of Siwa. But Ali
had apparently vanished into thin air. He had gone as far as Jedabia,
I learned, without success, for none of the Bedouins on the way from
Sollum would let him have the beasts I wanted. At Jedabia, too,
he had found no camels available. I waited two weeks with no sign
of Ali. Then I discovered that the reason he could get no camels
was because the road from Jaghbub to Jalo was used exclusively by
Bedouins of the Zwaya and Majabra tribes, and no other Bedouins
dared to venture upon it.
Though I was eager to get going again, I could not resist the
charm and peace of the place in which I found myself immured.
Jaghbub is a center of education and religion. There is no trade
there and no cultivation of the soil, except for some small bits
of oases where former slaves, who had been freed by Sayed El Mahdi
when he moved to Kufra, grew vegetables and a few dates. The life
of the town centers about the mosque, which is large enough to hold
five or six hundred persons, and the school, which is the center
of religious education for the Senussis. Near the mosque are a
few houses belonging to the Senussi family and the _ikhwan_; and
scattered about both within and without the walls are a number of
private houses. Buildings with rooms for some two or three hundred
students are also grouped near the mosque.
Jaghbub had reached the height of its importance when Sayed Ibn
Ali, the Grand Senussi, made it the center of the brotherhood. When
his son, Sayed El Mahdi, succeeded him, the importance of the town
continued for about a dozen years until he transferred the center of
the brotherhood’s activities to Kufra. Then when Sayed Ahmed El
Sherif, as guardian of young Sayed Idris, was in control, Jaghbub
again flourished as the capital. Its importance has fluctuated
through the years with the presence or absence of the heads of
the family within its walls. If Sayed Idris were to make it again
the seat of the Senussi rule, in two months the school and the town
would be overflowing with members of the brotherhood, with students,
and with pious visitors to the shrine of the Grand Senussi.
But at the time of my visit there were only eighty young
Bedouins—from eight to fifteen years of age—studying under the
_ikhwan_. If there had been more teachers there would have been
more students. But at the time of our visit the head of the Senussi
family, whom we had met on his way to Egypt, had his headquarters
in Jedabia, far to the westward.
In an inner room of the mosque a beautifully wrought cage of brass
incloses the tomb where lies the body of that great man, who sought
for his people a pure, austere, and rigidly simple form of Islam,
untainted by contact with the outside world. To this shrine every
adherent of the brotherhood who can accomplish the journey comes
to pay homage and to renew his vows. The students of the school
come to Jaghbub with one of two purposes, either to fit themselves
to become _ikhwan_, the brothers of the fraternity, or simply to
go back to their homes in the oases educated men with a right to
spiritual leadership in their communities.
Except for the annoying problem of getting camels to take my
expedition to Jalo, about 350 kilometers away to the westward,
my life in Jaghbub was one of peaceful reflection and preparation
for the undertaking before me.
[Illustration: THE COURTYARD OF THE MOSQUE AT JAGHBUB
The mosque was founded eighty years ago by Sayed Ibn Ali El Senussi,
the founder of the Senussi sect, which is followed by all the
Bedouins of Cyrenaica.]
The desert demands and induces a quite different attitude of mind
and of spirit from the bustling life of the city. As I wandered
about the little town and out into the oasis around it, or stood
in the cool, shadowed spaces of the mosque, or sat at times in
the tower above it in conversation with learned Bedouins, watching
the night fall over the milk-white _kubba_ and the brown mass of
buildings it dominates, there dropped away from me all the worries
and perplexities and problems that the sophisticated life of crowded
places brings in its train. Day after day passed, with a morning’s
walk, midday prayers in the mosque, a quiet meal, a little work
with my instruments or cameras, afternoon prayers, another walk,
a meal, followed by the distribution to my men of friendly glasses
of tea according to the Bedouin custom, again prayers, and, after
quiet contemplation of the evening sky with its peaceful stars,
retirement to sleep such as the harassed city dweller does not know.
Among all the _ikhwan_ whom I met and talked with at Jaghbub, there
was one who particularly interested me, for he would neither sit and
talk with me himself nor could I learn from his brother _ikhwan_
the reason for his strange aloofness. At length, by chance, I
learned the story of Sidi Adam Bu Gmaira.
Sidi Adam is a withered old man with a refined proud face and a
bitter twist to his mouth. Life has not been kind to him in his old
age. On my first visit to Jaghbub I stayed at his empty house for
three days. I had no chance then of a long conversation with him.
This time he came to see me on the evening of my arrival to welcome
me back to Jaghbub. I felt that a tragedy lay behind this old man.
He is one of the Barassa tribe, one of the élite among the Bedouins,
and he is as proud as any of them; yet he does not accept his fate,
and for some time I wondered how it was that he, a Bedouin, had not
learned to do so. All around me at Jaghbub were types of benevolent
humanity. Sidi Adam alone stood out distinct from his brethren,
a tragic picture of beaten pride.
Late one evening, as I was coming back from the mosque after prayers,
I found Mabrouk, an old slave of Sidi El Mahdi’s. “Peace be on
you and the blessing of God,” I greeted him.
“And on you, my master, and God’s mercy and blessing,”
he replied.
I sat down with him, and we began talking about the little patch
of cultivation to which he was attending. “Ei!” he exclaimed;
“we have not much food, but by the blessing of Sidi El Mahdi the
little we have is as great as abundance anywhere else.”
Just then a frail, tall figure in a white robe flitted like a ghost
across the courtyard. It was Adam Bu Gmaira. “There goes Sidi
Adam,” I said, pointing after him. “He was not looking well
when he came to see me to-day. What ails him, I wonder?”
“Nay, it is not his health, my master. It is an unlucky man who
incurs the displeasure of our masters” —meaning the Senussi
chiefs. “The poor man is suffering for his brother’s bad
faith.”
It was then that the story of Bu Gmaira was unfolded to me by
Mabrouk.
Sidi Bu Seif Bu Gmaira, Adam’s brother, was at one time the trusted
and all-powerful _wakil_ of Sidi El Mahdi at Jaghbub. When he was
quite a child a wall fell on him and smashed in his head. The great
Sidi El Senussi, founder of the sect, was fortunately near-by. He
took the child’s head and bandaged it together, saying, “This
head will one day be a fountain of knowledge and enlightenment.”
His prophecy came true. Bu Seif’s father sent the child to
Jaghbub when the Grand Senussi settled there and left him to study
at the mosque of Jaghbub. He became the leading _ikhwan_ and great
professor of Jaghbub. He was also a poet of no small merit. After
the death of the Grand Senussi, Sidi El Mahdi took him up and made
him his sole _wakil_ at Jaghbub when he left for Kufra, intrusting
him with all his property and the management thereof. But God willed
that he should become an example to the other _ikhwan_ of one who
betrays the _asyad’s_ [master’s] trust. He ran with the world
and was seduced by her. He squandered much of Sidi El Mahdi’s
property and sold many of his slaves, putting the money in his own
pocket. It was decreed that he should be punished. He wrote a letter
to a big governor in Egypt telling him that Sidi El Mahdi was away
at Kufra, that there was no one at Jaghbub to defend it, and that
it was an opportune moment to occupy the place. (Why he did this
is inconceivable as nobody ever had any desire to occupy Jaghbub,
but doubtless Bu Seif thought he might get something out of it.)
At that time Sidi Mohammed El Abid El Senussi, a nephew of El
Mahdi, was staying at Jaghbub. He heard that Bu Seif had written a
letter and was sending it to Egypt and that he had arranged for a
messenger to take it across the frontier after nightfall. El Abid
at once despatched two _ikhwan_ to waylay the messenger and bring
him back the letter. Two days later the messenger was brought. El
Abid saw the letter but said nothing to Bu Seif. He simply ordered
a caravan to be prepared for Kufra and asked Bu Seif to accompany
him. The latter tried to excuse himself on account of old age and
health, but El Abid insisted. He had no alternative but to go. So
they set out on the silent journey across the desert, and on arrival
at Kufra the letter was shown by El Abid to Sidi El Mahdi.
[Illustration: A CLOISTER AT THE MOSQUE OF JAGHBUB]
[Illustration: THE DOME OF THE MOSQUE AT JAGHBUB
The mosque is built on the same lines as the dome at Medina. It is
always kept clean and whitewashed and forms a distant landmark for
all those approaching Jaghbub.]
On the Friday following their arrival after the midday prayers at
the mosque of Taj in Kufra, Sidi El Mahdi called together all the
_ikhwan_, including Bu Seif. “Sidi Bu Seif, thou knowest what thou
hast done.” There was a hush. Everybody in the mosque tingled with
excitement, knowing there was something to come. “But we shall
not punish thee. Thou shalt live; thou shalt draw thy pay and thy
rations according to custom. God alone will punish those who have
betrayed our trust. But thou shalt read aloud to this gathering of
_ikhwan_ the letter which thou hast written with thine own hand.”
Bu Seif had no alternative but to read the letter. The _ikhwan_
were silent, though there was much surprise, for this was thought
to be the most trusted man of Sayed El Mahdi.
“Henceforward thou shalt be relieved of the trouble of looking
after our affairs,” said Sidi El Mahdi, dismissing him. Bu Seif was
then led to his house a sick man. He died a few days later. His two
sons died in the following few months. His remaining two daughters
were taken in marriage by members of the Senussi family. All his
books—and it is said he possessed the best library in the Senussi
circle—and his property were taken by the Senussi family. The only
remaining man of his family is Adam, his brother, who had inherited
the empty house at Jaghbub and the stigma attaching thereto. With
the death of Adam the family will be extinct.
CHAPTER VIII
MEALS AND MEDICINE
At intervals there were pleasant marks of hospitality from the
Senussi leaders at Jaghbub. There are various forms of hospitality
among the Bedouins, depending upon the rank both of the host and
of the guest and upon the circumstances of the given case. When a
traveler comes to an oasis or a town in the desert he has with him
his own caravan, provided with all the necessities of living. He
does not put up at a hotel or go to a friend’s house to live
but sets up his own establishment, either pitching his tents and
making a camp, or perhaps, as happened to me at Jaghbub, at Jalo,
and again at Kufra, occupying a house put at his disposal by some
one in the place. Then comes the question of entertainment and honor
from the dignitaries of the community. They may either invite one
to luncheon or to dinner in their own houses or send a meal to the
guest at his own house or camp. The first form of hospitality I shall
describe when we reach Jalo, where I was entertained by twelve or
fifteen notables in turn. The second form was that which I received
at Jaghbub. This variety of hospitality may be extended from three
to seven days, depending upon the respective ranks of host and guest.
Several days after my arrival Sidi Ibrahim and Sidi Mohi Eddin,
young sons of Sayed Ahmed, the former guardian of Sayed Idris,
who is now in Angora, boys of thirteen and fifteen years of age,
made the _beau geste_ of showing me hospitality. There arrived at
my house a Bedouin of the Barassa tribe, with two slaves laden with
food. They set before me a feast of at least a score of dishes, and I
was bidden to eat. The representative of my hosts sat courteously by,
himself not touching a morsel, while I tasted the dishes in turn; no
mortal man could eat them all and live. It was his function as deputy
host to see that I lacked nothing to make the meal a satisfying
and pleasant one, and to entertain me with conversation while I
ate. The men of his tribe are the aristocrats of the desert, tall,
erect, handsome, proud and with the spirit and courage of lions. A
Barassy, if he were alone in the midst of an alien tribe, would not
hesitate to meet an insult or a discourtesy with instant challenge
and to fight the whole lot single-handed if it came to that.
Under his solicitously attentive eye, and waited on by the slaves who
accompanied him, I ate my meal. I am not sure that I can remember
the full tale of the dishes that were set before me, but they ran
something like this: a rich meat soup, made with butter and rice;
a great dish of boiled meat; a big bowl of rice with bits of meat in
it; eggs, hard-boiled, fried, and made into an omelet with onions
and herbs; tripe; meat in tomato sauce; meat croquettes; sausages;
vegetable marrows; _bamia_ or okra; _mulukhia_, an Egyptian vegetable
with a peculiar flavor of its own; marrows stuffed with rice and
bits of meat; _kus-kus_, a distinctively Arab dish made of flour and
steamed; a salad; a kind of blanc-mange or pudding of corn-flour
and milk; Bedouin pancakes with honey; a sweet pudding of rice;
a delicate kind of pastry made of flour with raisins and almonds.
This last is an Egyptian dish rather than one native to the desert.
The slave who had cooked my meal, knowing me to be an Egyptian,
had put forth her best energies to please me and as a climax had
provided this Egyptian delicacy. At home we call it _sadd-el-hanak_,
“that which fills the mouth.” It fills the soul of the epicure
with joy as well.
[Illustration: THE EXPLORER’S CARAVAN CAUGHT IN A SAND-STORM]
In the Bedouin cuisine meat predominates, generally lamb or
mutton. True hospitality without meat is impossible for the
desert-dweller to imagine. It is the key-stone of the structure
not only of Bedouin hospitality but of Bedouin living, except of
course when one is on the trek and cannot get it. A guest must be
given meat, and it must be meat specially provided for him. When
a Bedouin invites one to dine with him, he slaughters a sheep
expressly for his visitor. As a rule he will neither prepare the
meal nor even kill the animal until one has arrived, in order that
there may be no doubt that the preparations were made expressly for
the guest. He carries his courtesy to the point of asking a guest,
on his arrival to partake of a meal, to lend him a knife with which
to slaughter a sheep, for hospitality demands that the guest shall
be convinced that full honor is being done him.
The great variety of dishes on the Bedouin menu, when a friend or
a stranger is being formally entertained, is the essence of the
ceremony. The greater the number the better the host and the higher
the honor he is able to pay the partaker of the meal.
Bedouin entertaining concentrates itself upon food, for in the desert
there is nothing to be had in the way of pleasure except eating. In
the primitive surroundings of an oasis, to eat is the whole story.
Two incidents of that month in Jaghbub interested me as illustrating
how, with all their differences, the East and the West are often
humorously alike. The one incident was comic, but the other had
pathos in it as well as humor.
I had given instructions that no one who came to my house in quest
of medicine should ever be turned away. Sidi Zwela, an _ikhwan_,
had appealed for help for his cough, and I had given him a bottle
of cough-syrup. Two days later he appeared again. He said the
first few doses had done him so much good that he had quickly
finished the bottle. Might he have another bottle? Abdullahi,
who was present at the interview, after his departure growled out
a cynical comment: “Yes, he found it sweet and pleasant to the
taste. He takes it as a delicacy and not as a medicine.” The
comment was probably accurate. More than one child I had heard of
during my years in England whose cough persisted strangely so long
as the cough-medicine was sweet and tasty.
I am afraid that my men used to boast about the things that
could be done with what we had among our stores. The Baskari,
after Ahmed had been pulling his leg about my having medicine for
everything, came to me to ask for something to cure a slave-girl
of absent-mindedness. I could only reply that from my experience
in various lands to keep a servant from forgetting was as easy as
to prevent water from sinking into the sand.
The second incident involved two men as different as day and
night. There came to my house one day a slave of the _wakil_
sent by his master to consult me. It was a matter about which
Sidi Hussein could not approach me in person. Bedouin etiquette
forbids a man to talk to another about his wife, or even about
any particular woman who is not known to both of them. But a slave
could say for him what his dignity forbade him to speak in person.
The slave’s message was that the wife of the _wakil_ had borne no
children, which was a keen disappointment to the husband. Surely,
his master thought, I must have, in my medicine-chest filled with
the wonders of the science of the West, some remedy for the poor
woman’s childless state.
My thoughts went straight back to my last days at Oxford. An old
college servant was an excellent fellow, but most inordinately shy.
He came to me one day as I was preparing for the journey home,
and with a tremendous summoning of his courage proffered a request.
“If you would allow me, sir,” he said, “to ask a favor? My
wife and I have no children. The doctor can’t help us; he has
nothing to suggest. Now, sir, back in that country of yours, I’ve
heard it said, they have wonderful talismans that will do all kinds
of things. I’m not one who has believed much in having to do with
magic, but this is a very special case. Do you think you might find
me a talisman and send it on? If it’s not asking too much, sir?”
[Illustration: DESERT SANDS COVERING DATE-TREES
In a few years if the wind continues in the same direction the
trees will be embedded forever in the sands]
In the face of his anxiety and the courageous breaking down
of the barriers of his shyness, I could only answer gravely but
sympathetically that I would do what I could. But the necessity did
not arise. He had died, remembered by Balliol men past and present,
before I came to Oxford again.
In the case of Sidi Hussein, however, I could not put the matter
off. The slave was waiting for an answer, and doubtless his master
was waiting for him. I thought quickly. I gave the slave half a
bottle of Horlick’s malted milk tablets, with solemn instructions
that three were to be taken by the lady each day until all were gone.
When the slave had left, I reflected on the amusing parallel between
the two cases. There in Oxford, the West, having exhausted all that
its science had to offer on behalf of the universal desire for
offspring, had tried to draw upon the spiritual resources of the
East. Here in Jaghbub, the East, finding all its spiritual appeals
of no avail, had turned to the science of the West for aid. East or
West, we alike believe in the miraculous power of the unknown.
But all this pleasant peaceful life and courteous hospitality did
not produce camels. I sent messengers out into the surrounding
country in quest of the beasts, making my offers of money for
their hire larger and larger as time went on, but I could get no
favorable responses. I invoked the aid of Sidi Hussein, but he
professed himself powerless. I sent a messenger back to Siwa with a
telegram to Sayed Idris in Egypt, informing him of my predicament
and asking his aid. As soon as could be expected, a reply came
directing Sidi Hussein to give me all the assistance in his power.
Still the _wakil_ seemed to be unable to help me.
At last, when things began to seem hopeless, a Zwaya caravan arrived
from Jalo on its way to Siwa for dates. I wanted those camels,
but of course their owners had no desire to turn back without the
dates they had come for. However, a way was found to persuade them,
for I communicated to them, through Sidi Hussein, the news that
an order had been issued by the Egyptian Government forbidding
Zwayas to enter Egyptian territory until they had composed their
differences with the Awlad Ali, who live in Egypt, and with whom
they had a feud. Since they could not go to Siwa, which is in Egypt,
without fear of punishment, there they were stranded at Jaghbub,
with nothing to do but go back the way they came. That was precisely
the way I wanted them to go. The combined effect of the order of
the Egyptian Government, of the message from Sayed Idris, of the
persuasions of Sidi Hussein, and of the promise of exorbitant prices
for hire of their camels, which they succeeded in dragging out of me
because of my necessity, finally made them agree to take me to Jalo.
The quiet days of contemplation under the shadows of the white
_kubba_ and the anxious days of striving for the means of continuing
my journey came at last to an end. On February 22, thirty-four days
after I had entered Jaghbub, I turned my face to the westward and
set out for Jalo.
CHAPTER IX
SAND-STORMS AND THE ROAD TO JALO
I left Jaghbub in accordance with the best tradition. It was a
day of sand-storm. The Bedouins say that to start a journey in a
sand-storm is good luck. I am not sure, though, that they are not
making a virtue of necessity. It is as though an Italian were to
say that it is good luck to set out when the sun is shining or a
Scotsman when it is raining! Sand-storms are a commonplace in the
desert, but as an experience there is nothing commonplace about them.
The day dawns with a clear sky and no hint of storm or wind. The
desert smiles upon our setting out, and the caravan moves forward
cheerfully. Before long a refreshing breeze comes up from nowhere and
goes whispering over the sands. Almost imperceptibly it strengthens,
but still there is nothing unpleasant in its blowing. Then one
looks down at one’s feet, and the surface of the desert is
curiously changed. It is as though the surface were underlaid with
steam-pipes with thousands of orifices through which tiny jets of
steam are puffing out. The sand leaps in little spurts and whirls.
Inch by inch the disturbance rises as the wind increases its force.
It seems as though the whole surface of the desert were rising in
obedience to some up-thrusting force beneath. Larger pebbles strike
against the shins, the knees, the thighs. The spray of dancing
sand-grains climbs the body till it strikes the face and goes
over the head. The sky is shut out; all but the nearest camels
fade from view; the universe is filled with hurtling, pelting,
stinging, biting legions of torment. Well for the traveler then if
the wind is blowing at his back! The torture of the driving sand
against his face is bitter. He can scarcely keep his eyes open,
and yet he dare not let them close, for one thing worse than the
stinging of the sand-grains is to lose one’s way.
[Illustration: THE ZIEGHEN WELL
The first well reached in nine days’ trekking from Jalo on the way
to Kufra. The well, which is a water-hole, is only marked by a dim
patch of sand, which the caravans scrape as they go along. Water
is found at four or five feet deep. The fact that this well is so
indistinctly marked makes it easy to miss it entirely unless the
guide is a very good one.]
[Illustration: A HALT IN THE DESERT
The caravan on its way to Kufra from Jalo. Note change from sandy
ground to grass.]
Fortunately the wind comes in driving gusts, spaced in groups of
three or four, with a few seconds of blessed lull after each group.
While the gusts are making their assault, one turns one’s face
away, pulls one side of one’s _kufia_ forward like a screen,
and almost holds one’s breath. When the lull comes, one puts the
_kufia_ back, takes a quick look about to see that one has kept
one’s bearings, then swiftly prepares for the next attack.
It is as though some great monster of fabled size and unearthly power
were puffing out these hurtling blasts of sand upon the traveler’s
head. The sound is that of a giant hand drawing rough fingers in
regular rhythm across tightly stretched silk.
When the sand-storm comes there is nothing to do but to push
doggedly on. Around any stationary object, whether it might be a
post, a camel, or a man, the eager sands swiftly gather, piling up
and up until there remains only a smoothly rounded heap. If it is
torture to go on, it is death itself to halt.
A sand-storm is likely to be at its worst for five or six hours.
While it persists, a caravan can only keep going, with careful
vigilance that the direction be not missed. When the storm is at its
fiercest, the camels will be scarcely moving, but their instinct
tells them that it is death to halt. How instinctively wise they
are is shown by the fact that when it begins to rain they sense no
such danger and will immediately stand still and even lie down.
The storm drives the sand into everything one possesses. It fills
clothes, food, baggage, instruments, everything. It searches out
every weak spot in one’s armor. One feels it, breathes it, eats
it, drinks it—and hates it. The finest particles even penetrate
the pores of the skin, setting up a distressing irritation.
There are certain rules about the behavior of sand-storms which
every Bedouin knows and is quite ready to tell the stranger to the
desert. The wind that makes the storm will rise with the day or go to
sleep with the sun. There will be no sand-storm at night when there
is a moon. A sand-storm never joins the afternoon and evening. These
are excellent rules; but on our trek to Jalo every one of them was
broken! We had storms when the moon was shining and storms when
the night was dark. We had storms that began before dawn and storms
that did not pause till long after the sun was set. We had storms
that not only joined afternoon and evening but wiped out the line
of demarcation between them. We had little storms and great storms,
the worst I had yet seen; storms that were short and storms that
were long; storms by day and storms by night. But even under this
interminable bombardment, I did not lose the spell of the desert’s
charm. Sometimes at evening, when we had been battling doggedly
against the flying squadrons of the sand for hours, the wind would
stop dead as if a master had put up a peremptory finger. Then for
an hour or so the fine dust would settle slowly down like a falling
mist. But afterward the moon would rise, and under the pale magic of
its flooding light the desert would put on a new personality. Had
there been a sand-storm? Who could remember? Could this peaceful
expanse of loveliness ever be cruel? Who could believe it?
The trek to Jalo was therefore not an easy one. The sand-storms
were a constant annoyance and sometimes a menace. The latter part
of the way led through a country of sand-dunes, and the caravan had
to go winding about among them. To keep one’s course straight to
the proper point of the compass in spite of those wrigglings and
twistings takes all one’s skill and attention at the best of times.
When a sand-storm is torturing and blinding the whole caravan, the
task becomes a staggering one. Nevertheless we pushed steadily on,
making on the whole good time of it.
In spite of the viciousness of the attacking sands there were hours
of pleasure on this trek.
Memorable were the genial evenings when we were all gathered around
the fire of _hatab_ for our after-dinner glasses of tea. Then stories
would begin to go around. Old Moghaib, with the firelight playing
on the gray hairs of his shaggy beard, would begin by telling bits
of Zwaya history when his grandfather used to go to Wadai to fight
the black tribes and bring back camels and slaves. Saleh would
follow with a tale of the great profits that his cousin had made on
his last trip to Wadai, when he did not have to fight anybody but
brought back leather, ostrich-feathers, and ivory to sell in Barka,
which is the Arabic name for Cyrenaica.
[Illustration: THE ARMED MEN OF THE CARAVAN
Hassanein Bey is mounted on his Arab horse, Baraka]
Then I would turn to Ali and demand a lovesong. He was a poet of
sorts and betrothed to Hussein’s sister. If the girl is anything
like her brother, the boy is not doing badly for himself. Ali
would look to his uncle for permission to comply with my request
and find the old man busy with his rosary and pretending to be
oblivious of the turn that matters had taken. It does not befit
the dignity of a gray-haired Bedouin to sit and hear love-songs
from the younger generation. But his respect for me keeps him from
leaving the gathering.
Finally he mutters in his beard, “Sing to the bey, since he likes
to hear our Bedouin songs.” Ali’s pleasant voice rises on the
evening air, and the beads of old Moghaib’s rosary fall through
his fingers with the deliberate regularity characteristic of a man
who is conscious of nothing but his devotions.
So Ali sings:
“I went singing
And all men turned to hear me.
It is Khadra
Who draws the song from my soul.
Red is her cheek like spilt blood;
Slim and round she is like a reed.
None so young, none so old
Not to know her.
If I meet her in the way,
I will flaunt her—
Like a scarf upon my spear.”
As his voice dies away, is it my imagination, or are the rosary
beads in Moghaib’s fingers moving a little faster? After a pause
Ali sings again:
“Thou slim narcissus of the gardener’s pride,
Thy mouth flows honey
Over teeth of ivory.
Thy waist is slender
Like the lion’s running in the chase.
Wilt thou have me?
Or thinkest thou of another?
Thy form is rounded like a whip—
To lie on thy breast
Were to be in Paradise.
Love cannot be hidden,
But Fate is in the hands of God.”
There is silence in the camp, except for the murmur of the dying
fire and the clicking of the rosary. But the rhythm of the beads is
significantly changed now. Toward the end of Ali’s song Moghaib’s
fingers had stopped dead for a moment and then hurried nervously
on as though to deny that they had halted. The old man had been a
great lover in his time, and the boy’s song had stirred his blood
with memories. Perhaps it was fortunate for others around that fire
that they had no clicking rosary-beads to betray them.
After Bu Salama Well, which is a day’s trek from Jaghbub, we were
going through a region where there were remains of a petrified
forest. At intervals we passed great blocks of stone erect like
guideposts along the way. Ages ago they had been living trees, but
now the forces of nature had transferred them from the vegetable
kingdom to the mineral. A few smaller bits of petrified wood were
scattered about, but most of those were hidden beneath the sand.
The larger tree sections had remained visible because the etiquette
of the desert demands that any one passing such a fallen landmark
shall set it erect again. It is also good form, on a newly traveled
track, to build little piles of stones at intervals as notice to
later comers that here lies the way. Sometimes one comes upon a tree
or a shrub on which hang shreds and patches of clothing, and there
one is under obligation to add a thread or a fragment from his own
outfit. These accumulating tokens confirm the tree as a landmark
to later comers and afford the encouragement of the thought that
others have been this way before. In the dead waste and monotony
of the desert any evidence of the passing of one’s fellow-man
is a cheering incident. The sight of camel-dung, of the bleached
bones of a camel, or even the skeleton of an unfortunate traveler
are welcome to the eye, for at least they show that a caravan had
passed that way.
Shortly after leaving Jaghbub we came upon a different kind
of landmark. It consisted of a row of small sand hillocks like
ant-hills stretching across the track. It is called Alam Bu Zafar,
the Bu Zafar landmark, and it is the sign and symbol of a pleasant
Bedouin custom. On any trek, the new-comers to that particular route
are expected to slaughter a sheep for those in the caravan who have
come that way before. The custom is called Bu Zafar. If the novices
do not awaken promptly to their responsibilities, the veterans
give them a hint. One or two of them dash ahead of the caravan and
build a row of sand-piles across the way. When the caravan reaches
the significant landmark, they call out suggestively, “Bu Zafar,
Bu Zafar.” Invariably the hint is taken, a sheep is slaughtered,
and the ceremonial feast is held.
In our caravan there were several who had not gone over this route
before, including myself. I bought a sheep before leaving Jaghbub
so that we who were new to this route might give Bu Zafar to the
old-timers, The Alam Bu Zafar that we came upon, therefore, was
not of our making, but left by some other caravan.
[Illustration: HAPPY TEBUS AT KUFRA]
[Illustration: A BIDIYAT FAMILY]
We were fortunate in finding grazing for our camels almost every day
until we reached Jalo. Sometimes, it is true, we had to go out of our
way to reach the patches of green among the sand-dunes, but we always
found them. Three kinds of vegetation grow sparsely and in infrequent
spots in this part of the desert. _Belbal_ is a grayish green bush,
whose foliage is not good eating for the camels. It grows only in the
vicinity of a well. Ordinarily the camels will not touch it, but if
very hungry they will. Then unceasing vigilance is necessary to save
oneself from the annoyance of having a sick camel on one’s hands.
_Damran_ is a similar bush, but with darker foliage and with brown
stems which make good fuel when dried. This is excellent food for the
camels, and they eat it eagerly. The third variety of vegetation is
_nisha_, which grows in tufts of thin leaves up to a foot high. This
too makes good grazing. It is only in the winter months, however,
when the scanty rains come, that these plants are available. No
Bedouin would think of making a journey between Jalo and Jaghbub
in summer without carrying a supply of fodder for his camels.
On the tenth day from Jaghbub we reached the well of Hesaila,
the first water after Bu Salama. It was marked by a few trees and
small green bushes, and after we had scooped out the drifted sand
with our hands, the water seemed good. But the after-effects were
not so pleasant.
Two days later we found ourselves on the outskirts of the Oasis
of Jalo. Before we could enter, a messenger came rushing to meet
us. He carried a letter from Sidi Mohammed El Zerwali, the _ikhwan_,
who had been directed by Sayed Idris to accompany us to Kufra,
asking me to camp outside until they could prepare to receive us
properly. Sayed Idris, before he had left Jalo two months before,
had told them that I was on the way and directed that I should be
shown all possible courtesy. They had expected us long before this,
and when we did not come they decided that I had changed my plans.
We withdrew a short distance from the town and camped. A few hours
later an impressive group of a score or more of Bedouins came out
and drew themselves up in a long line before the village of Lobba,
one of the two villages that make up Jalo. Dressed in our cleanest
and most ceremonial clothes, and my men provided with ammunition for
the complimentary salute, we went forward. I approached and shook
hands with Sidi Senussi Gader Bouh, the _kaimakam_ or governor
of the district, the members of the Council of Jalo, and other
prominent citizens. The _kaimakam_ made a speech of welcome, to
which I replied. My men fired their guns in salute, and we passed
into the town.
I went to the house which was put at my disposal, and received a
visit of ceremony from the Council of Jalo and from Sidi El Fadeel,
the uncle of Sayed Idris. After dinner with Senussi Gader Bouh, I
spent the evening in discussing plans for the trip with Sidi Zerwali.
CHAPTER X
AT THE OASIS OF JALO
Jalo is one of the most important oases in Cyrenaica. It lies about
240 kilometers from the Mediterranean at its nearest point, beyond
Jedabia, and about 600 kilometers from Kufra, which is directly
south. The oasis is not only the largest producer of dates in all
the province, but it is the trade outlet for the products of Wadai
and Darfur which come through Kufra. Everything from the outside
world that goes to Kufra passes through Jalo.
“The desert is a sea,” said El Bishari, a prominent chieftain of
the Majabra tribe, “and Jalo is its port.” It was at the height
of its importance something like thirty years ago when El Mahdi
maintained the Senussi capital at Kufra. In those days caravans
of two or three hundred camels came and went between Jalo and the
south each week, but when I was there the traffic had shrunk to
less than a tenth of that. In summer, however, it is swollen by
the demands of the date harvest.
[Illustration: HAWARIA, A LANDMARK OF KUFRA
It can be seen for hours before arriving at Kufra, and once it is
sighted the caravan is safe]
There are two villages at Jalo, over a mile apart, Erg and
Lobba. Between and around them are scattered the date-palms in
picturesque profusion to the number of nearly a hundred thousand.
Twelve miles to the west lies Aujila, which is the ancient oasis
mentioned by Herodotus as famous for its dates. In Aujila is the
tomb of Abdullahi El Sahabi, who is reputed to have been a clerk of
the Prophet Mohammed. Whether such is actually the case is somewhat
problematical; but at least the prophet did have a clerk named
Abdullahi El Sahabi, that Abdullahi did come to North Africa, and
the tomb of a man of that name is found at Aujila. Many a tradition
has been based on flimsier evidence. The story is told that the
Grand Senussi found the body of Sahabi buried in a remote spot,
and forthwith saw in a vision the spirit which had once inhabited
the body.
“Dig up my body,” said the ghostly visitor, “put it on a
camel, and go forth. Where the camel halts, there you shall build
my tomb.”
The Grand Senussi obeyed the injunction and journeyed till he
came to Aujila. There the camel stopped dead and refused to go on,
and on the spot the tomb was built.
The founder of the Senussi sect and all the members of the Senussi
family and even their prominent _ikhwan_ are believed to possess
occult powers and second sight. Sayed El Mahdi is credited with
having particularly strong occult powers which the Bedouins call
miracles. One of the _ikhwan_ at Jaghbub told me the following story
about Sayed El Mahdi. An ignorant Bedouin came to him intending to
study under him at Jaghbub. Suddenly the man realized that it was the
sowing season and that he had nobody to look after the sowing of his
land. So he thought it best to go away till after the crop season
and then return to his studies. He went to say good-by to Sayed El
Mahdi. He entered the room, sat down, and, as is the custom, waited
until he was spoken to. Sayed El Mahdi appeared to ignore him for
a few minutes. The man felt sleepy and just dozed off for a minute
or two, awaking to Sayed El Mahdi’s gentle voice saying, “Now
you feel at rest, and you know that matters have been arranged for
you.” In that short time the man had seen in a dream his brother
plowing his land and sowing the barley crop. “Now you shall be
our guest,” continued the Sayed, “and study and pray that God
may guide you to the right path. All will be provided for, as you
have seen, and you will have no reason to worry. God is merciful,
and He looks after us all.” The man remained at Jaghbub and
afterward went home just in time for the harvest. On his return
to Jaghbub he told one of the _ikhwan_ that not only had his crop
been sown as he saw in the dream, but the place seen and the time
of the dream were exactly corroborated by the facts.
Another incident was told me by the _kaimakam_ of Jalo. He was
traveling with a party from Benghazi to Jaghbub to visit Sayed El
Mahdi. They missed a well and were in dire straits. At night a man,
the least enthusiastic of the pilgrims, turned to him and said,
“Now that you have brought us to visit that wonderful man Sayed El
Mahdi, will you ask him to send us some water, if he be as saintly
as you say he is?” That same night at Jaghbub, Sayed El Mahdi,
so the story goes, ordered two of his slaves to take five camels
loaded with water and food, and going out into the open he indicated
the direction they should take, adding that until they met a caravan
they must not stop by the way. In due course they came across the
caravan in distress and rescued it.
