OUR FIRST CAMP—TORRENTS OF RAIN—JULES BARDET—CAMEL-DRIVERS
BEHAVE BADLY—SULEIMAN IN TROUBLE—CAMEL-DRIVERS GET
UPSET—THE DESERT—TWO OF US LOSE OUR WAY—JULES SUFFERS FROM
DYSENTERY—SAND-STORM—A PILGRIM DIES ON THE ROAD, ANOTHER IN THE
CAMP—JULES’ ILLNESS—CAMP SPLIT UP—LOSE OUR WAY—ENCAMP SEVERAL
DAYS IN THE DESERT—ARAB HUTS—THE MIRAGE—A LION.
After this digression and short dissertation on the camel, I will return
to the subject of our journey. We now formed a tolerably numerous
company, ourselves seven, three European servants, Suleiman, Mahoom,
Cheriff, and Ali, the cook, with an assistant, four or five native
servants, and nearly thirty camel-drivers. George, one of our servants,
and I had some trouble in getting our makloufas properly adjusted on our
camels; consequently, we were behind the others in starting. I also
made a call on Mr. Bewlay, who pressed me to remain to luncheon. As I
knew that this was to be a short march of about three hours, I did so.
I then bade adieu to Mr. Bewlay (one of the nicest and most gentlemanly
fellows to be met with), and commenced my journey, thinking I should
soon overtake my comrades, but in this I was greatly mistaken. I had
reached the middle of the town, amongst the bazaars, when the eccentric
conduct of my camel was quite alarming, exciting grave apprehensions
respecting the safety of my limbs, I being quite a novice in the art of
camel-riding. Down he flopped without the least preliminary warning,
whilst I held on to the makloufa as if I had been in a hurricane. I
plied my coorbatch on his tough hide; the only effect it produced was
to make him open his mouth (to such a width that it could easily have
accommodated a human head) and groan away with most stentorian voice. At
last an Arab succeeded in getting him on his legs, and away he went at
such a jolting pace that I experienced the greatest difficulty in keeping
my seat. Down he flopped again in the same unceremonious manner as before
just in front of a projecting part of the Police Station.
“Well,” I mentally ejaculated, “this is, indeed, too much. I will not be
placed in such jeopardy as this any longer.”
I lost no time in dismounting; Sheik Moussa was sent for, and at once
promised to find me a tractable beast. George remained with me. We had
no sooner unburdened the camel, and got under the projecting roof of the
Police Station, than down came the rain in torrents; then I felt thankful
that my camel had proved so awkward and disobedient. Two hours and a half
elapsed ere a respectable camel was brought. By that time the rain had
ceased, and George and I resumed our journey in comfort.
When we arrived at camp at 6 p.m., we found the tents pitched and
everyone changing their clothes, except Jules; they had all been
drenched to the skin. This was a favourable opportunity for me to
deliver a lecture on sanitary precautions. I therefore did so, warning
all Europeans to remember that we were not now in England, but in the
tropics, where the days were excessively hot and the nights not only
cool, but often very cold at this time of the year; always to change wet
clothing as soon as we got to camp; never to expose themselves to the
burning rays of a tropical sun without helmets; and last, but not by any
means least, to be extremely careful as to the quality of water they
drank, and always to see that the zanzimeers were well washed out before
they were replenished. Well, I know that in England, whilst practising
my profession, I have met with extremely clever people who not only know
their own business, but that of everyone else, and are most ready with
their unasked-for advice. They are quite encyclopedias of knowledge, or,
at least, they would have one think so. They apparently listen, with
folded arms and the head a little bit on one side, in the most attentive
manner, literally drinking in all the doctor is telling them when he
forbids this and orders that, and yet will use their own judgment or
sense—presuming, of course, that they have any—and the moment his back is
turned they exclaim—
“Pooh! what an old fidget that doctor is. I know that when poor Mrs.
Smith was ill her doctor didn’t do ought like that, but let her have a
glass of stout for dinner, and ordered her a glass of hot whisky and
water at bed-time, poor thing, and that was what kep her up.”
