AT the start everything went well. Qway, it is true, though he
did his best to disguise the fact, was evidently greatly put out
by my having been able to produce so much barley. But the rest of
the men were in excellent spirits. Ibrahim, in particular, with the
flint-lock gun slung over his back, was as pleased with himself as
any boy would be when carrying his first gun. The camels, in spite
of their heavy loads, went so well that on the evening of the second
day we reached the bushes.
I found that a well which, without finding a trace of water, I had
dug the year before to a depth of thirty feet had silted up to more
than half its depth with sand. Here we cut what firewood we wanted,
and on the following morning Abdulla and Qway left the caravan and
went on ahead towards Jebel el Bayed.
I walked with them for a short distance as they left, to give them
final instructions. I told them that we should closely follow their
tracks. Having some experience of Qway’s sauntering ways when
scouting by himself, I told him that he must make his camel put
her best leg forward, and that if he did I would give him a big
_bakhshish_ at the end of the journey.
He at once lost his temper. The camel was his, he said, and he was
not going to override her, and he should go at whatever pace he
choose. He was not working for me at all, but he was working for
Allah. My obvious retort, that in that case there was no necessity
for me to pay his wages, did not mend matters in the least, and he
went off in a towering rage. The Senussi teach their followers that
every moment of a man’s life should be devoted to the service of
his Creator; consequently, though he may be working for an earthly
master, he must first consider his duty towards Allah, as having
the first claim upon his services—a Jesuitical argument that
obviously puts great power into the hands of the Senussi sheykhs,
who claim to be the interpreters of the will of Allah.
Abd er Rahman, who had been watching this little scene from a
distance, looked very perturbed when I got back to the caravan. Qway,
he said, was feeling _marbut_ (tied) and that was very bad, because
he was very cunning, and he prophesied that we should have a very
difficult journey.
The Arabs are naturally a most undisciplined race, who kick at once at
any kind of restraint. They are apt to get quite highfalutin on the
subject of their independence, and will tell you that they want to
be like the gazelle, at liberty to wander wherever they like, and to
be as free as the wind that blows across their desert wastes, and all
that kind of thing, and it makes them rather kittle cattle to handle.
Abd er Rahman was right; things began to go wrong almost at once. The
first two days after leaving Mut had been cool, but a _simum_ sprang
up after we left the bushes and the day became stiflingly hot. Towards
midday the internal pressure, caused by the expansion of the water
and air in one of the tanks, restarted a leak that had been mended,
and the water began to trickle out of the hole. We unloaded the camel
and turned the tank round, so that the leak was uppermost and the
dripping stopped. But soon a leak started in another of the mended
tanks, and by the evening the water in most of those I had with me
was oozing out from at least one point, and several of them leaked
from two or more places.
When a tank had only sprung one leak, we were able to stop the
wastage by hanging it with the crack uppermost; but when more than
one was present, this was seldom possible. One of the tanks leaked
so badly that we took it in turns to hold a tin underneath it, and,
in that way, managed to save a considerable amount of water that we
poured into a _gurba_.
On arriving in camp, I took the leaks in hand and stopped them with
sealing-wax. This loss of water was a serious matter. Every morning I
measured out the day’s allowance for each man by means of a small
tin; in face of the leakage from the tanks, I thought it advisable
to cut down the allowance considerably.
This called forth loud protests from Abd er Rahman, who declared
that it was quite impossible for him to work in such heat on such
a meagre supply.
I endeavoured to pacify him by pointing out that I was not asking
him to do anything I was not prepared to do myself, and that, as a
Sudani, he belonged to a race that prided themselves on being able
to endure the hardships to be encountered in a desert journey. But
he only got more excited, saying that he and Ibrahim did more work
than I did, as they had to load and unload the camels and walked
all day, while I occasionally rode. Dahab, he added, was of no use
in the desert, as he was only a cook, and I could do without him,
and, as we were short of water, we had better get rid of him. At the
end he was fairly shouting at me with rage, and, as he was not in a
state to listen to arguments, I walked away from the camp into the
desert to give him time to cool down.
A Sudani at heart is a savage, and if a savage thinks he is
deprived of the necessaries of life he is very apt to fall back
upon primitive methods, and is quite capable of “getting rid”
of anyone who stands between him and his water supply. Visions
of the ghastly scenes that took place among the survivors of the
shipwrecked “Medusa” and “Mignonette,” when they ran short
of water, and of the terrible fate that overtook the survivors of
the disastrous Flatters expedition, during their retreat to Algeria
from the central Sahara, came up before my eyes, and, as I saw Abd
er Rahman and Ibrahim earnestly consulting together, I felt the
situation was not one to be trifled with.