There are some of the old _ikhwan_ still living whom even members
of the Senussi family themselves avoid displeasing because they
fear their occult powers. One of these who lives at Kufra was the
_ikhwan_ of a _zawia_ in Cyrenaica. A Bedouin once brought some sheep
to water at the well, and some of them strayed into the patch of
ground attached to the _zawia_ and ate the young barley. The _ikhwan_
warned the Bedouin to stop his sheep from doing this, and the man
pretended to pay attention but was really determined that not only
these sheep but the whole flock should go in and help themselves to
the crop. And when the _ikhwan_ came out again it was to see all the
flock feeding on his barley. “May God curse them,” he cried,
“the sheep that eat the crop of the _zawia_.” The story goes
that not a single sheep emerged alive from the _zawia_ garden.
Until this day the Bedouins fear the Senussi family not so much
because of any temporal power but on account of the spiritual
powers with which they credit them. A Bedouin cursed by one of
the Senussi family lives the whole time in fear of something awful
about to happen to him. His friends, even his own people, try to
avoid his presence lest the curse upon him should account for a
harm to them also.
There is the famous case of the chief clerk of Sayed El Mahdi who
lies in Kufra now half paralyzed. I went to see him. He was quite
happy and very content in spite of the fact that he could not move
his body. On my second visit he was getting confidential and—half
believing, half disbelieving—asked if I had any medicine for
his malady. I hesitated, for I did not want the man to lose hope
entirely. He saw this and, without even giving me the chance of
answering him, said: “No, it is decreed that it should be thus.
It was my fault. Sayed El Mahdi wanted me to journey north. I could
not disobey him, but I tried to avoid the journey. I went as far as
Hawari and there wrote to him pretending to be ill. The answer came
by a messenger that if I were ill I should certainly be relieved of
the journey. The next day I was struck with paralysis and brought
back to Kufra and have been here ever since. That was twenty-five
years ago.”
[Illustration: CAMELS CROSSING THE SAND-DUNES]
The _kaimakam_ at Jalo told me a story when we were discussing
miracles. He said that on one occasion there was a very severe
sand-storm which nearly covered the whole of the tomb at Aujila. So
they brought the slaves to dig it out again. As it was being dug
out the _kaimakam_ came into the chamber which contained the shrine
and noticed a very strong smell of incense. He called one of the
slaves and asked whether he had burned any incense. The man denied
it, yet till now, upon occasion, a visitor to the tomb will smell
this incense, though it is known that none has been burned.
Jalo is the headquarters of the Majabra tribe of Bedouins,
the merchant princes of the Libyan Desert. A few Zwayas are also
found there, but the Majabras make up the great majority of the two
thousand inhabitants of the two villages. The Majabras have wonderful
business instinct. The Majbari boasts of his father having died in
the _basur_—the camel-saddle—as the son of a soldier might boast
that his father died on the field of battle. When I was in Jalo,
the Italian authorities, who were then on unfriendly terms with
Sayed Idris, had prohibited the sending of goods from Benghazi
and the other ports of Cyrenaica into the interior. Consequently
prices of commodities at such inland places as Jedabia went up with
a leap. Majabra merchants, arriving at Jalo with caravans of goods
from Egypt, heard of this abnormal situation in the north. Without
a moment’s hesitation they changed their plans, trekked north
instead of south, and sold their goods to splendid advantage in
Jedabia. Then back they dashed—if the camel’s pace of less
than three miles an hour can be so described—to Egypt or the
south for another caravan-load. Arrived again at Jalo with their
merchandise, they inquired carefully as to comparative conditions in
the markets of Jedabia and Kufra and directed their further journey
accordingly. Considering the remoteness of the desert places—Jalo
five days from Jedabia, Kufra from twelve to eighteen days from
Jalo—and the snail-like speed of a caravan, news travels across
the desert with surprising swiftness. At least it seems so. I
suppose the true explanation is that all things are relative,
and while news moves at the camel’s pace, so does everything else.
While the Majabras are the great traders of the Libyan Desert, the
Zwayas have also their claims to prominence. The rivalry between
the two tribes is always present under the surface, and occasionally
it flashes forth into the light.
There is some envy of the Zwayas by all the other tribes of
Cyrenaica because the man second in importance to Sayed Idris
among the Senussis is Ali Pasha El Abdia, who is a Zwayi. Abdia
is a splendid soldier, a powerful support to Sayed Idris and a man
much trusted by the Senussi leader.
One evening after dinner at Jalo some expression of this rivalry
was given by Sidi Saleh, who belonged to no tribe in Cyrenaica
and was in fact a _sherif_ or descendant of the Prophet, in an
argument with Moghaib and Zerwali, who were both Zwayas. Moghaib
launched into a little history of the achievements of the Zwayas.
Sidi Saleh listened to the Zwayi’s eulogy of his tribe, shook
his head, and remarked, “Their history may be as glorious as Sidi
Moghaib tells you, but they do not fear God.”
At this Moghaib burst forth: “By God, Sidi Saleh, they may not
fear God, but neither do they fear man. Woe to him who dares molest
their caravan or attack their camp.”
Then he came quickly over to me and continued, “We have the
blessing of El Mahdi upon us, for it was to our headquarters in
Kufra that Sidi El Mahdi came and from which he disappeared.”
The Senussis will never say that El Mahdi died, but always that he
“disappeared” or some equivalent expression. In fact there is a
legend among them that he is not dead but wandering over the earth
until such time as he shall come again to his desert people. To the
Zwayas El Mahdi is the most beloved of the Senussi leaders because
it was he who moved the center of activity of the brotherhood to
Kufra, their headquarters. The _kubba_ of the mosque that he built
is the glory of Kufra.
In my own experience the Zwayas at times showed hostility and made
it clear that, although I was a Moslem, the son of a religious man,
and a confidant of Sayed Idris, they did not want me in Kufra.
Some of them even expressed the hope that they would have seen
the last of me when I left Kufra. In spite of this scarcely veiled
antagonism to me, however, I never expect to find better men for
a desert journey than the Zwayas who formed part of my caravan.
Zerwali in particular, a typical Zwayi Bedouin, was the best of
companions and the most reliable of associates.
[Illustration: SAYED MOHAMMED EL ABID
Ruler of Kufra and cousin of the head of the Senussi sect]
[Illustration: THE HOUSE OF SAYED EL ABID
Sheepskins of water are seen hanging from their tripods to cool
in the shade, and beneath them are shallow copper pans. In the
foreground is a tea-pot.]
The Bedouin of Cyrenaica has in him the blood of the Arabs who passed
through the north of Africa on their way to Spain. Although he has
mixed with other native tribes of North Africa, he still preserves
the old Arab tradition. In the case of murder, among the Senussis,
the Bedouins have their own law. As a rule the Senussi _ikhwan_
intervenes as a peaceful intermediary. He takes the murderer and
an old member of his tribe and goes to the murdered man’s camp,
pitching camp near-by. The _ikhwan_ then approaches the family of
the murdered man, saying, “He who murdered your man is here”;
and, taking him by the hand, he adds: “This is he who murdered
your son. I hand him over to you that you may do as you will with
him.” Usually the answer is, “May God forgive him, and may
God’s justice and mercy fall upon him.” Thereupon the _ikhwan_
starts arranging for the blood-money, which is generally three
thousand dollars and a slave, the market value of the latter being
known. The injured party may choose between accepting the money or
having its equivalent in camels, sheep, or other commodities. The
money may be paid in instalments extending over from one to three
years, and the arrangement is generally carried through. In very
rare cases or a deep-rooted feud the family of the deceased refuse
to accept blood-money, which means that they intend to kill the
murderer himself, or else one of his relations or a leading member
of his tribe.
Bedouin boys and girls mix freely; it is only in the higher families
that the women are kept in seclusion. As a rule a boy knows his
sweetheart, and he goes to her camp and sings to her, generally in
verse of his own making. If she likes him, she comes out and answers
his song, not rarely in words of her own composition also. The boy
then goes and asks for the girl from her people, paying a dowry if an
agreement is reached. Then with ceremonial he goes with his friends
and takes the girl home to his camp amid displays of horsemanship
and much firing of guns. Cases have been known of elopements, which
usually end in feuds between tribes, for the Bedouins look upon
the man as having stolen the girl from them. There is a marriage
contract, in many cases drawn up by the _ikhwan_, and the marriage
takes place according to the Moslem religion. Marriages take place
at a very early age, according to the development of the girl, who
may be thirteen or fourteen, while the boy is between seventeen
and twenty. Bedouins who can afford it marry more than one wife,
but in that case the first wife remains the mistress of the house
and takes precedence even over the favorite wife in anything that
has to do with household management.
I have heard of many cases of lads going off their heads through
falling in love with a girl they could not marry. A Bedouin boy once
came to me to ask for medicine. He looked very frail. He was slim,
with a rather refined face, and spoke very little. “I have come
to ask you for medicine to give me health,” he said. He shook his
head when I asked what was his ailment and answered, “God knows
best.” There was something queer about the boy, something that
puzzled me, but as usual in these cases a few malted milk tablets
were wrapped up carefully in paper and given to him with strict
orders not to take more than three each day. When the boy had gone,
an elderly man came to my tent. He squatted on the floor. “May
God give you health and make your hand give recovery. My son came
to you just now, and you gave him medicine. I have come to explain
his ailment. He is always weak and afflicted by headaches. When
night falls he shuns everybody and seeks solitude; often he goes
out to spend the night in the open.”
I told the old man that the medicine I had given the boy was the
only one I had that might give some relief. “Recovery comes from
God,” replied the man in a sad voice. “We know his remedy,
but it is decreed that he should not have it. The boy is in love
with a girl whose parents refused to give her to him in marriage.”
“Why don’t you make an effort, if you know this is the reason
of your son’s illness, and try to get the girl in marriage for
your son?”
“It is too late, now,” replied the father. “She is already
married. But God knows best. . . . She may be many days’ journey
away from here, but she is suffering from the same ailment.” With
that he rose and left my tent, a resigned, pathetic figure.
At Jalo, as at Jaghbub, there were no camels waiting for me when
I arrived. But the reason was not the same, nor the uncertainty so
disturbing. The hire of the necessary camels had been arranged for,
and Omar Bu Helega, their owner, was ready to start just as soon as
the beasts returned from grazing. No good Bedouin starts out on a
long trek until his camels have been fattened and especially have
had their fill of green fodder. A long stretch like that to Kufra,
with no grazing on the way, means feeding the camels on dried
dates exclusively. Dates, say the camelmen, are hot on the liver.
Therefore, they prepare their animals for the ordeal by a course
of green feeding before they start.
Bu Helega’s camels had been taken to near-by grazing grounds for
this course of preparation, and on the appointed day for their
return they did not appear. The next day I wondered about them,
the second day I was concerned, and the day after worried, lest,
when taken from grazing, the beasts might have run away. However,
they had not done so. They put in their appearance on the fourth day,
and when they came they were in excellent condition.
[Illustration: TEBU GIRL WEARING BEDOUIN CLOTHES]
[Illustration: A TEBU WITH HIS CAMEL]
I hired thirty-five camels, paying a high price for them. I could
have bought the beasts outright for from twelve to eighteen pounds,
while Bu Helega demanded thirteen and a half pounds for their hire
for the two or three months’ journey to Abeshe in Wadai. But it
was better so. If I had owned the camels myself the responsibility
for their welfare would have been all mine. It would have been
my men who had them in charge, with no motive beyond the general
one of loyalty to the leader and the job for carrying the camels
through in good condition. But when Bu Helega’s men went along
with his own animals they were sure to have the best of care.
During the trek to Kufra he kept his eye expertly on each one of
them. If a camel weakened or seemed ill, he shifted loads to meet
the emergency. He did everything to keep them fit to the journey’s
end, and his care of them was worth to me all that it cost.
In addition to camels I needed more men. The four who had been
hired in Cairo, Sollum, and Siwa were still with me: Abdullahi,
Ahmed, Hamad, and Ismail. I now added five more: Zerwali; Senussi
Bu Hassan, the guide; Sad, who came from Aujila; Hamid; and Faraj,
a slave. Bu Helega had with him his son and two camelmen. The list
was supplemented at the last by five Tebus, nomadic blacks from
Tibesti, a region northwest of Wadai. Abdullahi and Zerwali were
the two headmen of the caravan. The former was in command of the
luggage and the commissariat, while Zerwali was in charge of the
camels and the men. They were the best companions that any man
could have on a desert trek.
We needed clothing, certain articles of food, and shoes, especially
the last. The heelless Bedouin slipper is the only possible wear for
the desert, but it will wear out, and it often has to be repaired
on the way. It was necessary to be sure that each of us had not
only shoes but the leather that we should need for patching them
until we reached Kufra.
At Jalo I found a famous shoemaker, Hemaida, whom I had met at
Kufra two years before. I had with me the very shoes that he had
made for me then, with soles badly in need of patching. Great was
his delight when I took them to him for his ministrations. He was
a venerable-looking personage, whom it would have been easy to take
for a judge or a member of the council at least. He came to my house
day after day to work on the five pairs of shoes he made for me, on
the making of shoes for my men, and on the repairing of our saddles
and other leather accoutrement. It was a pleasure to give him a
meal and then to invite him to a friendly glass of tea. One day he
was coughing as the tea was brought, and I expressed sympathy for
his ailment. He looked at me across his glass of tea and answered
in his quiet voice: “But your tea always stops my cough, Sidi
El Bey. Not other tea, but yours always does.” I did not ignore
the hint so gracefully given. Hemaida received his little packet
of the miraculous tea as a present before we left Jalo.
Besides my shoes and the leather, I bought cloth for clothing for my
men, butter, oil, barley, fire-wood, and eight _girbas_. Ali Kaja,
who was the favorite slave of Sayed Idris and had been made by him
his trusted personal _wakil_ in Jalo, told me that his master had
directed him to put all his store of supplies of every kind at my
disposal. I thanked him but did not avail myself of the offer. I
had just come from Egypt, well equipped, and I knew how much these
stores meant to those who lived in this isolated spot.
Besides the making of preparations, my ten days in Jalo were spent
in receiving and giving entertainment and in scientific work.
The entertainment was up to the best Bedouin standards. The first
day I dined with Senussi Gader Bouh, the _kaimakam_ or governor of
Jalo. The second day I lunched at the house of El Bishari, the most
important of the Majabra merchant chiefs, waited on by my host and
his sons. The third day luncheon was sent to me by the members of
the council, and I was joined in the repast by Zerwali, the _kadi_
or judge, Ali Kaja, and Moghaib. After the meal I had a talk with
the _kadi_ on Senussi history and was shown letters from the Grand
Senussi and from El Mahdi, his son. Dinner that day came from Haj
Farahat, another Majbari merchant, with the _kaimakam_, Zerwali, Ali
Kaja, Moghaib, and Abdullahi as sharers of the feast. We discussed
the custom of Bu Zafar, which all agreed must not be a meal but
the slaughtering and eating of a sheep.
On the fourth day I lunched at the house of Haj Ali Bilal, a
Majbari. My diary records the fact that there was the “usual
crowd” and a “very good lunch.” Dinner was sent to me by
Haj Seid, also one of the Majabra merchants, and the _kaimakam_,
Zerwali, and the _kadi_ joined me in it. On the next day I lunched
at the house of Haj Ghraibil, and that evening my most interesting
experience in the way of hospitality took place. There were living
at Jalo several ladies of the Senussi family, including the wife of
Sayed Idris and his sister. Shortly after my arrival at Jalo they
sent me an invitation to dinner. This was an unusual occurrence,
for Bedouin women of high class do not offer entertainment to men
as women of the western world may do with perfect propriety. I
realized, of course, that I would not actually dine with my
hostesses in person, but I was appreciative of the unprecedented
honor nevertheless.
[Illustration: SLAVE AT KUFRA]
[Illustration: TEBU GIRL CARRYING BURDEN ON HER HEAD]
At the appointed hour Zerwali and the _kaimakam_ came to escort
me to dinner. The house which the ladies occupied was the former
government house of the days of Turkish rule. We were ushered
into a spacious room where the soft light from a magnificent brass
lantern and innumerable candles served to deepen the mellow tones
and the rich combinations of color of priceless rugs and silken
cushions. Sidi Saleh, who was the husband of one of the Senussi
ladies, acted as host on their behalf. Under his hospitable
direction, a splendid banquet was served to us by half a dozen
slaves. When we had eaten all that was demanded by courtesy, and,
I am afraid, much more than was required by nature, the banquet was
completed with the washing of our hands in basins brought by the
slaves, the ceremonial three glasses of tea, the sprinkling over
us of rose-water, and the burning of incense before us. Then the
chief slave came and deferentially whispered in my ear. Would the
bey care to hear some music? There was a gramophone, with records
made by the famous singers of Egypt. The bey had only to command.
Perhaps to the disappointment of my companions—I do not know—but
quite to my own satisfaction, I courteously declined the offered
entertainment. There was something rare and precious in the perfumed
atmosphere of that softly lighted room which the coming of voices
from beyond the desert would have profaned. Partly the beauty of
the place, the remoteness from the world, but especially the sense
that I was the guest of noble Bedouin women, who were hidden from
me by the customs of our eastern lands, but were in a real sense
present through their gracious hospitality and kindly thoughtfulness,
made of that evening a unique memory. I told the slave to convey
my respectful salaams to the ladies and to tell them how much I
had been touched by their courtesy. Then I went out into the clear
desert night with the soft breeze stirring little breaths of incense
from the folds of my _jerd_ to remind me vividly of the peace and
mystic calm of the room from which I had come.
The next day I returned the hospitality of those who had entertained
me so generously. My room, with its dry mud floor, and travel-stained
luggage ranged about the walls, could not bear comparison with the
charming apartment in which I had dined the night before. But Ali
Kaja took it upon himself to see that we were made as presentable as
circumstances would permit. With a pair of beautiful brass lanterns
and a few rugs borrowed from Sayed Idris’s house and some other
accessories, he created a very decent imitation of a banquet-hall. My
guests included the _kaimakam_; the members of the council; the
two _ikhwan_; the judge; Ali Kaja; Musa, the captain of the Senussi
artillery; and Zerwali. Dressed in my best Bedouin robes I waited on
them as a Bedouin host should, and when some of them, who had been
out into the world, asked me to sit with them and eat, I assured
them that I would—when they were my guests in Cairo. Ahmed,
my cook, had laid himself out to provide several distinctively
European dishes to give a note of novelty to our entertaining,
and the delight of my guests was great at his achievements.
My banquet ended the round of entertaining, and for a day or two
I was permitted to lunch and dine in peaceful solitude. It was a
relief, grateful though I had been to my generous hosts for their
hospitality.
An important part of my activities at Jalo was the making of
scientific observations. I observed the sun and the stars to
determine the latitude and longitude and took regular readings of
the aneroid barometer and thermometer for the determination of
the altitude. My observations on the latter point, when finally
worked out in relation to barometric records made on the same days
at Siwa, disclosed the interesting fact that the level of Jalo
is sixty meters higher to-day than it was when Rohlfs ascertained
it in 1879. He found Jalo almost exactly at sea-level; I found it
sixty meters higher. I saw the explanation of it going on before
my eyes. The drifting sands were climbing slowly up the trunks of
the palm-trees and against the walls of the houses, threatening to
engulf them. Some of the inhabitants had already moved their houses
and rebuilt them on higher levels. It is the steadily accumulating
sand, driven by sand-storms and gathering wherever trees and houses
stop its progress, that has raised Jalo nearly two hundred feet
above sea-level in forty-four years. The house I was living in,
and at which the barometric readings were recorded, was from fifteen
to twenty meters higher than the rest of the houses at Jalo.
In the taking of my observations I had to be cautious, for the
Bedouins are suspicious of anything so elaborately scientific looking
as a theodolite. They were sure to say that I was making a map with a
view to coming back and conquering their land. The first time that a
Bedouin chief and the man who was to guide us to Kufra caught me at
my theodolite I had to explain hastily and persuasively that I was
getting data for the making of a calendar for the month of Ramadan.
[Illustration: KUFRA
The native dwellings and date-palms are in the foreground with lake
in the background]
Abdullahi, who was of course not a Bedouin, was invaluable to me in
the camouflaging of my scientific activities. In fact he was rather
a specialist in the manufacture of those little inaccuracies that
smooth the path of life and preserve the social amenities. One day
we were using the theodolite some distance from the town. A native
demanded what we were doing, and Abdullahi said we were taking a
picture of Jalo.
“How can that be, at such a distance?” demanded the Bedouin.
Abdullahi had his explanation ready.
“The machine attracts the picture, so that it comes right out
and flies into it,” he asserted glibly.
“But how can a box attract a picture?” demanded the incredulous
Bedouin.
Abdullahi struck an attitude. “Ask the magnet how it attracts
the iron,” he commanded rhetorically, and the debate was closed.
CHAPTER XI
ON THE TREK
On Thursday, March 15, we were ready to trek. I got up at six to
pack and get my baggage ready. As is usual on the first day of a
journey, when the caravan is not yet shaken down and accustomed to
the routine, it took us three hours to load. We were to follow the
Bedouin custom of _tag-heez_, which means going to a near-by well
before beginning a journey and spending several days, sometimes
a week, in final preparations away from the distractions of town
life. Buttafal Well, thirty kilometers from Jalo, was the point
where we were to make our _tag-heez_, or preparation.
When the packing was well under way, the _kaimakam_, notables, and
_ikhwan_ came to give us the ceremonial _mowad-a_ or farewell. We
squatted down together and discussed the prospects for the journey. I
had made this same trip to Kufra two years before under somewhat more
favorable conditions and nevertheless we had lost our way before
getting to Kufra. It had been cooler then, two months earlier in
the year; the winds and sand-storms had not been so incessant;
and the caravan had been smaller.
The problem of providing camels, their fodder, men, and food and
equipment for the men did not arise then, as the whole caravan was
produced complete and provided for by the generosity of Sayed Idris,
a fact which had a considerable effect in lulling the suspicions
of the Bedouins and subduing their hostility to strangers. On this
occasion, I had to arrange for the camels and personnel, and so big
a caravan journeying with the quantity of unusual luggage necessary
for a long journey naturally aroused curiosity.
On these long waterless treks Nature is often the only enemy;
and she can be one if she chooses. The men of my caravan worked
well together. The four whom I had brought from Cairo, Sollum,
and Siwa got on excellently with all the people we met. Zerwali,
the Senussi _ikhwan_ delegated by Sayed Idris to accompany us, was
kindness itself and did everything in his power to make the journey
as comfortable as possible. I felt no real concern over the outcome,
no matter what Nature might choose to do.
When the camels were all loaded, we went through the dignified
ceremony of the farewell. We took our stand in two half-circles
facing each other, the men of my caravan and myself in one and the
chiefs of Jalo and the _ikhwan_ in the other. Solemnly and reverently
we raised our hands, palm upward, for prayers that the journey would
be a blessed one, that God would guide us and return us safe to our
homes. We read the “Fat-ha,” the first chapter of the Koran, the
oldest of the _ikhwan_ saying the “amen.” Then we shook hands
and parted. The shouts of the men urging on the camels were echoed
by “lu lias” from women of the village, and we were on our way.
As we passed El Lebba, the second village of Jalo, a pleasant
incident occurred to send us cheerfully on our way. The solitary
graceful figure of a girl appeared beside our path, her face hidden
from us by the Bedouin veil. With one voice the men nearest her
called out the traditional greeting:
“Wajhik! Wajhik! Your face! Your face!”
The girl turned and demurely drew aside her veil to disclose the
finely chiseled features, the clear olive skin, and the shy yet
dignified expression of a Bedouin maiden. The men shouted with
delight at her beauty and her courtesy. To complete the tradition
I ordered them to “empty gunpowder” at her feet. Hamad and Sad
performed the graceful ceremony, first one and then the other. The
man danced lightly toward her as if to the imaginary rhythm of
a Bedouin drum, his rifle held in both hands over his head, the
muzzle pointing forward, shouting a desert love-song as he went.
Just in front of her he dropped lightly on one knee, brought his
gun to the vertical position butt upward, and fired, a hair’s
breadth from her feet.
[Illustration: THE OASIS OF HAWARI
The explorer’s camp on the most northerly oasis of Kufra]
So close was the shot and so accurate his aim that the girl’s
slippers were singed by the powder-flash. She did not flinch at
the explosion but stood gracefully erect in her pride at the honor
done her. Singed slippers are a mark of distinction in the desert
that any Bedouin girl cherishes.
When Sad had followed Hamad’s example, another shout rose from
the men of the caravan, and we moved on.
The girl smiled after us, as flattered by the homage that had been
paid her as we were by the good omen of a pretty face crossing our
path at the outset of our journey. Within an hour we were in the
open desert again.
Eight hours’ trekking brought us to Buttafal Well, where we were
to stop a day. We took matters easily that first night, with singing
and conversation about the camp-fire till after midnight.
When the camp had settled down for the night, I took my pipe and
went for a stroll. This was always one of the pleasures of my life
in the desert—that last pipe of peace before turning in—and of
peace it always was. If the day had been good, there was contentment;
if bad, there was hope for the next day and faith that all would be
well. During the whole journey, I never went to sleep with anything
really worrying me; worrying, that is, my mind itself, no matter
how I might have been tried by occurrences or by conditions.
The next day was spent in final preparations. Bu Helega, the
owner of the camels, arrived with his own little caravan of three
camels. During the day another man had come from Jalo to catch up
with us. We had been in need of rope and twine, but the price asked
by the dealers had been too high. So Abdullahi chattered with them
and left the actual closing of the bargain to the last minute. Then
he had arranged with a man named Senussi Bu Jabir to bring the rope
after us to Buttafal.
When this man arrived, he came to my tent to tell me that his
brother was in Wadai and to ask me to take him with us. He would
work to pay for his passage. I looked him over and quickly decided
that he would do. I discovered particularly that he had a sense
of humor, almost if not quite the most valuable asset in desert
travel. Ability may fail, but a keen sense of humor enables one to
get the last ounce out of a man in possession of it. I was ready
to take him, but it did not seem possible.
“We are leaving at once,” I said. “There is no time for you
to make the day’s journey to Jalo and back for your luggage.”
“I have it,” he said.
“Where is it?” I demanded, looking about in bewilderment.
“Here,” he answered, pointing to the shirt he wore and the
stick he carried.
I burst into a hearty laugh at the idea of such an outfit for a
hard desert trek, and he joined me cheerfully. I assured him that
he might go and never regretted my decision. He proved to be one
of the best men I had.
The next morning we watered the camels, a process which must not be
hurried. Nothing is more important in trekking than the condition
of your camels. Not only must they be fat and well nourished at the
start, but they must be allowed to drink their fill with deliberation
and permitted to rest after the drinking.
When the camels were ready they were loaded with the greatest care,
for good packing and loading at the beginning mean time and trouble
saved all through the journey. The rapidity with which the loading
and unloading can be accomplished day after day sometimes means a
gain of a day or two in time before the trip is over.
At 2:30 we were ready to start. As the camels moved slowly off,
the sonorous voice of Bu Helega rose in the _azan_, the calling to
prayers, according to the Bedouin custom at the beginning of a long
trek. It is the Bedouin tradition that those who begin the journey
with the _azan_ will end it with the _azan_; they will, that is,
meet with no disaster by the way.
Our caravan had gradually become enlarged until it consisted
of thirty-nine camels, twenty-one men, a horse, and a dog. Our
personnel was as follows: myself and my four men, Abdullahi, Ahmed,
Hamad, and Ismail; Zerwali; Bu Helega, the owner of the camels
with his son, his nephew, and his slave. There was also Dawood,
Zerwali’s uncle, who was going with a single camel to Taiserbo
to bring back his wife and daughter; Senussi Bu Hassan, our guide;
Senussi Bu Jabir, the boy with the shirt and staff; Hamad Zwayi,
another boy who was a pleasant singer; Sad, the Aujili; Faraj,
the slave; two Tebus, with their three camels. In addition there
were three other Tebus with three camels loaded with merchandise
which they were taking to deliver to merchants in Kufra.
We set our faces southward and journeyed toward Kufra. It was
hot and windy, and the desert lay about us like an interminable
pancake. The ground was _serira_, which is flat hard sand, with a
little gravel scattered over it. Our first objective was the Zieghen
Well, which we ought to make in eight or nine days. In the old
days, before the times of the Senussis, it had been the custom to
make the trek from Jalo to Zieghen in three days and five nights,
marching continuously without a stop for food or rest. But the
Senussis changed all that. They inaugurated the custom of taking
enough water and food to permit the journey to be made in twice
the time, with adequate rest for camels and men each day.
[Illustration: SOUTH OF KUFRA
The caravan on the hitherto unexplored desert. The route from this
point to Erdi, by way of Arkenu and Ouenat, had never before been
traversed by any one from the outside world.]
At first our camels moved reluctantly, for they had just left good
grazing and would much rather have gone back to it. Bu Helega tried
his best to persuade the trading Tebus to lead the caravan with their
camels, but they cleverly refused. The place of honor at the head of
the line is an arduous one. Camels are quite ready to follow others
ahead of them but dislike to go forward independently. So the first
camel in the caravan has to be driven and often beaten with a stick
to keep him going. The Tebus preferred to bring up the trail of the
procession, where their camels needed no urging. Bu Helega got even
with them later, however, because of their choice of position.
It was hot and windy all the afternoon, but in the evening the
wind dropped to a gentle breeze, and the desert put forth its
full charm. I find recorded in my diary some of the thoughts and
feelings on getting back into this old familiar desert, where I
was approaching the point at which we lost our way two years before.
The same old flat desert and feelings of old memories.
How one forgives the Desert her scorching sun and her torturing wind
for the calm of the evening, the sunset, the moon rising, and then
that gentle and serene breeze! How easily one forgets the presence
of her dangers! It is the full appreciation of simple pleasures
that endears the Desert to one, in spite of all her harshnesses
and crudities:
A glass of tea;
A cigarette;
A pipe when all the caravan is asleep and the fragrance of the
tobacco is wafted by the gently stirring air;
A glimpse of the playing of the firelight on the faces of the men
of the caravan, some old and rugged, some smooth and youthful;
To see men toil, succeed and fail, and suffer in another sphere
of life;
Above all, to be near to God and to feel His Presence.
On the eighteenth we got up at six, and the camels were briskly
loaded in thirty-five minutes. The careful first loading at Jalo and
Buttafal made speed possible now. Nevertheless it was nine o’clock
before we were ready for the start. The morning program in camp is
not one that can be safely hurried. The Bedouin dislikes intensely
to be rushed over his meals, or to be deprived of those moments of
leisure thereafter which are so essential to peaceful digestion and
a contented spirit. The wise leader will see that these prejudices
of his men are carefully observed.
Perhaps this is a good place to set down the outline of a typical
day’s trek under the conditions which prevailed until we reached
Arkenu.
Although it is March, it is still cold in the morning, and one
gets up a little after dawn because it is too cold to stay in bed
longer. Even the sleeping-bag and the Bedouin blanket will not keep
out the chill. A peep through the flaps of the tent shows that the
stars are paling in the sky. Some one has the fire already started,
and the first impulse is to get to it without delay. Throwing my
_jerd_ about me and wrapping the _kufia_ about my ears, I dash
out to the crackling blaze. There is nothing hot about the desert
in these crisp morning hours. I stand by the fire and have a look
around. There is little life in the camp yet, though all the men
are up. They are huddled close to the warmth, muffled in _jerds_
and every other garment that they can lay their hands on. When water
is plenty, steaming hot glasses of tea are handed round, and after
they are drunk the activities of the camp divide. The camelmen
go to feed the camels with dried dates, which the beasts munch
reflectively, stones and all. A consultation is sometimes held over
the camels, if some of them have suffered the previous day from too
heavy loads. Perhaps a shifting of loads is decided on or better
packing and loading recommended.
Other men are pulling down the three tents, which form the apices
of a triangle, with the camels parked at its center. The luggage
which had been set up as a barricade against the icy wind is sorted
out and arranged ready for the loading.
Meanwhile I have been attending to the barometer and thermometer,
registering their readings, filling in the spaces in my scientific
diary, seeing that the cameras have fresh films. The voices of
the men sound low through the camp, muffled by _kufias_ and extra
clothing. At last breakfast is ready.
It may be _asida_, the Bedouin national dish, a kind of pudding
baked of flour, oil, and spices; or it may be rice. It is an utterly
simple meal in either case, but with what a keen appetite one attacks
it! In the desert any disinclination for the first meal of the day
that one may feel in city surroundings vanishes away. Breakfast
is finished off with the inevitable three glasses of tea, taken
slowly and reflectively. Whatever one does, one must not deprive
one’s men of their tea or hurry them over it. Give a Bedouin a
filling meal and let him sip three glasses of tea after it, and you
can get any work out of him that you want. Stint him or rush him,
and you will get worse than nothing.
[Illustration: RUINS OF KUFRA]
After breakfast every one is warm and contented and ready to work
hard. The loading goes on swiftly, diversified at times by the
antics of the two or three young and frolicsome camels that seem to
get into every caravan. These young fellows resist being loaded and
even throw off their loads when the job is apparently all finished.
Zerwali and Abdullahi are alert to see that the loading is done
with the utmost care and precision. An extra half-hour spent now
may save two or three hours’ delay on the road later caused by
slipping of the loads or improper distribution of the burdens.
When the caravan is all but ready, I have a few words with the
guide about the direction of our day’s march. He draws a line
on the sand and says that there lies our way. I take a bearing of
the line with my compass, a proceeding which doubtless seems to
him an absurd if harmless idiosyncrasy of mine. But I like to be
able to check with the compass the direction the caravan is taking
as the day goes on. On the whole the precaution proves unnecessary,
however, for Senussi Bu Hassan goes straight to his mark as a homing
pigeon. Only in the middle of the day he sometimes wabbles a bit. In
the daytime he travels by his shadow, and, as he explains, “When
the sun is high and the shadow lies between my feet, then my head
goes round.” There is one other hour in the day when the guide’s
task is a perplexing one. In the twilight hour between the setting
of the sun and the appearance of the stars, all directions on the
desert’s vast disk are the same. Then sometimes the compass is
useful. Once, by means of the bearing I had taken in the morning,
I caught the guide in the hour between sun and stars going almost
ninety degrees off the right direction. But as a rule the accuracy
with which a good guide, like Senussi Bu Hassan, steers his course
is almost uncanny.
Our conference over and the last camel loaded, the guide sets out
ahead, and one by one the camels follow. The men of the caravan have
a last warm-up of hands and feet at the dying fire, thrust their
feet into the Bedouin shoes, and hasten after the camels, singing
gaily. The sun is getting warm by now, and unless there is a strong
wind blowing from the north one disposes quickly of wrappings on
ears and neck and finally with the _jerd_. The extra garments are
flung on the backs of the camels, jokes begin to crack, foot-races
are run, and everybody is happy to be alive. Gradually the men
sort themselves into groups of two and three, spaced at intervals
along the caravan, chatting about their own affairs or about things
in general. Sometimes I walk at the head of the caravan and again
some distance behind it, to keep an eye on the direction it is
taking and especially to enjoy the sense of solitude and remoteness.