“When the doctor very impressively says, “Now, Mrs. Thompson, your friend
is very ill—I wish you to be careful to give her so-and-so and avoid
so-and-so,” Mrs. Thompson says, “Yes, doctor—I quite understand;” and
Mrs. T., being a very garrulous, and also a very knowing personage, will
begin a long rigmarole about her first husband’s case some 20 years
before, and how beautifully she nursed him through an illness of “seven
week,” as she calls it, and brought him round, she, of course, not having
had her clothes off for four weeks, nor a wink of sleep for ten nights,
till she was a perfect “shada,” but still able to articulate, poor thing.
Unless the poor doctor now bolts off, she will then confidentially
commence a history of three or four other cases in which she was, of
course, eminently successful. These very clever people, so wise in their
own conceit, are really very dangerous people, and I always look after
them well. Of course, Mrs. Thompson may think the medicine “strong enough
for a horse,” as she expresses herself, and will administer it if _she_
thinks it suits the case, and exercise her very discriminating faculties
in the way of diet, and matters of that kind; but at the end of a week
Mrs. Thompson—who has, of course, seen many similar cases—expresses to
her neighbours and confidants (who look upon her utterances as oracular)
her dissatisfaction with that ere doctor, and is determined on his next
visit to favour him with what she is pleased to call a bit of her mind.
She does as promised—
“Well now, doctor, what do you think _is_ the matter with poor Mrs.
Smith? She don’t seem to get on at all. I remember when poor Mrs.
Rodgers, my second husband’s first wife’s cousin, was laid up with—”
But, reader, you may imagine the rest; I can very well. I have used the
preceding imaginary conversation “to point a moral and adorn my tale.”
In our camp I had a very headstrong Mr. “Cleverity,” if I may say so,
to deal with. Jules, before we started, was working away, sorting the
baggage, &c., in his shirt sleeves after passing through the rain,
getting thirsty, and drinking bad claret and beer, such as he could
obtain in the place. Indeed, his absorbing powers were remarkable—he
resembled a huge dry sponge, which, when dipped into a basinful of water,
absorbs it _all_. I ascertained, from one who knew him well, that this
absorbing tendency was not altogether induced by the heat of the climate,
but that it was his normal condition which he always suffered from in
England, where he lived a life of comparative ease and indulgence. I only
knew Jules absorb water when he could not get anything stronger. I had
warned him at Souâkin not to get wet, as the evenings were so cold, and
now, on arriving at camp, here he was again wet to the skin, helping to
pitch tents and put things ship-shape; but, with a thirst unquenchable,
he was continually drinking water which was the colour of pea-soup, but
not _quite_ so thick.
“Now, Jules,” said I, “remember what I told you at Souâkin. You are going
the right way to get dysentery.”
He replied—
“Oh, I am all right, doctor. I am not an old woman, or a piece of
barley-sugar. I shall take no harm.”
The sequel will show how disastrous was his disregard of my repeated
warnings, and very much grieved I was for two reasons: one was the
loss of a really good-hearted fellow, who had proved a faithful and
affectionate servant to his master, who thought very much of him, for
many years; the other was, that although I used every effort to save him,
and many a time was unable to sleep on account of the anxiety the case
caused me, so much so that I frequently visited his tent in the night,
yet all was of no avail. Added to this, I was excessively and incessantly
annoyed by the fussy interference of two amateur doctors in camp, who,
as educated men, ought to have known better than to worry me seven or
eight times a day with useless suggestions of a shadowy character as to
the treatment of a complaint of which they knew absolutely nothing. They
were great examples of an old adage, “A _little_ knowledge is a dangerous
thing.”
In the evening of our first day’s camping out, just after dinner (we
dined at 7 p.m.), down came the rain again, causing us all to scamper
off to our respective tents; spades were out, and trenches dug round,
and there we remained until morning. At 6 a.m. we were up, and saw no
more rain for several months; indeed, not until I reached Venice in the
following May.
