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Title: The lost oases
Author: Ahmad Muhammad Hasanayn
Author of introduction, etc.: Rennell Rodd
Contributor: John Ball
W. F. Hume
F. W. Moon
Release date: February 25, 2023 [eBook #70135]
Most recently updated: January 12, 2025
Language: English
Original publication: United States: The Century Co, 1925
Credits: Galo Flordelis (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive)
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 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
* * * * *
[Decoration]
* * * * *
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 PAGE
I. THE DESERT 3
II. THE PLANNING OF THE JOURNEY 12
III. THE BLESSING OF THE BAGGAGE 16
IV. SUPPLIES AND EQUIPMENT 19
V. PLOTS AND OMENS 31
VI. THE SENUSSIS 42
VII. THE PEACE OF JAGHBUB 57
VIII. MEALS AND MEDICINE 67
IX. SAND-STORMS AND THE ROAD TO JALO 76
X. AT THE OASIS OF JALO 88
XI. ON THE TREK 110
XII. THE ROAD TO ZIEGHEN WELL 131
XIII. THE CHANGING DESERT AND A CORRECTED MAP 156
XIV. KUFRA: OLD FRIENDS AND A CHANGE OF PLAN 170
XV. KUFRA: ITS PLACE ON THE MAP 185
XVI. THE LOST OASES: ARKENU 203
XVII. THE LOST OASES: OUENAT 219
XVIII. NIGHT MARCHES TO ERDI 235
XIX. ENTERING THE SUDAN 257
XX. TO FURAWIA ON SHORT RATIONS 277
XXI. JOURNEY’S END 293
APPENDICES
I. NOTE ON THE CARTOGRAPHICAL RESULTS OF HASSANEIN BEY’S
JOURNEY 309
II. CONCLUSIONS DERIVED FROM THE GEOLOGICAL DATA COLLECTED
BY HASSANEIN BEY DURING HIS KUFRA-OUENAT EXPEDITION 348
III. NOTES ON THE GEOLOGY OF HASSANEIN BEY’S EXPEDITION,
SOLLUM-DARFUR, 1923 352
ILLUSTRATIONS
FACING PAGE
HASSANEIN BEY _Frontispiece_
THE OLDEST MAN AT JALO 17
SIDI HUSSEIN WEIKIL 17
DOOR TO THE GRAND SENUSSI’S TOMB 20
THE TOMB OF THE FOUNDER OF THE SENUSSI 20
CAMEL SERENADING THE CAMP AT OUENAT 24
A DYING CAMEL 24
WOMEN OF THE ZAGHAWA TRIBE 29
SAYED IDRIS EL SENUSSI 32
THE JUDGE OF JALO 36
ZERWALI 45
SIWA 48
PANORAMA OF JAGHBUB 52
THE COURTYARD OF THE MOSQUE AT JAGHBUB 61
A CLOISTER AT THE MOSQUE OF JAGHBUB 65
THE DOME OF THE MOSQUE AT JAGHBUB 65
THE EXPLORER’S CARAVAN IN A SAND-STORM 69
DESERT SANDS COVERING DATE-TREES 72
THE ZIEGHEN WELL 76
A HALT IN THE DESERT 76
THE ARMED MEN OF THE CARAVAN 81
HAPPY TEBUS AT KUFRA 84
A BIDIYAT FAMILY 84
HAWARIA, A LANDMARK OF KUFRA 88
CAMELS CROSSING THE SAND-DUNES 93
SAYED MOHAMMED EL ABID 96
THE HOUSE OF SAYED EL ABID 96
TEBU GIRL WEARING BEDOUIN CLOTHES 100
A TEBU WITH HIS CAMEL 100
SLAVE AT KUFRA 104
TEBU GIRL CARRYING BURDEN ON HER HEAD 104
KUFRA 109
THE OASIS OF HAWARI 112
SOUTH OF KUFRA 116
RUINS OF KUFRA 120
A SENUSSI PRINCE AT KUFRA 125
GOVERNOR OF KUFRA 125
ZWAYA CHIEFS AT KUFRA 129
THE LAKE AT KUFRA 132
EL TAJ 136
THE COUNCIL OF KUFRA 136
TUAREGS IN KUFRA 141
TWO TUAREGS IN WARRIOR ATTIRE 141
THE CARAVAN ON THE MOVE IN THE DESERT TO AGAH 144
SONS OF SHEIKH HERRI 148
APPROACHING THE HILLS OF ARKENU 152
IN THE OPEN DESERT 157
THE HILLS OF ARKENU 161
THE EXPLORER’S CAMP AT OUENAT 164
THE CARAVAN APPROACHING THE GRANITE HILLS OF OUENAT 164
VALLEY OF ERDI 168
DESERT BREAKING INTO ROCK COUNTRY SOUTH OF OUENAT 168
THE DESERT FROM THE HILLS OF OUENAT 173
THE KING OF OUENAT 176
THE EXPLORER’S KITCHEN IN A CAVE 181
THE ROCK VALLEY WELLS FOUND AT OUENAT 181
AT ARKENU 188
THE MOST IMPORTANT DISCOVERY MADE AT OUENAT 188
WHITE SAND VALLEY AND EXPLORER’S CAMP 193
THE CARAVAN ARRIVING AT OUENAT 197
THE VALLEY OF ERDI 200
THE FIRST TREE SEEN APPROACHING ERDI 204
THE EXPLORER’S CAMP IN THE VALLEY OF ERDI 208
SOUTH OF ERDI 208
THE CHIEFTAIN OF THE BIDIYAT TRIBE 213
TWO BIDIYAT MEN 213
BIDIYAT BELLES 216
BIDIYAT PRIEST 216
A BIDIYAT GIRL, WITH HER SISTER 220
A BIDIYAT GIRL, WITH HER CHILD 220
A BIDIYAT PARTY 225
GIRLS AT EL FASHER GOING TO MARKET 225
BIDIYAT WOMEN 228
ZAGHAWA GIRL AND HER INFANT 228
MARKET AT UM BURU 232
EXPLORER’S CAMP AT UM BURU 237
ZAGHAWA CHIEFS COMING OUT TO WELCOME THE PARTY AT UM
BURU 241
A ZAGHAWA SHEIKH 244
A ZAGHAWA WOMAN 244
A BELLE OF THE ZAGHAWA TRIBE 253
ZAGHAWA GIRL 253
WELL ON THE FRONTIER OF DARFUR 256
A WATER-CARRIER IN THE DESERT 260
A WOMAN OF THE FALLATA TRIBE 260
A WELL NEAR KUTTUM IN DARFUR. WOMEN WORKING 269
SUDANESE TROOPS AND GIRLS 272
WELL ON THE FRONTIER OF DARFUR 280
A CHIEF OF THE ZAGHAWA TRIBE OF DARFUR 289
THE RECEPTION OF THE EXPLORER AT EL FASHER 296
EL FASHER 304
MAP
THE LIBYAN DESERT SHOWING THE AUTHOR’S ROUTE 8
THE LOST OASES
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 hadn’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.
[Illustration: _Left_
_Right_
PANORAMA OF JAGHBUB]
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 love-song. 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 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 Garet Shezzu, to wait