Toward midday, contemplation of the beauties of nature is sometimes
disturbed by other and less romantic thoughts. My mind occasionally
wanders toward favorite restaurants in far-away civilization. As
I stride along I imagine myself in Shepheard’s Grill-Room in
Cairo and I order _crevettes à l’américaine_ with that subtle
variation of _riz à l’orientale_ which is a specialty of the
house. Or I am at Prunier’s in Paris ordering _marennes vertes
d’Ostende_, followed by a steak and a _soufflé_. Perhaps it is
the Cova at Milan and a succulent dish of _risotto alla Milanese_;
maybe strawberries Melba at the Ritz in London, or again a Circassian
dish of rice with walnut sauce which is the masterpiece of the old
and beloved slave who really rules my father’s house in Cairo,
occupying the privileged position of a treasured Nannie of long
service in an English family.
Suddenly Ahmed or Abdullahi comes along and without a word pushes a
bag of squashed dates into my palm. Dreams vanish, and I eat with as
much appetite as though there were no better fare in all the world.
There is no halt for lunch, as the camels eat only twice a day.
If we have just left an oasis, there is fresh bread, half a loaf or
even a whole one to each man, with dates. Later on that fresh bread
becomes hard bread, and still later no bread at all. But there are
always dates.
I have one camel fitted up with a folded tent over its back so
that any one of us may lie and take his ease when tired of walking.
Ahmed calls it “the Club.” One day at the lunch hour Abdullahi
demands where I am and whether I have had my portion of bread
and dates or not, and Ahmed replies, with a twinkling eye in an
otherwise grave face, “The bey is lunching at the Club to-day.”
It is entirely possible, when you are used to it, to have a good
nap on the camel’s back, and an occasional ride is not to be
scorned. But generally one walks, for the camel’s pace of two and
a half miles an hour is an easy one to keep up with, and riding is
often more tiring than going on foot.
Sometimes during a whole day’s trek a narrow strip of water lies
shimmering on the horizon ahead of the caravan. It never gets any
nearer but continues to beckon a cool and pleasant invitation until
the sun has rolled round to the west and the mirage vanishes away.
It is a purely optical illusion, for there is no water there.
Another kind of mirage comes sometimes in the early morning. Then
the country far ahead of one appears in the sky at the horizon,
as the Bedouins say, “upside down.” This is not, as the other
variety of mirage is, entirely an illusion. It is really the reversed
reflection of the country thirty or forty kilometers ahead of where
the observer stands. As the sun rises higher above the horizon,
suddenly the mirage vanishes as magically as it came. There are
also other tricks of reflection of light in the desert. Sometimes,
for instance, a small pebble the size of a cricket-ball seen from a
mile away might assume the appearance of a big rock, standing like
a landmark. The skeleton or part of the skeleton of a camel or a
human being may take on the most fantastic shapes on the horizon,
but the Bedouins know it well.
[Illustration: A SENUSSI PRINCE AT KUFRA
He is a nephew of Sayed Idris]
[Illustration: GOVERNOR OF KUFRA
He is wearing a gold-embroidered robe under desert head-dress]
It is absurd to say that the Bedouin is lured by the mirage out of
his way and even to his destruction. The seasoned desert traveler
knows a mirage when he sees one. It is entirely possible indeed
that the “upside down” variety may be a positive assistance,
since it can suggest what kind of country lies ahead. The mirage
is an interesting phenomenon, but it is not one of the perils of
desert travel.
In the afternoon there are several hours of heat, the pace of
the camels slackens, and the whole caravan becomes quiet and
somnolent. As evening comes on and it grows cool again, the camels
pick up their speed and go into a final spurt before the time for
making camp. The men sing to the camels then to stimulate their
efforts, and the beasts respond cheerfully to the encouragement.
The songs are simple and poetic, full of the atmosphere of the
desert life. One of them represents a Bedouin waiting at an oasis
for the expected caravan.
He sings to the approaching camels:
“Gone is the night;
Come are the Marazan? to the morning sky.
You are here—
And vanished are all our fears.”
The singer speaks of his camels:
“In companies the sand-dunes
Marched to meet them,
Pointing the homeward way.”
The singer addresses his camels:
“The sand-dunes hide many wells
That brim with waters unfailing.
You come to their margins like bracelets
Wrought of gold and rare gems in far countries.”
In another the singer is still addressing his camels:
“The wells lie hid in the dunes
Masked by the sands drifted over them.
You approach them in ones and twos,
O you who reveal hidden places.”
The last song that I shall set down shows the traditional attitude
of the Bedouin to his camel. It is his most precious possession. To
give it up without a struggle to the death is dishonor. A Bedouin
might wait to take revenge for the killing of a brother or a son,
but if his camel were stolen he would not rest until he found it
and brought it back, by force of arms if necessary. “He who will
not risk his life for his camel,” says the Bedouin, “does not
deserve to have it.” So the camel-driver sings to his beast:
“For your sakes,
O ye who cherish us
As loving mothers their children,
For your sakes
The sons of nobles
Have lain stark on the sands,
Unsheltered by tomb or burial.”
The men suit the song to the occasion. The first one that I have
translated might be used when an oasis was not far off, the second
when the caravan is approaching sand-dune country, the third and
fourth when they are nearing a well, and the last when entering a
hostile region.
At sunset I make it a point to be near the guide and unobtrusively
to check him up with my compass in those uncertain hours before the
stars come out. When the dark falls a lantern is lighted and given
to the guide. Then we follow that elusive pin-point of yellow in the
darkness. It winks a provocative invitation to follow, but we can
never reach it. The camels like to have the lantern ahead of them
and move briskly forward in pursuit. Twelve or thirteen hours of
walking, if conditions have been good, bring us to the end of the
day’s trek, though sometimes we cannot go on so long.
“_Eddar ya ayan_; home for you who are weary,” is shouted
by the guide and repeated by every man in the caravan. Then the
men collect the camels and divide them, the water-camels here,
those carrying tents over there, the camels with luggage for the
barricade yonder. The camels are _barrakked_— kneel with grunts of
satisfaction to have their loads removed. Now we must be vigilant,
for men tired by a day’s trek are likely to be careless and let
boxes with precious instruments or cameras fall with disastrous
violence.
The baggage is arranged in a barricade, if the night promises to
be windy, and the tents are pitched in their triangle, unless the
night is particularly calm and pleasant. I could never decide which
moment was fuller of satisfaction, that in which the tent was set
up after a hard day’s trek or that in which it was pulled down
preliminary to taking the road again.
Then the fire is built and the leaping flames of the _hatab_ throw
a warm glow over the sand. The first thing is tea. Now I realize
to the full the virtues of the dark bitter-sweet liquid that the
Bedouins know by that name. They make tea by taking a handful of the
leaves and a handful of sugar and boiling them briskly in a pint of
water. The result would drive a housewife of the West almost insane,
but it is a wonderful stimulant after a hard day’s trek in the
desert and a glorious reviver of one’s energies and spirits.
[Illustration: ZWAYA CHIEFS AT KUFRA]
The men of the caravan are not slow to prepare and eat the evening
meal, to feed the camels, and then to dispose themselves for
sleep. But I must compare my six watches and wind them, record the
photographs made during the day, change the cinema films in the
darkness, no mean feat in itself, label and store the geological
specimens I have collected, and write up my diaries. The glasses of
Bedouin tea which I have drunk help me to accomplish these duties
and then probably stimulate me to a walk in the desert. If there is
no bitter cold wind I go for perhaps half a mile, looking back from
time to time at the silhouette of the caravan against the sky. The
dark masses of the tents, the baggage, and the kneeling camels,
touched here and there with flickers of light from the dying fire,
in the midst of that immense sea of sand, make a picture full of
mystery and fascination. All about me is silence. There is no wind
whispering in the leaves, no murmur of the waters of a brook, such
as one hears in the wooded wilds; no slap and plash and swish of
waves against the ship’s side such as are always present at sea.
Nothing but silence. Silence, the sands, and the stars.
CHAPTER XII
THE ROAD TO ZIEGHEN WELL
From this point I shall set down the days as they are recorded in
my diary.
_Sunday, March 18._ Start at 9 A. M., halt at 8:30 P. M. Make 46
kilometers. Highest temperature 21°, lowest 3°. Cloudy all day,
clear in evening. Just a few drops of rain in the afternoon. Strong
northeast wind, which develops at 2:30 into a sand-storm. Wind drops
at sunset and gets up again at eight in the evening. The sun not
visible and the guide’s course not so straight as usual, as shown
by the compass bearings which I take often during the day. At 5:30
the sun appears and he corrects his course; at 7:30 he is traveling
by the North Star, which the Bedouins call El Jadi. The ground is
generally the same as yesterday’s though slightly undulating. At
intervals all day we come across patches of big dark-colored pebbles.
In the morning there was excitement when we sighted on the horizon
the series of hazy dots that meant the approaching vanguard of a
caravan. My binoculars were brought into play and passed around among
the men. Rifles were unslung from their places on the camels’
backs, and the Tebus ran to get their spears. The men ranged
themselves on the side of the caravan nearest the on-comers and
held themselves alert until we should find out whether they were
friendly or hostile. It did not take long to recognize them for
friends. Then men from each party met and squatted down between
the two caravans to exchange the news, while the two lines of
camels plodded past. Tongues flew as they heard and told who had
been married, who was dead, who had made money, what new feuds had
arisen, or what old ones had been ended. Then the envoys sprang
up, bade each other God-speed, and hastened after their respective
caravans. (This is the desert wireless at work.)
_Monday, March 19._ Start at 8:15 A. M., halt at 8:30 P. M. Make
49 kilometers. Highest temperature 22°, lowest 5°. Weather fine
and clear. Strong northeast wind which drops at midday. Few white
clouds in the afternoon. Sun is very warm, making our progress slow,
but evening is cool and the pace is quickened. Ground very flat,
hard sand covered with fine gravel. At six in the evening cross a
slight depression, with a patch of gray stone on the right and a
white stone on our left about 2 kilometers distant.
All of us, men and camels, were getting into our stride. The Bedouins
and Tebus indulged in foot-races and played practical jokes. The
Tebus are simple, primitive fellows, with delightfully naïve habits
of mind. Being poor, they take the best of care of what possessions
they have. They dress in a simple cotton shirt and pair of drawers,
and devote much attention to making these garments last as long
as possible. When a Tebu rides a camel, for example, he takes off
his drawers to save wear and tear, and hangs them on his camel’s
back. When he sleeps also he removes his garments to protect them
from friction against the sand and wraps himself in his fur cloak.
[Illustration: THE LAKE AT KUFRA
The water is salt and fed with salt springs. There are no fish and
only a few water hens and ducks. The lake is about two or three
square miles in area.]
While one of the Tebus was riding that day some of the Bedouins
took his drawers and hid them. When he alighted and looked for
his garment, he immediately feared that it had dropped off and
lay somewhere in the desert along our track. Without a moment’s
hesitation he set out on the back track, running briskly in search
of his precious possession. He had become a tiny figure in the
vast expanse of sand before we took pity on him and fired shots
to call him to return. He turned reluctantly and soon rejoined us
with downcast face. But the merriment of the jokers told him that
something was up, and when his drawers were produced he was too
pleased to get them back to resent the joke.
The previous night some of the camels paid a visit to my tent
and threatened to have it down on top of me. They are clever
beasts. They like to scratch their necks on the tent-ropes, and
when all the camp is asleep they hobble in quest of this innocent
form of diversion. First the camel sticks his head through the flap
of my tent to see if I am awake. If he does not hear me resent his
intrusion, he then knows I am asleep, and out he backs and sets to
scratching vigorously. Soon he is joined by others, and I awake under
the impression that my tent is being assailed by a violent storm.
Each day I was more impressed with Bu Helega as a traveling
companion. He was a man of few words, with a big heart and generous
spirit. His years and his white hair and beard gained him the
respect of all of us, for in the desert the man of experience,
who is possessed of the wisdom that comes with age, is the
invaluable one. Zerwali and I, therefore, referred continually to
Bu Helega’s judgment. He was tactful in offering his suggestions
for my consideration, but I was wise enough not to disregard them.
He was constantly on the lookout for the well-being of the camels,
and his splendid voice was heard at intervals through the day
addressing the camels or the men.
“The white camel is weary. To-morrow, Ibrahim, we will shift its
load to the old brown one,” he says to his slave.
“Talk to them, men, talk to them,” he commands, knowing how
much better the camels travel under encouragement, and again,
“Sing to them, Ibrahim.”
“Follow the guide, you beautiful beasts,” he exhorts the camels.
“Pray, Hamad, that saddle has shifted; it will irritate the
camel’s back.”
When the twilight comes he gives the order, “Light the lantern;
it pleases the camels.”
The qualities of the camel are seldom, if ever, appreciated on a
slight acquaintance. The camel is as clever as a horse, if not more
clever, and in some ways is more human. “Patient as a camel,”
is an Arab saying and a very true one. If you ill-treat a camel he
will never forget it, but he will not attack you on the spot. He
will wait, and if you repeat the offense again and again, he makes
up his mind to get his revenge. Not, however, when there are many
people about. Here he behaves in a most human way. He watches his
chance until you and he are alone, and then he goes for you, either
by snatching at you with his mouth and throwing you to the ground,
or by kicking you and then trampling upon you. There is a case known
where a camel trampled on a man and then sat on him, refusing to move
even after punishment from the men who ran up to the rescue, wanting
to make sure that he had finished his man, as, indeed, he had.
People imagine that in the desert a camel has to be roped in and
led. As a matter of fact, it is very hard in the desert to keep
a camel away from the rest of the caravan, for instinctively he
knows that to be left behind is death; so he keeps as near the
bulk of the caravan as he can. It is a sad sight to see a camel
straggling behind a caravan. It is like the soldier in retreat,
unable to keep up with his comrades, knowing that nobody can carry
him and that to fall behind means disaster.
The camel also displays his intelligence when he is taken from the
oasis and pushed into the waterless trek. Instinctively he tries
at night, even three or four days after the start, to go back to
the oasis. There have been a few desert tragedies when all the
camels have deserted the men at night, either on the outward or the
home-coming journey, when the caravan was still a few days from its
destination. Or, in the event of some accident befalling a caravan,
camels which have traveled a certain road for ten or fifteen years
will complete the journey alone.
As we were approaching Jalo and three days’ journey from the
camp of the Bedouins from whom I had hired three camels, one of
the latter fell desperately ill. They divided his load between the
other two and left him in the desert, I all the time urging the
Bedouins to kill him and save him the tortures of death. I even
offered to pay them the price of the camel if they would allow
me to put an end to him. But as the camel was a pedigreed beast,
they refused. They said, “He is only feeling tired; he will go
at his leisure back to the camp.” I learned afterward that the
camel reached home safely and was feeling much better!
[Illustration: EL TAJ
The Senussi headquarters at Kufra, which is built on the crest of
the hill overlooking the valley]
[Illustration: THE COUNCIL OF KUFRA
It consists of the old Senussi brethren]
Instinctively, again, the camel knows that he has a guide, and if
you halt in the middle of the desert to debate some point in regard
to the route, the camels crowd round the guide; the moment he moves,
they follow him, ignoring the presence of every other member of the
caravan, but never overtaking the guide. Or if occasionally a camel
ignores even the guide and goes right ahead of a caravan, then it is
safe for the caravan to follow that camel, for he certainly knows
the place that the caravan is coming to. The Bedouins say that a
camel who has once grazed in an oasis would find his own way back
to that oasis even if he were several days’ journey from it.
There is a famous Bedouin story of the sand-grouse and the camel
who had a competition. The sand-grouse said, “I could lay my eggs
in the desert, travel for days, and come back and hatch them.”
The camel retorted, “If my mother drinks from a well when I am
still in her womb, I could travel days and come back and drink from
the same well.”
I myself have seen a camel head the caravan when we were four
days from a well, the waters of which he had tasted four years
before. There is a well-known case of one camel that saved a caravan
which was going from Dakhla Oasis to the Oasis of Ouenat. The guide,
who had never been to the place before, but was heading toward it
going by the description of another Bedouin, had lost his bearings,
and the caravan wandered for twelve days aimlessly. The water was
exhausted, and they had lost hope. Suddenly one of the camels headed
the caravan, and they followed him. That camel had been to Ouenat a
few years before, and when he was two days’ journey from Ouenat
he “smelled the place,” as the Bedouins say, and landed the
caravan right at one of the wells.
In winter the well-trained camel can go for a fortnight without
water, in summer up to twelve days. The Bedouins try to feed their
camels always on grazing grass if they can, but when they take
them to the _daffa_ or long waterless trek, they are fed on dried
dates and, when the Bedouin can afford it, on barley. Most of the
camels found in Cyrenaica are _hamla_ or pack-camels. The best
trotting-camels are Tebus or Touaregs, beautiful white beasts with
slim limbs and graceful lines. The average good day’s work of the
pack-camel is a distance of twenty-five miles. The thoroughbred
Touareg does up to forty, and has been known to do seventy miles
at one stretch.
The camel can become a very affectionate beast and very devoted to
his master. Well-trained trotting-camels or _hejins_ refuse to get
up with anybody on their back but their own master.
As a rule the water is carried on the older and wiser camels,
who go sedately with no attempt to frolic. They realize that they
are carrying the most valuable asset of the whole caravan, and
therefore, the moment the day’s trek is over and we are at the
hour of unloading, these older and wiser camels stand apart from the
rest for fear the sheepskins they are carrying be bumped. I have
also seen camels walk round the camp and approach the sheepskins
lying on the ground, arranged and covered for the night; the camels
would take great care to walk round them. There was one camel that
was trained for a long time to carry my tent and all my books and
instruments. He was only chosen for that task because of his being
a strong and an old camel. Every morning when the loading started
he used to come of his own accord and _barrak_ near my tent and, in
his usual supercilious way, wait for the load to be put on his back.
The camel is a jealous husband or a faithful wife as the case may
be. The female camels will never leave their lord and master and
always follow him, while woe betide any adventurous male camel who
dares to attempt to “butt in.”
Each morning and evening Bu Helega and I rode together and talked
about camels and the desert and Bedouin history. I was careful to
ask no direct questions, for the Bedouins are suspicious people
ready to mistrust your motives. But casual remarks easily bring
out interesting comments and information.
“There was a time,” said the venerable old man, “when Kufra
was unknown to our people. A Bedouin of the Chawazi tribe, from
El Obayad, a small oasis near Buttafal Well, noticed a crow which
kept flying away to the south and coming back again as regularly
as the sun rises. He watched it for some time and then set out
to follow its course southward. He finally reached Taiserbo and,
after a day’s stop on the outskirts of the oasis, managed to get
enough water to take him back. On his return he told his tribe of
date-trees and water in the heart of the desert. They formed an
expedition which set out for Taiserbo and conquered it, after which
they went on to Buzeima, Ribiana, and eventually to Kufra itself.
So the Bedouins came to Kufra.”
[Illustration: TUAREGS IN KUFRA
Men of the tribe rather than the women conceal their faces, and even
when they eat they do not remove their veils. This is accomplished
by the use of a specially constructed spoon.]
[Illustration: TWO TUAREGS IN WARRIOR ATTIRE]
I had been casting covetous eyes on Bu Helega’s horse since first
I saw it in Jalo. Abdullahi had inquired for me whether it could be
bought, but the price was too high. So I affected indifference and
bided my time. No one of Bu Helega’s family rode the horse but
himself. The old man’s dignity would not permit. But he kindly
allowed me to use the animal whenever I wanted to ride. In fact,
on this journey it seemed more mine than his.
Three of the camels were tired and _barrakked_ (knelt down) without
orders. They do not behave in this way unless there is good reason
for it, and so we shifted their loads to let them have a rest. We
lost time in the process but made it up when the cool of the
evening came.
I made it a point to talk with each man in the caravan every day. It
kept things running smoothly, and incidentally I picked up some
interesting information. I learned on this day that the Bedouins
not only knew the tracks of their own camels but can often tell
whether camels which have passed belong to men of the same tribe or
not. Tebu camels they know at once because of the peculiar shape
of their hoofs and the long strides they take. The Tebu camels
are hardier than the Bedouin animals and can be used both in the
northern desert of Cyrenaica and to the south in the Sudan. The
Bedouins change camels at Kufra, when going north or south.
I walked with Senussi Bu Hassan, the guide, and he told me of a
trick used by the Bedouins when they are herding camels or sheep.
They milk the beasts in the morning and bury the milk in a _girba_
to keep it cool. But desert marauders are clever and can easily
find where a _girba_ has been buried. So the wily Bedouin buries
two _girbas_ one beneath the other. The bottom one is full of fresh
milk and the top one of stale. The thief discovers the upper _girba_
and looks no further, while the owner of the _girbas_ finds his
fresh milk safe when he returns at night.
We met flocks of small birds winging their way north. Some of them
were tired and eagerly accepted the water we offered them. One
perched on my hand to drink.
Sometimes near a well, one of those that is better described as
a water-hole, one sees a few wings, feathers, bones of birds that
tell their sad tale. They were probably immigrants who came across
the well and stayed for a few days to recuperate. The well had
just been dug by a passing caravan, water was easily available,
and the birds grew accustomed to the spot. Little by little the sand
drifted up and filled the well, and one day there was no more water,
just a damp patch of sand. Or perhaps the birds arrived there too
exhausted to fly another hundred or two hundred miles in search of
water, so they remained and died.
In the morning at 10:30 we passed sand-dunes, called El Khweimat,
eight or ten kilometers to our left, like small white tents on the
desert as their name indicates. At 4:30 we sighted on our left at
thirty kilometers the landmark called El Ferayeg, four sand-hills
in a row. The name means “the little band” of men. At 6:15 we
sighted the top of another landmark known as Mazoul, “the solitary
one,” hazy in the distance to the southeast.
We were all cheered by the sight of these landmarks, which indicated
our progress. We were confident that we had a skilful guide, but,
as the Bedouins say, “the good guide is known only at the well.”
It is only when one has reached the end of the journey that there
is certainty that the right track has been taken. Senussi Bu Hassan
demonstrated his remarkably keen eyesight. Very early in the morning
before breaking camp he announced that he saw El Khweimat landmark
in spite of the morning mist. It was several hours before other
eyes in the caravan could make it out.
In the afternoon we passed camel skeletons lying white on the
sands. Strangely enough this is a cheering sign in the desert, for
two reasons: first, because in the trackless monotony any sign that
others have passed that way is encouraging, and, second, because
the camel-bones are more frequent near the wells. Camels are more
likely to die near the end of a trek, when, if water is scarce, they
have been pushed too hard by their masters. The Bedouins do not like
to use the word “skeleton” when they find such a reminder that
death has come this way. So they euphemistically call it _ghazal_,
which means gazelle.
_Thursday, March 22._ Up at 5:30 A. M. I watched the sun rise
at 6:27 A. M. and recorded its time. We started at 8 A. M. and
made forty-eight kilometers over very flat country, hard sand
and gravel. All the morning the Mazoul sand-dunes were on our
left twenty-five kilometers distant, but by the afternoon we had
passed them.
In the morning I heard Zerwali and Abdullahi discussing this land
of astounding flatness through which we were passing.
“Yes, our country is a blessed one,” said Zerwali.
“Yes, indeed, it has a wonderful future,” answered the man from
Egypt. “It is here, I believe, that the day of reckoning will be
held. It is the only place God could find that would be big enough
and so empty.”
The Tebus were running far and wide, ahead and each side of the
caravan, in search of camel-dung for fuel. They lived their life a
little apart from the others in the caravan, and so they liked to
have their own camp-fire at night a short distance from the main
camp. Camel-dung was the only available fuel. The Tebus, who are
sturdy runners, would go as much as five miles out of their way
to find the precious material. But the Bedouins objected to the
Tebus’ habit of running ahead and seizing all the dung. It is
an inflexible rule of the desert that anything found on the way
belongs to him who first touches it, and the Tebus appealed to that
rule for justification. The Bedouins, however, had a telling retort.
[Illustration: THE CARAVAN ON THE MOVE IN THE DESERT TO AGAH]
“You have no guide ahead, nor do you let your camels go first,
where they will not go without the stick,” they said. “You want
us to lead the way for your camels, while you run ahead and seize
the dung. That dung belongs to us who would come upon it first if
you were back with your camels where you belong.”
The controversy grew spirited and was finally brought to me for
judgment. I decreed that the Bedouins were right, and the Tebus
should have no fire of their own. They should, however, be given
a hot meal from the general commissariat every night. The Tebus
are quite different in many of their habits and customs from the
Bedouins. They often do not use fire in the preparation of their
food, though, as I have shown, they do not reject it for comfort
and cheer. They dry the inside of the bark from the top of the
date-tree over a fire and powder it, to use as material for a kind
of pudding. They mix it with dates and locusts, also powdered. They
invite no one to share their meals as the Bedouins invariably do,
nor are they resentful if others do not ask them to share their
food. The Bedouins criticize vigorously this failure in hospitality,
as they consider it. The Tebus leave nothing behind them on the
track, having a superstitious fear that whoever picks up what they
have dropped will get hold of them too. They are fine physical
specimens and good workers, but extremely simple in their habits
of life and mind. They are mixing more and more with the Bedouins,
however, and learning the Bedouin ways.
On this day one of the camels became ill. Bu Helega got down and
walked behind it and then bled it from the tail. We hoped it would
be better after a night’s rest.
As we were sure of our water-supply, we decided to have a glass
of tea. Bu Helega, Zerwali, Abdullahi, and I went on ahead of the
caravan, taking the guide with us to set our course right. When we
were far enough ahead, we quickly made a fire and brewed tea. As
the caravan came up, we handed a glass of tea to each man as he
passed. The caravan did not stop. When the last camel was past us,
we packed up our paraphernalia and hastened to catch up with the
plodding caravan, Bu Helega on his camel, Zerwali and Abdullahi
riding double on a trotting camel, and I on the horse. I must own
Baraka was useful to me for several purposes. With him the camels
could be easily brought back from the grazing-ground, which they are
reluctant to leave to enter the _zerira_ again. I could ride him
to visit places of interest when we halted at oases, allowing the
camels to rest or graze. I could go ahead of the caravan with him
or remain behind to make observations or secure specimens unwatched
by the men. On his back I could make a properly dignified appearance
at the head of my caravan when entering or leaving an oasis.
_Friday, March 23._ We made 36 kilometers. There was a strong
northeast wind the previous night, starting an hour after
midnight. This wind continued all day, increasing from 1 to 3, and
dropped in the evening. It was fair and clear, but cloudy in the
late afternoon. At five in the afternoon we sighted the sand-dunes
called El Mazeel, 25 kilometers toward the southeast.
The men had become interested in making a full day’s trek, and
exerted every effort to be under way at eight, intending to walk
for twelve hours. But the sick camel interfered with our plans.
When the time came to start, it had to be lifted to its feet. Bu
Helega shook his head and said, “This camel will be flesh to
eat before the day is over.” Two hours later the camel knelt and
refused to rise. In a few minutes it had to be slaughtered. Three
men and two camels were left to bring the flesh after us. Before
we had gone far Bu Helega came trotting up on his horse and said:
“It is a fat camel. Let us stop for a while.”
Knowing the Bedouin’s love of meat, I halted the caravan while
a fire was made and a feast prepared. Every one ate the meat but
myself and my two Egyptian servants. Bu Helega asked why I did not
join the feast, and I told him that I did not care to eat the flesh
of a sick camel.
“It is better than the little fish,” he said, referring to some
tins of sardines which we had with us. “We have seen the camel
slaughtered, but who knows what has happened to the little fish
since they were in the sea?”
The camel’s flesh which was not eaten at once the Bedouins dried,
and cut into thin shreds for flavoring their rice and _asida_ later
on. When we started again in the afternoon Senussi Bu Hassan said
to me, “We will walk until we knock off the young moon, and then
we will be able to lunch at the well to-morrow.” But when evening
came clouds hid El Jadi before the young moon had set, and we had
to stop and make camp at 10:30 for fear of losing our way.
[Illustration: SONS OF SHEIKH HERRI
The _sheikh_ was one of the kindliest and most hospitable natives
encountered by Hassanein Bey south of Kufra]
In this part of the desert there was little to discover externally,
but a great deal to discover in oneself that could only be brought
to light in the silence and calm. It makes all the difference in
the world whether one goes through the journey with the intention
of getting back as quickly as possible to civilization again,
or whether one lives and enjoys every moment of it.
Just as the sun was going down, I saw Zerwali sitting by himself,
drawing lines on the sand with a meditative finger. He was doing
the _yazerga_, or the “science of the sands,” with which the
Bedouin tells his own fortune. At intervals his eyes lifted from the
pattern before him and brooded dreamily on the vivid colors of the
sunset. The Bedouin has an appreciation of beauty and a reverence
for nature. How could he help it?
Day after day it is exactly the same. The photographs I took in
those seven days might be pictures of the same camp from different
angles, so persistently the same was the immense desolate expanse
of sand unmarked except for a camel’s skeleton or a few pebbles
the size of a walnut. There was nothing to distract one’s mind
or interrupt one’s contemplation.
What a peculiar charm this desolate desert has! What a cleansing
effect on one’s mind and body! How this constant touch with
infinity, day by day and night by night, affects the mind and the
spirit, and alters one’s conception of life!
How small and petty one’s efforts in the round of ordinary
civilization seem! How insignificant one’s efforts in this desert
actually are!
_Saturday, March 24._ We were up at 5:30 A. M. tired, for we went
to bed at 2. It was fine and clear all day; a northeast breeze
in the morning dropped at midday, leaving it very warm. A strong
northeast wind got up again at 10 P. M.
At 9:30 A. M. the country began to change slightly; the sand was
softer and the ground a little undulating. At 10 we came across
patches of black broken stone, which continued all day. At noon
we sighted on our right the first _hatab_—dried brushwood—of
Zieghen Valley. At 1:45 we halted for a hot meal and a rest near
the first _hatab_ we reached.
Our fuel-supply was exhausted the previous day, and we had had
nothing hot to eat or drink since the morning of the day before. At
5:13 we sighted sand-dunes to the southeast, about 40 kilometers
distant. The dunes ran southward in a line toward Zieghen Valley.
At 8:30 the hillocks of _hatab_ increased in number and extent.
When we started in the morning we hoped to get to Zieghen that
day. Later there was disagreement as to why we had not reached it.
Bu Helega remarked that the guide must have gone too far to the
west or we should have arrived at the well before this. Zerwali,
who had selected Bu Hassan for our guide, came to his defense;
it was because we lost time slaughtering the camel and feasting
the day before that we did not arrive, he said. Hamad had another
explanation. “The camels are not being driven at all,” he said.
“One sleeps long and gets up at his leisure, and the camels are
still in sight.” (It was the custom of the men to drop out of line
for a nap of a half an hour or so, the slow pace of the camels and
their track in the sand making it possible for them to catch the
caravan easily on wakening.)
When we halted to make a fire and have the first hot meal in thirty
hours, I remembered that this was just where we had lost our way
on the previous trip to Kufra in 1921. After our meal, Dawood,
Zerwali’s uncle, left us with his single camel to go to Taiserbo,
which lay a day’s journey west of Zieghen. He proposed to get
his wife and daughter and take them to Cyrenaica, where there were
better prospects for business. Zerwali had agreed to help him in
his affairs in the new region. It must have taken a lot of pluck
for the old man to undertake the long journey to the north with the
two women and but a single camel. I asked him how he would manage
it. He told me that the first day they would all walk. The next day,
as the weight of water on the camel grew less, his daughter would
ride, and the third day his wife.
“But suppose something happens to your camel?” I asked.
“Protection comes from God,” was his quiet answer. I gave him
rice, macaroni, tea, and sugar, and when we had said the “Fat-ha”
he departed very happy.
The Bedouins were delighted with a great feast of rice and
camel-flesh and went to bed in vast contentment. It was a beautiful
night, and I left my tent and spent a few tranquil moments under
the golden moon and the stars paled by her brighter light. Their
serene cheerfulness and encouraging company sent me back to my bed,
as always, with new hope and confidence.
This is the entry in my diary for the following day:
_Sunday, March 25._ Start at 7:45 A. M., halt at 1:45 P. M. Make 24
kilometers. Highest temperature 32°, lowest 14°. Strong northeast
wind all last night and until 4:30 to-day. Cloudy all the morning,
no sun; a few drops of rain at midday. It clears in the afternoon.
We walk all the way among little hillocks of dry _hatab_ gradually
increasing from a few inches to eight feet in height as we near the
well. The hillocks are interspersed with patches of sand strewn
with bits of black broken stone. The sand gets gradually softer
until it is moist a few inches under the surface.
At 9:15 we sighted to the southwest about 3 kilometers away the
sand-dunes of El Washka, a small well of the Zieghen group. At 9:30
we passed on our left Matan Bu Houh, the old well of Zieghen. We
camped near the few date-trees that stand by the best well of the
group, El Harrash.
[Illustration: APPROACHING THE HILLS OF ARKENU
The explorer’s caravan nearing the first oasis that he discovered
seven days’ journey south of Kufra. The photograph was taken in
the morning, and in the foreground is seen a ray of sunshine coming
from beyond the hills.]
In the desert a well does not mean a nicely excavated and stoned-up
arrangement such as one finds in other parts of the world, with a
bucket and windlass or a pump. In this part of the desert a well is
a spot where the water is close to the surface and can be easily
obtained by digging. It is just a damp patch of sand which the
Bedouins scrape open with their hands, getting water at three or
four feet down. Between the visits of caravans the sands drift over
the place and choke the water-hole, so that each newcomer must clean
it out for himself. But the joy of an ample supply of fresh water
after days of having just enough for making tea, with no chance of
a bath or even a shave, is sufficient reward for all the labor of
digging out the well. If it has been a long journey the first thing
to think of is the camels. After they have been watered and a good
meal digested, washing is the most important item in the program. If
the water is scarce, clothes have to wait until the next well,
because the question of water for the trek has to be considered.
As soon as the men have rested, sheepskins are filled and left for
the night. Early next morning two or three men go to see which of
the sheepskins has leaked and, if possible, detect the cause of the
leakage. They also make a point of separating the bad sheepskins
from the good ones, so that on the journey water should be taken
on the first day or two from those which leak or are unreliable.
The first night at a well, however tired the caravan may be,
is always made the opportunity for great rejoicing, singing,
and dancing. Before arriving at the well one’s idea of a rest
has been at least four or five days’ stay and plenty of water to
make up for past privation. Thoughts dwell on the pleasing idea of
really having water to splash about with. Curiously enough, after a
single day’s rest, a fever of restlessness gets hold of one again,
and the luxury of abundance is left most eagerly for the privations
of the road. No matter if it be a big well surrounded by a fertile
oasis, full of the comforts of life, yet one returns with a sigh of
contentment to the twelve hours’ trek and the lunch of dried dates.
The well, when scraped out, is probably about the size of a tea-table
for two. The moist sand holds the walls together. Usually one
leaves it alone a little for the sand to settle, but the water is
always sandy, and it is too much bother to strain it. Not on one
single occasion did I drink a glass of water that was not cloudy,
and never did I see the bottom of my zinc cup while drinking. The
filter which kind friends said I must take with me I never used at
all until we got to the Sudan, and there the water was really bad;
in an inhabited area you do not know what may have happened to it.