It was about 10 a.m. next day ere our caravan started. The sun blazed
out with a scorching heat, causing us to feel as if we were in a Turkish
bath from the evaporation which took place, and our solid leather
portmanteaus, which were thoroughly saturated the day before, to curl
up like match-boxes. Before we started on our second day’s march across
the desert our camel men were told they were to go on until 6 p.m., and
Suleiman was commissioned to see this order carried out. We often went on
in front of them in the morning, on the look out for a shot at a desert
gazelle; but it was singularly noticeable that about 1.30 p.m. we were
all somewhere in the neighbourhood of Cheriff, our butler, who was in
the charge of the canteen on a camel. Unless we made a forced march,
we usually breakfasted about 7 a.m., luncheon at 1.30, dined at 7, and
retired to rest at 9 or 9.30 p.m. After luncheon we frequently lay down
on our rugs, smoking cigarettes and reading some book, long after the
caravan had passed us. This day we did so, but judge of our astonishment
when, at four o’clock, we came upon some of our camels browsing; others
had not been unburdened, and nearly all the camel-drivers were in a
circle, with uplifted spears.
We soon ascertained the cause of this; there was poor Suleiman, our
head boss, the centre of attraction for these Hadendowab Arabs, with
their uplifted spears, who were angrily jabbering away. To the question,
“What’s the meaning of this, Suleiman? they were to have gone on until
six o’clock,” he replied, “Yes, I know, gentlemen, that I tell them they
no stop till I say, and I catch hold of one mans to stop him take the
load off the camel, and now they say they spear me if I don’t leave them
alone.”
[Illustration: HADENDOWAH ARAB CAMEL-MEN.]
He pointed out the ringleaders of what looked like mutiny against
authority, and as soon as he had done so, in true old English fashion,
a few well-directed blows put about five Arabs in the prone position;
all pulled out revolvers, and made them pile their spears, which were
at once secured, tied in a bundle, and given in charge to the English
servants. They were then made to re-load all the camels, and, at great
inconvenience to ourselves, we re-start at 6.30, and march until nearly
ten, just to let them see that they could not do as they liked, and that
we were masters and not they. This assertion of authority had a most
beneficial effect on the native mind. It was past eleven that night ere
we dined, and I retired to rest at half-past twelve, with a feeling of
general bruising and dislocated vertebræ easily accounted for, as I was
unaccustomed to the peculiar motion of a camel, which has a knack of
shaking up one’s liver in a most effectual manner. Referring to my diary,
I find that on our third day’s march, Dec. 17th, the temperature was
82° F. in the shade at 1.30 p.m. I generally took the temperature when
we halted for luncheon, which would usually be about one or half-past.
We could do with the dry heat very well as we were mounted, but now, in
consequence of the late heavy rains, we felt it very relaxing, and just
like a Russian vapour-bath. The Red Sea was still visible to the east
of us; to the west, a large tract of desert, backed up by impassable
rocky mountains. We now saw desert gazelles for the first time, and one
of the party brought one down, thus providing dinner for the evening.
We marched from 9 a.m. until 6 p.m., came to water then, and pitched
our tents near to it. We generally had very good water, but here it had
a brackish taste; still, with the aid of four bottles of champagne, we
managed to slake our thirst tolerably well. So far the mimosa and kittar
bushes were abundant, particularly during the first two days, but on the
fourth day we saw very few indeed, and marched through absolute desert,
saw nothing but the burning sands, and huge rocks of volcanic origin. We
filled our barrels, zanzimeers and girbas with water before we started,
and again marched from ten till six; temp. 81° in the shade. A girba is
the skin of a gazelle dressed. It is dressed in the following way by the
Arabs:—They get the chopped red bark of the mimosa tree, and put in the
skin with water, it is allowed to remain there for three or four days
and then it is converted into leather. This day we encamped at a place
called Settareb. On the fifth day we again made the usual march, and shot
two gazelles. We started off at nine—and left the caravan to follow.
About 11 a.m. one of our servants caught us up with the information that
some of the camels had been lost. Messrs. A. and W. James returned to
see about them, and found that it was a dodge of the camel-drivers, who
thought they would try to sneak back to Souâkin. The camels were easily
found; the two camel-drivers were tied together, marched into camp, duly
admonished and punished. At 5 p.m. we come to water, turn out all the
brackish water, fill our barrels, &c., and march until 6 p.m.; temp. 82°
in shade. Dine at 7.30, bed at 10 p.m., but before going to bed we had
all the camel-drivers up, some of whom appeared inclined to be mutinous.
