LEAVING THE BUSHLAND BEHIND: AÏR ENTERED
On 29th March my Takoukout camp was dismantled, and everything
packed up in readiness to continue farther on into the interior,
where Agades, in Aïr, I hoped would be my next place of halt.
My stay at Takoukout had been the least profitable of camping
places. It is true it was not territory where bird life was
plentiful, but results would have been better if ostrich hunting
had not taken up the greater part of my time.
At this date my total collections numbered 485 birds and 121 mammals,
as well as 374 butterflies and 138 moths; and, of those, 58 birds
were taken at Takoukout and 8 mammals, including three complete
gazelles (not merely the head and horns, but the whole animal).
At the end of my stay at Takoukout I lost the services of Sakari. He
had grown less and less inclined to follow the arduous life I led
him, whilst he had developed a hankering to be back amongst the
companionship of his own people. Moreover, he had now a better
idea of the stern conditions which the nature of the country
imposed—conditions that promised to grow worse rather than
better—and plainly he did not relish the prospect of what lay
ahead. His three experiences of being lost in the bush, which I
refer to in the preceding chapter, did not tend to help matters,
and, finally, seeing that his heart was no longer in his work,
I considered it advisable to pay him off and send him back, though
I was very sorry to lose him, since his departure left me without
any one to assist in the task of skinning specimens.
I bid good-bye, also, to the old hunter Tsofo, who had joined me
for the period that I hunted at Takoukout, so that I might have
the assistance of his local knowledge. He had never been to Aïr,
and, therefore, could not aid me in the same way further on; a
circumstance which I think we both regretted, for the old fellow
was genuinely loath to go home, and I sorry to lose him. There had
always been plenty of buck-meat in camp, and the old fellow had never
wanted food, which was a state of affairs that greatly pleased him,
for he had close acquaintance with poverty in the ordinary round
of living in this poverty-stricken land.
John, therefore, was the only personal servant to go on with me to
Aïr—faithful, cheerful John, who did not care two straws where
he went, so long as he had his master with him.
Therefore John and the camel-men were all that composed my following
on the way to Agades, while the caravan was accompanied by the
escort of six native soldiers, who had been detailed by the officer
at Tanout to escort me as far as Aderbissinat, where there was a
small Fort midway on my journey.
I intended to leave Takoukout on the night of the 30th, for the
moon was full and opportune for night travel.
The day was employed proportioning loads and securely roping them,
when sufficient rope had been found, for it is astonishing how such
things disappear in the careless hands of natives during a month in
camp, and on this occasion, when packages came to be made up, many
ropes were short and others destroyed by white ants. As there was
no longer village nor market-place where such native commodities
could be purchased, there was no alternative but to insist that
the camel-men search the bush for suitable tree-bark which could be
plaited into rude cords; and this task kept the men fully employed
all afternoon.
With the aid of the light of the moon and brightly blazing
camp-fires, the camels were loaded up about 11 p.m., and we filed
out of the old stockade, which had been _home_ for almost a month,
and made slowly off into the shadowy bush.
Night travel always holds for me an element of adventure, and it is
not without livening and keenly alert senses that one advances into
the unknown in the dark in the wake of some dusky leader who has
none of the apprehension which the tendency to blindness produces
in the stranger who is ignorant of the lie of the land ahead. Under
such circumstances night travel also holds novelty, and, although
one loses the opportunity to view the landscape as one passes along,
there is a freshening of the senses that makes ample compensation:
I am aware that it is cool, and that in consequence it is good to
be out in those common hours of sleep; I observe the gaunt outline
of the phantom-like camels that advance without sound of foot-fall;
I see the shadows of low trees that ever change their shapes as we
wend our course in and out among them over the gleaming moonlit ways
of sand; I hear, sometimes, the low soft speech of the camel-man
in consultation, followed, as a rule, by the caravan being halted
and the discordant roar of a camel, which jars on the calm night
stillness, while the men are righting a load; . . . afterwards
silence is regained, and we are as a part of the brooding night,
the camels padding along quite noiselessly in the sand, and there is
naught that I can hear but the slight creaking of a load that rests
uneasily on a pack-saddle, and the gritty scrape of the hard-skin
sandals of a shuffling camel-man near me.