And then when we tried to get this famous filter working, we found
there were no washers for it, so that was the end of the story of
the filter.
Dirt in the desert, it may be necessary to remark, is quite different
from dirt anywhere else. It is not unwholesome, for the sand is a
clean thing, and the clothes of the Bedouins let in the air. Vermin
is there, but it is inevitable, and the Bedouin pays no heed to
it. I might have just had my bath, and then I would go and sit down
for a glass of tea with my men and—well, you are bound to collect
these things!
CHAPTER XIII
THE CHANGING DESERT AND A CORRECTED MAP
_Monday, March 26._ At El Harrash Well of the Zieghen group. Highest
temperature 27°, lowest 6°. Fine and clear with northeast wind,
which develops into a bad sand-storm at eleven. The storm continues
until 6:30 in the evening, and the wind does not go down until two
hours later.
Our halt at Zeighen should have been only for a night, but the
severe sand-storm kept us wind-bound for another day. Zieghen is
merely a group of four wells, the two that we passed on Sunday,
El Harrash, where we were camped, and another, Bu Zerraig, twenty
kilometers to the east.
During the day Bu Helega talked to Abdullahi about my coming to
the desert.
“You have audacity, you Egyptians,” he said. “For your bey
to come twice to our country, which no stranger has visited before
in my time, that is boldness. Why does he come here and leave all
God’s bounty back there in Egypt, if not for some secret purpose?
He comes to our unknown country to measure and map it, and, by God,
not once but twice.”
[Illustration: IN THE OPEN DESERT
Study of shadows cast by the camels]
Even my good friend Bu Helega was suspicious of my intentions in
penetrating into his country.
I finally discovered the real basis of the antagonism of those
who live in the desert to the coming of persons from the outside
world. It is not religious fanaticism; it is merely the instinct
of self-preservation. If a single stranger penetrated to Kufra,
the cherished center of the life of their tribe, it would be, as the
Bedouins say, “the camel’s nose inside the flap of the tent.”
After him would come others, and the final outcome would be foreign
domination. That would mean the loss of their independence and the
paying of taxes. They can hardly be blamed for dreading either of
those results.
The changes produced by time in the desert, which we are accustomed
to think of as eternally the same, are interesting. When Rohlfs
passed to the westward of Zieghen on his way to Kufra in 1879 he
reported a broad stretch of green vegetation here. To-day there
is no extent of greenness, merely a great deal of _hatab_, dead
brushwood. Rohlfs’s statement, however, is confirmed by Bu Helega,
who says that when he was a child his father used to take him to
Kufra when he went to get dates, because the Bedouins believe that
the waters of Shekherra, the headquarters of the Zwayas near Jalo,
are bad for children in the summer. Bu Helega used to be carried on
his father’s back most of the way. It was in those days that the
trip was made in three days and five nights, without halts. They gave
the camels but one meal between Jalo and Zieghen; when they reached
the latter place the beasts were fed on the green stuff that was
growing there then. What has seemed like an error on Rohlfs’s part
in describing so much vegetation at Zieghen is thus demonstrated to
be merely the result of a difference in conditions after forty-five
years. It is probably a variation in the water conditions in the
soil which has turned the living shrubs into fire-wood.
Our trek from Buttafal to Zieghen illustrated the uncertainties
of desert travel. In spite of all the precautions that we could
possibly think of, our fuel ran out, one camel died, and two others
were so exhausted that they were to fail us soon. The food for the
camels was used up also, and from Zieghen to Kufra they were fed
on date-tree leaves, gathered at the former place, which was very
poor food for them indeed.
I picked up from a Bedouin a proverb with a cynical slant to it:
“Your friend is like your female camel; one day she gives you milk,
and the next she fails you.”
On the two evenings at Zieghen I took observations of Polaris with
the theodolite. When the observations were worked out I found that
Zieghen was about a hundred kilometers farther to the east-northeast
than Rohlfs had placed it. He did not visit the place and therefore
could make no observations on the spot but relied on what he was
told by the Bedouins. I found also that Zieghen is 310 meters
above sea-level.
_Tuesday, March 27._ Start at 8:15 A. M., halt at 8 P. M. Make 47
kilometers. Highest temperature 26°, lowest 8°. Fine and clear,
cold strong northeast wind all day and all night. A few white
clouds. From El Harrash Well the guide points out the direction of
Kufra as being five degrees south of southeast. For two hours we walk
among _hatab_, which extends about 10 kilometers southeast of the
well. Then we enter a region of soft sand, a little undulating. The
undulations gradually increase until we get into the sand-dune
country late in the afternoon.
At 2:30 we sighted a range of sand-dunes to the east, with a few
black stone _garas_ or small hills in between them. They were about
twenty or thirty kilometers away and marched off to the southeast
as far as we could see. Later there were _gherds_—sand-dunes—to
the southwest as well, and at 5:30 the _gherds_ closed in across
our track and we definitely entered them. So far, however, they
were not high or difficult to cross.
The complete separation between the Bedouins and the Tebus on the
march impressed me again. The blacks say that they do not like the
Zwayas and fear them. The Tebu camels were well kept and better
behaved than those of the Bedouins. Each Tebu camel had a lead-rope
and did not run loose as the others did.
In the afternoon we passed the landmark of Jebail El Fadeel. As with
most desert landmarks, its name commemorates some one who lost his
life there.
El Fadeel was one of the best guides in the desert. He was going
toward Kufra from Jalo with a caravan. Sand-storms of great severity
swept down upon them. While there is no direct evidence of what
happened, the testimony of what was finally found told the story
eloquently. Fadeel’s eyes must have been badly affected by the
driving sand. He bandaged them and, thus deprived of sight, had
those who were with him describe the landmarks as they reached
them. Nevertheless they missed the wells of Zieghen and tried to
struggle on direct to Kufra. The desert took them in its relentless
grip, and of the entire caravan but one camel survived. The beast
struggled on to its home at Kufra, led by its infallible instinct.
There it was recognized by the markings on its neck as belonging to
El Fadeel. A rescue party followed the camel’s track back into the
desert, but its help came too late. The bodies of the men lay stiff
upon the sand, near the landmark now known by El Fadeel’s name,
the bandage on the old guide’s eyes revealing the tragic truth.
[Illustration: THE HILLS OF ARKENU
The first oasis that the explorer discovered on his way from Kufra
to the Sudan; the camp can be easily discerned]
_Wednesday, March 28._ There were heavy clouds all day, with little
sunshine. It was cloudy too in the evening. A cold northeast wind
developed at 8 A. M. into a sand-storm lasting for three hours and
a half. The cold wind continued on into the evening. A few drops
of rain fell at 10:30 P. M.
We walked among sand-dunes for two hours, when we entered undulating
country, covered with broken black stone. It was bad going for the
camels. An hour later the black stone belt ended and we came into
the sand-dunes again.
At 11:30 in the forenoon the chain of the Hawayesh Hills were
on our left and sand-dunes and black stone _garas_ on our right.
At 12:15 we passed on our left four kilometers away Goor El Makhzan
landmark, hills of black stone ranging from fifty to one hundred
and fifty meters in height. At 1:45 we passed the landmark of El
Gara Wobentaha, which means “the _gara_ and its daughter,” two
sugar-loaf hills of appropriate proportions to suit the designation.
I talked with some of the Bedouins about our losing our way in
1921. They showed no surprise. To these desert dwellers it is all
a part of the day’s work, losing one’s way, one’s camels,
one’s water, or one’s fuel.
_Thursday, March 29._ The lowest temperature this day was not
recorded, as the minimum thermometer was broken in the storm.
The Hawayesh Hills were on our left until mid-afternoon. At 11:30
we entered soft and very undulating sand-dunes, difficult going
for men and camels. At 1:30 we passed Garet El Sherif to the right,
the biggest landmark we had yet seen. It was a ridge-shaped _gara_,
one hundred and fifty meters long and about one hundred meters
high, with three smaller ones beside it, two to the south and one
to the north. At three we got into heavy dunes again and two hours
later passed into flat country, with harder sand and patches of
black stone. At 3:30 in the morning the worst sand-storm we had
encountered began. It swept the tents from the moorings, and mine
collapsed on top of me, smashing a few of my instruments and also
the small chronometer.
With the whole tent on top of me, weighted down with the constantly
growing load of sand, I was threatened with suffocation, but
fortunately I got hold of a tent-peg, with which I held the canvas
away from my face. Some of the men tried to come to my assistance,
but I shouted to them to put the sacks of flour and pieces of luggage
on their tents and mine to keep them down. I lay in my uncomfortable
position under the tent for two hours or so. The sand came hurtling
through the gap in the tent like shot from a gun. The men and the
camels suffered badly. Had the pole of my tent fallen a fraction
of an inch to one side, it would have smashed my big chronometer,
and then what a difference it would have made to the scientific
results of the expedition!
To the outside world the work of an explorer is either failure or
success with a distinct line between them. To the explorer himself
that line is very hazy. He may have won his way through, amassed
all the information that he sought, be within a score of miles of
his journey’s end; then, suddenly, his camels give out. He must
abandon the best part of his luggage. Water and food take precedence;
the boxes containing his scientific instruments, his records, have
to be left behind. Maybe his plight is still worse, and he must
sacrifice everything, even his own life. To the outside world he
would be a failure; generous critics might even call him a glorious
failure, but in any case he has failed. Yet how much is that failure
akin to success! Sometimes on those long treks the man who fails has
done more, has endured more hardships, than the man who succeeds. An
explorer’s sympathy is rather with the man who has struggled and
failed than with the man who succeeds, for only the explorer knows
how the man who failed fought to preserve the fruits of his work.
The Bedouins understood this. There is a trait in their character
that surprised, even astounded me sometimes, until I grew to
understand it. There was often no hilarity, no rejoicing when the
day’s march came to its appointed end. “To-day we have arrived,
but to-morrow—” they seem to say. Because you have succeeded
to-day it is nothing to brag about. It was not by your skill; it
was destiny. To-morrow you may start an easier journey and fail
horribly. On my first long trip in the Libyan Desert in 1921,
between the oases of Buseima (one of the Kufra group) and Kufra,
a three days’ journey, we came across the remnants of a perished
caravan. There was a hand still sticking out of the sands, the skin
yellow like parchment. As we passed, one of the men went reverently
and hid it with sand. A three days’ trip, and yet those men had
lost their way and died of thirst.
[Illustration: THE EXPLORER'S CAMP AT OUENAT]
[Illustration: THE CARAVAN APPROACHING THE GRANITE HILLS OF OUENAT]
There are many gruesome tales of the remnants of a caravan perishing
within sight of the well. So far from being deterred from taking
the same route, the Bedouin only says that it was God’s decree
that they should die on the road. “Better the entrails of a bird
than the darkness of the tomb,” one Bedouin told me, meaning that
he preferred to be eaten by vultures.
It was a very tiring day, what with the disturbance to our rest
during the night and the heavy going through the soft dunes. But
the men were cheerful because we were getting near to Kufra. The
news that Bu Helega, who lived at Hawari, the first halting-place on
the outskirts of Kufra, was going to slaughter a sheep and provide
a feast was an added incentive.
The camels were weak and thin, but three of them whose home is in
Kufra led the way all day without being driven, in spite of the
difficult walking over the dunes.
At 6:45 we sighted Garet El Hawaria, the great landmark that
indicates the approach to Kufra.
_Friday, March 30._ We started at 7:45 A. M., halted at 5:45 P. M.,
made thirty-five kilometers, and arrived at Hawari. A few drops
of rain fell in the late evening. The ground was flat, soft sand,
undulating a trifle, and marked with patches of black and red
stone. At 9:30 we entered upon the zone of red sand of Kufra. We
came across pieces of petrified wood all day. At 1:15 we passed
Garet El Hawaria, and at 3:30 sighted the date-trees of Hawari. An
hour and a half later we entered the oasis and soon camped at Awadel.
We had arrived at the first outpost of Kufra. This name was given
in Rohlfs’s time to the four somewhat widely separated oases of
Taiserbo, Buseima, Ribiana, and Kebabo—Rohlfs’s designation for
the present-day Kufra—but now it is restricted to the last named.
Hawari is the northernmost part of the present Kufra, a comparatively
small oasis with the three villages of Hawari, Hawawira, and
Awadel. Seventeen kilometers south lies El Taj, the seat of local
government and the principal settlement. It is situated on a rocky
cliff overlooking the depression of the oasis proper, which lies to
the south and contains the villages of Jof, Boema, Buma, El Zurruk,
El Talalib, and El Tollab.
I had intended to go straight on to El Taj, the chief town of
Kufra, the next day, but Bu Helega claimed the right of hospitality
and insisted that I should stop a day at the oasis which is his
home. After a good night’s rest—undisturbed by sand-storms or
collapsing of tents—and a shave, I was quite ready to do full
justice to the breakfast sent by the Bedouins of a caravan which had
just arrived from Wadai. At the same time I gathered some interesting
information which made me consider making a change in my plans.
I sent a messenger on to El Taj with letters to Sayed El Abid,
the cousin of Sayed Idris and the chief Senussi in Kufra, and to
Jeddawi, Sayed Idris’s personal _wakil_.
In the afternoon Zerwali escorted me to Hawari, where I was received
at the _zawia_ by the _ikhwan_ and the notables of the town. After
the usual words of welcome and exchange of compliments, I went
to dinner at the house of Zerwali’s uncle. The Bedouin chiefs
protested that I should not have come direct to Hawari but should
have camped outside to give them an opportunity for a ceremonial
reception. They had apparently heard how I was received at Jalo
and would have liked to duplicate it for me here. I heard rumors
of intrigues among some of the Zwaya chiefs, who were suspicious
of my purpose in coming a second time to Kufra and, as a protest,
had refused to attend the dinner. They were influential chiefs,
and the news made me determined to press on to El Taj before they
could send word there in prejudice of my coming.
After the meal I rode home through the beautiful moonlight and on
my arrival found a difficult task before me. Egaila, Bu Helega’s
eldest son, had been bitten by a scorpion. With more confidence in
my medicine-chest than I had myself, Bu Helega asked that I should
cure him. I took the anti-scorpion serum and went to the house,
where I found the boy very ill indeed, burning with fever.
At the last moment before leaving Cairo these serums had been
included in my equipment, and a doctor friend, while he was shaking
my hand and I was saying good-by to people all around me, explained
to me (perhaps most lucidly) just how to employ the serums. It
was the first time I had ever attempted that kind of injection,
and I tried to conjure up the scene and recall fragments of those
parting instructions, but it only struck me how different was that
dimly lit room with the anxious friends and relatives watching my
every movement from the hearty send-off when the serum had been
added to my stock in trade.
However, in spite of my doubts whether the case was not too far
advanced for treatment, I administered the serum and went to my
camp wondering what the outcome would be.
Before long I heard a crowd approaching my tent with loud outcries
which sounded hostile to my ears. Probably, I thought, the boy was
already dead, and his death would be laid at my door instead of at
that of the scorpion.
[Illustration: VALLEY OF ERDI
While there remained many miles of travel for the expedition, after
this valley was reached the long waterless desert treks were at
an end. The march to El Obeid was by easy stages through fertile
country from village to village.]
[Illustration: DESERT BREAKING INTO ROCK COUNTRY SOUTH OF OUENAT]
I summoned my men to protect the box of instruments, which I
suspected would be the first object of attack, and prepared myself
for a hostile approach. It was a disturbing moment.
But great was my relief when I detected in the cries of those
who were coming a note rather of rejoicing than of hostility.
Presently Bu Helega entered my tent and thanked me with impressive
warmth for the relief which I had given his son.
“It was like magic,” he declared with fervor, “Allah is great.
That medicine of yours has made the boy well again.”
In appropriate terms I answered, “Recovery comes from God.”
Already the fever was abating and the boy evidently on his way to
recovery. I thanked God internally for the good fortune which had
attended my ministrations. If the boy had died, my position would
have been a dangerous one. When my visitors had left, I went out
into the moonlight for a walk among the graceful palms.
CHAPTER XIV
KUFRA: OLD FRIENDS AND A CHANGE OF PLAN
_Sunday, April 1._ We started at 9:45 A. M. and halted at 2 P. M.,
making 17 kilometers, and arrived at El Taj. At 11:15 we entered a
broken rocky country, very rolling, covered with patches of black
and red sandstone until we reached Taj.
Egaila came to help in loading the camels. He had quite recovered
from his scorpion-bite and was to go with us to Taj. Breakfast was
sent by Bu Helega for me and my men. When I protested that he should
not have taken the trouble, he retorted that I should have given him
an opportunity to provide the customary three days’ hospitality. A
little later a slave-girl came from him with a huge bowl of rice,
chicken, and eggs.
She was evidently dressed especially for the occasion and was quite
charming in her dainty attire of blue cloth with a red sash about
her slim waist.
I told her that we were starting at once and should not need
the food.
“You may need it on the way,” she replied shyly. “I cooked
it myself.”
“If that is the case,” I assured her, “I will accept it
gladly.” She was obviously pleased and immediately went back for
another bowl quite as large and inviting. I bowed to the inevitable
and sent my thanks to her master.
We were given a pleasant send-off by the people of Awadel, and I
set out at the head of my caravan on Bu Helega’s horse. We needed
no guide just now, for I knew the way myself.
“Aye, the bey knows the way too well,” said Senussi Bu Hassan.
“He will soon become a guide in this country of ours.”
The approach to Kufra from the north has an element of surprise in
it that makes it doubly interesting. We marched through a gently
rolling country with an irregular ridge of no great height forming
the horizon ahead of us. Suddenly the top of the ridge resolved
itself into the outlines of a group of buildings, their walls hard
to distinguish at any distance from the rocks and sands they match
so well in color and in form. This was El Taj, the headquarters of
the Senussi family in Kufra. As we entered the town, we saw that
the ground dropped abruptly away beyond it, down to the valley of
Kufra. This pleasant valley is a shallow, roughly shaped oval bowl,
forty kilometers in extent on its long diameter and twenty kilometers
on the short one. It is dotted with palm-trees, and across it in
an irregular line from northeast to southwest are strung the six
settlements of Boema, Buma, Jof, Zurruk, Talalib, and Tollab. Close
to Jof lie the blue shimmering waters of a fair-sized lake. At this
mid-point in the sand-waste of the desert this expanse of water
is both a boon and an aggravation. The mere sight of so much water
brings refreshment to the eyes weary of looking at nothing but sand;
but to the parched throat it is worse than a mirage to the vision,
for its waters are salt.
On our entry into Taj I was met cordially by old friends. Sayed El
Abid, the cousin of Sayed Idris and the chief Senussi in Kufra, was
ill with rheumatism, but Sidi Saleh El Baskari, the _kaimakam_, Sidi
Mahmoud El Jeddawi, Sayed Idris’s _wakil_, and several _ikhwan_
brought words of welcome from him and conducted me to the house of
Sayed Idris where I was to stay. It was here that we had lived on the
first trip to Kufra two years before, and immediately I felt at home.
“You will have to initiate your men into the ways of Kufra,”
said El Baskari whimsically. “Even Zerwali has not been here for
thirteen years.”
At once the hospitality began, with coffee brought by the commandant
of the troops. I had just time for a short rest before a slave
came to take me to the house of Sayed El Abid for a meal. Led
by the same messenger that came for us two years ago, I walked
through the same streets, and entered the same wonderful house
of the Senussi leader with a curious feeling as though time had
stood still or gone back. El Abid’s house is a labyrinth of
corridors, lined with doors behind which live the members of his
family and his retainers. We passed into the familiar room whose
spaces seemed more richly adorned than ever with gorgeous rugs,
many-colored cushions, and stiffly embroidered brocades. On the
walls hang the well-remembered collection of clocks, barometers,
and thermometers in which my host takes naïve delight. The clocks,
of which there are at least a dozen of assorted shapes and sizes,
were all going strong.
[Illustration: THE DESERT FROM THE HILLS OF OUENAT
Ouenat is the bigger of the two oases which the explorer
discovered. In the foreground is the explorer’s tent and camp. The
hills are of granite and are about fifteen hundred feet high.]
Sidi Saleh came to bear me company and to apologize for the enforced
absence of my host, Sayed El Abid. There was set before me a feast
fit for the gods, or for mortals fresh from the monotonous living
of the desert: lamb, rice, vegetables, _mulukhiah_, an Egyptian
vegetable rather like spinach, delicious bread, sweet vinegar, milk,
sweets, followed by coffee, milk with almond pulp beaten up in it,
and finally the ceremonial three glasses of tea, flavored with amber,
rose-water, and mint.
When the meal was over and I had returned to my house, I had barely
time to see about the disposition of my baggage and discuss the
question of camels for the next stage of the journey when the slave
came to conduct me again to El Abid’s house for dinner. El Baskari
was again my host, a dignified, kindly figure in a beautiful _gibba_
of yellow and gold, having changed the classical soft Bedouin
_tarbush_, which he had been wearing, for a white silk _kufia_
and a green and gold _egal_.
When this second meal had reached the point of scented tea and
incense, suddenly the clocks began to strike, each with its own
particular tone, the Arabic hour of three—which then meant nine
by the standard of the outside world. I closed my eyes for a moment
and felt myself back in Oxford with the hour striking in endless
variety of tones from all the church towers of the university town.
I went out into the moonlight with the fragrance of the rose-water
and the incense lingering about me. I stood on the edge of the ridge
overlooking the waters of the lake and reflected on my former visit
to Kufra when this was my goal. Now it was the beginning of the
most interesting part of my journey. I heard the voices of _ikhwan_
and students reading the “Hesb” in the evening quiet. Abdullahi
slipped out of the shadows and stood beside me.
“This is the night of half-Shaban” (meaning the middle of the
month before Ramadan), he said in a low tone as of a man who thinks
aloud. “God will grant the wishes of one who prays to-night.”
For several minutes we two stood there silently. My face was
toward the southeast, where lay an untrodden track and oases that
are “lost.” But Abdullahi turned to the northeast, where lies
Egypt and his family and children. I did not need to ask him for
what he prayed.
_Monday, April 2._ At Hawari I had been told by the Bedouin caravan
from Wadai that a French patrol had come north as far as the well at
Sarra over the main trade-route from Wadai to Kufra. This was the
route I had intended at first to follow, but it seemed that only
the small portion of it which lay between Sarra and Kufra remained
unexplored. Again I had heard vague stories of the “lost” oases
on the direct route south which I had planned some time to explore,
although I knew that this direct route to Darfur in the Sudan was
practically never used either by Bedouins or by Sudanese because
of its supposed difficulties and dangers. The story of the French
patrol turned my mind again to these oases, and I determined to
try and find them rather than to follow my original plan.
I set out decided to do all that was possible to explore these
lost oases, but, failing that, I was to cross the Libyan Desert by
the beaten road through Wajunga and Wadai and then turn eastward
toward Darfur.
Zerwali and Suliman Bu Matari, a rich Zwaya merchant, came to discuss
the trip southward. Bu Matari had discouraging counsel to offer as
to the route I had now decided to take.
“Eight years ago,” he said, “the last caravan to go that
way—of which my brother Mohammed was the leader—was eaten up and
slaughtered on the frontier of Darfur. They went, not as you wish to
go, but by the easier route from Ouenat to Merega”—a small oasis
about 290 kilometers southeast of Ouenat. “This journey you propose
to make is through territory where no Bedouin has passed before.
The _daffa_ [a long waterless trek] between Ouenat and Erdi is
a long and hazardous one. God be merciful to the caravan in such
heat. Your camels will drop like birds before the hot south winds.
Even if you get through safely, who knows how the inhabitants of
the hills over there will receive you? Do not let your anxiety to
travel fast overrule your wisdom and keep you from choosing the
safe trade-route to Wajanga and Abeshe.”
I thanked him for his advice; but I knew that I should not take it.
[Illustration: THE KING OF OUENAT
He is holding his Mohammedan rosary in his hand]
After luncheon royally provided by El Abid, I went to visit his son
Sharrufa. He is an intelligent young man, thirsting for knowledge. He
has gone as far into the outside world as Benghazi and that by no
means metropolitan community is still for him “the” city of the
world. He apologized for the illness of his father, and I offered
to send medicine which might possibly help him.
_Tuesday, April 3._ It was very warm, with heavy clouds and a bad
southwest wind. After luncheon as usual I went to visit Shams El
Din, a cousin of Sharrufa, and his younger brother. The older boy
is very intelligent and has eyes that seem to be asking questions
of the world. They offered me three cups of milk with almond pulp
and home-made jam. I knew that to refuse such an offer is to offend;
so I left the house in a state of torpor. Dinner later at Sayed El
Abid’s did not improve matters internally.
Again I discussed the plan of going by way of Arkenu and Ouenat.
I was more determined than ever. We would see what Bu Helega had
to say when he arrived from Hawari.
_Wednesday, April 4._ I was awakened by Jeddawi, who as usual
brought me a pot of fragrant tea.
This is comparative civilization, I thought, as I saw Ahmed preparing
my shaving-kit. There are of course times when one welcomes the
conveniences and comforts of civilization, but having trekked so
far one feels more at home when on the move than when resting in
an oasis.
The early part of the day was spent in cutting down most of the
wooden boxes and rearranging the luggage in preparation for the
long trip south. It required particular care, since from now onward
there would be no chance of changing the camels until our arrival
at El Fasher in the Sudan, about 950 miles.
The question of providing new shoes for the men of my caravan had
to be attended to, as the Bedouin shoes that were made for them
at Jalo had been worn out. Before lunch I had a visit from a few
Zwaya chiefs, who came officially to pay their respects, and also
unofficially to satisfy their curiosity and suspicion as to the size
of my caravan and the equipment I was carrying, and if possible to
find out what plans I had made for my journey to the Sudan.
Lunch, as usual, at Sayed El Abid’s. I had the cheerful news that
the medicine I gave to him had a good effect. The afternoon I spent
in attending to the question of arms and ammunition. Later I took
a long walk in order to make compass observations of the vicinity
of Taj.
_Thursday, April 5._ Zerwali had a long talk with Bu Helega, who
arrived in the night from Hawari. The latter refused point-blank
to go to El Fasher by the Ouenat route.
Bu Helega came to visit me and tried to persuade me to go by way of
Wadai. When he saw that his advice would probably not be taken he
became desperate. I had clearly pointed out to him that nothing could
change my decision to cut across by the Ouenat route to El Fasher.
“By God, it’s a dangerous route,” he said, “and many a
caravan has been eaten up by the inhabitants of the hills on the
way. They do not fear God, and they are under the authority of
no man. They are like birds; they live on the tops of mountains,
and you will have trouble with them.”
“We are men, and we are believers,” I responded. “Our fate
is in the hands of God. If our death is decreed, it may come on
the beaten track to the nearest well.”
“Many a Zwaya beard has been buried in those unknown parts,”
he declared. “The people are treacherous, and they fear neither
God nor man.”
“May God’s mercy fall on those Zwayas who have lost their
lives,” I replied. “Our lives are no more precious than theirs.
Shall our courage be less?”
“The water on this route is scarce and bad,” he argued again.
“God has said, ‘Do not throw yourselves with your own hands
unto destruction.’”
“God will quench the thirst of the true believer,” I answered,
“and will protect those who have faith in Him.”
He felt himself in danger of being beaten in argument and shifted
his ground.
“None of my men are willing to accompany you on this route,” he
asserted, “and I cannot send my camels either. It is sending them
to death. If you find anybody who is willing to hire his camels
I am ready to pay for them, but neither my men nor my camels are
going to take you on this journey.”
“Do what you like,” I retorted with spirit. “I am going by
this route. It will be between you and Sayed Idris when he knows
that Bu Helega has not kept his word.”
There the argument rested. I had already learned that the few owners
of camels at Kufra had been urged by Bu Helega and his men not to
help me in my new plan. He hoped by so doing to force me to accept
his plan of the safe route through Wadai.
An enormous lunch was provided by Jeddawi. The three days of
official hospitality of El Abid having ended yesterday, Jeddawi,
as Idris’s _wakil_ at Kufra, can now entertain us.
Bu Helega was about to leave, but I invited him to partake of our
meal, and he accepted. He hoped still to persuade me to change my
mind. I hoped even more strongly to convince the old man that the
route was not as dangerous as he made it out to be. After the third
glass of tea we parted, neither of us having succeeded in convincing
the other. But I felt that my last words had an effect on him.
[Illustration: THE EXPLORER’S KITCHEN IN A CAVE
It was very hot, and the party had to take shelter from the sun]
[Illustration: THE ROCK VALLEY WELLS FOUND AT OUENAT
They are full of rain-water every year, and as they are in small
caves sheltered from the sun they keep the water during the greater
part of the year.]
In the afternoon the slave came to tell me that his master, Sayed
El Abid, would like to see me. I had already intimated that he need
not be in a hurry to give me an audience, as I knew he was suffering
badly from his gout and it was very difficult for him to come down to
the reception-room. But he was not willing to have me think that he
had violated the rules of hospitality by delaying the audience, and
so he very kindly allowed me to see him in spite of his suffering.
It was the first time that I had seen Sayed El Abid on this journey,
and as I was ushered into his presence I thought that he might
have come out of a gorgeous illustration of “The Thousand and
One Nights.” He was dressed in a yellow silk _kuftan_ embroidered
with red braid, a rich white silk _burnoos_ carelessly hung on his
shoulders. On his head he wore a white turban with snow-white gauze
flowing from the sides. This is the classical head-gear of the chiefs
of the Senussi family. He carried in his hand a heavy ebony stick
with a massive silver head. He was a picture of simple and benign
dignity, and no one would have suspected him of being the redoubtable
warrior that he really is. He was sitting on a big upholstered
arm-chair, and as I entered he tried to get up. I hastened to him,
grasping his hand, and begged him not to make an effort to rise. He
was suffering badly from his gout, and the conversation started
easily on the subject of his ailment. He has been suffering for many
years. At times at night, he said, when the pain is at its worst,
“I pray to God that He may shorten the number of my days in this
world, for I cannot even perform my prayers as I should.”
We then discussed the question of my trip to the Sudan, and he too,
I found, had been prevailed upon to urge me to take the safer route
through Wadai. I pointed out to him that Sayed Idris was now in Egypt
and that I had to hasten to my country to try to repay a little of
the hospitality that had been lavished upon me by the Senussis. It
was fortunate that the route to the Sudan through Ouenat is known
to be shorter than that through Wadai.
“You are a dear friend of ours,” he said; “and the Sayed,
I am sure, would rather have you arrive in Egypt late and safe than
hear that any harm had befallen you.”
“Our fates are in the hands of God,” I replied; “our efforts
are decreed by Him, and I carry with me the blessing of the Senussi
masters.”
I spoke with an air of determination. Sayed El Abid was pensive for
a few moments. Slowly he raised his head and lifted his two hands
toward heaven.
“May God make your efforts succeed and send you back safe to your
people,” he said, yielding to my desire. “You have visited the
tomb of our grandfather at Jaghbub and the _kubba_ of Sidi El Mahdi
here, and you have their blessings. ‘He who struggles and has
faith is rewarded by God.’” He quoted from the Koran. We then
read the “Fat-ha”; he gave me his blessing and again prayed
that God might guide our steps and give me and my men fortitude. I
felt very happy as I wound my way through the multitude of corridors
and courtyards. I was relieved to know that I had an ally in Sayed
El Abid, and that he would not prove an obstacle in my new plan of
going to the Sudan by way of Ouenat.
All the men of my caravan were there when I entered the house.
One look at their faces told me with what suppressed excitement
they had been waiting since my departure to Sayed El Abid to hear
his verdict on the journey south. Slowly I made my way to my room
and asked them to come in. I too had to suppress my excitement; but
mine was the excitement of success and not of expectation. There
was a long pause before I could control my voice and make it as
indifferent as it should be.
“The Sayed has blessed our journey to Ouenat and has given me
the ‘Fat-ha’ for it.”
I dared not even look in the men’s faces.
“We have the blessings of the Senussi masters with us, Sayed El
Abid has assured me, and God will give us fortitude and success;
and guidance comes from Him.”
CHAPTER XV
KUFRA: ITS PLACE ON THE MAP
_Friday, April 6._ The day began with the arrival of an immense
bowl of roses, gloriously fragrant, sent by Sayed El Abid. This is
the way the desert belies its name every now and then. I defy the
Riviera to produce anything finer than these, or more fragrant.
It was Friday, the Moslem Sabbath, and I attended prayers at the
mosque. The young Senussi princes were expected, and some of the
Bedouins came in their best clothes, but side by side with the
richest of silk _kuftans_ were the shabbiest _jerds_. Every one took
off his slippers as they came in. I watched them for a while. There
came a prosperous Zwaya or Majbari merchant with the crease still
fresh in rich robes just removed from the chest, and _kohl_ in his
eyes, put in with a _madwid_ (_kohl_ stick) of ivory or brass. The
prosperous man, maybe, has everything upon him new, and he smells
strongly of scent, perhaps pure rose-water distilled in Kufra,
or else musk or other strong perfume from the Sudan. He enters in
a dignified way and takes his place. There comes another, and his
_jerd_ is tattered and his face bronzed and withered, not flabby,
but he is no less dignified. Clothes play but a small part in
this assembly because of the natural dignity and courage of these
people, and those qualities are brought out in relief even more
by the tattered _jerd_ than by the fine silks and scents, which
sometimes take away something of the personality of the individual.
A slave comes. He is the favorite slave and confidant of one of
the Senussi chiefs. His silks are as rich and even more vivid,
and there is little to suggest servility. He feels his importance
and walks with equally dignified grace through the ranks of the
worshipers to take his place, maybe next to a dignitary, maybe next
to a beggar. At the mosque the poor not only stand on level ground
with the rich and the prosperous, but in a subtle way they have
their revenge, for in the house of God the master is God and the
beggar may feel as great or greater than the rich man since he is
not submerged in the luxury of the world and forgetting God. The
old and shabby _jerd_ is, to the Bedouin going into the mosque,
as fit a garment for worship as silken brocades are proper raiment
for a man going to see the Senussi chiefs.
The worshipers are now ready. The _muezzin_ has finished the call to
prayer. There is a hush. The young Senussi princes are entering the
mosque. They take the places that have been reserved for them. All
eyes turn toward them, and, on account of their youth, they look a
little shy and embarrassed. No one rises as they enter, for this is
the House of God, wherein God alone is the master. Then the _imam_
mounts the pulpit and delivers his sermon. On the few occasions
that I have been able to attend Friday prayers in an oasis mosque,
the theme of the sermon has often been the same, advising the
congregation to shun the world and its luxury and to prepare for
a life of happiness in the next world by doing good. “Beware of
the ornaments and the luxuries of this world, for they are very
enticing. Once you fall a victim to them you lose your soul and
stray farther from God. Draw nearer to God by doing good deeds and
obeying his commands. This life will pass away. Only the next world
is everlasting. Prepare yourselves for it, that you may be happy
in eternity.”
The interior of this mosque is beautiful in the simple dignity of
its lines. The walls are bare, whitewashed, scrupulously clean.