We gave them a sound lecturing, and let them distinctly understand that
we would not stand this kind of thing any more, and that the next offence
would be punished with the coorbatch. Our camping ground is called Wadi
Osier. The next day, our sixth in the desert, Mr. F. L. James and I had a
somewhat unpleasant experience. After luncheon, as usual, we all rested
awhile, allowing the caravan to go on. Mr. F. L. J. and I, who were
absorbed with our books, remained long after our comrades had proceeded
on their journey. When at last we did start, we were surprised to find
how late it was getting. Knowing that there is little or no twilight in
these parts, we hurried on, hoping to catch the caravan ere darkness
overtook us, but could not do so. Darkness comes on—a most profound
darkness, too—and we lose the track; we dismount and light matches to see
if we can find it again. We don’t, however, succeed in doing so. Nothing
now remains but to remount our camels and trust to them and Providence.
On we go, at the rate of four miles an hour. The silence of the tomb and
the darkness of Erebus surround us; not a glimmer of light could be seen
in any direction, not the sound of a wild animal, of a bird, or even
the rustling of a leaf, or the sigh of the softest zephyr. When we had
gone on thus for about an hour, neither seeing a light, nor hearing a
sound, we began to get uneasy, not knowing if we were going in the right
direction, but knowing full well that it might prove to be a serious
matter if we strayed off into the limitless waste of the desert. Every
now and again I fired a shot from my revolver, but I might as well have
used a pop-gun. Now the stars begin to make their appearance; by them we
see that we are, as we think, pursuing some track. We now dismount, and
finding that revolvers are useless, Mr. James gets his rifle and lets
off one barrel. We wait, and anxiously look for a corresponding flash;
hear we could not, as by this time a slight breeze had sprung up, and was
blowing from us towards our caravan. Another barrel is now fired, but no
reply. We were now rapidly coming to the conclusion that we should have
to tie our camels to a mimosa bush, and sleep out without food, and what
was still worse, without water, as both our zanzimeers were nearly empty.
Still we perseveringly jogged on, and after a time discharged another
barrel. In a few minutes’ time we see a slight flash, which appears to
be so far off that we cannot make out whether it is in the heavens or on
the earth. Not a sound reaches our ears. Our cartridges are also nearly
exhausted, and we have all but made up our minds to sleep out, but try
the rifle once more. This time both barrels are discharged one after
the other. We look out anxiously; not a sound reaches us, but we see a
corresponding double flash a long way off, and are convinced that this
comes from our camp. We see certain stars over the spot, and for these
we steer. When we had jogged on for another hour and a-half, we see a
glimmering light like the flicker of a lantern (it really was a huge
bonfire)—another half-hour, and we can plainly see lanterns moving about,
and to our great relief and that of our friends, we gain the camp at 9
p.m., thoroughly hungry, thirsty, and tired. The temperature this day was
86° in the shade; my ears and nose were quite scorched, and smarting from
the heat of the sun.
On arriving in camp I found Jules very ill indeed. On the fourth day he
came to me in the evening complaining of a bilious attack. I gave him
something for it. In some respects he was better by the evening of the
fifth, and on the morning of the 6th bilious vomiting had ceased, but
in the evening, judging from the symptoms, I was afraid that formidable
complaint, dysentery, was setting in. However, I kept this to myself,
at present, not wishing to alarm the camp, and hoping that treatment
might prove beneficial. We dined at 10.30, and retired to bed at 12 p.m.