When the moon went down about 3 a.m., we camped for a few hours in
the bush, off-loading the camels and lying down to rest on the bare
ground without troubling to unpack blankets.
At daybreak, 6 a.m., the journey was resumed, and we camped at the
well known as Tchingaraguen about noon, having travelled 25 miles
since we broke camp.
On the following day we again travelled a long distance, camping by
the light of the moon, about 9 p.m., at the well named Tadélaka,
being then only about 10 miles short of the small outpost at
Aderbissinat. Throughout the day the type of bush country continued
the same, in aspect and insomuch that there was no visible sign that
it is inhabited, though we are aware that there are a few Tuaregs,
and their herds hidden in the inscrutable land somewhere.
[Illustration: A LONELY TUAREG CAMP IN THE BUSH.]
[Illustration: SUNDOWN IN THE DESERT.]
Next morning, 2nd April, we made the short journey to Aderbissinat
and halted for the day.
What a strange place Aderbissinat is: the whole no larger than a
small farm-dwelling enclosed within a square zareba, which might
be the fence of a crofter’s garden, while immediately outside
are the wells and one or two temporary native shelters. About the
wells are grouped some lean listless cattle and goats, and some
tired donkeys and camels belonging to passing caravans. How well
they fit the desolate scene! Listen to the plaintive lowing of the
thirsty cattle, not the common cry of a domestic beast, but a wild
strange sound peculiar to the land—a deep rumbling forced-out
bellow that tails away with terrible insistency to a wail of want so
clear and expressive in sound that even humans can easily comprehend
that the animals are in dire distress. The simple unadorned scene,
which is but a tiny speck of habitation in a boundless virgin space,
lies in a hollow, so that approaching it either from the south or
the north one is almost upon it before it is discovered.
If any of my fellow-men should ever doubt the constancy of the
old-fashioned prestige of the white race in Africa, which goes to
uphold peace in the wildest corners of the continent, I should like
to direct their attention to such a place as this. Aderbissinat
stands alone in one of the bleakest spots that could well be
imagined, and isolated to such an extent that, if it happened to be
attacked, it might easily be wiped out in a night and its nearest
neighbour remain in ignorance of the fact for days—Tanout lies
75½ miles south, and Agades 93½ miles north, while both flanks
are open to unlimited unguarded ranges. Yet all the force within
this tiny Fort is one French officer and one sergeant, and a mere
handful of native troops. Is it conceivable that it is such a force
as this that intimidates the unreliable natives of the immediate
neighbourhood to uphold peacefulness, or that keeps away the powerful
bands of robbers from the north? I think not; rather is the cause to
be found in native tradition of the prowess of the white race, and
their far-reaching rule. It is not of an immediate act of rashness
that the usual native fanatic is afraid, but of the inevitable
consequences that they know would sweep in upon them once they had
raised the white man’s wrath. So that, in a broad sense, it is
simply this tradition of great power that safeguards Aderbissinat,
and other undermanned posts of the kind that are dreadfully remote
yet not hopelessly beyond the reach of the long arm of justice;
and therefore _Tradition_ represents an unseen strength that is
unrecorded on any roll, yet is reliable and useful as an army of men,
impotent though it be except in significant influence.
Diminutive though it is, Aderbissinat Fort serves more than one
purpose: it guards a precious store of water on the edge of the
desert, which furnishes half the water-supply that is necessary
for caravans to carry on the journey to Agades, for the intervening
desert is waterless except for one well at Abellama; it serves as
a blockhouse half way between Tanout and Agades, and therefore is
protection to the highway; while it is also an important relay
and checking station for the transport of the large supplies,
chiefly grain, that are constantly going north to Agades to feed
the considerable forces that are stationed there. Native escort,
on foot, invariably accompanies those caravans of supplies, and the
duty, burdened with rifle and accoutrements, is a very hard one in
such a climate; so much so, that it is only by a series of relays
that the escort for the total journey is successfully maintained.
Thus, escort from Tanout is relieved at Aderbissinat, and fresh men
take on the journey to Agades. Also, on occasions, the animals of a
caravan are changed at Aderbissinat and others complete the journey.