The floor is covered with rugs or with fiber matting. The worshipers
squat cross-legged upon the floor in a very reverent attitude. There
are perhaps two hundred of them, ranged in rows, all facing toward
Mecca. There are some who count their prayers upon rosaries of amber
beads; others, too poor to have rosaries, record the number of their
prayers by opening and closing their fingers. There are some whose
every movement betrays opulence and prosperity; others, Bedouins
of the desert, have a far-away look. The most striking impression
is the serenity and contentment written on their faces. Even upon
the pinched and haggard face there is an expression of equanimity
which shows that the man has accepted his fate. It is written there
that he is living on the verge of starvation, yet he does not rebel.
After lunch at El Abid’s, Soliman Bu Matari came again to talk
about the trip south. He reported that Bu Helega and Mohammed,
who was to be our guide, had met and talked things over, but Bu
Helega was still unwilling to go.
Abdullahi had spent the day at Jof, gathering what information he
could about the Ouenat route and trying to find out if the Tebus
would let me hire camels from them for the journey thither.
After dinner at El Abid’s, I spent some time in Sayed Idris’s
library, which he had instructed Jeddawi to throw open to me.
Imagine a room of medium size filled with chests containing
books. The ceiling is decorated in vivid colors, the work of an
artist, a lover of the Senussis, who came from Tunis simply to do
them a service, just as in medieval Europe painters and sculptors
devoted their lives to adorning churches. Every bit of wood in the
room has come from Egypt or Benghazi. There is a window open to
the air with only wooden shutters as a protection against the sun.
[Illustration: AT ARKENU
Hidden in the heart of the desert are these strange picturegraphs]
[Illustration: THE MOST IMPORTANT DISCOVERY MADE AT OUENAT
Rock drawings found in the valley chiseled on the granite rock. The
drawings are similar to those found in Egypt of prehistoric
age. There are drawings of giraffes, gazelles of every kind, lions,
ostriches, cattle, but none of the camel, yet no traveler can reach
this oasis now except with the camel because of the absence of
water on the route and of any grains which could make the journey
possible for a donkey or a horse. The remains of routes found in
the Egyptian oasis west of the Nile Valley point toward the oasis
of Ouenat, and it is probable that in the old times the route from
the Mediterranean coast to central Africa was through this oasis
and not through Kufra, as is the case now.]
It is not easy to move about, for books and chests of books are
ranged along the walls and in the middle of the room as well.
There are many very ancient chests used as cup-boards and at
the same time fitted with attachments at the sides which enable
them to be straightway loaded upon a camel in case of need. The
library is somewhat out of order, books piled carelessly one on
top of another, for Sayed Idris has long been absent. There is a
great number of manuscripts inclosed in beautifully tooled morocco
covers. There are modern books printed in Cairo and in India. There
are manuscripts from Morocco, Algeria, Tunisia. With the exception
of a few books in the Persian language, all are in Arabic. There
are two or three manuscripts of the Koran illuminated in gold. It
was a great privilege for me to be allowed to go into this library,
for as a rule no one is admitted.
I found many manuscripts laboriously written on ancient parchment,
works on philosophy, the Arabic language, theology, Sufism, a few on
poetry and mysticism, another on talismans and magic. Many were the
interesting and pleasant hours that I spent among the collection. The
surroundings and the atmosphere were just right; so remote, so many
miles from the world, one felt in the mood to absorb the thought
to be found in these manuscripts. Sit in a comfortable chair in
the midst of civilization and try to read such books; one ring of
the telephone would be enough to make them appear archaic.
_Saturday, April 7._ A fine pair of shoes came as a present from
Sharrufa. The chiefs of the Zwayas came to pay me another visit. We
talked over our coffee about Zwaya history. I learned that it was
not the Zwayas who first conquered Kufra from the Tebus, but the
Ghawasi and Jahama tribes. The names of two of the Kufra villages,
Tollab and Zurruk, are family names of the Jahama tribe.
I gave each of my visitors a photograph of the group which I had
taken several days before, and they were delighted with them.
I realized to the full that day the perils of Kufra. Rohlfs almost
lost his life here by violence; I almost lost mine by kindness. I
lunched prodigally at El Abid’s, as usual, and the meal was
followed by coffee, three glasses of tea, with amber, rose-water,
and mint, and three glasses of milk enriched with almond pulp. Then
Sharrufa insisted that I should come to his house and offered me
three glasses of perfumed tea, followed again by three glasses of
almond-flavored milk. I reflected that to refuse was to offend,
and gulped down the beverages, which, by now, had become somewhat
nauseating. The end was not yet. Shams El Din hauled me off to
his house and set before me biscuits and nuts and a huge glass of
sweet syrup. It was almost more than flesh and blood could endure,
but—to refuse was to offend. There followed three glasses of
coffee, but I stalked forth with all the dignity of a man going to
the gallows or the Spartan boy with the fox gnawing at his vitals.
As I lay down in my room to recuperate, many thoughts surged
through my brain. Would that the Bedouin, whoever he was, who
selected “three” as the mystic number to characterize desert
hospitality, had died unborn! But it was lucky that he did not hit
on seven instead of three. I came to the desert perfectly prepared
for destruction by the hand of nature or hostile men, but the idea
of perishing through indigestion did not commend itself to my sense
of the fitness of things.
And yet, at the proper time, I went to El Abid’s again for
dinner. Some of the Bedouin chiefs were my fellow-guests, and once
more the route to the southward was discussed. Bu Helega persisted
in his refusal to go by way of Ouenat.
“The conditions laid down by Sayed Idris,” he said, “call
for a journey to Wadai and not to Darfur.” He would send neither
his camels nor his men that way. I argued like a lawyer that since
he had contracted to provide thirty-five _marhalas_—or days’
journeys—from Kufra southward, it should make no difference to
him whether I use those _marhalas_ to go to Wadai or to El Fasher
or back to Egypt. He was unconvinced by this ingenious reasoning,
but when he realized that I was determined, that El Abid was not
opposed to my plan, and that I was willing to take fewer camels
than originally stipulated, he gave a reluctant consent. But he
would not go himself or send his men.
_Sunday, April 8._ The affair of Bu Helega’s horse came to a
head. I bought him for thirty-three pounds. He was sturdy and a
splendid traveler, needing to drink only every second day.
After luncheon I took El Abid’s photograph and had a long talk with
him about his malady, which he bore with true Bedouin fortitude,
about conditions in Cyrenaica and Egypt, and about my plans for
the trip to the Sudan.
I had had bad luck with my scientific work at Kufra. I did not find
it easy to escape surveillance and to move about unattended or to use
my instruments without arousing suspicion. What was worse, it had
been cloudy every day since I arrived there, and I had been unable
to take observations of the sun or Polaris with the theodolite.
[Illustration: WHITE SAND VALLEY AND EXPLORER’S CAMP
A view of the inhabitants of Ouenat, the second oasis discovered
by the explorer]
After dinner I was thoroughly tired. I had used up all the
indigestion tablets which I brought with me. I felt that it would
be a relief to get back to the simplicity of the open desert again.
_Monday, April 9,_ was still cloudy, but a cool breeze was blowing. I
spent a quiet day, reading in Idris’s library, developing a few
films, and buying _girbas_ and barley for the journey. Sayed El
Abid gave me copies, written with his own hand, of letters by El
Mahdi to various _ikhwan_. He made me presents of a Moorish knife
in a silver scabbard and a flint-lock pistol also beautifully inlaid.
_Tuesday, April 10._ The clouds cleared away in the afternoon, and
I took photographs of the valley. I arranged with the shoemaker
for shoes for myself and my men, and for bandoliers, which the
men insisted on having, in view of the alarming rumors they had
been hearing.
I met Mohammed Sukkar, who was to be our guide over the Ouenat route,
for the first time, and liked him.
_Wednesday, April 11._ El Abid had heard of my purchase of Bu
Helega’s horse and sent me a Tuareg sword and an Italian carbine,
to carry when I ride him.
At last I was able to make observations with my theodolite. I was
anxious to see how my results would agree with those of Rohlfs.
_Thursday, April 12._ I sent Sayed El Abid my shot-gun as a gift.
In the afternoon I rode with Sayed Mohammed Bu Tamanya and Zerwali
to Jof. We were met by the chiefs of the village. I visited the
_suk_, where the weekly market was being held, the _zawia_, which
is the oldest Senussi school in Kufra, and the mosque. Jof is the
trade-center of Kufra. It was interesting to find side by side in
the _suk_ rifle-cartridges whose marking showed them to be thirty
years old, Italian tomato sauce in tins from Benghazi, blue and
white calico made in Manchester and imported from Egypt, and leather,
ivory, and ostrich-feathers from Wadai. These products of the south,
however, are not plentiful now in Kufra, except when a merchant
who has brought them from Wadai is prevented for some reason from
going on to the north to sell them in Egypt or Cyrenaica. Kufra
had seen its best days as a trade-center before the occupation of
the Sudan. Then it was easier to find an outlet for the products
of Wadai and Darfur through Kufra than by way of the country to
the east. Even now, however, there is a contraband trade through
Kufra in female ivory and ivory of less than fourteen pounds weight,
the exportation of which is prohibited by the Sudan Government.
In addition to the trade that passes through Kufra, most of the
big Zwaya chiefs who have enough slaves go in for agriculture. They
raise barley and maize. The Senussis are more progressive and grow
melons, grapes, bananas, marrows, and other vegetables of the more
delicate kinds, all of which are a great treat after the monotonous
fare of the desert. They raise mint and roses, from which they make
the rose-water and mint essence so essential in their ceremonies of
hospitality. From a few olive-trees some olive-oil is produced in
primitive presses. The animals of Kufra are camels, sheep, donkeys,
and a few horses. Meat, however, is very expensive, as there is
little grazing for sheep in the valley. The animals are fed on
pounded date-stones, which do very well as a staple diet. But some
green stuff is necessary at intervals. The Senussis, who are in
everything more progressive than their neighbors, raise chickens
and pigeons.
The price of slaves, I learned at Kufra, has risen a great deal
during the last few years because there are no more slaves coming up
from Wadai on account of the vigilance of the French authorities
in that province. Occasionally the Bedouins get round this by
contracting a marriage with a slave-girl in Wadai and then, when
they come back, divorcing and selling her. On one of my travels in
1916 I was offered a slave-girl for six gold louis (120 francs);
now the price varies from thirty to forty pounds. A male slave
costs less. The Bedouins sometimes marry their slave-girls, and if
one of these bears a male child she automatically becomes free. The
Bedouins have no prejudice against color; that is, if a slave bears
the head of a tribe his eldest male child, that child ipso facto
becomes in his turn the head of the tribe, however black he may be.
Whereas the children of slaves are slaves, the child of a slave-girl
and a free man, however poor, is always free, and even though his
father dies and he is left an orphan, he can never be a slave. The
lot of a favorite male slave especially is preferable. They have
more power and are taken more into the confidence of their masters
than free men. They are very well treated and become members of the
family. They are well dressed, for an ill-dressed slave reflects
badly on his master, just as a shabby footman would detract from the
glory of a millionaire’s Rolls-Royce. The favorite slave of Sayed
Idris, Ali Kaja, is not only the most trusted man of Sayed Idris,
but he has more power and authority among the Bedouins themselves
than many a free man. Such a slave is treated as a confidant. If
the slave of Sayed El Abid came to me with a message, I took it to
be absolutely true, knowing that it is his duty to report exactly
what he is told. In the same way, if I wished something to reach the
ears of Sayed El Abid, and only his ears, I knew that I could tell
it without a moment’s hesitation to his slave and be perfectly
confident that it would not go anywhere else.
[Illustration: THE CARAVAN ARRIVING AT OUENAT]
A man slave is permitted to buy a slave-girl. Once when I asked
Ali Kaja about the price of slaves, he complained: “They are
very expensive nowadays. The other day I bought one, and she cost
me forty pounds in golden sovereigns.” He said it with such an
air that he might never have been a slave himself.
The shabbiest slave that you see in an oasis is generally the freed
slave, who curiously enough is looked down upon by the other owned
slaves, and himself feels ashamed that he is a freed slave and
belongs to no one!
There are many date-trees all through the Kufra Valley, and many of
them belong to the Senussis. When the Zwayas invited Sidi Ibn Ali
El Senussi to come to Kufra, each one of them gave the Senussis one
third of his property, land, and date-trees. The proportion of two
to one between the date-trees owned by the Zwayas and those of the
Senussis has, however, in the years since then, been considerably
altered in favor of the Zwayas. These regular inhabitants of the
valley naturally planted new trees faster and thus increased their
own holdings. One can still see in the valley the walls separating
the Senussi lands from those of the Zwayas.
On our way back from Jof we met a wedding party. The officer
commanding the troops at Kufra was being married, and the father
of the bride invited me to “empty gunpowder” in honor of the
occasion. I was glad to pay a compliment to the officer, who was
an old friend of mine, and, when they fired their guns in salute,
in good Bedouin style I rode my horse at a gallop up to the party,
pulled him to a sudden halt in front of the bride, and fired my
gun into the ground before her. It was astonishing how Baraka,
the moment he heard the sound of the guns, took to the gallop and
brought me at a rush within the prescribed distance for firing. It
was all a part of his training.
_Friday, April 13._ A slave of Sayed Idris came to be treated for an
illness which had lasted for two months. It seemed to be a digestive
upset, with continual vomiting. I gave him ether on a piece of sugar,
milk, and rice, and by evening he was better.
Bu Helega arrived from Hawari with seventeen camels. I told him to
complete the twenty-five we had agreed upon.
I received a visit from the bridegroom and his father-in-law, who
came to thank me for the compliment I paid the wedding procession.
_Saturday, April 14._ Bu Helega brought the rest of the camels. He
was in a dilemma about sending a man with us. He did not wish
to send his son, or even a slave, on such a hazardous journey
which none of us might get through alive. On the other hand,
there was the off chance that Fate might be good to us and let
us escape. In that case, remote though it seemed to him, if he
had no representative with us, how should he get his camels back,
or rather their value? For it would be the natural thing to sell
them at the end of the trip.
The afternoon was spent in packing and the evening in making
observations. The weather was now more gracious. This was only the
third night since reaching this spot that I had been able to see
Polaris. I determined that I would not leave Kufra until I had made
at least twice as many observations on different nights.
_Sunday, April 15._ The morning was spent in loading. Bu Helega
was still in a quandary about sending a man with us. But since I
had the camels it did not make any particular difference to me what
he decided.
The slave whom I had been treating was astonishingly improved in
health. He came to thank me. No one was more surprised than I at
what I had been able to do for him.
At two the caravan set out for Ezeila, the last well of Kufra Valley
on the south. There we were going to do _tag-heez_ properly, taking
several days for perfecting our final preparations. I had bought
two sheep for Bu Zafar, as none of us had made this journey before.
All my men had been newly clothed and made a cheerful sight,
in spotless white with red shoes. Their carefully cleaned rifles
glittered as they hung on their backs. Most of the new camels looked
fresh and strong.
_Monday, April 16._ Abdullahi took the horse to Taj for shoeing,
as I found that the stony ground was too hard for him. I sent a
brass tray to the commandant as a wedding present, and the last
three bottles of Bovril to Idris’ sick slave. Our departure was
postponed because the guide was still occupied before the _kadi_
with a legal matter over a camel.
_Tuesday, April 17._ I had breakfast at Soliman Bu Matari’s in
Jof with Zerwali, Abdullahi, the commandant, Saleh, and Mohammed
Bu Tamania. The rest poked fun at the commandant because, being
a new bridegroom, he would not partake of a dish cooked with
onions. “They do not forgive when they are young,” said Bu
Tamania, winking at the commandant.
[Illustration: THE VALLEY OF ERDI
The red rocks and rose-colored sand are the peculiarity of that
region]
I bought a _hejin_, or trotting-camel, for my own use, paying nine
pounds for it. We were at last ready for the start the next day.
As I made my last observation of Polaris, I had a strong hope that
I should have succeeded in putting Kufra into its proper place
on the map. I had been keen to check Rohlfs’s determination of
the position of Kufra, which he made from the observations of his
companion Stecker at Boema. Taj had not been built in Rohlfs’s day.
When I made my first observations at Taj, I discovered that they
were not in agreement with the results of Stecker’s observations
at Boema, which is two kilometers from Taj in a direction 54°
east of true south. I thereupon determined that I would not leave
Kufra until I had secured a sufficient number of observations
to preclude the possibility of any appreciable error. Polaris
was observed with the theodolite by me on six different nights,
under conditions which Dr. Ball, in his scholarly paper on my work
published at the end of this volume, declares to leave no room for
an error greater than a single minute of latitude or longitude.
The net result of my observations, when they were finally reduced
after my return to Egypt, was that Kufra is some forty kilometers
south-southeast of the position assigned to it by Rohlfs from
Stecker’s observations. I found the altitude of Kufra to be almost
precisely the same as that ascertained by Rohlfs, 400 meters for
Boema, on the floor of the valley, and 475 meters for Taj on the
valley’s ridge.
CHAPTER XVI
THE LOST OASES: ARKENU
_Wednesday, April 18._ Bu Helega had at last found two men, Bukara
and Hamid, who would go with his camels. They were poor men, and the
money they would make loomed larger in their eyes than the danger.
Sayed El Abid sent three representatives to see us off. They brought
a letter of farewell from him that touched my heart.
Bu Helega came to say good-by. At the final moment there were tears
in his eyes, and I do not think they were caused by fears for his
camels or for the men whom he was sending with us. In spite of our
controversy over the route, we remained true friends, with affection
and respect for each other.
My men were greeted by their friends as though this was to be
their last meeting. It was the most touching farewell of the
whole journey. “May God make safety your companion. . . . What
is decreed is decreed, and that will happen. May God guide you to
the true road and protect you from evil.”
There was little about this parting of that sense of assurance
which attends both those who go and those who stay behind when
it is a case of starting for a holiday with some certitude of
safe arrival. There were a few quivers in the last phrases of
farewell, and, knowing what had passed in the preceding days and
the intimidation to which the men had been subjected, I could guess
what was in their minds. Whereas I was excited by thoughts of the
“lost oases” and taking the unexplored road and going into the
unknown, they were thinking that this might be the last time they
would shake hands with their friends. There was even a pitying look
on the faces of some of those who came to bid us God-speed as to
doomed men, yet being Bedouins they also felt, “It is decreed
that they should go thus.”
We recited the “Fat-ha,” the first chapter of the Koran:
Praise be to God, the Master of the Universe, the Merciful, the
Compassionate, the Lord of the day of Resurrection. It is You Whom we
worship, and it is You Whom we ask for help. Guide us to the straight
path, the path of those whom You have rewarded, not those upon whom
displeasure has fallen nor those who have gone astray. Amen.
[Illustration: THE FIRST TREE SEEN APPROACHING ERDI]
There followed the call to prayers:
God is great, and I testify that there is no God but God, and that
Mohammed is the Prophet of God. Haste to prayers, haste to that
which is beneficent. Prayers are ready. God is great. There is no
God but God.
It was upon the edge of the valley of Kufra, where the oasis ends and
the desert stretches out ahead. They had walked with us until then,
and as we passed from the valley into the flat desert we looked back
upon the date-palms. The sun was setting, dusk falling, and Kufra
itself in the waning light was glimpsed as through the aperture of
a camera. Those who had come to say farewell straightway returned
and looked back no more. I was eager to get away from Kufra and
let my men turn their minds to the task ahead.
At last the real start had been made. Before me all was unknown,
full of the mystery and the fascination that lie in those parts of
the earth’s surface yet untraversed by men from the outside world.
We started at 4:30 P. M. and halted at 8:15, making fifteen
kilometers. It was fine and clear, with no wind. Hard sand covered
with very fine gravel, slightly undulating. After leaving the
date-trees of Ezeila and Kufra, we crossed a zone of _hatab_,
similar to that at Zieghen, and entered the _serira_ at 5:45. At
6:30 we passed hillocks which form the south side of the valley
of Kufra. At 8:15 we arrived at Hatiet El Houesh, marked by dry
_hatab_, which must once have been green. We left two men behind
us to bring two loads that were to be carried on Tebu camels.
Our caravan comprised twenty-seven camels and nineteen persons:
myself, Zerwali, Abdullahi, Ahmed, Hamad, Ismail, Senussi Bu Hassan,
Senussi Bu Jaber, Hamad Zwai, Sad the Aujili, Faraj the slave,
Bukara and his young brother Hamid, the camelman, Hassan, Mohammed
our guide, and three Tebus.
An entry from my diary again:
_Thursday, April 19._ Start at 1:45 P. M., halt at 7:15 P. M. Make
24 kilometers. Highest temperature 32°, lowest 11°. Fair and clear,
with few white clouds. Southeast breeze which drops at midday.
After leaving Hatiet El Houesh we enter into a _serira_ again, flat
expanse of hard sand covered with fine gravel. East of the _hatia_
is a chain of sand hillocks covered with dark brown stones; to the
west is another similar chain about 4 kilometers away.
At 2:15 we pass the end of the Hatiet El Houesh. The _hatia_ is
about 2 kilometers broad. At 3:45 there is a _gara_ on our left
about 2 kilometers away, and at 5 another _gara_ 4 kilometers
distant on our right. At 6:30 the sand is softer, with patches of
red and black stones. The surface is undulating.
We were delayed in starting through waiting for the two camels which
had been left behind, and used the time in collecting _hatab_. It was
very warm, and the camels grew tired quickly because of the heat. The
country was similar to that between Buttafal and Zieghen. With my
new _hejin_ I found it easy to fall behind to take observations
without exciting suspicion. We had to camp early because of the
condition of the camels.
_Friday, April 20._ Start at 2 A. M., halt at 9:30 A. M. Start again
at 3:30 P. M. and final halt at 8 P. M., make 48 kilometers. Highest
temperature 32°, lowest 10° at 12:30 A. M. Fine and clear, with
cold southeast wind in the early morning. It drops at midday and
gets up again at 4. In the evening it shifts to northeast.
At 4 A. M. passing through undulating country strewn with stone. At
6 enter _serira_ again, flatter. Sunrise is at 5:30. Immediately
thereafter on our right and left are low sand-hills from 8 to 10
kilometers distant. See a swallow in the morning and a hawk in the
afternoon. At 4:20 cross low sand-dunes and sight a black _gara_,
a long low mound, 10 degrees south of southeast.
This was the worst part of the journey for traveling, so far as
temperature conditions were concerned. In the middle of the day
it was too hot to march, and at night it was too cold. So we broke
the trek into two parts, starting soon after midnight, and resting
in the heat of the day. We had trouble with the baggage because of
the difficulty of good packing and loading in the dark. The camels,
however, went better on this day.
This was the fourth day of the lunar month. The Bedouins observe
the weather conditions on that day, believing that the weather for
the rest of the month will be the same. It was to prove true in
this case.
_Saturday, April 21._ We started at 2:30 A. M. At six in the
morning we came across stony and hilly country, which lasted for 12
kilometers. We passed on our left the _gara_ called Garet Kudi. At
nine we entered again into _serira_, with distant sand-dunes on
the right and left.
One camel fell ill shortly after our start and refused to go even
when its load was taken off. Two Bedouins were left behind to
bleed it, but all efforts at cure were in vain, and it had to be
slaughtered. I forbade the Bedouins to eat its flesh. Later, after
the midday halt, two Tebus dumped the loads from their camels and
went back to dry the flesh and leave it until their return from
Ouenat. They were to catch us later. This all delayed us about
an hour.
The men had little sleep the previous night and were very tired
after sunrise. But it was chiefly the intense heat from noon to four
o’clock that exhausted both men and camels. It was a very tired
caravan that started again at 4.30 P. M. and moved slowly along.
[Illustration: THE EXPLORER’S CAMP IN THE VALLEY OF ERDI]
[Illustration: SOUTH OF ERDI
Broken country and rough ground encountered by the party; it was
very difficult for the camels’ pads, which were often cut by the
sharp stones]
I saw two hawks and fresh sleeping-camps of birds on the sands.
_Sunday, April 22._ We traveled over flat hard sand, with
occasional sand hillocks, three to ten meters high, covered with
black stones. At 5:30 A. M. we sighted a chain of hills on our left
running from north to southwest across our path. At 8 A. M. we
entered into broken, hilly country, which continued all day. It
was called Wadi El Maraheeg. We came across broken ostrich-eggs.
We had better loading to-day, but the men were tired. Many of them
fell out to snatch a half-hour’s sleep, catching up with the
caravan when they woke.
Bukara brought me two little eagles, which he had taken from their
nest on the top of a _gara_. I ordered him to put them back and
saw that it was done.
The _hejin_ was ill and had to go all the afternoon without load
or even saddle.
At the midday halt the men fell asleep immediately and snored
heavily. This kind of travel is grueling, tedious work. But we were
getting on.
_Monday, April 23._ We started at 2.30 A. M., halted at 9:15 A. M.,
second start at 3:45 P. M., halt at 9 P. M., making forty-six
kilometers. This was the most exhausting trek that I had yet
known. For eight days we had had only four hours of sleep a day. We
had hardly started before the men with one accord fell back to
snatch a half-hour’s sleep, leaving the camels to follow the
will-o’-the-wisp of the guide's lantern. I could not avail myself
of this privilege, because of my anxiety for my instruments. The
loading, done in the dark, was insecure, and a slipped fastening
may mean a broken instrument or camera.
At intervals one or another camel would halt and kneel and refuse
to get up. Then a Tebu would come and press his thumb on a certain
big vein in the camel’s forehead and manipulate it. It seemed to
give the beast relief.
We were having a hard time of it crossing the high steep sand-dunes
when suddenly mountains rose before us like medieval castles
half hidden in the mist. A few minutes later the sun was on them,
turning the cold gray into warm rose and pink.
I let the caravan go on, and for half an hour I sat on the sand-dune
and let the sight of these legendary mountains do its will with
my mind and heart. I had found what I came to seek. These were the
mountains of Arkenu.
It was the outstanding moment of the whole journey. Any hardships
I might have endured, any hardships that might still await me, were
as nothing compared with the joy that filled me at the mere sight of
these hills. It was not like going to seek a hidden treasure that had
to be dug out of the ground. There they were standing right up high
before me so that I might feast my eyes upon them. Up and down, up
and down we had plodded across the sand-dunes in the chilly grayness
of the hours before dawn, until suddenly at the last dune it was
as though somebody had rung up a curtain upon these magical hills
of which I have not seen the like in the whole Libyan Desert. From
the time I left Sollum until I reached this spot, there had been
nothing like the mountains of Arkenu. The sight of them so gripped
me that for a while I dreamed that I was not in the desert any more.
_Tuesday, April 24,_ was the one hundred and eleventh day from Sollum
and the one hundred and fortieth from Cairo. We covered broken
country, sand covered with stones, undulating. At 5 A. M. heavy
sand-dunes. After the dunes the country became stony again, and later
there was hard sand covered with gravel. North of Arkenu Mountain
and only a hundred meters from it was a big sandstone hill about
two kilometers long and a hundred meters or so high.
There was a glorious sunrise, with shades of red and gold splashed
on the few gray clouds in the east. The cool wind soon dropped,
and it became close and warm.
Arkenu Mountain is a mass of granite, its gray surface weathered to
a ruddy brown, rising uniformly along its length some five hundred
meters from the desert surface. It is made up of a series of conical
masses which run together at their feet, without intervals between
them. We approached it at its most western point. As we came
toward it, we could not tell how far it extended to the east. At
the farthest point which we could see in that direction it rose
into a peak. We marched around the northwestern corner of the
mountain mass and came to the entrance of a valley which runs to
the eastward. There is one solitary tree of the species called by
the Goran _arkenu_ standing in the desert here. From it the oasis
takes its name. We made our camp near it. This was a bad spot for
camel-ticks, who lived in the shade of the tree and came literally
running by the score when our camels approached. We were obliged
to camp some distance from the tree, as the insects did not seem
to care to forsake its shade, even to attack the camels.
I once picked up a tick that was like a piece of petrified stone. I
hit it with a stick, and it just clicked like a piece of stone. I
turned away and pretended to be busy with something else. It took
about three or four minutes before it gave any sign of life. The
tick knows instinctively that safety lies in pretending to be
petrified. Then, without warning, it scooted like lightning.
When there are no camels these ticks live on nothing. They absorb
the camel’s blood, get inflated, and then they can live—the
Bedouins say years, but certainly a few months.
[Illustration: THE CHIEFTAIN OF THE BIDIYAT TRIBE
His sword over his shoulder is carried ordinarily on the left arm,
with his wrist through the thong]
[Illustration: TWO BIDIYAT MEN
Note the finer type of physique]
Immediately on our arrival the camels were sent into the valley to
be watered and to bring back the supply of water of which we were
much in need.
Two hours after we pitched camp the two Tebus left behind arrived
with a supply of meat from the slaughtered camel, which was
eaten with enthusiasm for dinner. A hot, gusty wind blew all the
afternoon. While I was resting in my tent I was suddenly aroused
by something tickling my ear and tried to brush it away, without
discovering what it was. In a moment a gust of wind blew in one of
the side walls of the tent, which had been raised for ventilation,
and I felt something darting across my body. I grasped at it
instinctively and, fortunately for my peace of mind, missed it. It
was a snake some four feet long, which was subsequently caught by
my men and despatched.
The men held a shooting competition in the afternoon. It started
as a perfunctory affair, but the interest quickened when I put up a
Medjidie—a Turkish dollar—as a prize. Senussi Bu Jaber, though
short-sighted, won the contest. Hamid expressed the feelings of the
other contestants when he said: “It was the Medjidie that worked
on my emotions and made me nervous. I had hit the mark before.”
I made observations and took photographs, and, incidentally,
treated the guide’s teeth.
Goran, the black tribes of the neighborhood, suddenly appeared from
the valley and were kept to dine with my men. No one had dreamed of
their presence until they appeared. The mountain looked desolate
and deserted, and one would not suspect that inside it lies a
fertile valley which is inhabited. As a matter of fact, Arkenu is
not inhabited all the year round. In the valley is good vegetation
to which in the past Bedouins, Tebus, and Goran brought their camels
during the grazing season. They closed the entrances to the valley
with rocks and left the camels there unattended for three months.
“When they came to take them back,” said Mohammed, the guide,
“they had as much fat on them as this.” He put his closed fists
one on top of the other.
_Wednesday, April 25._ The Goran family in the valley brought a
sheep, milk and _samn_, which is butter in a curious liquid state
because of the heat, as _diafa_ or hospitality. They also drove
their sheep to the camp to be milked for the men of the caravan.
After luncheon I rode into Arkenu Valley with Zerwali and Bukara. It
is a _karkur_, or narrow winding valley, extending some fifteen
kilometers back into the mountains. There are grass, shrubs, and an
occasional tree. We visited the Goran hut, where I took photographs
of a girl and two boys of the family. The boys wore white robes,
the sign of the sons of a _sheikh_. When I got back to camp, I sent
presents of cloth, handkerchiefs, and rice for the three children.
It was a beautiful moonlight night. I decided to spend three
days more at Arkenu because the grazing was good and the camels
still seemed tired from their hard trek. My _hejin_ was doing
well. I picked up stones for geological specimens and aroused the
suspicions of some of my men. They thought there was gold in what
stones I picked up or else I would not take the trouble to carry
them back home.
_Thursday, April 26._ At Arkenu. Highest temperature 36°; lowest
9°. Fine and clear, with very strong and hot southeast wind.
Twice the wind blew the tents down. We sent the camels to be watered
and to graze. It was a sweltering day, over 100° Fahrenheit in
the tent, and only a little less in the shade outside. Making
observations was difficult on account of the wind. I did not like
to shelter myself behind the tent while making them for fear of
arousing the inevitable curiosity and suspicion. The wind dropped
in the evening, and we were repaid for a hot and scorching day by
a beautifully cool evening with a fine moon. There was dancing and
singing by Bukara and the other men until midnight.
_Friday, April 27._ Arkenu was the first of the two “lost”
oases which it is my good fortune to place definitely on the
map. There had long been a tradition that two oases existed close
to the southwestern corner of Egypt. But the position that they had
been conjecturally given on one or two maps was from thirty to one
hundred and eighty kilometers out of place. No one had described
them from an actual visit. My observations showed that Arkenu is
situated in north latitude 20° 12′ 32″ and east longitude
24° 44′ 15″ and has an altitude of 598 meters at the foot of
the mountain. It is thus well within the boundaries of Egypt.
The principal interest of this oasis, as of Ouenat, lies in the
possibilities it offers for exploring the southwest corner of
Egypt, which has until now been unreached either by military
patrols or by travelers. No one has known with any certainty of
water-supplies in that part of the desert which could be relied
upon. The water at Arkenu is apparently unfailing and is drinkable,
though not as wholesome for human beings as one could wish. Arkenu
may conceivably prove to have strategic value at some future time,
standing as it does almost precisely at the meeting-point of the
western and southern boundaries of Egypt.
[Illustration: BIDIYAT BELLES]
[Illustration: BIDIYAT PRIEST]
Both Arkenu and Ouenat differ from all the other oases of the
Western Desert of Egypt in that they are not depressions in the
desert with underground water-supplies, but mountain areas where
rain-water collects in natural basins in the rocks.
The mountain chain of Arkenu as I saw it is about fifteen kilometers
in extent from north to south and some twenty kilometers from
east to west. But there was no opportunity to explore it to the
eastward, so that I cannot say whether it may not extend farther
in that direction than I have stated. I could only observe it
as far as I could see from the desert at the western foot of the
mountain. It may well be that off to the east Arkenu Mountain runs
into a chain of hills of which the Ouenat Mountains are also spurs
to the south. There is an opportunity for more exploration of the
eastern portions of both these rock masses than I was able to make
in the time and with the resources at my command.
The nearest known point to Arkenu and Ouenat to the east or
rather the northeast is Dakhla Oasis, some six hundred kilometers
distant. There is a tradition that there is an old track to Egypt
between these two points, but a journey from Dakhla to Arkenu
and Ouenat with caravan, which would take at least fourteen days,
would be a formidable undertaking.
CHAPTER XVII
THE LOST OASES: OUENAT
_Saturday, April 28._ We started at 9:30 P. M. for the first
all-night trek, halting at 7 A. M. of the twenty-ninth. We made
forty kilometers. It was fair and clear with a very strong hot wind
from southeast all day. The wind blew from the same quarter, but
was warm rather than hot all night. The ground was _serira_, with
large stones making bad going for the camels. At 6 A. M. we reached
the western corner of Ouenat Mountain and camped an hour later.
The day was spent quietly, chiefly in rest for the coming night
trek. In the early evening we sent men to bring the camels from
their grazing. Bukara hired a camel from a Tebu, to relieve his own,
which he wanted to be able to sell at the end of the journey for
a high price. I hired three Tebus and their camels to go with us,
but not for the same reason. Our transport was inadequate, for the
trek from Kufra had shown me that our loads were too heavy. The
camels became quickly exhausted.
The camels were brought in at eight in the evening, and we started
an hour and a half later. They were lightly loaded this time because
we were taking no water from Arkenu. The water there, while its
taste is not particularly unpleasant, is hard on one’s digestive
apparatus. We had three bad cases of dysentery among the men. The
invalids rode camels from the start, and the rest of the men took
turns during the night.
