* * * * *
“And have you ever in the midnight hour
All lonely sought in after days the spot
Where first you met and after wooed and won
The being loved, the being Death loved too?”
* * * * *
BACK TO SOTAIRE.
One of our party missed. — A dreadful night. — Found at last. — Dry
wells. — We change our route. — An insolent guide. — Kadjah. — Stolen
camels. — An Arab shiekh made prisoner. — The beginning of the rains. —
The clouds. — Sotaire. — Solitude. — Good-bye!
SINCE leaving Old Dongola we had consumed more than four months’ stores,
and our camels were all light; we were, therefore, in a position to give
up without much inconvenience the fifty camels we had hired at El
Fasher. The Khartoom party not having had to cut their way through so
many thorns or to travel over such rough ground, had preserved their
full number of camels in unimpaired health, and were fortunately able to
assist us with such few as we required, as well as with some water-
skins, many of our own having long since been rendered useless.
On our homeward journey we travelled with the Wady Milkh near on our
right. There was plenty of game in the valley, and our table was kept
well supplied with gazelles, ariels, antelopes, &c.; we scarcely felt
the want of sheep and fowls.
On the evening of the second day we had been an hour in camp, when we
discovered that one of our party was missing. He had been last seen,
shortly after lunch, in the Wady Milkh with his gun on his shoulder,
followed by Mohommed Rhannem, the lunch soldier, the last man in the
world likely to be of the slightest assistance to him in finding his way
about the desert. The ground, owing to the recent rains, had become
consolidated, and then quickly drying under the burning sun was hard,
and our camels had left no traces of their march. His position was one
of real danger. Darkness came down soon upon our fears, still he came
not. Grass, wherewith to make a blaze round the camp, there was none;
and the thorn-bushes, quickened into sudden life by the water that had
fallen, burned, when ignited, very slowly, and gave no light to bring
him home. The soldiers were ordered out, and at intervals of every ten
minutes every rifle in camp was fired in volley, making the night ring
with the noise of war. We had six rockets in the camp; one of these was
discharged every half-hour high into the sky; the stars were, however,
too bright for them to shed much light at a distance. All the means
known to travellers for bringing stray wanderers home were exhausted; he
could not be within several miles of us. Our hearts were growing sick
with fear.
That night there was no sleep in camp. We sat over the table, each of us
pale, wearied, and anxious, either in helpless silence or making
suggestions to be abandoned as soon as made. To give us hope, the rifles
fired all through the night every ten minutes till early dawn, but the
sound was only thrown away on the air. At length the morning came to
bring new life and hope into our hearts. The whitest tent on the camp
was packed on to a camel, and sent off to be pitched on the summit of
the highest mountain near, in the hope that it might afford him some
indication that help was near. Every Arab at all familiar with the
desert, each with a rifle to fire, was sent off on the way we had come,
not to go together, but to spread themselves right and left over a width
of ten or twelve miles, and to proceed in that order until he was
brought back. We had water in camp only for three days; we were three
days from Bagghareeyeh and two from Om-Badr. If he was not found that
day it would be necessary to proceed on our journey the next. We knew
that he had but a little water with him, and the doctor said, and he
spoke from experience, that wandering about under the sun for two days
without water would inevitably lead to the death of anyone but an Arab.
Learning this the light had brought us no solace; it only served to make
the fears of each more distinctly visible in his face, and to tell us
that with every hour that passed hope was drawing to an end.
He came into camp late in the night; Mohommed Gadderab had found him. He
was lying on the sand ten miles away, powerless to move; his tongue was
thick and dry in his mouth; his unconscious camel was browsing near on
the thorny trees, with the parched water-skins hanging at his side.