When I say we retired to bed I literally mean that, not to a shake-down
sort of thing with a rug over me and a portmanteau for a pillow, but a
comfortable bed with a comfortable pillow, in a comfortable tent, and
cocoa-matting on the ground. There really was an air of comfort about
all our surroundings. We had comfortable shut-up and open-out chairs, a
comfortable folding-up table, each a nice portable india-rubber bath,
and, whenever we encamped by water we each had a bath before breakfast
and another before dinner. As for eatables and drinkables, the most
fastidious would not turn up their noses at those. We had sufficient
champagne and claret to last us during the whole campaign; a freezing
machine, so that we could have these iced in the hottest weather. We had
gozogenes and any amount of seltzer-water, and when we fell short of that
we used Eno’s fruit-salt in the gozogenes. We had Peek Frean and Co’s.
biscuits, Cross and Blackwell’s excellent Chutnee pickles and pickalili,
tomato sauce, asparagus, green peas, plum puddings, French jams, minced
collops, kidneys, tinned soups from Fortnum and Mason’s, Piccadilly, and
everything else one could think of to insure comfort in eating, drinking,
and sleeping. Some ascetics would say we were of the earth, earthy, but
I maintain that if you mean to keep a _mens sana in corpore sano_ one
may just as well—and a great deal better—build up the waste tissue from
time to time and travel with every comfort, if one can afford it, as
do the reverse. I have tried both; whilst campaigning in Turkey, when
I have been on the march with the army, I have indulged in the luxury
of a small onion and a limited piece of somewhat indifferent bread for
breakfast, washed down with a drop of water, the same again for luncheon,
and the same again for dinner, “and still I was not happy,” for I could
comfortably have disposed of breakfast, luncheon, and dinner at one
sitting without the slightest inconvenience. The ground was my bed, the
canopy of heaven was my tent, the twinkling stars my lantern, and a stone
or water-jug with a coat rolled round it was my pillow. I shall endeavour
to avoid the slightest exaggeration in this book, and will go so far as
to say that the former mode of travelling is by far the most comfortable,
and, in my humble opinion, the most conducive to health.
Again I find myself branching off, and cannot give any guarantee but what
I may still do so. All I ask is that my readers will overlook this little
failing of mine.
7th day.—We found water here, and of course replenished everything
with this valuable fluid. The mimosas were scanty and very stunted
here. During the night and all this day a great wind has been blowing,
producing a most blinding sand-storm, fortunately at our backs, or we
should not have been able to proceed. No one can form any idea of the
intense discomfort of a sand-storm, unless he has been in one. I may
close up my tent and be roasted inside. I may lock up my portmanteau,
which fits pretty closely, and have it in my tent, the lock covered with
leather, yet when I go to bed I find the sheets brown with sand, the most
secret recesses of my portmanteau and the lock filled with sand, and my
writing-case also, which is inside. I open my mouth to speak, and I can
masticate sand, if so disposed. I eat—all my food is full of sand. I
drink, not water, but water and sand. In fact, sand is everywhere; eyes,
nose, mouth, ears, hair, brains, and everything else has a mixture of
sand about it. I chance to leave a book, a pair of boots, or anything
else outside my tent, they soon become invisible, and are covered inches
deep in sand. Here we found great difficulty in pitching our tents, as
there was nothing but sand to drive the pegs into, and then we came to
rocks. Three or four days ago a lame woman and a man joined our caravan,
and two days ago two men, all bound for Kassala, all pilgrims from Mecca.
They were allowed to accompany us, and we fed them. To-day we miss the
woman, and on inquiry find that she was knocked up _en route_ yesterday,
and so her companion left her to die, and probably when we discovered
this she had been picked clean by jackals and vultures. Such is the value
put upon human life out here.
8th day.—The sand-storm still rages with unabated violence. We decide not
to go on, but encamp here to-day. We are, however, obliged to move our
tents to a place that is a little more sheltered, as at present it is
absolutely miserable. Jules still very ill. Temperature 86° in the shade.
In the day time the fierce heat of the sun rendered the interior of the
tents like ovens. Outside the sand reflected the heat. Although producing
great personal discomfort, our sufferings were nothing to what poor Jules
endured, who is now unmistakably suffering from dysentery badly. Under
any circumstances this is a grave complaint to have, but under present
circumstances, doubly so; that which he requires is impossible to obtain,
namely, absolute rest and a suitable diet. The poor fellow complains
to-day of incessant thirst, and everything he gets to eat or drink is
impregnated with sand, which it is impossible to avoid.