I went back to the camp fully expecting to have to deal with something
like a mutiny. I called Abd er Rahman up and told him he was never
to speak to me again like that, and if he did I should fine him
heavily. I said that we should find plenty of water in the depot
at Jebel el Bayed and there was no need at all for any anxiety,
but that, owing to the leakage from the tanks, we should have to be
careful till we got there. I told him that I should help to load
and unload the baggage, and would walk all day to show that the
allowance of water was sufficient. As to Dahab, I pointed out that
he had worked with him for two seasons in the desert, and that it
was very treacherous for him to turn round and want to “get rid”
of him directly there was a slight deficiency in the water supply.
Much to my surprise, I found him extremely penitent. He said I could
drink all his water supply and Ibrahim’s as well if I wanted it; of
course he could put up with a small water supply better than I could,
he was very strong; and as for Dahab he was an excellent fellow and
a friend of his; he had only been angry because he was thirsty. I
told him that it was very easy for him to talk, but that I should
like to see how much there was at the back of what he said, so I
challenged him to see if he could do on less water than I could. A
sporting offer of this sort generally appeals to a Sudani or an
Arab. He accepted my challenge with a grin.
Ibrahim afterwards apologised for his brother, saying that he had
been behaving like a woman.
The sealing-wax I had put on the leaks effectually closed them; but
towards noon the increasing heat melted the wax and soon they were
leaking as badly as ever; the other tanks, that had held out up to
that point, also opened their seams in the heat, and, by the end of
the day, _every single tank_ that I had was dripping its precious
contents on to the ground. Only the small ones that I had made for
the depots remained waterproof.
As the sealing-wax proved ineffectual, I scraped it off in the
evening, and, since the leaks were all in the seams of the tanks,
I plugged them with some gutta-percha tooth stopping that I had
fortunately brought with me, wedging it into the seams where they
leaked with the blade of a knife. This was apparently unaffected by
the heat, and, though it was liable to be loosened by rough usage,
was a great improvement on the wax. But the leaks were plugged too
late. During the two days while they were open, one tank had become
almost entirely empty, and the others had all lost a considerable
portion of their contents. Fortunately I had allowed an ample supply
of water, most of which was in the depot at Jebel el Bayed, so with
the small tanks to fall back on in case of need, we could count on
being able to get out about twelve days instead of the fifteen I
had arranged for, which I expected would more than take us to Owanat.
We continued our march, leaving a small depot behind us at each camp
till we reached the main store. This I found had not been made,
as I intended it should be, at the foot of Jebel el Bayed, but a
good half-day’s journey to its north.
I was greatly relieved to see that the depot appeared to be quite in
order; but Abd er Rahman was evidently suspicious, for leaving the
unloading of the camels to Ibrahim and Dahab, he went off to the depot
and began peering about and searching the neighbourhood for tracks.
Almost at once he returned with a very long face, announcing that
a lot of water had been thrown away. I hurried up to the depot,
and he pointed out two large patches of sand thickly crusted on the
surface, showing that a very large amount of water had been spilt. We
examined the depot itself. The sacks of grain were quite untouched,
but every one of the large iron tanks was practically empty, with
the exception of one which was about half full. The little tanks
intended for the small depots did not appear to have been tampered
with, perhaps because they would have required some time to empty.
The neighbourhood of the place where the water had been poured was
covered with the great square footprints made by Qway’s leather
sandals, and made it quite clear that it was he who had emptied
the tanks. There was no trace of the more rounded sandals worn by
Abdulla on that side of the depot.
We followed Qway’s footprints for a short distance. About two
hundred yards away from the depot they joined on to Abdulla’s,
the small neat marks of Qway’s camel overlaying the bigger prints
of Abdulla’s _hagin_—showing clearly that Qway had been the last
to leave. I then returned with Abd er Rahman to the camp to decide
what was best to be done.
The heavy leakage from the tanks we had brought with us, coupled with
the large amount of water thrown away by Qway, made it abundantly
clear that all chance of carrying out the scheme for which I had
been working for two seasons, of getting across the desert to the
Sudan, or of even getting as far as Owanat, was completely out of
the question. It was a nasty jar, but it was of no use wasting time
in grousing about it.