Mohommed Gadderab had taken water with him, and in a few minutes my poor
friend was restored. Mohommed Rhannem was about a hundred yards behind
in as bad a predicament. He, too, after a gallon or so of water, was
brought back to such elementary senses as niggardly nature had bestowed
upon him. He held, tightly clutched in his hand, the bridle-rope of his
camel, and as he lay dying of thirst on the ground, the stately brute
stood motionless, like a statue of stone, peering into the desert. When
our friend, a favourite in all the camp, came back, we dined; we had not
dined the day before. He was the hero of the dinner, and never, in all
my experience, did ever one of us enjoy a dinner more.
On the morning of the 21st, one day beyond our last melancholy site,
while we were performing our early ablutions, a few Arabs wandering in
the Wady Milkh, told us that the wells at Bagghareeyeh were dry, and
that it would be perfectly useless to continue our journey in that
direction.
After the late rains there were, in parts, many pools of water which the
sun had not yet dried up. These were, however, only known to the Arabs,
the Hamr, living in this desert, and for us to have proceeded on our
journey on the mere chance of finding them, would have involved a risk
of life which none of us were willing to encounter. Kadjah, in
Khordofan, two days’ journey distant in a south-easterly direction, was,
we were told, the nearest place where wells containing water were likely
to be found, and even these wells in some seasons were dried up. We had
now but one day’s water; that which was poured out into our basins for
the purposes of ablution was poured carefully back into the tanks. It
was necessary to economise every drop. No one in our camp knew the road
to Kadjah; “would the shiekh who had imparted to us the information send
us a guide, we would pay him two dollars,” an enormous sum for an Arab,
who, under ordinary circumstances, would have to work for a month to
become possessed of a sheep. The shiekh complied with our request, and
shortly after the guide came into camp—a truculent, ugly, bumptious,
impudent Hamr Arab, insulting every one of the Kabbabbeesh he passed on
his way. He came to our tent, and in an insolent tone said he would
guide us for fifty dollars. I question whether we had fifty dollars in
camp. It was, however, not a time for haggling. A rope was tied round
his neck, and the other end was fastened to the back pommel of a
soldier’s saddle, a thick stick was placed behind his back, to which his
elbows were fastened, and his hands were drawn towards his breast and
firmly tied together. The soldier started on the camel on what we
supposed was the true direction. Had the guide stopped he must have been
strangled; had he led us the wrong way, he feared that the far end of
the rope might have been tied to a branch of the nearest tree, and that
his soul would have flown straight away to Allah to give an account of
his sin in refusing hospitality to the stranger in the desert. His
insulting spirit was curbed, he was now like a dog. He led us straight
to the wells of Kadjah, which we reached in two days.
The water in the Kadjah wells was very limited and very bad. One poor
Arab of our set was seized with cholera, and died in four hours.
A party of Arabs—a branch of the Hamr whom we had not met at Om-
Badr—stopped in their travels near us in the night. As a result four of
our camels were missing in the morning. These we could ill afford to
lose, as we were already short, and those that we had were heavily
laden; it was absolutely necessary to get the stolen camels back. As
soon as the discovery of the loss was made, a request was sent to the
shiekh of the tribe that he should come over to our camp. On his arrival
the circumstance was communicated to him.
“As Mohommed is in Heaven with Allah, this thing, O Effendim, is not
known to me. I speak the truth, I fear the judgment; there are no
dishonest men in my tribe.”
“O venerable shiekh of the rascally Hamr, we are travellers, and our
camels have been taken away by your people who are thieves. When the
camels are brought back you shall be allowed to return to your camp and
to your family and your friends. Until then, O venerable shiekh, you
will stop with us and we will take care of you.”
“Allah, O Effendim, is above us, I speak only the truth; none of my men
are bad. But I will go back and see if the camels are with us.”
To let the pious old thief go back until the camels were restored was,
however, not our intention. He was placed in charge of two soldiers, who
carefully guarded him with loaded rifles and revolvers. That night we
slept with arms under our beds, ready to meet any sudden surprise from
the hostile Hamr, who were four or five times as numerous as ourselves.