About 12 meridie, Mr. Phillipps, who was passing across the camp, saw
the two pilgrims whom we had allowed to join the caravan, two brothers.
One was supporting the head of the other in the blazing sun. The poor
fellow’s eyes, nose, ears, and hair, &c. were full of sand. He said his
brother was ill. I was at once called to him, and found him _in articulo
mortis_. Very little could be done for him, and in twenty minutes’ time
he died. His brother borrowed a spade, dug a shallow grave near the camp
and buried him, putting a mound of little white stones on the grave.
In my journey across the desert I frequently came across these graves,
sometimes two or three together, sometimes 20, 50, or 100. Occasionally
skeletons of camels were met with. In the present instance, the poor
fellow who died looked very emaciated and weak, probably exhausted by
constant marching and a deficient supply of food. But he had accomplished
the pilgrimage to Mecca, and I suppose he died a happy man.
9th day.—Poor Jules is so ill to-day that I cannot consent to have him
removed. The camp is accordingly split up, Mr. Phillipps and I, with a
few camels and attendants, remaining behind. The sand-storm is abating,
but the heat is very great and trying to Jules. A gazelle was shot
to-day. I cannot say that gazelle is a particularly toothsome morsel
under our circumstances. We are obliged to cook it on the same day that
it has been killed. The flesh of a desert gazelle is hard, and has very
little flavour. Our comrades left us about 10 a.m., and directly they had
gone down came the vultures for pickings.
10th day.—Jules still very ill, but in some respects a trifle better.
We decide on advancing to-day, if possible, and encamp a little longer
when we get to water. Accordingly we strike our tents and help the camel
men to load, send them on, then see to our own. We do not get off until
4.30 p.m. Half-an-hour afterwards we come to a dry river course, on each
side of which are dhoum palms and other trees. We saw a couple of jackals
sneaking off here, but did not get a shot at them. We trusted to one of
our Arabs to show us the way. When we had gone on for about an hour, he
suddenly stopped in the middle of a great sandy plain, said he was not
sure of the way, and as it was getting dark, thought we had better stop
until daylight. On hearing this Mr. Phillipps retraced his steps, and
was absent about two hours. I now became anxious about him, and every
now and then fired off my revolver. Fortunately I happened to have a box
of matches with me, and kindled a fire, then Mahoom and I tore up all
the stuff that would ignite. Half-an-hour afterwards Mr. Phillipps found
us, but he had been unsuccessful in his search for the road. However, we
kept up the fire, hoping some of our camel men would see the signals of
distress, which fortunately they did after a time; at last one of them
found us. In the meantime Jules was lying on the ground exhausted, with a
rug thrown over him. Our man led us to where the other camels were. Now
we had another bother: one of the camels had thrown his load off; the old
fellow who was in charge was lying on the ground, said he had got a pain
in his stomach, and we must stop there, as he could not possibly go on.
We roused him up, gave him a good shaking, and made him come on. But he
soon stopped again, and laid down to sleep, most coolly saying he could
not go any further. The fact is that just before we started he had eaten
a large quantity of raw meat, had, in fact, thoroughly gorged himself.
However, there we left him, and went on another two or three miles.
Halted at 10 p.m. and kindled a fire, had a cup of cocoa, a bit of bread,
rolled ourselves up in rugs, and lay on the ground. Jules suffered much
from this, as the nights were so cold.
11th day.—Up early, feeling stiff, cold, and hungry. Marched until 10
a.m. (four hours), intending to rest during the excessive heat of the
day, as my poor invalid was almost too weak to set up. About 3 p.m.
Mr. F. L. James appears on the scene, and tells us that the camp is
only about four miles off, at a place called Waudy. We get there about
6.30 p.m., and find the camp pitched near a well surrounded by dhoum
palms. Temperature to-day, 88° in the shade. This being Christmas Day,
we had some excellent plum puddings, made by Crosse and Blackwell, iced
champagne, and other luxuries for dinner.