Therefore, when all things are considered, Aderbissinat is of much
importance to the transport of the country, and to the existence of
Agades, and I am inclined to think that it has always held something
of this importance as an outlying gateway to Aïr, for all Tuaregs,
whether old or young, claim it to be within the southern boundary
of their territory, though it is fully 100 miles from the foot
of the Aïr mountains; and no doubt it is in consequence of their
claim that the French authorities recognise it as within Aïr at
the present time.
There are five caravan stages between Aderbissinat and Agades,
known to the natives as Timboulaga, Tessalatin, Abellama, Tegguidi,
and Tilaràderas. The camping-ground known as Timboulaga is within
the bush-belt, but the others are all in the open desert, which
commences about 19 miles north of Aderbissinat.
I continued my journey on the following day, leaving Aderbissinat
in the cool of the late afternoon, and utilising the kindly moon to
light us on our way until camping-ground was chosen, about midnight,
some distance beyond Timboulaga.
On the next day, which was a Sunday (4th April), we again did
not move until the afternoon, while the camels, fifteen of them,
were turned out in the bush to partake of a good meal, as fodder
promised to be less plentiful ahead. Under suitable conditions,
camels should be allowed to graze at least five or six hours each
day after halt is made.
Early in the day I shot two gazelles to augment the food supplies
of the natives, and put in rather an uncomfortable time thereafter,
for, when the sun rose high overhead, we were left without shade,
and enjoyable rest was thereby impossible. In the full midday
hours the sun is so directly overhead, that on no side of the dwarf,
thin-leaved bush is there shade, which is a circumstance that reminds
me to recount the wisdom of my camels, for, if the tired beasts
happen to be off loaded about that time of day, they all proceed
to select, with perfect knowledge and precision, the north-east
side of the thickest bush available, thus choosing resting-places
exactly where shade will be thrown later on when the sun commences
to swing into the west.
I had intended to travel again at night, but the sun became so
irksome, that I grew very restless, and about 2 p.m. was glad to
call the camels in and start loading up, even though it entailed
unpleasant labour for the camel-men in the intense heat.
Three hours after leaving Timboulaga we ascended perceptibly to
country of changed aspect, where the land was a desert of sand-dunes,
and sand-pockets, and level pools of small gravel. This was the
beginning of the desert, and the end of earth’s fertility; behind
lay the bush that struggled for a patchy existence in an ungenerous
soil, which was a circumstance sad enough, yet infinitely more
blessed did that barely clad beggary seem when compared with the
awful desolate deadness of desert, which was, in general, unable
to support life altogether.
On this night we camped at Tessalatin, which was but a name in a
drear level land of sand. The altitude there was 1,875 ft., 225 ft.
above Aderbissinat, which now lay 31 miles behind.
On the following day we left camp at 3.30 p.m. and camped at Abellama
about 11 p.m. Throughout the journey we travelled over level
desert— desert cloudless and pale as the sky, but of a buffish
or khaki tone, and in places covered with tussocks of hardy grass,
which catch and hold the loose sands that are the sweepings of the
wind, so that they bank up in mounds and wave-crests, and bear the
appearance of sand-dunes on the sea-shore. Here and there a tiny
thorn bush, alone and hardly living; at other times, a scattered
group of bushes that find existence possible and a little easier,
since they are banded together, and each protecting the other from
exposure to the onslaught of withering sand-storms. After crossing
a gradual rise to a height of land about mid-journey to-day, we
began a slight descent toward Abellama (alt., 1,700 ft.), where
there is a deep well which is said to be as ancient as the old
caravan roads across Africa, and which is the only place where
water is to be found between Aderbissinat and Agades; so that,
though drear and comfortless and lacking in everything that is
picturesque, Abellama is a name that is conjured with by weary men
of the caravans that travel there thirsting for water and sorely
in need of replenishing the precious store that for some days has
been slowly diminishing in sagging goat-skins.
At Abellama, as there was no shady bush to camp beside, I resorted
to rigging up the baggage tarpaulin in the open desert, and camped
under a few feet of shade like the veriest gipsy Tuareg.
As the months advance, so is the temperature increasing, and now
that there was less protection than ever from the sun, it seemed
to me that I was experiencing greater heat than I had ever known,
and heat that was terribly exhausting.