No attack was, however, made. Next day six camels were brought into our
camp, not those that had been stolen from us, others equally good, or
rather better, which had evidently been stolen from some other people,
as the Hamr marks were not upon them. To have returned our own camels
would have been an admission of guilt, which the old shiekh feared might
have had serious consequences to himself. He was wise in his generation.
Our wrath was appeased. We gave him a cup of coffee, started him off
about his thieving business, and proceeded on our journey.
Shortly after this time the rains began to come down. A circumstance
that afforded me much surprise was the smallness of the different areas
over which they first fell. In travelling over the burning sand we would
come upon a patch, perhaps a mile, or less, square, over which a heavy
shower had recently fallen, and the ground on that part gave
unmistakable signs of being willing and anxious to put forth something
approaching in colour to green. In other parts we would suddenly come
upon a large pool of water, six inches or perhaps a foot deep, while the
ground all round was absolutely barren, and other hollows near were
perfectly dry. On some days a small cloud would begin to show itself in
the north. As we approached, and as it slowly travelled towards us, it
would hour by hour grow larger, thunder would at length be heard, and as
the evening began to fall, vivid forked lightning would dart fiercely
from its every side, upwards and downwards, to the right and to the
left; some great rocky mountain would at last exert its attracting
influence upon it, arrest its southward progress, and then down would
come its waters. In a few more minutes the cloud was no more, and the
sky was full of the moon, which served to show us that a few miles
behind the first another cloud was travelling slowly along with its
thunder and lightning, to empty its rains where those of its brother had
just before fallen.
We reached Sotaire on the 13th July. One of the wells had fallen in, the
other was dry. We were, however, fortunately not in want of water.
I walked over in the night to the site of the Arab camp and of the grand
“fantasia.” The place seemed very lonely; all the people with their
flocks and herds were gone; Rebecca was, of course, not there. I have
never seen her since; I could not hope that we should ever meet again.
She is for me now dead as much as though I had breathed her latest
sigh—as though her heart’s last throb had been echoed in my breast; as
though I had mingled my tears with Death’s icy dew on her brow; as
though I myself, full of anguish, had laid her deep into the grave. For
me she only exists in my long-enduring memory.
What though our home be fixed in sorrow’s reign,
It is through faithful recollection’s voice
Not wholly one of pain; for when the soul
Has lost that All for which God gave it birth,
There is a melancholy pleasure still
In memory of the past; I cannot deem
As sad Francesca deemed amidst her tears,
Shed in the memory of her guilty love,
“No greater pain than when we are in pain
The recollection of a time of joy.”
I love not as she loved, where joy has dwelt
In thought to dwell, at least to me, is joy.
Perhaps, however, Rebecca is now married, and lives with an unwashed
husband and three ophthalmic children in a grimy mud-hut on the banks of
the Nile, and sits all day on an “angereb” drinking much “merissa” full
of dead flies and beetles’ hind-legs.
I do not like to think of her like this, but as I saw her, simple-souled
and beautiful, as, half tearful, all absorbed, she sat and watched the
hideous fantasìa, and as, after that, when we were alone, she raised her
large dark eyes,
“With heaven all star-clad babied in their depths,”
and, holding forth her small and perfect hand for me to shake, said,
softly and sadly, “Good-bye!”
[Decoration]
APPENDIX.
* * * * *
Hours’
March.
1876. h. m.
Monday, June 19th. Left Om-Badr 6.0 }
}
20th. 8.0 }
}
21st. Did not move camp. }
} 116
22nd. 6.0 } miles
} = 2·7
23rd. Heard Baghareeyah wells were dry 5.0 } miles
} per
24th. Towards Kajah 10.0 } hour.
}
25th. Reached Kajah (started at 6.30 7.42 }
a.m.) }
}
26th. to 31st inclusive. Camped at Kajah }
(6 days). }
July 1st. Left camp 7.51 a.m. 6.20 }
}
2nd. „ 6.30 „ 8.15 }
} 120
3rd. „ 6.53 „ 7.45 } miles
} = 2·7
4th. „ 6.36 „ 8.0 } miles
} per
5th. „ 6.44 „ 8.30 } hour.