The caravan started out in the best of humor. At intervals some
cheerful spirit stopped and began to chant. In a moment half a
dozen of them were lined up beside him, all chanting, stamping and
clapping their hands rhythmically as the camels filed past. The
words of the song were always the same:
En kán azeéz alaih lanzár
Hátta laú ba-éd biddár
The accents are strongly pronounced and differ in the two lines,
as I have marked them. I would translate the verse thus, without
making any attempt to fit it to the jazz rhythm that would be
needed to complete the effect for the western ear: “O beloved,
our eyes gaze after you, even though your camp is far away
[Illustration: A BIDIYAT GIRL, WITH HER SISTER
The necklace of macaroni beads was given to her by the explorer to
eat, but she preferred to make it into a necklace.]
[Illustration: A BIDIYAT GIRL WITH HER CHILD
Note the nose-bead. Her hair is plaited when she is young, and is
oiled from time to time but never combed out.]
Again and again the chant was repeated until the performance ended
in a sudden shout. I had been the whole audience for the little
show, beating the rhythm with my whip, and when the shout went up
I called out, “Farraghu barud!” “Empty gunpowder!” was the
signal for a _feu de joie_ from the rifles, after which we all took
our places in the caravan and went on exhilarated.
A night march has its advantages. The time, unless one is dead
tired, passes more quickly than during the day, and the stars are
cheering company for any lover of nature. On the horizon ahead of
us loomed the dark masses of the Ouenat Mountains. It is so much
easier to march with one’s destination distinct before one than
to be walking on the flat disk of a desert where every point of
the compass looks like every other and the horizon keeps always at
the same maddening distance. We steadily approached the mountains
until the sun was rising over them, tinting and gilding their peaks
and throwing out on the desert a heavy shadow whose edge marched
steadily toward the mountain-foot as we approached it from another
direction. Shortly after sunrise we were opposite the northwest
corner of the mountains, and an hour later we made camp close under
their rocky walls. At this point there was an indentation in the
mountain-side, with a well in a cave at its inner end. We pitched
our tents at the mouth of this little arm of the desert sea, and
ten minutes later we were all sunk into sleep. This was our first
full night of travel, and we had some arrears of sleep to make up.
However, we did not sleep as long as we had expected to, but roused
ourselves before noon and turned our attention to food. The French
saying, _qui dort dîne_, may be true under some conditions, but
we of the desert find it more satisfactory when we are able to do
both. We all found pleasant distraction in roasting parts of the
lamb which was provided by Mohammed as _diafa_ for Ouenat.
I spent the rest of the day in visiting the well, which is situated
in the cave in the mountain-side, in taking observations, and in
looking over our surroundings. At this point the mountain rises
in a sheer cliff, with a mass of boulders, great and small, heaped
against it at its foot. The stones that make up this _tabre_, as the
geologists call it, have been carved by ages of wind and driven sand
into smooth, rounded shapes that giants of the heroic days might
have used in their slings to kill monsters or for some enormous
game of bowls. The _ain_ or well lies a few meters away from the
camp, in a cavity walled and roofed with the great rocks. It is
a pool of refreshing water kept cool by their protection from the
sun. The desert knows two kinds of wells, the _ain_, which properly
speaking is a spring, and the _bir_ or _matan_, which is a place
where water may be obtained by digging in the sand. We call these
wells of Ouenat _ains_, for lack of a better word, although they
are not springs but reservoirs in the rock where rain-water collects.
There are said to be seven of these _ains_ in the Ouenat Mountains,
of which I was to see four before I moved south again. I also heard
rumors of one or two _birs_ in the oasis, but I did not see them.
In the evening the camp was full of life and gaiety. The men
danced and sang as though there were no tedious days of hot sand
and scorching wind behind or ahead of them.
_Monday, April 30._ Up early and went with Zerwali, Abdullahi,
Mohammed, and Malkenni, the Tebu, to the big _ain_ up the
mountain. It was a stiff climb of an hour and a half. The _ain_
has a plentiful supply of splendid water and is picturesquely
surrounded with tall, slim reeds. I took some of the reeds back
with me to make pipe-stems. They give a pleasantly cool smoke.
In the early evening I set out on the _hejin_, with Malkenni,
Senussi Bu Hassan, and Sad to explore the oasis. It was a fine
moonlight night with a warm southeast breeze. For four hours
we marched over _serira_, skirting the northwest corner of the
mountain, and at midnight we entered a valley with a chain of low
hills on our left and the sinister mountain with its fantastic
rock formations on our right. The valley is floored with soft sand
strewn with big stones, which made hard going for the camels. At
the hour when men’s spirits and courage are proverbially at the
lowest ebb we halted a few minutes for a draft of strong tea from
my thermos flask and then pushed on. But our spirits were by no
means low. There was something magical about the night and the
moonlight and the mountains, to make this an experience stirring
to the imagination and uplifting to the soul. I speak for myself;
but the men seemed to be getting something out of it too.
At five the valley opened out on to a wide plain of flat _serira_,
with hills ten or fifteen kilometers away to the northeast. We
turned sharply to the south, around a spur of the mountain. At dawn
we stopped for morning prayers.
The camels were _barrakked_, and we took our stand on the sands
facing toward Mecca. When Moslems take part in their ceremonial
prayers, they stand before God—not, as some misinformed persons
say, before Mohammed, who was not God but man, a prophet and not
the Deity—and the first essential is cleansing, of body, heart,
and soul. In the desert the cleansing of the body can be only
symbolical, since water cannot be spared. We take sand in our hands,
rub it over each hand and forearm, then gently over our faces. With
hands uplifted, palms upward, we say the prayers appointed, then,
kneeling, touch our foreheads to the cool sands of the morning.
[Illustration: A BIDIYAT PARTY
The explorer came across them after passing through uninhabited
country for a fortnight]
[Illustration: 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 make _abra_. They boil the pips thoroughly to get rid of their
bitter taste and then crush them with dates or locusts in a wooden
mortar. _Abra_ is 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 the _waddan_ or 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 I had 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. Even _djinn_
have 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 look round 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 the _pied-à-terre_
of 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 drew these 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.
[Illustration: BIDIYAT WOMEN]
[Illustration: 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 the _djinn_.
“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 years B.C.
At 5:30 we started for the home camp. We wound our way up a steep
mountain path, hardly wide 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 10 A. 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, and _abra_ for _diafa_. He was
keeping Ramadan, and I insisted 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 the intrinsic value of the offering. The day was spent
in preparations for the start 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.
[Illustration: 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 a _burnoos_
and, with Sad and Hamid bleating like sheep behind him, came to the
camp pretending to be a Bedouin _sheikh_, bringing the two sheep
as _diafa_. 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 empty _fantasses_. 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 to ride when all the
Bedouins have yielded to the temptation.
“Why don’t you ride, Bukara?” I asked. “There are several
unloaded camels.”
“What would my _washoon_ [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 my _washoon_ at Kufra. It is always like that when
I begin my journeys. If the company is good I forget more quickly.”
CHAPTER XVIII
NIGHT MARCHES TO ERDI
_Sunday, May 6._ We got away at 6:45 P. 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 best _girbas_ was 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 6:30 P. M., halt at
11:30 P. M. Make 20 kilometers. Very soft sand, undulating, with
dry _sabat_ for 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 Baret 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 4:45 P. 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.
[Illustration: EXPLORER'S CAMP AT UM BURU]
The ground was undulating, hard, and covered with stones and large
gravel. We crossed some small _gherds_ soon after starting, and then
the country flattened out again, with softer sand. At 3:30 A. 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 familiar _serira_
again. Here I found bits of ostrich-shells.
Early in the day Arami, Malkenni’s brother, had taken a sack and
gone to collect _hatab_. 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 collect
_hatab_. 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 even the
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 4:15 P. M., halt at 10:15 P. 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 7 P. M. The
sand-storm lasts from 8 to 10. The ground is ordinary _serira_,
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 a
difficult _gherd_ ahead which could not be crossed in the dark. So
4:15 found us under way, with _serira_ under 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 the captain 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.
[Illustration: 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 a
_serira_, 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: “The _gherds!_
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 the _gherds_
in the darkness, and so we made our camp where we were.
_Thursday, May 10._ Start at 4:15 A. M., halt at 8:45 A. M.,
start again at 4:30 P. M., halt at 7 A. 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 ordinary
_serira_. At 5:30 P. M. country is interspersed with patches of
black and white stone like that before reaching Kufra. At 8 A. M. of
the 11th enter zone of dry grass on flat soft sands. At 4:30 A. M.
pass belt of sand-dunes.
In the early morning we got under way to cross the _gherds_ and
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 9 A. 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 4:30 P. 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 only _sheikhs_ wear 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 3
A. 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 them eat as they went
along instead of driving them at their best pace.
[Illustration: A ZAGHAWA SHEIKH]
[Illustration: 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 4:45 P. M., halt at 3:15 A. 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 12:45 A. M. pass an
ordinary _gherd_. At 1 enter flat _serira_ without grass. At 3:15
halt at sandstone hills, having missed our way.
The day was spent in sleeping and eating, and at 4:45 P. 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 course but did not want to interfere with him again after
the previous night.
At 3:15 A. 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 are
_barrakked_ and their loads are on the ground. I have never seen
men fall so quickly to sleep. Each one wraps himself swiftly in
his _jerd_ and 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 shake his
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 4:30 A. 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 9:45 A. 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
5 P. M. we follow them into the sand-dunes and thence into the
hills. The _gherds_ are 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 have barely risen from our knees when most of the men wrap
themselves in their _jerds_ and 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 10 A. M. for breakfast. The men
went to sleep again, but I could not. We started again at 5:15 P. 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 surest sign 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 11:30 P. M. I wrapped myself in my _jerd_ and 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 it could 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 6 A. M., halt at 9 A. M., start again at
5:30 P. M., halt at 10 P. M. Make 30 kilometers. Fair and clear. Cool
northeast breeze at 7 A. 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 dry
_nisha_. This is one of the signs that we are approaching Erdi. At
6:30 P. 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 5:30 P. 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 went away into the desert and disappeared,
but another who had also killed his man—found the track of a big
_warran_ or 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 the _warran_ as 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. The _warran_ does 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.
[Illustration: A BELLE OF THE ZAGHAWA TRIBE
With silver rings in her hair and ivory and silver bangles]
[Illustration: 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 back home 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 the _wadi_. 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 pleasant _wadi_ of 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 monotonous _serira_ and the
bare, unfriendly rocks that 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 the well 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 for _waddan_, 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 the _waddan_.”
Night fell on a camp of rested camels and cheerful, singing men.
I felt I should have none but pleasant dreams to-night.
[Illustration: WELL ON THE FRONTIER OF DARFUR]
CHAPTER XIX
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 a
_karkur_, a long narrow depression in the hills which winds like a
snake. It runs to the southward for seven or eight kilometers ending
in a _cul-de-sac_ where 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 the _ain_, 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
be very 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 the _wadi_ and 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 the _wadi_ and 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 such _terrain_ in 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 the _fantasses_ came 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. Such
an occurrence as this would have been a disaster if we had been in
a _daffa_, 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.
[Illustration: A WATER-CARRIER IN THE DESERT]
[Illustration: A WOMAN OF THE PALLATA 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 attacked whom,” 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 I had
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 flat _serira_, 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 twenty rounds 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 5:45 P. M. we made our start and half an hour later emerged from
the valley upon the _serira_. 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 5:15 A. M. and made our final
halt at 8 P. 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 a _tumtum_
tree. 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
leading into 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 and _girbas_
were 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 the _aman_. 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.
[Illustration: 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 as _diafa_, refusing to accept any money for them. I gave
them _etkias_ of 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 say good-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
the _diafa_ of 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 once more 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 his side 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 Italian cavalry 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.
[Illustration: SUDANESE TROOPS AND GIRLS
They are singing in welcome to the explorer’s party]
It was very hot, and we could not start until 5 P. 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
an _ensemble_ not 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 into it 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 the
_aman_; 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 the _sheikhs_. Presently the whole population,
led by the _sheikhs_, 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 as _diafa_, and the women (who
have a keen business sense) produced _samn_—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 the _sheikhs_ entered 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 the _sheikh_ not 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 XX
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 as _diafa_, and more presents
were distributed.
Encouraged by a cool southeast wind, we started at 3:15 P. 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.
On _Friday, 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 the guide. 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, tayi-been”_ (“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 in the 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 clouds and 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, the _diafa_ from 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-by tree had rotted in it, giving it an unpleasant odor.
[Illustration: 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 5:15 A. M., halt at 9:15 A. M. start
again at 3:45 P. M., halt at 7:45 P. 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 10 P. 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 last _girba_,
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 valley which 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 last _girba_ should 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 last _girba_, for which they had asked many times that morning.
Herri and Mohammed went ahead and made their way 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
more exalted 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 the
_sheikh_ of 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 length of 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. Only _sheikhs_ wear 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 as _diafa_, 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 11 P. M. he appeared,
however, and I immediately woke the men and set them to loading
the camels before he had any chance of changing his mind.
_Wednesday, May 30._ Start at 1 A. M., halt at 8:30 A. M., start
again at 4:15 P. M., halt at 7:15 P. 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 8:15 A. M. across a small _wadi_
running 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 the self-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, bleating like sheep themselves to attract it,
but with no success.
_Thursday, May 31._ Start at 3:45 A. M., halt at 8:45 A. M., start
again at 3:30 P. M., halt at 7:30 P. 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 the _wadi_ is very fertile, and the men from Wadai and
Darfur come to it in the autumn for grazing. We camped here for the
midday halt and found tracks of giraffe. In the afternoon we walked
through high dry grass as though in a great field of ripe corn.
[Illustration: 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 with _haskanit_, 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 5 A. 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. _Hagar_ is the Sudanese word for _gara_, 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 Zaghawa _sheikh_ of 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 inhabitants came 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 and Jehilat 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 2 A. 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 XXI
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 carrying _hatab_, 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 the _tom-tom_
of 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
“the _sheikh_ of the caravan.” He had hardly broken this news
to me 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 raised _lu-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 the _shabaal_; 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 marketplace. 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 beverage _merissa_ for 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.
[Illustration: THE RECEPTION OF THE EXPLORER AT EL FASHER
The governor of the Darfur Province and his staff welcome the
explorer to the capital of the province]
We stopped at Um Buru for two days. Abdel Rahman Jeddu, _wakil_ of
Mohammedin, the head of the Zaghawa tribe, visited me and brought
sheep and chicken as _diafa_. On the second day we were given an
official welcome, the _wakil_ coming with a retinue of retainers on
horseback beating drums. Mohammedin’s family, in the absence of
the master of the household, sent a lunch of _asida_, vegetables,
_merissa_, and pastry.
The next stage of our journey was a five days’ trek to Kuttum,
129 kilometers to the southward. The weather was generally good,
though hot, with an occasional shower. We traveled as usual in the
early morning and late afternoon. There was a beaten track with
fairly good going, through hilly country covered with dry grass and
small trees. At intervals there were patches which had been burnt
in preparation for being cultivated.
On the third day my messenger to El Fasher arrived, with two
companions, but it was a disappointing meeting. It had taken him
five days instead of four to reach his destination, and he had not
brought the answer to my letter back with him. It was waiting for
me, he said, in the possession of a soldier at Mutarrig Well, twelve
hours’ journey from where we were. The soldier also had provisions
for us, but they did us little immediate good at that distance.
There was little for dinner when we camped that night. After dinner
I sent our guide off post-haste with orders to ride all night and
until he reached Mutarrig. There he was to tell the soldier to come
to us as fast as he could.
We started before four the next morning, and in an hour the men
came rushing to me with the news that there was a soldier ahead
on a camel. In a few minutes I had a letter from Charles Dupuis,
acting Governor of Darfur, in the absence of Saville Pasha who
had resigned from the service, and a small supply of rice, flour,
tea, and sugar. I was especially pleased to be handed a supply
of cigarettes.
I had not smoked since soon after leaving Erdi. At Ouenat I had
suddenly realized that there were only a few cigarettes left. I
then laid down a strict rule for myself: one cigarette a day after
dinner. It was hard work waiting all day for that brief smoke, but
it was worth it when the moment came. I would get into a sheltered
corner, light the precious cigarette, and shield it carefully from
any breath of wind that might make it burn ever so slightly faster.
When the few cigarettes were gone, there was nothing left but
memories and expectation. Now at last the expectation was gratified
with a vengeance, for I smoked until my throat was sore.
Bukara, with a handful of the newly arrived cigarettes, put on
his long-tasseled red _tarboosh_, got on the guide’s horse, and
did a little _fantasia_ of joy. But it was when we camped at the
government rest-house at Marahig that general rejoicing broke loose
with singing and dancing. The corporal, looking on while the men
set the sugar-loaf on the ground and executed a wild dance about it,
thought us all a little mad.
“Why all this rejoicing?” he demanded.
“Because for a month we have had no sugar, and now our tea is
sweetened again,” said Abdullahi.
Until one has tried going without any sugar whatever, one does not
realize how keenly it will be missed.
The corporal shook his head and smiled. “I must return at once
to Kuttum and bring you more provisions,” he said. “We never
realized that you were so short of food.” Before he left he
was kind enough to go to a camp near-by and bring us a sheep and
butter, which were to be paid for by the _moawin_ of Kuttum, since
the seller refused to accept Egyptian paper money. The corporal
then left with letters from me for Mr. Dupuis and the _moawin_,
the deputy Governor of Kuttum.
The provisions which he had brought us were good as far as they went,
but we should very soon be in need of more. I decided to push on at
once. We made our midday halt at the government rest-house at Marahig
Well and our stop for the night only a few kilometers farther on. The
camels were in very bad condition. The backs and sides of some of
them were sore and bleeding, and two camels refused to move until
their loads were taken off. It rained for an hour that evening,
but it could not dampen our spirits. The men sang and danced around
a big fire. The humidity and the smell of the wet grass reminded
me of my walks in English country.
We made an early start the next morning in order to reach Mutarrig
Well for the midday halt. We lunched at the rest-house near the well
and received a visit from the _sheikh_ of Mutarrig, who brought a
few chickens as _diafa_. He wanted us to stop the night so that he
could entertain us properly the next day, but I felt the necessity
of going on as fast as possible.
The camels were getting steadily worse. We had to leave one of them
with the _sheikh_ of the village on the understanding that if it
recovered he was to get a quarter of the price it brought when sold,
while if it died he was not to be held responsible.
An hour and a half after starting the next day another soldier
on horseback appeared. He brought a letter from the _moawin_ of
Kuttum and a small quantity of rice and sugar. They are gratefully
received, for once more we were on short rations and without sugar
for our tea. I gave him a letter to take back to Kuttum. A little
later we camped in the small valley of Boa. In the afternoon,
soon after we had started again, it came on to rain with a strong
southeast wind, and I thought it might be wise to camp until the
storm was over. But through my glasses I made out ahead of us the
row of straw huts of the Markas—the government house—of Kuttum,
and spurred on by the sight we drove the camels faster.
Soon a group of horsemen were seen approaching us, and my Bedouins
impulsively raised a cheer. When I recognized the uniform of Sudanese
troops, it was the most cheering sight that I had seen for many
weeks. Riad Abu Akla Effendi and Nasr El Din Shaddad Effendi, the two
_moawins_ of Kuttum, approached with a detachment of ten soldiers,
the _kadi_, the head clerk, and other officials and notables of
Kuttum. I shook hands warmly with them all, and under their escort
the caravan moved on through the village. As we approached, the
Markas women clothed in white and beating drums greeted us with
singing and “lu-lias.” We settled ourselves in and about the
rest-house, and the women came again to offer greetings. In a long
line they sang and danced, much to the delight of my Bedouins,
who asked permission to empty gunpowder in acknowledgment of the
courtesy. I could not refuse my consent, and one by one, beginning
with Bukara, the men performed the ceremony of singeing the girls’
slippers. The Sudanese women were not so accustomed to the Bedouin
manner of paying homage as the girls of the northern desert, and
flinched a little as the powder flashed at their feet. But they
accepted it all in good part, the whole line swaying and dancing
to the rhythm of the drums while one by one my men singled them out
for the “slipper-singeing honor.” It was a wonderful reception,
and the pleasure of it dispersed like magic the fatigue and lassitude
of the journey.
More hospitality was to come. Four sheep, butter, and fresh
vegetables, to say nothing of sugar, were brought to us as _diafa_
from the _moawins_ and officials, and we spent a pleasant evening
feasting.
Our arrival at Kuttum at this particular moment had seemed to the
inhabitants there an especially auspicious one, for we came with
the first rain of the season.
We stopped there for two days, entertained generously by the
_moawins_ in the absence of the inspector, Mr. Arkell, who was at
El Fasher.
One afternoon we attended a soccer match between two teams of
soldiers. It was played with energy if not with finesse. At times
a player, striving to give the ball an especially vigorous kick,
would miss it and send his Sudanese slipper shooting high into the
air. The _camaraderie_ between officers and men, playing this not
exactly gentle game together, was interesting to see.
Dinner that night with Riad Effendi and Nasr El Din Effendi, the
_moawins_, was the first meal I had eaten in a house since leaving
Kufra. My hosts gave me Egyptian newspapers to read, the first I
had seen in nearly six months.
We left Kuttum at six o’clock on the morning of June 17, cheered
by the generous hospitality we had enjoyed and the friendly send-off
our friends gave us. The two days’ journey to El Fasher was a
joy-ride. We all felt the thrill and exhilaration of getting in
touch with the world again.
But as I went to bed on the eighteenth I realized with a stab of
regret that this was my last day in the real desert. I thought how I
should miss my men and my camels, the desolateness and the beauty,
the solitude and the companionship; in two words, the desert and
its life. I thanked God for His guidance across this vast expanse
of pathless sand and found myself adding a prayer, half wistfully,
that I might come back to it again.
I had given orders for an early start the next morning. In their
eagerness my men somewhat exaggerated my idea of “early,”
but I was excited myself and did not mind getting under way at
half-past two.
Three hours’ march from El Fasher we camped to make preparations
for entering the place. We all shaved and put on our best clothes.
Mr. Dupuis had sent a supply of white cloth to Kuttum for us,
and my men were able to appear once more in decent raiment. They
crowded around my remnant of a mirror to see how they looked.
Rifles were cleaned, and the luggage, which was in a very shabby
state, was tidied as much as possible. I wished that I might be
able to do something for the camels as well, which were thin and
dejected-looking. But rest and attention to their sore backs were
what they needed, and we had no time or facilities for giving
them that. Nevertheless they too seemed to be infected with the
spirit of eagerness felt by all of us and walked forward briskly.
Abdullahi and Zerwali got into their silks, and the caravan moved
gaily toward its destination.
As we reached the outskirts of El Fasher, cheers of rejoicing rose
throughout the caravan. A cavalcade of men in khaki was coming toward
us. I put spurs to Baraka, and he responded willingly. He saw the
horses before us, pricked his ears forward, and dashed toward them.
[Illustration: EL FASHER
The capital of Darfur Province]
Mr. Dupuis came forward on his horse to meet me, and we shook hands
warmly. The greetings were repeated by the English and Egyptian
officers of his staff, and we went on to his house, a part of
which he generously made over to me and the men of my caravan.
The weary camels were promptly taken in hand by Bimbashi Andas,
who gave them food, water, and the medical treatment for their
wounds they so much needed.
The officer in charge of the wireless station kindly got me the exact
Greenwich time from Paris by radio. I was pleased to discover that
my chronometer had lost only twenty-three minutes and twenty-three
seconds in eight months.
For ten days I was the guest of Mr. Dupuis and was lavishly
entertained by the officers and officials of the garrison, both
English and my own compatriots, and the notables of the town.
Hospitality was showered upon me, and every kind of assistance that
could possibly be needed was eagerly rendered. This was civilization
again. I enjoyed once more the luxuries of life, especially
vegetables and fruits. It is only when one has gone through the
austere régime of the desert that one looks upon these things as
luxuries and not necessities. There was in particular a brand of
prunes, the pride of Major Smith, and of peculiar lusciousness. He
called them “If Winter Comes,” and I have never tasted their
like anywhere.
At last the day came when I must take leave of my companions of the
trek from Kufra. When Bukara and his brother and Hamid and Senussi
Bu Jaber came to my room to say good-by, it was a moment full of
real emotion and crowded with memories. These rugged men of the
desert burst into tears, and I found my own eyes wet. We had been
through thick and thin together and came out fast friends. I could
never wish for better companions on a journey into desolate regions,
more able, more manly, or more loyal.
We read the “Fat-ha,” the sound of the familiar sacred phrases
punctuated by Bukara’s sobbing. I exchanged a final handclasp
with each of them, and we parted, to meet one day, I hope, in that
desert that I love as much as they.
One more camel-trek before me eastward to El Obeid. There I took
train for Khartum and thence home to Cairo, where I arrived on
August 1, 1923.
I had been away from home seven months and twenty-three days,
having trekked twenty-two hundred miles across the desert by caravan.
I had determined finally the position of the Zieghen Wells and
of Kufra on the map of Africa, in the placing of which there had
been hitherto errors of one hundred and of forty-five kilometers
respectively.
I had also had the great good fortune to put the “lost” oases
of Arkenu and Ouenat definitely on the map of the Libyan Desert.
To A. M. H.
I crave no statue in a public street,
Nor page of history to give my name:
A desert flower on my winding sheet
Is all I ask to mark the way I came.
There were no jewels buried in the sand,
The treasure that I sought was little worth:
I went—but oh, how few will understand—
To tread an unworn carpet of the earth.
Wide spaces called me, and the way was free;
Feet falter not upon a road unknown:
How languish, one who, looking back, can see—
A thousand miles—no footsteps but his own?
Not half a hundred voyagings for gold
Could make me rich as many times l’ve been
When, weary-eyed, l’ve watched the dawn unfold
And spread soft radiances o’er a desert scene.
Thoughts were my treasure; where may thoughts be sold?
My world was empty, but my world was clean.
G. F. FOLEY.
El Fasher,
June 30, 1923.
APPENDIX I
NOTE ON THE CARTOGRAPHICAL RESULTS OF HASSANEIN BEY’S JOURNEY
John Ball, O.B.E., D.Sc., Director of Desert Surveys, Egypt
1. Introduction
The cartographical data brought back by Hassanein Bey consist of:
(1) Note-books containing the records of astronomical observations
for the determination of time, latitude, and compass-variation at
nineteen principal camps, with records of watch-comparisons.
(2) A journal giving a continuous record of observed compass-bearings
and estimated distances from Siwa Oasis to Lameina Wells, near El
Fasher, a distance of about 2430 kilometers.
The journal also contains a considerable number of observed
compass-bearings to conspicuous features on either side of the route,
with a few rough trigonometrical estimations of the altitudes of
mountains passed, a large number of readings of an aneroid barometer
and sling thermometer for the estimation of altitudes along the
route, daily observations of maximum and minimum temperatures,
observations on the character of the country passed through, and
notes on the meteorological conditions.
These observational data have been reduced in the Desert Survey
Office, Cairo, and utilized in the preparation of the map on a
scale of 1:2,000,000 which accompanies Hassanein Bey’s account of
his travels. The objects of the present note are, first, to give
an account of the critical examination to which the records were
subjected in the course of the reduction of the observations, so as
to enable an estimate to be formed of the degree of precision which
may be fairly assigned to the geographical positions, altitudes, and
other results used in the construction of the map; and, secondly, to
indicate the additions to existing geographical knowledge concerning
a little-known region of northeast Africa which have accrued from
the expedition.
2. Astronomical Determination of Local Time
Theodolite observations of altitudes of the sun or of stars were made
at all the principal camps for determining the error on local mean
time of the half-chronometer watch which was used in the latitude
observations. In all, thirty-four complete time determinations
were made at seventeen camps. The observations were made with a
three-inch Troughton & Simms theodolite, the vertical circle of
which could be read by two verniers to 1′, and which was provided
with a sensitive level on the microscope arm. The theodolite was
invariably set up in the magnetic meridian by its trough compass,
and the method used was to note the times of passage of the sun’s
limb or of the star over each of the three horizontal wires of the
stadia-graticule, reading the level and circle at each pointing,
face-right and face-left. In the case of stars, the magnetic
bearing of the star was also noted from the horizontal circle,
and a note made of the color and brightness of the star, for the
identification of the stars subsequently in the office, and thus
to free the observer from the necessity of knowing the stars’
names. The barometer and thermometer were carefully read at each
observation for calculating the refraction.
No difficulty was experienced in subsequently identifying the
stars. In only a single case was it found necessary to reject an
observation, and this because the observer had accidentally sighted
different stars on the two faces of the instrument. On many days two
or more observations were taken at the same place, and comparisons
of the results at these places indicated that the observations
are remarkably accurate for so small an instrument. In seven cases
where the sun has been observed shortly before sunset and a star
soon after sunset, for example, the maximum difference between the
results given by the two observations is only seven seconds, while
the average is under four seconds. It is thus apparent that the
precision of the time observations is amply sufficient to insure
that no sensible error in the latitudes can be due to errors of
the adopted local times.
As the only use made of the time observations in the preparation
of the map has been in the determination of latitude, it would
serve no useful purpose to give a list of the watch errors. But it
may interest future geographers, undertaking long desert journeys,
to note some of Hassanein Bey’s experiences in the transport of
watches, and the hazard of relying on constancy of rate for long
periods with even the best watch.
Of the six watches carried, only a single one remained in going
order throughout the journey. The timekeeper which thus successfully
resisted the vicissitudes of the seven months of desert travel
was fortunately the one with which Hassanein Bey took all his
observations, and was carried in his pocket during the entire
journey; it was a large-sized half-chronometer “explorer’s”
watch of English manufacture, with a dust-proof cap to the winding
mechanism. It had been awarded an “especially good” certificate
at the National Physical Laboratory of England, and was consequently
the most expensive of all the six watches taken on the journey.
Even this watch failed to maintain a sufficiently constant rate to be
of any service in the determination of longitudes, though it amply
sufficed for the latitudes, even in two cases when reliance had to
be placed on the constancy of its rate for one or two days owing
to latitude alone being observed without corresponding observations
for local time. Thus, for instance, the following were the average
rates of the principal watch deduced from local time observations
at places of previously known latitudes:
RATE OF PRINCIPAL WATCH
Sollum to Siwa Dec. 29—Jan. 13 15 days losing 5.8 secs.
Siwa to Jaghbub Jan. 13—Jan. 20 7 “ “ 0.1 “
Jaghbub to Furawia Feb. 14—June 5 111 “ “ 7.7 “
Furawia to Um Buru June 5—June 8 3 “ “ 6.6 “
Um Buru to El June 8—June 26 18 “ “ 9.4 “
Fasher
El Fasher to El June 30—July 15 15 “ “ 9.4 “
Obeid
The above table fails, however, to bring out fully the actual
variations of the watch. So long as the other five watches remained
in order, Hassanein Bey made frequent comparisons with his principal
watch, and between March 21 and 23 there is strong evidence that
the principal watch made an abnormal gain of about fifty seconds. A
similar abnormal gain of twenty-nine seconds by the principal watch
is evidenced in the twenty-four hours between comparisons of March
24 and 25. Both these abnormalities occurred between Jalo and El
Harrash, at an early stage of the journey, while all the watches
appeared to be behaving tolerably well, and it is quite possible
that other abnormalities occurred at later stages, when, owing to
some or all of the other watches having stopped or broken down,
no satisfactory control by comparison was possible.
Of the other five watches carried, one was an English
half-chronometer, similar to the principal watch but of smaller
size; three were high-class Swiss lever (“Peerless”) watches
with very tight-fitting cases; and the fifth was a small Swiss
lever-watch with luminous dial, carried on the wrist for noting the
times of marching. The small half-chronometer stopped on April 3,
after going for over four months; and though it was restarted,
its rate changed considerably after the stoppage. The three
“Peerless” watches, though they failed to continue going to
the end of the journey, showed by no means a bad record. One was
found stopping and unreliable on May 6, after going for over five
months; the two others continued to go for over a month longer;
and so far as can be judged from the comparisons made on the route,
their variations of rate were about of the same order as those of
the half-chronometers. The wrist-watch, from the manner in which
it was carried, was of course liable to much greater variations
of rate, and was occasionally reset by the principal watch; but it
kept going till nearly the end of the journey.
As regards dust-resisting power, which must always be one of the
principal aims in selection of watches for desert exploration,
there appears to be nothing to choose between good English
half-chronometers and the highest class of Swiss watches, the cases
of the latter being remarkably close-fitting. The most probable
cause either of stoppage or of abnormal changes of rate appears
to be the sudden shocks which may arise either to a watch carried
on the person when jumping on or off a camel, or to one carried
in the baggage by sudden movements of the camel. The most likely
explanation of the abnormal gains of the principal watch for short
periods on the two occasions above noted would seem to be that, owing
to a jerk in mounting or dismounting, two contiguous coils of the
hairspring may have been made to touch each other for a short time,
with consequent temporary shortening of the period of vibration of
the balance-wheel. It is noteworthy that the watch which remained
going throughout the journey was the largest of all those taken,
and its greater resisting-power may have been to some extent due
to its size, permitting of greater strength in its component parts.
3. Astronomical Determinations of Latitude
Observations for latitude by altitudes of the pole-star were
carried out on thirty-five nights at nineteen principal camps,
using the same three-inch theodolite as was employed for the
time-observations. Three readings of altitude were made on
each face, using each of the three horizontal stadia-wires in
turn, the corresponding times being noted on a half-chronometer
watch whose error on local time was accurately known from sun or
star-observations carried out just before the latitude-observation.
Particular care was taken with the level-adjustment, and the
air-pressure and temperature at the time of the observation were
recorded.
The following table gives the results of the observations:
ASTRONOMICAL LATITUDES
° ′ ″
Sollum 4 nights Lat 31 35 9 N.
Siwa 1 “ “ 29 12 41 “
Jaghbub 5 “ “ 29 44 26 “
Camp near Jalo 1 “ “ 29 11 56 “
Jalo (El Erg) 1 “ “ 29 2 33 “
Buttafal 1 “ “ 28 54 26 “
El Harrash 1 “ “ 25 26 29 “
Taj 6 “ “ 24 13 47 “
Arkenu 2 “ “ 22 12 32 “
Ouenat 1 “ “ 21 52 29 “
Erdi 1 “ “ 18 35 39 “
Agah 1 “ “ 17 52 38 “
Enebah 1 “ “ 17 21 24 “
Bao 1 “ “ 16 28 24 “
Furawia 2 “ “ 15 21 51 “
Um Buru 2 “ “ 15 3 57 “
Kuttum 1 “ “ 14 12 15 “
El Fasher 2 “ “ 13 38 3 “
El Obeid 1 “ “ 13 10 51 “
Of six of the above places (Sollum, Siwa, Jaghbub, Kuttum, El
Fasher, and El Obeid) the latitudes are accurately known from the
Egyptian and Sudan official surveys, and the agreement in these
cases is very satisfactory, though a very close comparison is not
generally possible owing to uncertainty as to Hassanein Bey’s
precise observation-spot. At Jaghbub, Hassanein Bey records that
his observation-spot was 200 meters S.S.W. of the dome of the
mosque. Applying the corresponding difference of latitude (-6″)
to my own determination of the latitude of the dome in 1917 (29°
44′ 41″) we obtain 29° 44′ 35″, showing a difference of
only 9″ from Hassanein Bey’s observed latitude.