for the runaways. They appeared shortly after our arrival; but I
decided not to go farther that night. The rest would do us all good.
_Tuesday, May 8._ We started at 4:45 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 3 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 FALLATA TRIBE]
I had had experience of such quarrels before, and I quickly looked
to see where the rifles were. It was with deep relief that I saw
them safely fastened on the camels’ backs. The men had only sticks
to fight with, but, even so, prompt action was necessary before the
trouble became more acute.
I galloped my horse among the men and pushed him between the two
groups of combatants, brusquely ordering Ahmed and Abdullahi to stand
back. It was a most difficult moment, with one side my own men and
the other the men of my caravan.
Senussi Bu Hassan and Hamid looked back, and for the flicker of
a second I saw their eyes rest on the slung rifles. One word of
encouragement from me to the other party would have meant disaster,
for the Bedouins outnumbered us. On the other hand, it was not the
time, even if my own men were in the wrong, to humiliate them before
the Bedouins.
“What do you mean by behaving like children?” I demanded
impartially of the men on both sides. “Men like you ought to be
ashamed.”
Hamid started to speak. “He insulted me.”
Ahmed interrupted him. “He attacked me as I came off my camel.”
“I don’t care who insulted whom or who 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, tayibeen_” (“How are you? Very well.”). It was
all the Arabic he knew. Mohammed and Herri then talked with him and
learned that there was a Goran camp 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
market-place. Only women took part in the market, bringing butter,
leather, mats, maize, cotton, and salt, which they bartered with each
other without the use of money. Meanwhile the men lay about at their
ease and did nothing. As I watched such a scene as this and others
not unlike in the villages of the Sudan, I found myself wondering
whether the black women were not after all better off as slaves in
a Bedouin household. Here they do all the work that is done, caring
for cattle and sheep, doing the housework, and preparing meals and
making the favorite 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 I’ve been
When, weary-eyed, I’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 hair-spring 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
_True _Correction
_Plotted difference _True- to
_Section of difference from plotted estimated
traverse_ of latitude_ latitude- diff. lat._ distances_
observations_
km. km. km. %
Jalo-El 375.0 399.0 + 24.0 + 6.4
Harrash
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.):
Pressure, mm. 760 750 740 730 720 710 700 690
Correction, mm. − 2.3 − 2.3 − 2.3 − 2.1 − 1.4 − 1.1 − 0.1 + 0.6
[Continued]
Pressure, mm. 680 670 660 650
Correction, mm. + 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
_Diff.
_Number _Mean _Mean of _Diff. _Altitude
of pressure tempera- height of above
obser- (correct- ture_ from height sea-
vations_ ed)_ Jordan’s (adjust- level_
tables_ ed)_
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. E._ above
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.
[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.]
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-malvinæ_.
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 fossilized
from Jaghbub to Jalo 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 of
20 patches 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 bands
28 El Harrash (Zieghen), on from Nubian Sandstone
way to Kufra (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 “ (badly weathered
24 Mountain; there are big syenite)
hills formed entirely of
it . . . on the outside
of the mountain
13 April From big patches north “ (quartzite vein in)
24 of Arkenu Mountain
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 from
water-cave at Ouenat 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 polished
mountain is of this kind 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 hematite) from
nothing but red sand and Nubian Sandstone
this stone
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
Transcriber's note:
pg 220 Added: ".”" after: "though your camp is far away"
pg 231 Changed: "and not the the intrinsic value" to: "and not
the intrinsic value"
pg 236 Changed: "ground near Baret Shezzu" to: "Garet"
caption of illustration facing pg 260, Changed: "WOMAN OF THE
PALLATA TRIBE" to: "FALLATA"
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