The cause of the exceedingly fierce temperature (105° Fahr.
to-day in the shade) may be accounted for in the fact that the sand
is a ready medium for holding and reflecting the heat of the sun.
As an example of this: if a man sit on a camel for some time, with
feet dangling downwards, the sole-leather of boot or shoe or sandal,
which is facing the sand and not the sun, becomes so heated that
the feet are vastly uncomfortable, while if he should dismount and
place weight upon them, the soles will be found to be so burning
hot that he will exclaim with pain.
When evening came on this day, the caravan did not move off, as I
had intended, for a change had come over me, and, for the first time,
I felt too weak to go on. Dysentery and fever were upon me, illness
which seemed to be the outcome of some kind of mild sunstroke, for I
was quite dizzy and confused. The night’s rest helped me little,
and I spent the next day also in camp, feeling very miserable
in my hot, improvised shelter. It was a bad place to be caught
ill in—no restful shade at hand, not even scraggy bush, indeed,
hardly enough wood to make a camp-fire; nothing but wastes of dreary
sun-bleached desert. One lay all day and almost panted in the heat,
and thanked God with a deep sigh of relief when the sun went down.
At the end of the second day I felt I must make an effort to move
on, and therefore called John and the camel-men to my couch upon
the sand, and bade them prepare to start at midnight, even if it
was found necessary to rope me to my camel so that I should not
collapse and fall to the ground from weakness. This resolution was
carried out, and about 1 a.m. the caravan was _en route_ under the
blessed coolness of the night, and aided by the light of the moon,
which rose about the time the men commenced to load up the camels.
Tegguidi was reached not long after daylight, which enabled the
caravan to negotiate the rough descent of the Pass in the cliff
that is there without serious mishap to the loads, and we camped
in due course on the flat plain that lay below. By which time I
felt somewhat better, though I did not completely recover until
some days later, when privileged to rest and shelter in a cool
mud-house at Agades.
The abrupt change in elevation which occurs at Tegguidi is very
remarkable and the cliff the most unique geological occurrence that
I had thus far seen. It is a striking line of sheer cliff, which
is very rugged in countenance, while at the base there are bankings
and columns of detached rock and huge boulders. Advancing from the
south, no sign of the cliff is visible until you arrive almost at
the very edge of it, and look down over the grim countenance that
faces the north, and out upon the pale sand-plains that stretch away
from a level 200 ft. below. One is forcibly reminded of the open
sea and rugged coast that stems the tide, for the whole formation,
stretching east and west as far as eye can see, is like to the
cliffs of the sea-shore, and one wonders in what age and by what
force of elements it was fashioned to be so complete a barrier,
and if it holds some strange geological secret.
Tegguidi cliff is of interest to sportsmen, for a few Barbary sheep
are to be found there, while I received reliable reports of one or
two lions seen in the vicinity (probably the rare nameless beast),
which is quite feasible, as there is a tiny spring of water at a
point known as Irhayen further east on the same cliff.
A comfortless day was put in at Tegguidi, trying to rest as best
we could lying out on the bare plain as before, while the camels
foraged for thriftless pickings.
With the advent of the moon we thankfully stole away from the place
in the middle of the night.
When day broke, the caravan did not camp, for, anxious on account
of my health and our small water store, I kept moving on until
2.30 p.m., when we camped about 11 miles from Agades, after having
been thirteen hours on the march. Desert was crossed throughout the
journey, dreary country of sand-dunes and great flat stretches of
sand, with occasional gravel rises, which were sometimes buff like
the sand and sometimes grey, but the pebbles always as level and
neat as if set in place by the hands of skilful workmen. During
the journey there was practically no change in elevation, which
remained about 1,600 ft.
Again we snatched brief rest in the early part of the night and then
travelled on to Agades, reaching our destination on the morning
of the sixth day of travel (10th April), every man and beast of
the caravan dreadfully tired; not because of the distance we had
come, 93 miles, but on account of the ravaging sun, and for want
of adequate sleep and proper food and water.
A note in my diary at this time reads: “It is uncanny land to
travel through—barren of everything—dead like the ashes of a
furnace fire—in no way beautiful, in nothing inspiring. . . . I
was really glad when I entered Agades.”