A further test of the degree of precision of the
latitude-observations can be made by comparison of the latitudes
found for the same camp by observations taken on different nights.
The following gives the average deviation of a single observed
latitude from the mean at all the camps where two or more
observations for latitude were made:
″
Sollum 4 nights Av. dev. 8
Jaghbub 5 “ “ 40
Taj 6 “ “ 12
Arkenu 2 “ “ 6
Furawia 2 “ “ 8
Um Buru 2 “ “ 23
El Fasher 2 “ “ 6
It thus appears unlikely that any observed latitude can be as
much as 1′ in error, and consequently in the preparation of
the map, Hassanein Bey’s observed latitudes have been accepted
as fundamental data for all the places for which no previous
determinations are known to exist, viz., El Harrash, Taj, Arkenu,
Ouenat, Erdi, Agah, Enebah, and Bao. His latitudes for Jalo (El
Erg), Bir Buttafal, and Furawia have also been adopted for the map,
the first because it is possibly better than that of Rohlfs, with
whose mapped position it is however in very close agreement; the
second because while differing by about 2′ from Rohlfs’s value
(28° 36′ 22″) it is doubtless more exact, because it checks
admirably well with Hassanein Bey’s dead reckoning; and the third
because, although the position of Furawia is shown on the Sudan maps,
it is outside the present limits of the Sudan triangulation and is
possibly liable to some slight error.[1]
4. Observations of Compass-Variations
For finding the pole-star easily when the sky was not very dark
or was partially obscured by clouds, and also for obtaining
the approximate bearings of time-stars for their subsequent
identification, the theodolite was invariably set up in the
magnetic meridian by its trough-compass, and the magnetic bearing
of the pole-star was read on the horizontal circle after each
latitude-observation and the time noted. In this way approximate
compass-variation was determined at each camp, with the following
results:
VARIATION OF THE COMPASS
° ′
Sollum Dec., 1922 3 obs. 2 34 W.
Siwa Jan., 1923 1 “ 2 42 “
Jaghbub Feb., 1923 5 “ 2 25 “
Near Jalo March, 1923 1 “ 4 12 “
Jalo (El Erg) “ “ 1 “ 4 5 “
Buttafal “ “ 1 “ —
El Harrash “ “ 1 “ 3 48 “
Taj April, 1923 6 “ 3 32 “
Arkenu “ “ 2 “ 3 25 “
Ouenat “ “ 1 “ 3 32 “
Erdi May, 1923 1 “ 3 57 “
Agah “ “ 1 “ 4 0 “
Enebah “ “ 1 “ 4 21 “
Bao “ “ 1 “ 4 59 “
Furawia June, 1923 2 “ 4 32 “
Um Buru “ “ 2 “ 3 25 “
Kuttum “ “ 1 “ 4 26 “
El Fasher “ “ 2 “ 2 51 “
The method of estimating the compass-variation with the theodolite
is, of course, only rough; but the values found are probably correct
at most places within half a degree, and they serve to show that
there is no likelihood of any serious errors of dead-reckoning
owing to local irregularities of the compass-variation. They have
accordingly been utilized in reduction of the compass-bearings of
the traverse to true bearings over the major portion of the route,
where no previous determinations exist, and where in consequence the
distribution of the isogonic lines is not known with any exactitude.
5. Longitudes
The probability of some watches breaking in the course of seven
months’ travel had been foreseen, and from the outset it appeared
improbable that any use could be made of the watches in the direct
determination of longitude of so long and difficult a journey. We
had decided accordingly to depend ultimately on dead-reckoning
for longitude, making every effort to obtain an unbroken chain of
compass-bearings and estimated distances between Jaghbub and some
known place in the Sudan, the bearings to be taken with a good
compass with all possible precision, at very frequent intervals,
and the estimates of distance to be carefully made each day from
the marching time of the baggage-camels, assuming a normal rate of
4 km. per hour over average desert, and making allowance for the
variations in speed over ground of varying character. The journey
being predominantly north to south, the estimates of distance
could mostly be well controlled by the latitudes, while errors of
bearing would not be cumulative, and would tend to cancel out over
any considerable stretch of route. The primary reason for taking
six watches was therefore not to determine longitude, for which at
best they could afford only somewhat uncertain values, but to make
sure of at least one watch being available throughout the journey
for latitude-observations, without which no proper control of the
all-important distances could be obtained.
The doubts about the possibility of safely transporting the watches
proved justified, for all but one broke down before the end of the
journey. But fortunately on the one hand the watch which survived
sufficed amply for the determination of latitude (though its rate was
insufficiently constant for it to be used uncontrolled in finding
longitudes), and on the other hand the program of a continuous
chain of very careful bearings and estimation of distances was
scrupulously adhered to from the departure of the caravan from
Jaghbub, the last known place in Egypt, to Furawia, the first
known place in the Sudan—a journey of 2430 kilometers—and from
this chain of bearings and estimated distances, combined with the
observed latitudes, it was possible to estimate the longitudes of
all places on the route with a fairly high probability of accuracy.
For the estimation of the longitude of Jalo (El Erg) a slightly
different procedure was followed from that adopted for the other
principal camps on the route. It will be noticed from the map
that the general direction of the march from Jaghbub to Jalo was
predominantly from east to west, instead of from north to south as
in the rest of the journey. Consequently the observed latitudes do
not afford so good a means of correcting the estimated distances in
this stretch as elsewhere. But fortunately the observed latitude at
Jalo does enable us to correct the previous estimation by Hassanein
Bey (in 1920) of the distance of that place from Jedabia, and this
combined with the then observed bearings would lead to one value
for the longitude for Jalo, while if we can assume the accuracy
of the estimated distances from Jaghbub to Jalo, we may use the
observed latitude of the latter place to correct the bearings and
thus arrive at another value for its longitude.
From careful consideration of all the available data, the two
methods appear likely to be about equal in degree of approximation.
The position at present accepted for Jedabia (Lat. 30° 48′ 10″
N., Long. 20° 13′ 30″ E.) is open to a little uncertainty,[2]
and the bearings taken by Hassanein Bey on his former expedition
are probably a little less accurate than those of the present one.
On the other hand, the estimations of the distances from Jaghbub
to Jalo, as gaged by the latitude-control of the other portions
of the route of the present expedition, are remarkably close to
the truth, while a uniform correction to his bearings of less than
half a degree would swing his dead-reckoning position for Jalo on
to its observed parallel of latitude.
For the longitude of Jalo on the map I have therefore taken the
mean of the two longitudes found (1) by assuming Hassanein Bey’s
bearings correct from Jedabia and correcting his distances by the
latitudes, and (2) by assuming his distances from Jaghbub correct
and using the observed latitudes to correct his bearings. The
results are:
° ′ ″
(1) From Jedabia, long. of Jalo (El Erg) 21 29 48
(2) From Jaghbub “ “ “ 21 26 19
--------
Adopted mean 21 28 3
It may be remarked in passing that the result places Jalo almost
precisely where it is shown on Rohlfs’s map of 1880.
As regards the longitudes adopted for the other principal camps along
the route, the procedure has been as follows. The route was divided
into the following nine sections between principal camps where
latitudes had been observed: Jalo, El Harrash, Taj, Arkenu, Ouenat,
Erdi, Agah, Enebah, Bao, Furawia; and the compass-traverse for
each section was plotted on a scale of 1:500,000 from the recorded
bearings and estimated distances. A true meridian was then drawn
on each section from the mean of the observed compass-variations at
its two ends, and the total difference of latitude of each section
was scaled off and compared with the difference of latitude given
by the latitude-observations. This comparison gave, of course,
the average error of estimation of distance along each section,
assuming the bearings correct. The results of the comparison for
the various sections are tabulated below:
CORRECTION TO ESTIMATED DISTANCES
_Section of _Plotted _True _True- _Correction
traverse_ difference difference plotted to
of latitude_ from diff. lat._ estimated
latitude- distances_
observations_
km. km. km. _%_
Jalo-El Harrash 375.0 399.0 + 24.0 + 6.4
El Harrash-Taj 131.5 134.2 + 2.7 + 2.1
Taj-Arkenu 217.7 223.7 + 6 0 + 2.8
Arkenu-Ouenat 36.0 37.0 + 1.0 + 2.8
Ouenat-Erdi 369.0 363.2 - 5.8 - 1.6
Erdi-Agah 75.6 79.2 + 3.6 + 4.8
Agah-Enebah 57.0 57.5 + 0.5 + 0.9
Enebah-Bao 99.0 97.7 - 1.3 - 1.3
-----
Mean error of estimation of distances, per cent 2.6
The average error of distance-estimation in each section of the
route having been thus found, the next step was to scale off the
various departures from the plotted traverses, correcting for the
errors of distance-estimation, and then to convert the departures
into differences of longitude. When this was done, the resulting
total difference of longitude between Jalo and Furawia was 2°
25′ 55″. But assuming the true longitude of Jalo to be that
found above, and the true longitude of Furawia to be as shown on
sheet 53 D of the 1:250,000 Sudan survey map of 1921,[3] we have:
° ′ ″
Longitude of Jalo 21 28 3
Longitude of Furawia 23 38 10
------------
Difference 2 10 7
So that the difference of longitude found by the dead-reckoning
requires correction by 15′ 48″. This correction, which implies
an average error in the observed compass-bearings of less than a
degree, and a negligible correction to the adjusted distances,
was distributed along the entire traverse in proportion to the
difference of latitude between the principal camps, leading to the
finally adopted longitudes shown in the following table:
CONCLUDED LONGITUDES
_Dead-reckoning _Further _Concluded
corrected by correction_ longitude_
the latitudes_
° ′ ″ ′ ″ ° ′ ″
Jalo — — 21 28 3 E
El Harrash 22 15 5 E. 4 10 22 10 55 “
Taj 23 29 5 “ 5 34 23 23 41 “
Arkenu 24 52 10 “ 7 55 24 44 15 “
Ouenat 25 2 34 “ 8 18 24 54 16 “
Erdi 23 22 34 “ 12 5 23 10 29 “
Agah 23 28 49 “ 12 54 23 15 55 “
Enebah 23 25 58 “ 13 30 23 14 28 “
Bao 23 16 18 “ 14 31 23 1 47 “
Furawia 23 53 58 “ 15 48 23 38 10 “
In attempting to estimate the probable degree of accuracy of the
concluded longitudes, we are faced with the difficulty that while
we may be certain that the average error of the compass-bearings
was less than 1°, which average error has been allowed for in
the adjustment, we have no proof that in some of the individual
sections the errors may not have been considerably greater. But
in view of the great number of the observed compass-bearings
(339) which make up the directional data of the 1754 kilometers of
traverse from Jalo to Furawia (an average of thirty-eight observed
bearings for each of the nine sections), and bearing in mind also
the remarkable accuracy of the estimations of distance as evidenced
by the latitude-observations, it would seem unlikely that any of
the above-adopted longitudes for the principal camps can be in
error by more than three or four miles. This implies a degree of
accuracy which it would have been difficult to insure by transport
of even a considerable number of chronometers over a land journey
lasting more than three months. It may, I think, be concluded that
no better values for the longitudes can be obtained without the
aid of wireless time-signals.
6. Altitudes above Sea-level
For the barometric estimations of altitudes above sea-level, a
two-inch aneroid by Steward was used. This instrument, which was
one of two specially made for the expedition, was very carefully
compensated for temperature, and provided with a fairly open
pressure-scale, a millimeter of pressure being represented by very
nearly a millimeter of actual scale-length, so that estimations to
half-millimeters of pressure could be readily made.
The aneroid was read morning and evening at each camp, and at
numerous other points on the route, the air-temperatures being as a
rule recorded at the same time, as given by sling-thermometer. The
aneroid behaved very satisfactorily throughout the journey. There
had unfortunately been no opportunity of testing the instrument
before Hassanein Bey’s departure, but it was in perfect order on
his return, and was then tested in the laboratory of the Physical
Department at Cairo, when it was found to require the following
corrections (at about 25° C.):
A: Pressure, mm
B: Correction, mm
A 760 750 740 730 720 710 700 690 680 670 660 650
B -2.3 -2.3 -2.3 -2.1 -1.4 -1.1 -0.1 +0.6 +1.7 +2.0 +2.8 +2.9
That the above corrections had remained sensibly constant throughout
the journey is rendered extremely probable by the close agreement
noted further on (p. 329) between the levels found for Jalo directly
from the aneroid readings (corrected, of course, on the assumption
of constancy of the table) and those found indirectly from readings
of the mercurial barometer in the meteorological station at Siwa.
The first step in the calculation of the barometric levels
was to collect the whole of the readings of the barometer and
sling-thermometer at each of the nine principal camps, where a
halt of at least several days had been made, and a considerable
number of readings taken. The means of all the recorded pressures
and air-temperatures were taken for each of these principal camps,
and the pressure corrected for instrumental error from the table
above given. The readings being taken at various times of the day,
the diurnal variation of pressure could safely be neglected, as it
would most probably disappear on taking the mean of the readings.
To allow for the annual variation, the mean pressures were next
reduced to the mean of the year by applying a correction based on
the mean of the normal annual variations at Siwa and El Obeid, as
found from the recent volume of “Climatological Normals” issued
by the Physical Department of Egypt and shown in the following table:
CORRECTIONS TO REDUCE MONTHLY MEAN PRESSURES TO ANNUAL MEANS
_Jan._ _Feb._ _March_ _April_ _May_ _June_ _July_
mm. mm. mm. mm. mm. mm. mm.
Siwa -3.4 -2.0 -1.9 +0.9 +0.9 +2.7 +3.5
El Obeid -1.2 +0.7 +0.3 +1.2 +1.0 +0.6 0.0
---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ----
Mean -2.3 -1.4 -0.8 +1.0 +1.0 +1.6 +1.8
A further correction to allow for the distribution of the sea-level
isobars over the region traversed was desirable, but no sufficient
data exist for estimating its amount; the distribution is, however,
probably nearly linear, and such a distribution was approximately
allowed for by assuming the previously accepted levels at Siwa
(-17 m.) and El Fasher (793 m.) to be correct and distributing any
residual difference found by the otherwise corrected barometer
readings between these two places uniformly among the different
sections.
The difference of height corresponding to each difference of
mean corrected barometer-readings was calculated by the tables of
_Barometrische Höhenstufen_ in Jordan’s “Mathematische und
Geodätische Hülfstafeln,” for the air-temperature corresponding
to the mean of the thermometer-readings at the two ends of the line.
The adopted levels of thirteen principal camps as found in the
above manner are tabulated below. It is interesting to note that the
residual difference of height which had to be distributed between
Siwa and El Fasher, and which is presumably mainly due to systematic
pressure-gradient, was sixty-three meters, corresponding to a normal
fall of sea-level pressure between the two places of about 5 mm.,
and this is from other considerations probably very near the truth;
also that the resulting adjustment which had to be made in the levels
in any single main section of the route did not exceed five meters.
CONCLUDED ALTITUDES ABOVE SEA
_Number _Mean _Mean _Diff. _Diff. _Altitude
of pressure tempera- of of above
obser- (correct- ture_ height height sea-
vations_ ed)_ from (adjust- level_
Jordan’s ed)_
tables_
mm. ° C. meters meters meters
Siwa 4 762.6 12 — — -17
Jaghbub 50 757.7 15 +54 +49 +32
Jalo 18 754.7 17 +34 +29 61
El Harrash 6 732.8 23 +254 +249 310
Taj 31 718.5 19 +170 +165 475
Arkenu 12 708.0 31 +128 +123 598
Ouenat 14 706.3 31 +21 +18 616
Erdi 7 683.3 31 +295 +290 906
Agah 3 695.2 34 -157 -162 744
Bao 5 677.7 33 +230 +225 969
Furawia 11 685.8 31 -107 -112 857
Um Buru 8 679.5 30 +83 +78 935
Kuttum 5 660.2 24 +254 +249 1184
El Fasher 5 689.7 31 -386 -391 793
After thus determining the levels for the principal camps, those
of intermediate camps and other places were computed in a similar
manner, adjusting each section to the adopted levels at its terminal
points. The maximum adjustment which it was found necessary to apply
to the difference of height given by the barometer between points a
day’s journey apart was five meters, and the average three meters.
An exception was made in the stretch between Jaghbub and Jalo,
where no intermediate levels were adopted for the map, owing to the
extremely unstable state of the atmosphere during the journey between
these two places; sand-storms of great violence occurred on several
days of marching, with such rapid fluctuations of air-pressure that
no heights could safely be deduced from the barometer-readings.
As regards the degree of reliability of the deduced levels, some
little uncertainty exists in the levels adopted for the terminal
points Siwa and El Fasher, while the temperature-compensation
of the aneroid has not been tested and may not be quite perfect.
Taking everything into account, it may be estimated that the levels
of the principal camps are probably correct to within about twenty
meters, while those of the intermediate camps and other points,
for which only one or two readings of the barometer are available,
may possibly be in error by twice that amount.
7. Summary of Principal Geographical Positions and Levels
_Latitude _Longitude _Meters _Remarks_
N._ E._ above
sea_
° ′ ″ ° ′ ″
Jaghbub (mosque) 29 44 41 24 31 11 32 Position from
previous
determination
by Dr. Ball.
Jalo (El Erg) 29 2 33 21 28 3 61
Bir Buttafal 28 54 26 21 45 15 98
El Harrash Well 25 26 29 22 10 55 310
(Zieghen)
Taj (Kufra) 24 13 47 23 23 41 475
Boema (Kufra. 24 13 8 23 24 40 400 Short compass
Rohlfs’s camp) traverse from
Taj
Arkenu 22 12 32 24 44 15 598
Ouenat 21 52 29 24 54 16 616
Erdi (camp 8 km. 18 35 39 23 10 29 906
north of well)
Agah 17 52 38 23 15 55 744
Enebah 17 21 24 23 14 28 1100
Bao 16 28 24 23 1 47 969
Furawia 15 21 51 23 38 10 857 Longitude
from Sudan map
8. Construction of the Route Map on Scale 1:2,000,000
In the process of utilizing the dead-reckoning for the determination
of the longitudes of the principal camps, the whole route had been
provisionally plotted on to a scale of 1:500,000 direct from the
field-books, on a series of sheets each comprising one section of
the route. To these plottings of the actual route were now added
the computed levels of all camps, the geographical features fixed by
cross-bearings on either side of the route, and notes on the nature
of the ground. The various sections thus provisionally mapped on
1:500,000 were then reduced to the scale of 1:2,000,000, allowance
being made for the small departures of the original plottings from
the 1:500,000 scale as found by the latitude-observations, and the
various sections so reduced were drawn in on the final map between
the finally adopted positions of the principal camps. It was found
practicable to show all the principal geographical features on the
final scale, though many notes on the nature of the ground had
perforce to be omitted in order not to overcrowd the map. These
notes are however carefully preserved on the 1:500,000 manuscript
sectional maps in the Desert Survey Office in Cairo, so as to be
available for future reference, while the principal of them are
incorporated in Hassanein Bey’s narrative of the expedition.
The main portion of the route, namely that from Jaghbub to Furawia,
has been mapped entirely from Hassanein Bey’s journals and
note-books. The portions of his route from Sollum to Jaghbub in
the north, and from Furawia to El Obeid in the south, have been
copied from the latest official survey maps of Egypt and the Sudan,
as being more accurate than any route survey could be.
The fixing of the positions of El Harrash and Taj by Hassanein
Bey’s observations has enabled the course of his former expedition
to Kufra (with Mrs. Forbes) in 1920-21 to be delineated more
accurately than was possible from the original records of that
journey, which were unaccompanied by any astronomical observations;
and the course of the former route, adjusted to newly determined
positions, has been indicated on the new map by a dotted line.
9. Additions to Geographical Knowledge Resulting from the Expedition
Jalo.—The first portion of Hassanein Bey’s route from Jaghbub to
Jalo appears to be identical with that trodden by Rohlfs in 1869. At
Gara Matan Sidi, about half-way between Jaghbub and Jalo, the track
forks and Hassanein Bey went by the northern (Zawaiya) branch,
which passes Hiseila Wells and enters Jalo from a more northerly
direction than the southern (Majabra) branch taken by Rohlfs.
Hassanein Bey’s position for Jalo is almost identical with
that of Rohlfs, but peculiar interest attaches to the former’s
determination of its level at sixty-one meters above sea. Rohlfs,
visiting the place in 1869 and 1879, had found the aneroid to
indicate a level below the sea in 1869, and above it in 1879,
and had ultimately concluded that both Aujila and Jalo lay about
at sea-level.[4] Hassanein Bey’s determination is based on
ten days’ aneroid readings and comparison with Siwa, and it is
noteworthy that exactly the same altitude (sixty-one meters) for
Jalo results whether the comparison is made with the readings of
the standard barometer in the meteorological station at Siwa during
the same period, or with the readings taken by Hassanein Bey with
the same aneroid on four days at Siwa two months earlier (allowance
being made, of course, for the annual variation of pressure over the
intervening period). There can, I think, be hardly any doubt of the
greater accuracy of Hassanein Bey’s determination, since it is
unlikely that Rohlfs’s readings extended over so long a period,
and it is practically certain that no comparisons were made by him
with simultaneous observations at a place of known level. It should
however be mentioned that Hassanein Bey’s level probably refers
to a somewhat higher observation point than that of Rohlfs; for
owing to sand-drifts enveloping the houses, the inhabitants of El
Erg are gradually rebuilding their dwellings on higher ground, and
his observations were taken in one of the most recently constructed
of these. Another point worthy of remark is that although Hassanein
Bey’s determination is to a certain extent checked by the exact
agreement of the two methods of comparison above referred to,
the day-to-day variations of pressure observed at Jalo are much in
excess of those at Siwa during the same ten-day period. The extreme
range shown by the aneroid at Jalo was 10 mm. against 5 mm. of the
standard barometer at Siwa, and the 7 mm. average difference of
pressure between the two places for the ten days of comparison,
which has been used to calculate the new value of the level,
is the mean of difference ranging from 1 to 12 mm. on different
days. The relatively great variability of atmospheric pressure at
Jalo, which readily explains the discordant results noted by Rohlfs
on different dates, may be closely connected with the sand-storms
which are so frequent in the neighborhood.
Bir Buttafal.—Bir Buttafal (“Battifal” of Rohlfs) is of
importance as being the last watering-place for caravans proceeding
on the weary desert march of nearly 400 km. to Zieghen. The position
found for Bir Buttafal by Hassanein Bey agrees fairly well with
that given by Rohlfs:[5]
_Meters
_Lat. N._ _Long. above
E._ sea_
° ′ ″ ° ′ ″
Bir Buttafal, Hassanein Bey 28 54 26 21 45 15 98
Bir Buttafal, Rohlfs 28 56 22 21 44 10 58
-------- -------- ----
Difference 1 56 1 5 40
Zieghen (“Sirhen” of Rohlfs).—Zieghen is the name of a
district containing numerous wells. It is not inhabited, but is
of great importance as lying on the main caravan route from Jalo
to Kufra. The principal well used by the caravans is El Harrash.
Rohlfs did not visit Zieghen; he traveled from Jalo to Kufra by the
more westerly track through Taiserbo and Buseima, and the position
shown for Zieghen on his map, which was based merely on his guides’
statements, is about 100 km. too far to the east-northeast.
As the journey from Jalo to Kufra by any future traveler is likely
to be undertaken in the winter, when the question of fuel is second
only to that of water, it is worth noting that the first _hatab_
(fire-wood) is met with at about 342 km. after leaving Bir Buttafal,
and 52 before reaching El Harrash Well. In an emergency water may be
got at Matan Abu Hosh, the old well of Zieghen, about 18 km. before
reaching El Harrash; but El Harrash yields better water, and being
the regular halting-place of the caravans, the water can usually be
obtained there without digging; hence, unless the caravans are very
thirsty they usually prefer to go on to El Harrash rather than make
a halt at the old well. Excellent water can be got anywhere in the
neighborhood of El Harrash by digging to a depth of three or four
feet. From El Harrash to Buseima is about 54 km. in a direction
a little west of south, and from El Harrash to Taj, the principal
town of Kufra proper, is 182 km. in a southwesterly direction.
Taiserbo.—Taiserbo, the most northwesterly oasis of the Kufra
group, has not, so far as is known, been visited by any traveler
since Rohlfs’s day. Its position was however indicated to
Hassanein Bey as lying between 70° and 80° west of north from El
Harrash, at a distance of 60 to 70 km. This indication would place
Taiserbo very nearly in the position which Rohlfs assigned to it.
Rohlfs’s position for his camp at Kasr Djrangedi is probably
therefore substantially correct, though it is likely that the oasis
is in reality less extensive than shown on his map.
Buseima.—Although Buseima was not visited by Hassanein Bey on this
occasion, his fixation of the position of El Harrash, in combination
with his former rough compass-traverse from that place to Buseima
with Mrs. Forbes in 1921, permits of a fair approximation for its
position. Hassanein Bey’s estimates of distances and bearings on
his former journey (adjusted by his recently observed latitudes at
El Harrash and Taj) give his camp in Buseima as being 60 km. from
El Harrash in a direction of 5° east of true south, and from his
camp to that of Rohlfs (Ain El Nusrani) was roughly about 15 km. in
a true west-northwesterly direction. Adopting Hassanein Bey’s
recently fixed position for El Harrash, this would give a position
for Rohlfs’s camp about 30 km. southwest by south of where Rohlfs
placed it, as is shown by the following comparison:
_Lat. N._ _Long. E._
° ′ ″ ° ′ ″
Buseima (Rohlfs’s camp) from
Stecker’s observations 25 11 42 22 15 0
Buseima (Rohlfs’s camp) from
Hassanein Bey’s estimation 24 38 11 22 5 46
-------- -------
Difference 13 31 9 14
It would hardly seem possible that Hassanein Bey can have made so
large an error as 25 km. in his former estimation of the distance
of Buseima from El Harrash, and hence it would appear reasonable to
think that there was some error either in Stecker’s observation or
(what is more likely) in his reduction of it. This point is referred
to further on in the discussion of the position of Boema (p. 334).
Kufra (Kebabo of Rohlfs).—The name “Kufra” is now generally
applied, not to the whole of the Kufra group of oases as was done
by Rohlfs in 1879, but specially to the area called Kebabo by
that traveler.
The seat of local government and principal settlement is the walled
town of Taj, situated on a rocky cliff overlooking the depression of
the oasis proper which lies to the south and contains the villages
of Jof, Buma, Boema, El Zurruk, Talalib, and Tollab. Hassanein Bey
carried out latitude observations at Taj, and proceeded 3 km., on
a bearing of 16° west of south, to Jof, from which place he made
very careful estimations of the distances and bearings of the other
villages of the oasis, which has enabled their relative positions
to be plotted on the map with much closer approximation than had
hitherto been possible.
Considerable interest attaches to the position of Boema, the
easternmost village of Kufra, for it was here that Stecker camped
with Rohlfs and made his observations for latitude and longitude
in 1879. Hassanein Bey found Boema to lie 2 km. from Taj, in a
direction 54° east of true south. Accepting his determination of
the position of Taj, this leads to the following position for Boema
as compared with that given by Rohlfs:
_Lat. N._ _Long. E._
° ′ ″ ° ′ ″
Boema, according to Hassanein Bey 24 13 8 23 24 40
“ “ Rohlfs[6] 24 31 38 23 12 40
-------- --------
Difference 18 30 12 0
Hassanein Bey thus places Boema some 40 km. south-southeast of the
position assigned to it by Rohlfs from Stecker’s observations.
The remarkable thing about this large discrepancy is that it is
chiefly in the latitude, which was directly observed by Stecker at
Boema itself, and by Hassanein Bey at Taj, only 2 km. away from
Boema. I have not been able to find any details of Stecker’s
observations, except that they were carried out with a “prismatic
circle.” But I have subjected the original records of Hassanein
Bey’s observations for time and latitude at Taj to very careful
examination, and there is overwhelming evidence that his latitude
for that place cannot be in error by more than 1′. He observed the
altitude of Polaris at Taj on no fewer than six different nights,
with a watch whose error on local time was accurately known from
sun and star observations carried out on the same dates. From the
internal evidence of the observations themselves, the watch-error
at the time of sighting Polaris cannot on any occasion have been
uncertain by more than two seconds, which would not, of course,
sensibly affect the latitude found; the recorded magnetic bearing
of the star sighted, as well as its rate of apparent motion, proves
that the star used for latitude in each case was really Polaris;
and the greatest difference of any single observed latitude from
the mean of the six nights’ observations was only 15″, the
average departure of a single observation from the mean being 12″.
Hassanein Bey’s latitude of 24° 13′ 47″ for Taj can therefore
be unhesitatingly accepted as correct within 1′; and since there
is not room for an error of even this amount in his estimation of the
short distance of Boema from Taj, it becomes absolutely certain that
Rohlfs’s latitude for Boema is over a quarter of a degree too high.
It is curious to notice that in the case of Buseima (p. 332) the
discrepancy of 13′ 31″ between Rohlfs’s latitude and that
estimated from Hassanein Bey’s recent work is of the same order
and of the same sign as that found at Boema; and that a negative
correction equal in amount to the sun’s semidiameter would in
each case bring the results of the two observers into fairly close
agreement. The explanation hence suggests itself that Stecker may
have determined his latitudes by observation of the upper limb of
the sun at noon, and both at Buseima and Boema failed to correct the
measured altitude for the semidiameter, thus making both latitudes
16′ too great. A mistake of this kind, as every scientific traveler
knows, is very easily made in hurried reductions in the field; and at
the time when Stecker carried out his observations and calculations
in Kufra, both he and his brave leader were in imminent peril of
losing their lives at the hands of treacherous Badawi.
A similar explanation may account to a large extent for the
discrepancies of longitude at the two places. Thus, according
to Hassanein Bey’s work, Rohlfs’s longitude for his camp at
Buseima is 9′ too far east, and that for his camp at Boema 12′
too far west. We have only to assume that Stecker observed the
sun’s lower limb in the morning at Buseima, and the upper limb in
the afternoon at Boema, for finding the local times, and in each
case omitted to correct the observed altitude for semidiameter,
to account pretty completely for both discrepancies of longitude.
The puzzling thing about the above explanation of the errors
of Rohlfs’s map is that Rohlfs actually traveled the distance
between Buseima and Boema, and estimated it at 120 km.,[7] whereas
Hassanein Bey’s positions would indicate that the true distance
is 40 km. greater. But as Rohlfs’s statement of the distance was
obviously written after Stecker had determined the positions of
the places astronomically, it is probable that he obtained his 120
km. by calculation from the astronomical positions, rejecting any
rough estimate he may have made of the distance from his times of
marching. Both Hassanein Bey and Mrs. Forbes had considered that
the true distance was much greater than 120 km. when they traversed
it in 1921; but as on that occasion no observations for position
were taken, it remained uncertain whether either Buseima or Boema
had been wrongly placed on Rohlfs’s map. It is now practically
certain that both were wrong.
As regards the level of Kufra, it is satisfactory to notice
a very close agreement of Hassanein Bey’s observations with
those of Rohlfs. Hassanein Bey’s barometer-readings at Ezeila,
to the south of Jof, give 389 meters for the level of that place,
and he estimates that Boema lies some ten meters higher; this would
give about four hundred meters for the altitude of Boema, a figure
identical with that found by Rohlfs. Taj, which has been built on
the cliff north of Jof, since Rohlfs’s day, is found to be 475
meters above sea-level from a series of aneroid-readings extending
over a fortnight. The outlying villages of Kufra which lie north
of Taj are lower than Taj itself, but substantially higher than
the southern villages of Kufra; Awadel is 434 meters above sea,
and Hawari and Hawawiri are about the same altitude.
There is also fairly close agreement as to the extent of Kufra from
north to south. Rohlfs’s map makes the extent in altitude between
Hawawiri and Tollab to be about 35 km., while Hassanein Bey makes
it 30 km. But when we come to the distance over which the villages
extend from east to west, there is a much graver discrepancy. Rohlfs
makes the extent from east to west (Buma to Tollab) about 40 km.,
while according to the latest estimations by Hassanein Bey the true
extent is only about 21 km. As Rohlfs appears to have located many
of the villages on his map merely from Arab statements, and not from
careful personal estimation as did Hassanein Bey, we need have no
hesitation in accepting the latter’s relative positions as by far
the more nearly correct, and hence concluding that Rohlfs’s map
gives an east and west extension which is nearly double the truth.
The error in east and west extension (so far as concerns the placing
of the villages, not the extent of the vegetation) is even greater
on the map prepared by me and published by Mrs. Forbes in 1921.[8]
This is due to the distance between Jof and Tollab having been much
overestimated on the former journey; it was given to me as about
42 km., while according to Hassanein Bey’s latest estimation it
is only 20 km.
A matter which will at once strike the eye of any one who compares
Hassanein Bey’s latest map of the Kufra villages with that
published by Mrs. Forbes is that in the later map a place called
Ezeila is shown south of Jof, while in the earlier map (which was
prepared from Hassanein Bey’s own data and rough sketches) Ezeila
is shown north of Hawawiri. The explanation is that there are _two_
Ezeilas. The name “Ezeila” is applied locally to any outlying
well (usually with a clump of palms) which forms the last watering
place for caravans leaving the oasis. Thus the northern Ezeila
is the last well for a traveler leaving Kufra to go northeastward
toward Jaghbub, while the southern Ezeila is the last well in Kufra
for any one going south toward Wadai.
From the southern Ezeila of Kufra to Arkenu is 266 km. in a nearly
southeasterly direction, and there is no water or grazing on the
way. From Arkenu to Ouenat is a further 42 km. in a slightly more
southerly direction.
The Oases of Arkenu and Ouenat.—One of the most interesting and
important results of Hassanein Bey’s expedition is the confirmation
of the real existence of the oases of Arkenu and Ouenat, and a
fairly exact determination of their positions and altitudes. There
has long been a tradition that two oases existed in or near the
southwestern corner of Egypt. Thus the map of Africa on a scale of
1:4,000,000 published by Justus Perthes of Gotha in 1892 shows an
unnamed small oasis and well in Lat. 21° 51′, Long. 23° 3′,
and another “uninhabited oasis,” also unnamed, about 48 km.
due east of it in Lat. 21° 50′, Long. 23° 29′. Both these
oases were doubtless placed on the map from vague Arab statements;
they appear not to have been previously visited by any explorer,
and indeed their very existence was so doubtful that they have
not been shown on the maps either of the English or of the French
General Staff.
I have not been able to trace any published reference to the
existence of Arkenu, but that of Ouenat has been mentioned in
recent papers by Mr. Harding King and Lieutenant-Colonel Tilho. In
Mr. Harding King’s paper of 1913 [9] on “The Libyan Desert from
Native Information,” he states that he heard of a place called
“Owana” or “Owanat,” about half-way along a road from Merga
to Kufra, where there is a well and green grass after rain. The
map appended to his paper shows that Mr. Harding King’s estimate
of its probable position was Lat. 21° 37′, Long. 24° 45′,
which differs by nearly 130 km. from the nearer of the two oases
shown on the above-mentioned German map.