12th day.—Jules was very ill indeed to-day, thoroughly prostrated by
his complaint, which had increased in intensity—it was quite out of the
question for him to attempt to move. We held a council, and decided
that as there were a few huts and goats, and a well, that it would be
advisable to let Jules rest here awhile, for now we could get a little
milk for him twice a day. Accordingly on the 13th day the camp was split
up. Messrs. A. and W. James, Colvin, and Aylmer went on to Kassala,
whilst Jules, Messrs. Phillipps, F. L. James, and I remained behind. Here
we rested for five days, and what with treatment, diet, and rest Jules
improved daily.
On the 16th day we rigged up an augarip (a kind of litter), with an
awning of matting and palm leaves to keep off the sun, and on the 17th
day this was slung across a camel. Jules got into it, and off we started
at 7.30 a.m., marching until 7.30 p.m. Much too long a journey for Jules,
who was again thoroughly knocked up and exhausted. I suggested now that
such marches were too long, and that our best plan was for me to start
off early with Jules, say 6 a.m., and march until 10, then rest until 4
and go on until 7 or 8 p.m. This was agreed to.
18th day. January 1st, 1883.—I visited Jules at 6 a.m.; found him no
worse. We started at 8, halt at 12, rest until 2, and go on until we
catch up the caravan, at 8.30 p.m. Jules complained bitterly of these
long journeys, which were so exhausting to an invalid. Medicine was now
out of the question, as the rolling motion of the camel made him very
sick. At the mid-day halt we found some empty huts in the desert. These
we explored, and found rather interesting. In several of them I found a
hole in the floor, the use of which is rather singular. The good wife of
the house uses this. She gets certain fragrant barks and frankincense,
burns them in the hole, then stands over them, having her dress drawn
round her, to fumigate herself and make herself acceptable to her
husband. In England, of course, this is not at all necessary. We passed
through a fine palm-grove to-day by a khor, and shot three gazelles.
19th day.—March again about 12 hours. Jules worse. Again I pointed out
the bad effect of these long marches on the invalid.
20th day.—Ten hours’ march to-day; halt near a deep well and a large
palm-grove. Here I shot a fine golden-crested eagle. Jules frightfully
done up, and rapidly going the wrong way.
21st day.—On the march at 9 a.m. We marched the greater part of this day
across an awful desert, where no living thing except ourselves could be
seen. No shelter was attainable for the mid-day lunch. Temperature 92° in
what shade we could manufacture. During several hours of the day I saw
that optical illusion which so often mocks the thirsty traveller, called
the mirage—mirage, called by the Arabs, Bahr esh Sheitan, “The Devil’s
Sea.” By a strange refraction of the atmosphere, plains of arid sands
seem to be rippling lakes of water as far as the eye can reach, lapping
the base of stupendous mountains of rocks, and bathing the roots of the
stunted mimosa bushes. This day marched nearly 14 hours. Jules takes
scarcely anything, is rapidly sinking, and again complains of these long
marches.
22nd day.—Another 12 hours’ march. See mirage again for hours. Encamp at
Fillick. Here there is a military station and a telegraph office.
23rd day.—Mirage again. Shot two gazelles, four bustards, and five
guinea-fowl. Appear to be getting into a better country. Jules much
weaker, pulse scarcely perceptible. Ten hours’ march to-day.
24th day.—Eleven hours’ march to-day, and, I am thankful to say, the last
day’s march across the desert. Temperature 93° in the shade. Since 11
a.m. we have travelled through much better country, and after our late
experience it was quite refreshing to see a luxuriant vegetation once
more, such as dhoum palms, colocynth, tamarisks, nebbucks, heglecks—not
stunted mimosa bushes now, but different kinds of mimosa trees and
various trees and shrubs. The place I am speaking of was quite like a
gentleman’s park. Here also were ariels, gazelles, bustards, parroquets,
eagles, vultures, and jackals. About seven, and pitch-dark, we, for the
first time, heard the roar of a lion not far off. Our sensations were of
a creepy character, and would, perhaps, have been more so had we known
what we did when we got to Kassala—that he had lately dined, at separate
times, on four human beings.