The adventure was strange, the mystery inexplicable.
A blazing noontide in the month of Moharram. Away across the barren
desert to the distant horizon nothing met the aching eye but a dreary
waste of burning red-brown sand under a cloudless sky shining like
burnished copper. Not an object relieved the wearying monotony of the
waterless region forsaken by nature, not a palm, not a rock, not a
knoll, not a vestige of herbage; nothing but the boundless silent
expanse of that wild and wonderful wilderness, the Great Sahara, across
which the sand-laden wind swept ever and anon in short stifling gusts
hot as the breath from an oven.
Far beyond the Atlas mountains, under the fiery rays of the African sun,
I was riding with all speed in order to overtake a caravan which I had
been informed by the cadi at Wargla had started for Noum-en-Nas, the
small town in the Touat Oasis, two days before my arrival. The caravan,
I learned, was composed of camels, therefore, mounted as I was on a
fleet Arab stallion, and guiding myself by my pocket compass and the
very inadequate map of the Depot de la Guerre, I expected to come upon
them ere two suns had set.
Four long breathless days had now passed, yet I could detect no living
thing.
In the far south of Algeria the intense dry heat of summer always
affects Europeans, and although clad lightly in haick and burnouse, with
my feet thrust into rough slippers, I was no exception. Alone in that
trackless, arid desert, with my food and water nearly consumed and my
brain aflame with fever, I was bound to admit my position decidedly
unenviable. I was afflicted by a hundred miseries. Into my face the
glaring noonday heat was reflected by the sand; I was hungry, my throat
was parched, the racking pain of fatigue cramped my bones, and my horse,
weary and jaded, stumbled now and then as he plodded slowly onward under
the fierce, pitiless rays.
The two Chasseurs d'Afrique who had been sent with me for protection by
my friend the General of Division, had foolishly partaken of melons soon
after leaving Tuggurt, and had been stricken down with illness in
consequence; therefore I had been compelled to set out upon my journey
into the Areg alone.
Suddenly, about an hour after noon, my eager eyes were rewarded by a
sight in the far distance of a cloud of dust. Spurring my horse, I
galloped onward, and in half an hour the bells of the camels and the
jingle of the horses' trappings fell upon my ears. The dense whirling
cloud of sand preceded the cavalcade, and whenever a gust of wind parted
it, slow-plodding camels heavily laden with merchandise, glittering
arms, and flowing scarlet and white burnouses could be seen. In this
way the caravan presented itself as I pressed on towards its flank.
Within fifty paces of the vanguard I dug my heels into the horse's sides
and bounded across to the head of the convoy of a dozen Spahis. A
solitary rider journeying across the desert is such an unusual spectacle
that the ferocious-looking advance guard, fearing attack, shouted and
lowered their rifles.
"_Phtaris_! Peace be upon thee!" I cried in Arabic, seeing myself
received in such a hostile manner. "Cowards! Thou seemest afraid that
a single Englishman will attack thy caravan!"
The guards, thus reproached, muttering that they were pressing through
the turbulent country of the Beni Zougs, raised their weapons with a
look of shame upon their dark-bearded faces, while their chief reined
his horse to interrogate me.
"Whose is this caravan?" I asked, disregarding his string of
rapidly-uttered inquiries.
"It belongeth to Ali Ben Hafiz, the merchant of Biskra," he replied.
"And thou art on thy way to Noum-en-Nas?"
"True," he answered, with a puzzled look. "But how dost thou know?
What dost thou want with us?"
"Conduct me to thy master," I said. "It is imperative that I should
speak with him."
As I uttered these words, an elderly grave-faced man, with a long white
beard flowing over his spotless burnouse, rode up, and, judging him to
be the merchant for whom I had been searching, I greeted him and gave
him peace.
"_Aish ism arrajol di_?" ("What is the name of this man?") he asked
suspiciously of the chief of the convoy.
"My name," I exclaimed, "is Cecil Holcombe, an Englishman who desireth
to travel to the Touat Oasis. The Director of Fate turned the bridle of
my horse towards thee and allowed me to hear the bells of thy camels
from afar; the Guide of the Reins of Destiny moved my intention so that
I came hither to meet thee. Behold! I bear unto thee a letter from our
mutual friend, General Malezieux, Chief of Division."
The name of that high official caused him to open his keen dark eyes
wider, and, taking the letter from me, he quickly read it. In Arabic my
friend the General greeted his brother Ali Ben Hafiz with strings of
salutations and references to the Prophet, and implored him to take
under his protection the adventurous Englishman.
When the old merchant had read it through twice, he slowly stroked his
patriarchal beard. Then, looking up, he said in his own language--
"M'sieur Holcombe, be welcome to our shade. Allah, the One Merciful, is
mighty: Allah, Lord of the Three Worlds, is wise. He ordaineth that
although thou art an unbeliever, we should nevertheless be companions.
It giveth me pleasure to succour thee--but before all take salt with
us."
The order was given to halt, a tent was quickly pitched, and we took
salt and ate our kousskouss together, afterwards smoking our long
haschish pipes until the noon was far spent. About five o'clock we
resumed our journey again over the barren plain, the venerable-looking
old Arab, in whom I found a most prayerful, pious, and entertaining
host, riding by my side. The convoy of dark-faced Spahis, who,
picturesque in their scarlet burnouses, had viewed me with such
distrust, now regarded me as a distinguished guest, and were ready at
every moment to do my bidding. To those who, like myself, have learned
in the desert to regard life steadily, nothing temporal seems of moment
when travelling by caravan, and our civilisation, of which we in Western
Europe pride ourselves, seems but a frivolous thing of yesterday.
Desert life to-day is the same as it was ten centuries ago; the same as
it will ever be. Free and charming in its simplicity, yet with certain
terrors ever-present, it offers many attractions to those in search of
change and excitement. Thus, with the fiery sunset flooding the
boundless wilderness, we wended our way due westward in the blood-red
track of the departing day.
When the last rays were fading, another halt was made, the mats were
spread, and Ali Ben Hafiz with his convoy and camel-drivers knelt, and,
turning their faces towards Mecca, repeated their evening prayer,
afterwards reciting with fervent devotion the Fatiha: "Praise be to
Allah, Lord of all creatures; the most merciful, King of the day of
Judgment, Thee do we worship, and of Thee do we beg assistance. Direct
us in the Right Way, in the way of those to whom Thou hast been
gracious; not of those against whom Thou art incensed, nor of those who
go astray."
Then in the falling gloom we again moved on. Slowly our camels plodded,
the rhythmic movement of their heads causing their bells to jingle, and
now and then an Arab would chant a weird Bedouin song, or goad on his
animals, administering heavy blows emphasised by sundry forcible
imprecations with frequent references to Eblis.
Old Ali--who was a native of Morocco and still acknowledged Mulai Hassan
as his ruler, although he lived under the French flag--asked me to
relate my history, and tell him of England and the Great White Queen;
therefore, as we rode together, I entertained him with descriptions of
my distant home, explaining to him our insular manners and customs,
until the bright moon rose and the stars twinkled like diamonds in the
cloudless vault of blue. At last, having entered a wild ravine, where
some prickly acacias, dusty aloes, and patches of coarse hulfa grass
grew, under the shadow of the rocks we encamped for the night. Our
kousskouss was cooked and eaten, our horses fed and watered at the well,
and while the Spahis were posted as sentinels to raise the alarm in the
event of a raid by any of the fierce marauding bands that constantly
prowl about that region, we wrapped ourselves in the ample folds of our
burnouses and rested our weary heads upon our saddles.