Lieutenant-Colonel Tilho, who carried out exploratory work in
Tibesti, Erdi, Borkou and Ennedi in 1912-17, mentions[10] “the
still unknown massif of El Aouinat, situated approximately between
the 22nd and 23rd degrees of latitude north and the 24th and 25th
degrees of longitude east,” and a route he heard of from Aouinat
to Merga.
Hassanein Bey’s observations give for the positions and altitude
of his camps at Arkenu and Ouenat:
_Lat. N._ _Long. E._ _Meters
above sea_
° ′ ″ ° ′ ″
Arkenu 22 12 32 24 44 15 598
Ouenat 21 52 29 24 54 16 616
Thus Ouenat is only some 34 km. from where Mr. Harding King guessed
its position to be from his guide’s statements, but it is outside
the somewhat wide limits of latitude indicated by Lieutenant-Colonel
Tilho, and is nearly 150 km. from the place marked “uninhabited
oasis” on the German map; while Arkenu, which is presumably the
small oasis marked to the west of the “uninhabited oasis,” is
now proved to be some 180 km. from where it is shown on that map.
It may be remarked that Arkenu is well within the boundaries of
Egypt, while Ouenat is a short distance over the boundary, in the
Anglo-Egyptian Sudan.
The principal interest in these places lies in the possibilities
they open up for further exploration of the southwest corner of
Egypt, which has hitherto been inaccessible to military patrols,
and even to the boldest of explorers, by reason of the absence of
any certain knowledge as to the existence and position of permanent
water-supplies. Now that Arkenu and Ouenat are exactly located,
with the existence of drinkable water in reasonable quantities,
it may be possible for a traveler from Egypt to reach them and
procure the necessary water-supplies for his return journey. I say
it _may_ be possible, for there are still great difficulties about
access to Arkenu and Ouenat from Egypt, although both the compilers
of the German map and Mr. Harding King were informed that an old
track to Egypt runs from Ouenat. According to Mr. Harding King’s
informant, the track runs to Dakhla Oasis, which is a distance of
some 600 km. through a waterless desert, and consequently the journey
between the two places is a very formidable undertaking for camels,
even in winter; while the suitability of the ground for motor-cars,
especially in the mountainous region round the oases themselves,
is as yet unknown.
An interesting feature of Arkenu and Ouenat is that they are not
depressions with underground water-supplies, like all the other
oases of the Western Desert of Egypt, but mountainous areas where
the water is dependent on local rainfall and collected in natural
basins in the rocks.[11] The Nile Valley in the same latitudes
has practically no rainfall, but here, some 700 km. westward into
the Sahara, there is sufficient rain to maintain perennial though
limited supplies—at Ouenat even sufficient for the needs of a
settlement of some one hundred and fifty Badawi—and at certain
seasons to provide grazing for animals in the valleys and lowlands.
The ground-level in this region is high (six hundred meters above
sea-level), but the mountains near the oases rise to heights of over
eleven hundred meters above the sea, and it can hardly be doubted
that the rainfall is connected with the orography, the mountains
attracting or helping to form clouds. In this connection it is worth
noting that in the more open country further south, as well as in
that to the north, the absence of vegetation shows that rainfall
is evidently much scarcer than in the mountains around the oases;
also that Ouenat, where the mountains are higher than at Arkenu,
possesses better and more abundant water. The conservation of the
water through the dry season is partly conditioned by the almost
impermeable nature of the crystalline rocks composing the mountains,
and partly by the sheltered position of the pools in the rocky
gullies, which diminishes evaporation.
The full extent of the mountains of Arkenu and Ouenat is not
yet known, but they cover at least 1000 square km. Hassanein
Bey’s main route lay along the western feet of the masses, so
that their western limit is ascertained, as also their north and
south extension; but their eastern limits in Egypt are unknown,
and it is not yet certain whether there may be a continuous chain
of hills connecting the two masses to the east. Hassanein Bey made
a round reconnaissance extending some 40 km. eastward of his camp
at Ouenat, without reaching the limits of the mass. The mountains
are visible from great distances from the north and south, Arkenu
having been sighted from at least 60 km. north, and Ouenat remained
visible for at least the same distance on the track southward from
it. There is a possibility that the mountains may be less conspicuous
to a traveler approaching from the east, owing to their breaking
up into smaller hills and the ground on that side of them being
higher and falling away gradually toward the Nile; but this must
remain uncertain until further exploration is undertaken.
From Ouenat to Erdi “Well” is a journey of 439 km. in a
south-southwesterly direction, the first 284 km. being in the
Anglo-Egyptian Sudan, the remaining 146 in French Equatorial
Africa. There is no water in all this stretch, but patches of dried
grass were met with at intervals in the latter half of the journey,
and some 25 km. before reaching Erdi the valleys were full of
green grass. Thus the northern limit of the equatorial rain-belt
hereabouts is approximately in Lat. 18° 50′.
Erdi.—Erdi appears to be the name given to an extensive tract
of country stretching between the twenty-first and twenty-fourth
meridians of east longitude, rising gradually southward and ending
in a broken east and west escarpment in about Lat. 18° 30′. The
water-source visited by Hassanein Bey, called by the guide “Erdi
Well,” is in Lat. 18° 31′, Long. 23° 10′, and is 958 meters
above sea-level. It is not really a well, but a rock-pool, similar
to those of Arkenu and Ouenat; the water is good.
Hassanein Bey’s “Erdi Well” is close to the locality marked
“Erdi-ma” on Lieutenant-Colonel Tilho’s map of 1920, but
it appears not to be the same water-source as the one visited by
that traveler. Erdi Well is at the head of a small valley draining
northward, and one has to ascend the hills to a height of 1020
meters above sea and cross a stretch of broken plateau before
reaching the southward drainages which cut back into the scarp.
Over this broken plateau Hassanein Bey proceeded in a southeasterly
direction, descending the scarp in Lat. 18° 25′, Long. 23°
20′. The level at the foot of the scarp was 790 meters, so that
the scarp hereabouts is some 230 meters in height.
After descending the Erdi scarp, Hassanein Bey’s track southward
across the great sandy depression which separates the Erdi plateau
from that of Ennedi, to Agah (88 km. from his camp north of Erdi
Well), appears to have been almost parallel to, and some 20 km.
east of, that followed by Lieutenant-Colonel Tilho in 1914.
Agah.—The water-source of Agah is a rock-pool similar to that at
Erdi; but the water is bad, owing to fouling by animals. The pool is
some 6 km. up a valley cutting back northward into the scarp which
faces that of Erdi. The position found for the pool at Agah lies
some 24 km. from the “Aga Spring” shown on Lieutenant-Colonel
Tilho’s map. There are possibly several springs and pools among
the hills in this neighborhood, all bearing the same name, which
would explain the apparent discrepancy.
From Agah the track to Enebah (65 km.) runs in a rather zigzag
course with a general southward trend. For the first 10 km. beyond
the pool, the track ascends the valley; then, mounting rapidly,
it soon reaches altitudes of over a thousand meters on the plateau.
Enebah.—Here is a small settlement of Badawi and a well of
good water about 28 km. east of the wells of Keita shown on
Lieutenant-Colonel Tilho’s map, on the same high plateau.
From Enebah to Bao is 120 km., by a rather zigzag track in a
general south-southwesterly direction over an undulating and hilly
plateau. The greatest altitude recorded by Hassanein Bey during
his entire journey, 1184 meters above sea, was reached at a point
on the road about 18 km. from Enebah. This altitude (3884 feet)
is slightly higher than that (3600 feet) which Lieutenant-Colonel
Tilho records as his maximum on the same (Erdebe) plateau at a point
further west; so that the plateau probably increases in height to
the eastward. The Kaptarko valley was crossed about 47 km. further
on, and it is interesting to note that Hassanein Bey’s data give
a position for this which is very close to the “Kapterko” of
Lieutenant-Colonel Tilho’s map.
Bao.—Hassanein Bey’s Bao is not the “Bo” visited by
Lieutenant-Colonel Tilho, which lies over 100 km. further north,
but the place called “Orobo” on Tilho’s map and “Bao” on
the map of Wadai and Darfur which was attached to the convention
between the British and French Governments at Paris in 1919;
this is evident from the following comparison of Hassanein Bey’s
position with those scaled for the above-mentioned places from the
maps referred to:
_Lat. N._ _Long. E._
° ′ ″ ° ′ ″
Bao (Hassanein Bey) 16 28 24 23 1 47
Orobo (Tilho) 16 30 0 22 59 0
Bao (convention map) 16 28 0 23 4 0
The wells of Bao are at the head of a small valley draining
northward, in which shrubs and trees are plentiful. There are
several wells, with perennial supplies, though the water becomes
scarce in the dry season and the wells have then to be deepened.
From Bao to Furawia is 145 km. in a south-southeasterly direction,
over ground partly covered with grass and small trees. About 55
km. before reaching Furawia, Hassanein Bey passed close to a hill
called Tameira, on which is a sign-post, formed of a dead tree,
marking the boundary between French and Anglo-Egyptian territory.
No astronomical observations were taken here, but Hassanein Bey’s
adjusted traverse-data indicate the approximate position of the
hill to be Lat. 15° 48′ N., Long. 23° 27′ E. The Wadai Hawar
(“Howa” of the Anglo-French convention map) was crossed about
7 km. beyond Tameira Hill.
Conclusion.—In concluding this analysis of Hassanein Bey’s
results, the reduction of which has occupied a large part of my
time for over two months, I may be permitted to remark that his
expedition appears to me to be an almost unique achievement in the
annals of geographical exploration. The journey of 3345 km. from
Sollum to El Obeid, most of it through inhospitable deserts sparsely
inhabited by fanatical and predatory tribes, is one which, without
a strong military escort, could have been undertaken only by a
Moslem, and by one of remarkable grit, tact, and perseverance.
But Hassanein Bey has not only accomplished this difficult journey
and brought back interesting descriptions and photographs of the
country through which he passed. Before setting out from Cairo he had
applied himself strenuously for several weeks to acquiring facility
in the use of the theodolite, and instruction in the particular
methods of reconnaissance-survey best adapted for exploration of
the kind on which he was to embark; and throughout his travels he
made excellent use of the surveying knowledge thus acquired. How
complete and accurate were his observations will be obvious from
the foregoing analysis; and the really remarkable thing is that he
managed somehow to carry out all this observation single-handed,
and to maintain the continuity and accuracy of his measurements and
records over the distance of more than 2000 km. which separates the
points on his route whose positions were previously known. Thanks
to the detailed and systematic character of his observations, their
reduction has been a pleasant labor, and it has been comparatively
easy to map his route and the newly discovered places along it with
a high degree of accuracy.
The principal additions to our knowledge of northeastern Africa
which have resulted from the expedition are:
(1) The true positions of Zieghen and Kufra, resulting in changes
of about 100 and 40 kms. respectively from the positions hitherto
assigned to these places on maps of Africa.
(2) The discovery of the oases of Arkenu and Ouenat, previously
unknown, and the determination of their positions and approximate
extent, thus opening up possibilities of new desert travel from
Egypt into regions of the Libyan Desert still unexplored.
(3) The discovery of a route from southwestern Egypt across the
Erdi and Ennedi plateaux of French Equatorial Africa into Darfur,
and the positions of the water-sources along it. Incidentally, this
establishes a connection with, and extension of, Lieutenant-Colonel
Tilho’s recent brilliant explorations in the French Sudan.
(4) The determination of careful barometric levels along the
entire route, affording valuable information on the orography of
a vast region of which little was previously known, and confirming
Lieutenant-Colonel Tilho’s conclusion that there is no possible
drainage-outlet from Lake Chad in an easterly direction.
APPENDIX II
CONCLUSIONS DERIVED FROM THE GEOLOGICAL DATA COLLECTED BY HASSANEIN
BEY DURING HIS KUFRA-OUENAT EXPEDITION
W. F. Hume, D.Sc., Director, Geological Survey of Egypt
Before dealing with the facts ascertained I would desire to
congratulate Hassanein Bey on the successful accomplishment of an
expedition which has given us knowledge of a large tract of country
hitherto unknown to geographical science. Those of us who have
a slight acquaintance with desert travel will appreciate the fact
that he should have covered 3500 km. over an almost waterless waste
in a region which from religious or political causes is practically
closed to a European explorer. It has often meant weariness of body
and anxiety of mind, though no doubt he has been compensated by
the freedom of feeling engendered by free wind-swept spaciousness
and by the constant interest of new discovery.
Hassanein Bey has shown a keen desire to obtain data which would be
of scientific value, and consequently has collected specimens and
taken photographs which might enable those familiar with the desert
geology in Egypt to arrive at conclusions as to the geological nature
of the country traversed. Mr. Moon has examined these specimens in
my absence, and his notes and conclusions are attached.
The following points are those which have struck me most forcibly
in looking over the specimens and photographs brought back by
Hassanein Bay:
(1) Between Siwa and Jaghbub large specimens of petrified trees were
noted and photographed. This is of interest as showing the wide
extension to the west of the so-called “petrified forests.”
It emphasizes the desirability of extending the examination of
the southern edge of the Cyrenaic scarp to the western boundary of
Egyptian territory, including the portion now marked “unexplored”
on the 1:1,000,000 geological map of Egypt.
(2) The beautiful specimens of the Miocene oysters _Ostrea Virleti_
and _Ostrea digitalina_ indicate clearly that Jaghbub is on the
same formation as that of Siwa, viz., Middle Miocene, while the
further continuation of these strata toward Jalo is indicated by
Specimen No. 3.
(3) At a point a little south of Lat. 28° N., a collection was made
of hard limestone. A very shelly piece among them may be Miocene,
but the others might well form part of the Eocene or Cretaceous
members which are so well developed on the same latitude to the
east of the Egyptian boundary. The absence of type fossils in the
rocks renders further identification impossible.
(4) Between March 20 and 24 Hassanein Bey was crossing a flat
plain. The question arises whether this might not be due to
erosion of the finer clays and sands which so often lie between the
hard Cretaceous limestone and more compact members of the Nubian
Sandstone series.
(5) Be this as it may, as indicated by Mr. Moon, the Nubian Sandstone
proper was met with in typical form a little north of El Harrash
(Zieghen). The specimens obtained from this point onward to the
junction with the igneous rocks about 30 km. north of Arkenu are
all varied members of the same sandstone formation which in Egypt
proper and the Sudan spreads over enormous areas.
(6) Great interest attaches to the discovery of typical granite
in the oases of Ouenat and Arkenu. The main rock is of pegmatitic
type, being composed of well-shaped felspars, glassy quartz, and
hornblende. A point brought out by the photograph is the intense
action of temperature variation on these igneous rocks. The whole
of the hillside is strewn with gigantic boulders, some of which
have been split into large pieces which obviously once formed part
of the same block.
As regards the nature of the relations between the granite and the
Nubian Sandstone, it is to be noted that the granite difference
of level might be explained (a) by the existence of a fold, (b)
by the presence of a fracture line or fault, (c) by intrusion of
the granite when in a molten condition into the overlying sandstone.
After conversation with Hassanein Bey, and a closer examination
of his photographs from this point of view, one is led to the
following conclusion:
(1) A fold seems possible, because the sandstone (which dips or
slopes off the granite in certain folds in the south of Kharga
Oasis) is seen to be obviously dipping toward the spectator in the
cinema photograph of camels coming through the valley of Ouenat.
Taking (c) first, we have no proof anywhere in Egypt that granite
has been intruded into the Nubian Sandstone, in all cases where
the relations are clearly displayed the granite having obviously
been worn down before the sandstone was deposited on it.
(2) We are consequently disposed to adopt the view, pending further
study, that the differences of level may be due to the existence of
a fold. The alternative would be the presence of a fracture line,
along which the granite has been pushed up in a solid form to a
higher level than the sandstone which normally overlies it, or
the sandstone has been led down along the line of weakness against
the granite.
A very interesting feature is the presence of well-made drawings of
giraffes and ostriches on the granite boulders. As Hassanein Bey
points out, the camel is absent, and it is to be regretted that
there are no pictures of human beings. These _graffiti_ may be of
ancient date, being drawn at a period when rainfall was greater in
this portion of North Africa than it is at present.
Hassanein Bey’s expedition has thus indicated that both the Miocene
strata in the north and the great Nubian Sandstone formation further
south continue well to the west of the western Egyptian boundary with
unchanged characteristics, while the discovery of the granitic oasis,
as I understand within the boundaries of Egyptian territory, opens
up the possibility of developing alternative routes to Darfur from
Dakhla Oasis, and also indicates a water-base of great importance
in connection with the exploration of the unknown territory lying
west of the route followed by Hassanein Bey. Its further study from
the geological standpoint would be of great interest.
APPENDIX III
NOTES ON THE GEOLOGY OF HASSANEIN BEY’S EXPEDITION, SOLLUM-DARFUR,
1923
F. W. Moon
Having been requested by Hassanein Bey, in the absence of Dr. Hume,
to report upon the interesting geological specimens collected by
him on his recent exploratory tour through the Western Desert from
Sollum, on the southern shores of the Mediterranean Sea, to Darfur
in the Sudan, I have much pleasure in submitting the following short
summary of the main features of the journey from a geological point
of view, as deduced from the specimens collected.
Although the specimens are small and, in the case of the igneous
rocks, much weathered, yet for all intents and purposes they are
quite sufficient to enable one to make deductions and conclusions
as to the main geological formations passed over.
As the explorer explains, there was not the freedom of transport
he would have desired for making a larger collection of full-sized
specimens, nor did he wish to incur the displeasure of those who
formed his escort by seeming to do anything that might appear in
any way suspicious, such as the constant breaking and collecting
of stones.
From the tabulated list of specimens herewith appended, it may
be seen that the beginning of the journey was made over Miocene
formations indicated by fossil oysters and pectens (identified as
_Ostrea digitalina_, _O. Virleti_, _Chlamys zitteli_, and others),
of which there are seven valves of the former, two of the second,
two of the third, and five which resemble _Chlamys sub-malvina_.
The Miocene formations continue through Siwa, Jaghbub, and Jalo,
and far southward to a point about 180 km. to the south of Jalo
(see Specimens 1-4), where the last Miocene specimen (No. 4) was
picked up.
At this point begins a wide barren stretch of flat and desolate
country, devoid of rocks of any particular geological interest
beyond the thin covering of “sand and alluvium” which extends
for nearly 200 km. (four days of monotonous marching) along the
route to the south.
Then, when about 50 km. north of Zieghen, the explorer noticed that
the aspect of the country took a sudden change; the light yellow of
the Miocene limestones and desert sands gave place to brighter, more
varied, and highly colored scenery, which the specimens show was due
to the approach of the Lower Cretaceous Nubian Sandstones, which,
wherever they occur, add beauty to the landscape in unbelievable
brilliancy and variety of coloring.
Although greens and blues are sometimes observed, red is the dominant
color, all shades of pink, terra-cotta, maroon, and brick red are
blended together, and umbers and ochers are sometimes present.
Thus we are provided with a point well westward of any hitherto
known on the northern limits of the Nubian Sandstone; in other
words, the evidence suggests the continuation westward by some
600 km. of the Nubian boundary shown on the existing 1:1,000,000
colored geological map of Egypt (1910).
Mention may here be made of the apparent absence of specimens
definitely representing the younger Cretaceous rocks which are shown
colored green, on the map just referred to, to the east; but this
may be readily accounted for by the presence of the expansive plain
passed over between Jalo and Zieghen, the “sand and alluvium”
covering of which is quite sufficient to hide all evidence of the
younger rocks of that age.
Another question rendered obscure by the presence of this large
flat expanse of “sand and alluvium” is the exact position of
the southern limits of Miocene formations. If we assume (which
seems to be the case) that the point, 180 km. to the south of Jalo,
where the last Miocene specimens were collected, be the southern
boundary of the Miocene, then we find that the distribution of
that formation as now suggested is of particular interest as (1)
indicating a western extension of the general outline of the ancient
Mediterranean Ocean in Miocene time; and (2) adding extra weight
to our conceptions as regard the period (in geological chronology)
of the Egyptian-Sinai uplift which caused the elevation of land
involving a considerable portion of Egypt in pre-Miocene times,
and ultimately defining the shores of the Miocene Sea more or less
as we now follow it from this newly discovered spot between El
Harrash (Zieghen) and Jalo to a short distance east of Siwa from
where it runs northeastward to the thirtieth degree of latitude,
along which it continues with little variation to Suez.
It would appear that all Egypt lying between the Miocene Gulf of
Suez in the east and the Siwa-Zieghen Miocene shore-line in the west
and southward was dry land in Miocene times, and therefore exposed
to denudation extending over a vast geological period during which
the Nubian Sandstone and younger Cretaceous rocks were laid bare and
in a position to have Miocene strata laid down upon or against them.
The Nubian Sandstone, as indicated by the Specimens 5-10, shows
identical characteristics to those exhibited wherever it occurs in
Egypt or Sinai. It is a sandstone consisting in the main of more
or less fine rounded grains of pure quartz, through which are
distributed, in greater or lesser proportions, larger grains or
pebbles. In cases where the latter predominate, a pudding-stone
or conglomerate results; where the larger grains are sparsely
distributed, a porphyritic appearance is suggested.
The cementing material, which may be either calcareous, silicious,
or ferruginous, is the color-imparting medium, the depth of color
depending upon the amount and composition of iron oxides present in
it, and when this material is weathered, washed out, and accumulated
into pockets it becomes, when finely ground, suitably adapted for
the manufacture of paints.
The Nubian Sandstone continues south of the Miocene-Nubian boundary
above referred to, to a point some 15 km. north of the Arkenu
Mountains.
Approaching this point, still another change in the general aspect
of the country met the eye of the explorer: the brighter coloring of
the sandstones gave place to the duller browns, grays, and blacks
of an abrupt range of igneous hills, the position on the ground
where the igneous rocks come up through the Nubian Sandstones being
approximately 25 km. north of Arkenu.
The changes of scenery in passing from one formation to another are
strikingly seen in the excellent collection of photographs procured
by Hassanein Bey, who is to be highly complimented on the success
he obtained under great difficulties and inconveniences.
Judging from the Specimens 11-12 submitted for examination,
the igneous rocks, of which the Arkenu-Ouenat Hills are composed,
consist mainly of coarsely crystalline granites and syenites varying
in texture and appearance, and through them run intrusive veins of
finer-grained dike rocks.
The Arkenu Hills are mostly composed of rocks represented
by Specimens 12 and 14, which are really somewhat similar in
composition.
No. 12 consists of a holocrystalline aggregate of large crystals
of a light gray (possibly a decomposed or kaolinized orthoclase)
alkali-felspar, which constitutes the main bulk of the rock. No
quartz is visible in the hand specimen, which is greatly weathered,
and only gives a specific gravity of a little over 2.5. Small
crystals of dark greenish hornblende are well formed, and occur in
fewer numbers than in Specimens 17 and 21, which are representatives
of the rockmass of the Ouenat Hills to be described presently.
Specimen 14 is an unweathered gray rock chiefly composed of a
mottled gray alkali-felspar, with hornblende crystals in similar
numbers to those in Specimen 12.
The microscopic examination of a rock-section made from Specimen 14
corroborates the above description, but introduces the possibility
of the presence of nephelin in granular-like patches in the slide,
which correspond to darker slightly lustrous areas in the hard
specimen; however, no nephelin has been actually identified.
Specimens Nos. 12 and 14 may therefore be called syenites.
Running through the syenites of the Arkenu Hills are veins of
intrusive rocks represented by Specimens Nos. 11, 13, and 15,
and no doubt many others occur.
Specimen No. 11 represents a vein of a hemicrystalline, hard dark
green rock weathering brown on the outer surface, with innumerable
small dark specks which are scarcely discernible in the unweathered
portion of the specimen.
Under the microscope this rock is found to be of considerable
interest. It consists of an aggregate of small phenocrysts of
idiomorphic felspar, which in places assumes the appearance of a
crypto- or microcrystalline felspathic matrix crowded with acicular
crystals of a green mineral resembling ægirine. The latter are in
places irregularly distributed, but in areas where the felspar occurs
in roughly rectangular or lozenge form, the ægirine microlites
are crowded round the edges of the latter.
No quartz is noticeable in the rock-slide, and the rock may be
tentatively determined as an ægirine-felsite, apparently similar
to a rock described and figured in Harker’s “Petrology for
Students.”
A second vein in the Arkenu Hills is represented by Specimen No.
13, which is a brownish quartzite.
The third vein is indicated by Specimen No. 15, which is a dark gray
laminated rock, weathering to reddish brown, very fine in texture,
with small clear crystals of phenocrysts sparsely disseminated
through the ground-mass. The rock-slide shows, under the microscope,
a great similarity to Specimen No. 11 as described above. The felspar
here, however, forms a much finer crypto-crystalline ground-mass than
in the former, and the ægirine microlites are smaller, tapering,
and not so well formed. This rock may also be tentatively called
a fine ægirine-felsite.
The Ouenat Hills are mainly composed of rocks represented by
Specimens 17 and 21, the chief constituent of which is a gray
alkali-felspar (possibly orthoclase with some microcline). Quartz
is well represented in idiomorphic forms; no mica is noticeable in
the hand specimens, but many well-developed prismoidal crystals of
very dark or dark green hornblende are thickly distributed throughout
the mass.
No slide was made of these specimens owing to their fragile
condition on account of weathering, but the rock may be determined
as a coarsely crystalline gray hornblende granite.
Specimen No. 18 is another representative rock from, and constitutes
a considerable bulk of, the Ouenat Hills. It may be termed a red
granite, approximating to an aplite with very little mica, which
decomposes and forms oxides of iron which have stained the rock a
brownish red; quartz and felspar form the main bulk of the rock.
As in the case of the Arkenu syenites, so here in the Ouenat granites
we find other examples of endogenous veins running through the
parent rock, represented by Specimens 16, 19, and 22.
Specimen No. 16 represents a vein of purplish felsite, in the
felsitic ground-mass of which occur phenocrysts of idiomorphic
felspar.
Specimen No. 19 represents a vein of pure white granular quartz rock
which occurs in and may have been the cause (through denudation)
of the cave found in the foot-hills of the Ouenat range.
Specimen No. 22, found at Garet Shezzu, is a typical quartzite
which may also occur as a vein in the granites.
Two specimens found inside the cave in the Ouenat Oasis are
of particular interest. These specimens are Nos. 20 and 21. The
former, a laminated travertine, could only have been deposited from
running water, as the formation of ripple-markings confirms; and
from notes made by the explorer at the time of his inspection, we
learn that there was quite a lot of it lying about on the floor of
the cave. Under the microscope spheroidal structure is displayed,
representing the ripple-markings, and in the matrix of calcite
many fragments of quartz, felspar, etc., are conspicuous, these
having been derived from the denuding granites. No organic remains
were observed.
The second specimen (No. 21) is a fragment of the hornblendic
granite of which the Ouenat Hills are chiefly composed, and which
forms the roof of the cave; this is coated on one side with a thin
black iron-manganese film, similar to the well-known deposit on
the rocks in the Nile at or near the Asswan Dam.
This whole igneous area, which includes the newly discovered
mountains and oases of Arkenu and Ouenat, is possibly of limited
extent, and occurs in, and is possibly surrounded by, a much wider
expanse of Nubian Sandstone, in a similar manner to several other
such areas already shown on the 1:1,000,000 geological map of Egypt.
Judging from other known similar occurrences where igneous rocks
appear surrounded by Nubian Sandstones, we may infer that the latter
were deposited upon the ancient igneous rocks which subsequently
rose vertically, bending the superincumbent strata over and round
them, possibly only to a slight degree in this instance, as none
of the photographs show very highly dipping rocks.
On leaving Ouenat for Erdi the igneous area is soon left behind.
The actual junction between it and the Nubian Sandstone (which
again forms the surface rock) occurs at a point about 20 km. south
of Ouenat, and the aspect of the country again changes from the
more uneven weathering of the igneous range of grays and browns
to brilliant colorings of the Nubian Sandstone which forms a long
series of prominent escarpments rising to heights bordering on
1000 meters above the sea between Enebah and Kuttum, after which
the ground begins to fall, until El Fasher is reached, where the
ground-level is only about 700 or 800 meters in height.
Summary.—The several interesting geological features suggested
by the recent expedition may be summarized as follows:
1. That Miocene rocks extend southward, to or near the twenty-seventh
degree of north latitude, forming a large bay bordered by older
rocks.
2. That the Miocene rocks, resting here apparently upon or against
Nubian Sandstones, seem to follow the same conditions noticed first
by Dr. Hume in the Gulf of Suez region, namely, that they rest upon
older and older formations the further southward they are found;
in other words, that prior to the deposition of the Miocene there
was a time of denudation which was more effectual in the south than
in the north, owing to the fact that in the south was an area of
greater uplift.
3. That a large area of Nubian Sandstone (Cretaceous) exists south
of this latitude.
4. That a newly discovered range of igneous rocks in the Arkenu
Hills exists well inside Egyptian territory, and possibly entirely
within this Nubian Sandstone area, or connected as a tongue to a
larger igneous massif lying in the south.
5. That the Cretaceous rocks (younger than the Nubian Sandstone)
which appear on the colored Geological Map of Egypt further to
the northeast, possibly do not occur along the route traversed,
having been concealed beneath “sand and alluvium” areas.
LIST OF SPECIMENS COLLECTED BY AHMED MOHAMMED HASSANEIN BEY IN HIS
EXPEDITION FROM SOLLUM TO DARFUR
_No._ _Date_ _Locality (As taken from _Determination of
1923 descriptions on labels)_ Specimens_
1 — Siwa Three crystal
fragments of
selenite; one
pecten and two
oyster shells
(possibly of
Miocene age)
2 — Jaghbub One pecten in a
shelly limestone
(possibly
indicating Miocene
age)
3 — Surface rocks on the way One piece of
from Jaghbub to Jalo fossilized
wood; three
loose silicious
pebbles; two long
concretions of
calcareous grit,
and fibrous salt
crystal (curved,
five inches long)
4 March In Wadai, in small Two loose pebbles
20 patches of calcareous grit
with quartz grains
5 March Getting near El Harrash Nubian Sandstone
24 (Zieghen), patches of (one specimen)
this strewn (broken)
before reaching Halab
6 March One day’s journey from Hard ferruginous
28 El Harrash (Zieghen), on bands from Nubian
way to Kufra Sandstone (five
specimens)
7 March Garet El Sherif Nubian Sandstone
29 (three specimens)
8 — Gebel El Neri, garas Ferruginous bands
nearing Hawari (color maroon)
from Nubian
Sandstone (three
specimens); one
black ferruginous
“bomb”
9 — Kufra (Taj) hills Blocks of Nubian
Sandstone (three
specimens)
10 April Between Kufra and Nubian Sandstone
22 Ouenat; specimens from (one specimen);
chain of hills crossed and ferruginous
that day bands from Nubian
Sandstone (two
specimens)
11 April Arkenu Mountain Igneous rock
24 (ægirine felsite)
12 April From patches of Arkenu Igneous rock
24 Mountain; there are big (badly weathered
hills formed entirely of syenite)
it. . . on the outside
of the mountain
13 April From big patches north “ (quartzite vein
24 of Arkenu Mountain in)
14 April From Arkenu Mountain “ (gray syenite)
25 itself
15 April Found in big blocks “ (ægirine felsite)
25 buried in the ground on
the border of Arkenu
Mountain, in the Arkenu
valley
16 — Specimen from formations “ (felsite)
(in layers) found in
Ouenat big valley
17 — Ouenat Mountain is “ (badly weathered
mostly of this stone hornblende-granite
18 — Stone of which Ouenat is “ (badly weathered
generally formed granite)
19 — Found inside the “ (quartz vein)
water-cave at Ouenat,
near the water-level;
plenty of it in small
patches
20 — Found inside the Calcareous deposit
water-cave at Ouenat from running water
(travertine)
21 — Found inside the Igneous rock
water-cave at Ouenat, in (badly weathered
the roof; most of the hornblende-granite,
stone of the cave and coated with
mountain is of this kind polished film of
iron which may
have come from the
water)
22 May 8 From Garet Shezzu, near “ (fine quartzite)
Ouenat
23 May 10 Between Ouenat and Erdi Nubian Sandstone
(one specimen)
24 May 13 Found strewn on red Ferruginous band
sand, getting near Erdi; (containing
nothing but red sand and hematite) from
this stone Nubian Sandstone
25 May 16 Erdi Hills Dark red clay,
with small
percentage of
quartz sand
(grinds up into
dark brick-red
powder)
26 May 16 Stone of Erdi Hills Brick-red clay,
with small
percentage of
quartz sand
(grinds easily
into bright,
brick-red colored
powder)
27 May 19 Agah Hills Soft, fine, yellow
to red, slightly
calcareous
micaceous sandstone
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 1: Since the above was written, I have received information
from the director of Sudan surveys that a recent extension of
the Sudan triangulation-net includes Gebel Furawia as one of the
points, and that the precise position found for the summit of the
hill is Lat. 15° 20′ 59.9″ N., Long. 23° 36′ 48.1″ E.,
altitude 954 meters above sea-level. This position differs by
about 2 km. from that shown on the map above referred to; but in
view of the fact that the distance and bearing of Hassanein Bey's
camp from the hill is unknown, though his observed latitude shows
his camp to have been on a parallel about a kilometer and a half
north of the hill, I have not thought it worth while to make any
change in the adjustment of Hassanein Bey’s data. The longitude
adopted for the camp (p. 320) may be slightly in error, but it is
unlikely that the error can exceed a mile or so. The difference of
level between the top of the hill and Hassanein Bey’s camp being
unknown, the triangulation-level affords no control over Hassanein
Bey’s barometric value for the latter place, and consequently I
have judged it best to use El Fasher as the south control point in
adjusting the level-determinations.]
[Footnote 2: No observations are known to have been taken at
Jedabia. The position given is that which I adopted for it in
preparing a former map in 1921, and was arrived at by estimation
from a car-and-compass traverse carried out by Captain Williams
from Zuetina in 1918.]
[Footnote 3: See foot-note, p. 316.]
[Footnote 4: Rohlfs, “Kufra,” 1881, p. 226.]
[Footnote 5: “Mitt. Afrik. Ges.,” Band ii., 1880-81, p. 17.]
[Footnote 6: “Mitt. Afrik. Ges.,” Band ii., 1880-81, p. 25.]
[Footnote 7: “Mitt. Afrik. Ges.,” Band ii., 1880-81, p. 23.]
[Footnote 8: “Geographical Journal,” Vol. 68 (1921), p. 248.]
[Footnote 9: “Geographical Journal,” Vol. 42 (1913), p. 282.]
[Footnote 10: “Geographical Journal,” Vol. 46 (1920), p. 98.]
[Footnote 11: Though rare in the Western Desert of Egypt, these
rock-basins are common in the mountains of the Eastern Desert near
the Red Sea, where they are called _galts_. See my “Geography
and Geology of South-Eastern Egypt” (1912), p. 240. They are also
abundant in the Erdi and Ennedi regions of French Equatorial Africa,
as we know from the explorations of both Lieutenant-Colonel Tilho
and Hassanein Bey.]
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