}
6th. „ 6.56 „ reached Sahfy 5.0 }
7th. „ 6.37 „ 8.0 }
}
8th. „ 7.4 „ 8.5 }
}
9th. „ 6.50 „ reached 2.25 }
Ed Dubbah } 124
} miles
10th & 11th. Camped at Ed Dubbah (2 days). } = 2·5
} miles
12th. Left camp 5.10 a.m. 8.30 } per
} hour.
13th. „ 3.56 „ 8.33 }
}
14th. 8.0 }
}
15th. Camped in Wady opp. Sotahl 6.0 }
16th. 8.0 } 88
} miles
17th. 8.0 } = 2·6
} miles
18th. 9.0 } per
} hour.
19th. Reached opp. Old Dongola at noon 9.0 }
* * * * *
LONDON:
PRINTED BY W. H. ALLEN AND CO., 13, WATERLOO PLACE, S.W.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 1: Or “Wady Malik,” “Royal Valley.”]
[Footnote 2: These are respectively the Arabic and native names of the
capital.]
[Footnote 3: A grain resembling maize.]
[Footnote 4: The single room, with its enclosures, where we dined, as
related above, was occupied by thirteen people, viz. the proprietor, his
two wives, four children (two each), two grown daughters, three grown
sons, and one man-servant to look after the goats and fowls, &c. but who
never slept inside.]
[Footnote 5: Mr. MacCoan, in _Egypt as it is_, says it has two humps.
This is only an optical illusion.]
[Footnote 6: A rottle is eleven-twelfths of a pound.]
[Footnote 7: These are the best spirits; the drawback at the English
Custom House enables them to be sold at this low price.]
[Footnote 8: In Cairo camel-hire is dear. I have myself paid as much as
six pounds five shillings per month.]
[Footnote 9: The Nile, or the sea.]
[Footnote 10: “An Andaman hut may be considered the rudest attempt of
the human species to secure shelter from the weather. It consists of a
few sticks, fastened together at the top, the other end being fixed in
the ground. A thatch composed of branches and leaves completes the
structure.”—“A Visit to the Andaman Islands,” _Good Words_, May 1866.
The similarity of the structures of two peoples so distant is somewhat
remarkable.]
[Footnote 11: Since writing the above, I learn that another traveller in
Egypt has alluded to a similar conversation; I have not read it. I can
only say that there is nothing surprising in the circumstance of two
Egyptian officials having but one geographical idea between them.]
[Footnote 12: From the doctor’s store.]
[Footnote 13: All the degrees given refer to Fahrenheit’s scale.]
[Footnote 14: “Fascher liegt nach meiner vorläufigen construktion einige
minuten östlich vom 26° O. L. v. Gr. und in einer Breite von 13° 45′.
Weitere Kritik muss dieses vorläufige Resultat modificiren.”—See paper
alluded to above.]
Transcriber's note:
In ERRATA, "Madeleino" changed to: "Madeleine"
Changes in the ERRATA have been made.
pg 3, Changed: "On the follow ng day we paid" to: "following"
pg 35, Changed: "kind, and generall lasts him for five" to:
"generally"
pg 48, Changed: "36 tins buscuits" to: "biscuits"
pg 75, Changed: "sides of the bare roeks" to: "rocks"
pg 85, Changed: "if the shiehks of the tribe" to: "shiekhs"
pg 177, Changed: "and which everbody knew" to: "everybody"
pg 184, Changed: "Monday morning, I had no map" to: "morning. I"
pg 187, Changed: "turned with me into into the thorny bush" to:
"me into the"
pg 201, Changed: "five willing and valuable asssistants" to:
"assistants"
Minor changes in punctuation have been done silently.
Other spelling inconsistencies have been left unchanged.