Our own position gave cause for some anxiety. So far as I and the men
with me were concerned we were, of course, in no danger at all. Mut,
with its water supply, could easily have been reached in about a
week—it was only about one hundred and fifty miles away—and we
had sufficient water with us and in the depots to take us back there.
As for Qway, I felt he was quite capable of looking after himself,
and I did not feel much inclined to bother about him. The difficulty
was Abdulla. From his tracks it was clear that he had no hand in
emptying the tanks, and I very much doubted whether he knew anything
at all about it. Abd er Rahman’s explanation of what had occurred
was, I felt sure, the correct one. His view was that Abdulla, though
“very strong in the meat, was rather feeble in the head,” and
that Qway had managed to get rid of him on some excuse and had stayed
behind to empty the tanks, which he had then put back in their places,
hoping perhaps that we should not notice that anything was wrong.
Abdulla, counting on me to bring him out water and provisions,
had gone off for a six days’ journey, relying on meeting us at
the end of that time. After going as far as he could to the south,
he was to cut across on to Qway’s track and then to ride back along
it to meet us. The man had served me well, and in any case I did not
feel at all inclined to leave him to die of thirst, as he certainly
would, if we did not go out to meet him. Obviously, we should have
to follow up Qway’s track to relieve him—a course which also held
out the alluring prospect of being able to get hold of Qway himself.
But our water was insufficient to enable the whole caravan to go on
together, and it was urgently necessary to send back to Dakhla for
a further supply. The difficulty was to know whom to send. There was
always the risk that Qway might wheel round on us and try to get at
our line of depots; and unfortunately he carried a Martini-Henri rifle
I had lent him. My first idea was to go back with Dahab myself, as I
could have found my way back to Mut without much difficulty, using my
compass if necessary—the road was an easy one to follow—and to let
the two Sudanese go on to relieve their fellow-tribesman, Abdulla;
but this scheme seemed to be rather throwing the worst of the work
on them—besides I wanted to go ahead in order to make the survey.
Abd er Rahman, of course, could have found his way back quite easily;
but, though he carried a Martini-Henri carbine, he was a vile shot,
even at close range, as he funked the kick; moreover, he stood in
such awe of Qway that I was afraid, if they met, he would come off
second best in the event of a row, even with Dahab to back him up.
Ibrahim, however, cared no more for Qway than he did for an _afrit_
that threw clods, or for anyone else. With his flint-lock gun—bent
straight by Abdulla—he was a very fair shot; but he was young
and had had little experience of desert travelling, and I was very
doubtful whether he would be able to find his way. When I questioned
him on the subject, however, after a little hesitation and a long
consultation with Abd er Rahman, he declared his willingness to try,
and his brother said he thought he would be able to do it.
The next morning he set out with Dahab and the two worst camels,
carrying all the empty tanks. His instructions were to get back as
fast as possible to Mut, refill the tanks, and come out again as
quickly as he could with a larger caravan, if he could raise one,
and to beg, borrow or steal all the tanks and water-skins he could
get hold of in the oasis, and to bring them all back filled with
water. I gave him a note to the police officer, telling him what had
happened and asking him to help him in any way he could. I gave him
my second revolver and Dahab my gun, in case they should fall foul of
Qway on the way, and then packed them off, though with considerable
misgivings as to the result.
It was curious to see how the discovery that our tanks in the depot
had been emptied, in spite of the difficulties that it created,
cheered up the men. The feeling of suspense was over. We knew pretty
well what we were up against, and everyone, I think, felt braced up
by the crisis. Dahab looked a bit serious, but Ibrahim, with a gun
over his shoulder, and suddenly promoted to the important post of
guide to a caravan, even though it consisted of only two camels and
an old Berberine cook, was in the highest spirits. I had impressed on
him that the safety of his brother, his tribesman Abdulla and myself,
rested entirely on his brawny shoulders, and that he had the chance of
a lifetime of earning the much-coveted reputation among the _bedawin_
of being a _gada_ (sportsman)—and a _gada_ Ibrahim meant to be,
or die. I had no doubt at all of his intention of seeing the thing
through, if he possibly could. I only hoped that he would not lose
his way.
Having seen him off from the depot on the way back to Mut, I turned
camel driver and, with the remainder of the camels and all the water
we could carry, set out with Abd er Rahman to follow up Qway’s
tracks to relieve Abdulla. Abd er Rahman, too, rose to the occasion
and started off gaily singing in excellent spirits. I had told him
that I wanted to see whether he or Qway was the better man in the
desert, and the little Sudani had quite made up his mind that he
was going to come out top-dog.