Waking the Bedouins — Camels of the Nursery and Camels of the Desert —
Travelling — Nubian children — Dinner.
Our mode of living in the desert possessed features that require to be
given more in detail than has yet been attempted. At four o’clock in the
morning a slight stir might be heard by any one who chanced to be awake
at that early hour. Daireh, our invaluable dragoman, who was never known
to forget himself, any thing or any one, was getting up. This did not
take him long to accomplish, as he had only to throw off his coverlet,
composed of a mackintosh lined blanket, and he was ready. He then
proceeded to rouse our other two servants, which was also a very easy
affair. They went to wake the Bedouins—but this proved a very different
thing. Poor fellows, what work it was; for tired, and awfully cold, the
thermometer often standing at thirty degrees lower than during the day
time, they shivered every time they were turned over and excited to
rise.
Then followed the groaning of the camels as their pack saddles were
secured—a music which was not rendered more agreeable for having become
familiar.
They are considered the most patient of all beasts of burthen. My
earliest recollections of them are based on those veracious
publications, in which elephants pick up young children and place them
carefully on their backs, and camels gallop for days unrepiningly over
sandy deserts, never halting, though without both food and water—such
are the camels of our tender years, such are not the camels of our
experience. Instead of this poetic patience, they growl savagely, making
one of the most disagreeable noises I ever heard, and turn round
striving to get up as you load them. But when once their burthen is
properly adjusted they are perfectly quiet, and become tractable as soon
as you have taken your seat.
I had a camel from Dongola to Gebel Berkel, who would not let me turn on
my saddle, or put my hand in my pocket without turning viciously round
with a fierce growl. I had another, that by way of contrast would walk
quietly to within shot of a covey of partridges; then stop, and allow me
a good aim at them. All camels, however, stand fire.
The loading having been nearly completed, Mahomet pops his head into our
tent and encourages us to get up, bringing in the very small quantum of
water that can be spared for our ablutions; and the breakfast things.
Toilet despatched, we retire to the back door of the tent to examine the
condition of our desert steeds.
The rest of the party now join us, and we sit down to breakfast. By the
time we have finished our meal the other tents begin to disappear, and
our own is gradually being prepared to follow; and then we mount our
ladies, and fill our short pipes of war in contradistinction to our long
pipes of peace left behind in our dahabeeyehs; and we are off.
What a scene we leave behind: the ground is covered with our baggage—the
fire in which our omelette was prepared, is flickering out; a few
Bedouins run from their work to warm their hands from time to time at
its last embers. The camels are wandering forward—those that are ready,
and those that are loading as usual groaning horridly. It is nearly
dark—the first gleam of sunrise is just apparent over the distant
mountains.
At about half-past six the sun rises; it then becomes deliciously cool,
and of all atmospheres, the pleasantest I know. Presently our dragoman
approached us, having stayed behind to give his last orders. He gallops
merrily up with his usual good humour, for he always looks on the bright
side of all things. Our sheik rides in advance, the small tent for the
servants swinging half on each side of him; and we are in fine marching
order.
In a few hours our Shakspeare readings are over, we relapse into
silence, as we ride along under the burning sun, my head protected by an
enormous turban, and the ladies sheltering themselves under white-
covered umbrellas. Thus we proceed till mid-day; perhaps without
adventure or incident, till the word is given to ride forward, and
prepare luncheon. Some palm-tree, favourable for our purpose is soon
found, and in a few minutes we are seated in our little tent, on
mattresses and rugs, while our unloaded camels are browsing about.
Daireh brings out his meal of partridges, his biscuits, and all sorts of
good things, not forgetting delicious lemonade, and excellent ale, to
which we do full justice.
After luncheon, we often had visits of Nubian children, if we were near
the river, or a Bedouin encampment in the desert, accompanied by their
timid mammas, in all the beauty of youth, and the elegance of nature;
and the little creatures used to come and play with us, without the
slightest shyness, notwithstanding that ours were the first European
costumes they had ever beheld, and evinced as eager a disposition for
Cairo biscuits and white sugar as the best educated English children
could have displayed.
At about two o’clock, the caravan passes in front of our tent, Abbas
sitting on his gay rug, smoking his pipe, advances for his orders
respecting our next halt. These having been fully explained, we
presently behold the procession crossing the mirage, which, in the
distance, makes the members of it appear to be walking on water.
Some of the Bedouins are sleeping on the camels with the lighter loads,
and some hallooing with all their might to make the imperturbable beasts
jog along quicker. Presently all assume the appearance of spots, as they
disappear in the horizon.
At four o’clock, having had three or four hours’ rest, we are again on
our way. The sun is hotter between three and four than at any other
portion of the day. We are, of course, sufficiently delighted when,
towards seven, we are in sight of our tents, probably on a bank near the
river, with a beautiful prospect of blue rocks and luxuriant grass,
which cannot fail of looking pleasant after the desert of all day.
Possibly, however, the encampment may be in the midst of some arid
plain, or under some sterile rocks; but wherever we may be, there is our
home. The Bedouins are walking about, or are lying here and there
quietly smoking. Our servants are cooking our desert dinner—everlasting
Irish stews, and never-ending _soupe à la Julienne_. Appetite, however,
seasons the humblest meal; and, therefore, it was seldom that either
soup or stew was neglected. Indeed, to say nothing more than the truth,
on many occasions the novelty of the scene, the sense of adventure, and
the fatigue of the day’s journey, lent such a relish to our unpretending
_cuisine_, that we enjoyed ourselves a great deal more than it is
probable we should have done, had we dined at the best-arranged table in
Belgravia.
After dinner, appeared journals, books, and dried flowers; these, with
stuffing birds, and a little social conversation, filled up the hours
till our early bed-time. Then the sleep, upon our mattresses on the hard
ground, was sleep such as I have rarely enjoyed before or since.