A band of Ehaggaran natives, engaged in tending to the grazing of

their herds of goats and camels, were camped beneath the eastern

slopes of the Ahaggar mountain-range near Tiririn, not vastly

distant from Ghat, on the borders of the Fezzan.

In the cool of late afternoon the women were bestirring about the

tasks of camp; voices floated softly into the great space of the

surroundings; wood-smoke rose from freshly nourished camp-fires,

untroubled by wind; and altogether the scene was pastoral and

peaceful.

None would suspect that the camp sheltered bandits. Yet it is

often thus that, mingled with the commonplace simplicity of rural

atmosphere, gangs of robbers of the Sahara, when off the trail,

live and protect themselves against discovery at the hands of

unfriendly neighbours. Surrounded by peaceful occupation and

circumspect behaviour, they live the routine life of their camps,

their weapons of warfare carefully hidden, and all other traces

of evil-doing; while they retreat behind a curtain of deceit, and

cunning, and secrecy; in which they are past-masters. And, in this

camp near Tiririn, behind the veil of placid scene, lay Kahena,

the bride of Rali.

Among a group of congested hutments Kahena, her cotton shawl

drawn closely about her features, was hidden in a dark chamber,

free from bonds, but hourly watched over by the women of the robber

band so that she should not endeavour to escape; though escape in

such a wilderness, should she be desperate enough to attempt it,

could only spell death.

Poor child! no longer had she the proud bearing of belle of her

tribe. Distress and fear in long enduring her terrible position had

left little of youth’s freshness and vigour, and she had come near

to collapse and absolute surrender, though to this hour unsubmissive

and fiercely antagonistic to the advances of her captors.

But her plight, and everything sinister in the inner life of the

camp was, for the time being, securely hidden behind the disarming

atmosphere of natural peacefulness of the scene.

But, of a sudden, a deep hush fell—and men, reclining idly on

the sand by the huts, rose hastily to their feet and gazed to the

south. Two travellers were approaching—a rare occurrence from

such a quarter. Bezzou, chief of the village, tall and strong and

good to look upon, yet with evil glint in his eyes, felt for the

dagger in his sash. Like all men with blood upon their hands,

he had twinges of conscience, and for one fleeting moment he

showed his character and suspicions. But soon it was seen that the

travellers were unarmed, and that no caravan followed behind them;

and all misgivings were allayed.

With weary gait the camels of the travellers drew near to camp, their

riders, dust-covered and careless, drooping forward over the high

cross-heads of their saddles as if they dozed in excess of fatigue.

[Illustration: A SCENE IN AÏR]

At the edge of the camp they ordered their camels to kneel, and

wearily dismounted, to be greeted with the steely gaze of Bezzou

and his men, which scrutiny they returned with equal rudeness

and aloofness, as is the custom of the land when stranger meets

stranger. After a few moments of eye-to-eye duel the travellers,

without uttering a word, gave attention to their camels, removing

the riding-saddles and the load, then hobbling the forefeet and

turning them free to roll in the sand and search for grazing.

But, for all their travel-soiled, fatigued appearance, for all

their seeming haughty indifference, those two men, little as it

could be guessed, were, in reality, keyed up to the highest pitch

of alertness—for the sleuths of the sand-trail had run their

quarry to earth, and Rali and Yofa stood before their bitterest

enemies—and well they knew their danger and need of courage.

In time Rali limped feebly forward and addressed himself to Bezzou

in his own dialect:

“Chief of a strange people! to-night we would camp with thee! The

seas of sand are wide between Kano and Tripoli, and voice of mankind

is heard but seldom; and, sometimes, if he is heard, he is not

a friend. See! I walk no longer like the gazelle. Six days ago

we met foul robbers, who shot and chased us; but our camels are

fleet of foot—and so we are here! But my leg, which is wounded,

paineth me. I would have water to bathe it, and water to quench the

thirst that sits sorely upon us both. I am a merchant; I have gift

of cloth for thee if thou wilt bid men to serve our little wants.”

Now Bezzou had noted, with greedy eyes, the bale of merchandise

that they carried, and it served his wishes of the moment that the

stranger should tarry in his camp. Hence he answered:

“Welcome, wizard of travel! thou hast set out upon a long journey,

like unto our forefathers who were wont to go to Mecca to kneel at

the feet of the Prophet. Water shall be brought to you speedily,

and food, and, wish ye aught else, speak that wish and it shall

be granted!”

This request filled Rali with gladness, for it gave him the opening

he sought. He had followed the old robber tracks near to this

camp, but, as yet, knew not for certain if he had reached the end

of his search. He had but one sure way to confirm his suspicions:

he must see some of the camels belonging to the tribe, for he could

recognise the footprints of any beast of the robber band the moment

he cast eyes on them. Therefore he replied:

“I have one pressing need, O great and generous Chief! and it would

be a providence of Allah if it could be granted. The camel which

carries our merchandise is taken with dire sickness of the flesh,

where resteth the pack-saddle, and I would fain purchase another,

if camels thou hast for sale.”

To his request Bezzou answered: “I shall command that six beasts,

fair to look upon, shall be brought before thee ere the sun setteth,

and thou shalt choose from among them, provided thou shalt pay me

in silver of the white men of Kano.”

“Verily, I shall pay thee in the silver of the white man,” agreed

Rali, at the same moment catching a fleeting glint of covetousness

in his benefactor’s eyes.

Whereupon they parted for a time, and Rali and Yofa drank deep of

water, and sat down at a little distance from the camp, ostensibly to

bathe the wound from which Rali suffered. But when the blood-stained

rags which bound the limb were removed no wound was there. Rali

could still walk or run with the freedom of the gazelle when need

arose. But he replaced the discoloured rags, and groaned in seeming

stiffness and as if in great pain.

Ere night camels were brought to Rali, so that he might purchase

one. He was startled, almost to the extent of uttering an unwary

exclamation, the moment he cast eyes upon them, for among them

was one of the animals that had been stolen during the robber raid

upon his tribe. However, he successfully suppressed all signs of

recognition, and carefully inspected each animal in turn, bargaining

over the price of them with the customary shrewdness expected of a

merchant. To alleviate any lingering suspicion that might exist among

the tribe concerning him, Rali was careful to take most interest

in his own stolen camel, and he discussed it as an animal born and

reared in the neighbourhood and entirely strange to him. And in

the end it was this beast that he chose to select to purchase.

Meantime his keen eyes had not been idle, and he noted that two of

the other animals made footprints in the sand exactly as they had

been made months before on the robber trail. No fragment of doubt

remained. He had tracked the bandits to their den.

But where was Kahena? Was Bezzou the leader of the band, as well as

chief of the tribe? For, if so, it might be he to whom she had been

allotted, to be one of his wives or slave women. He must plan to

gain access to Bezzou’s dwelling. This mentally decided, he said:

“O generous Chief! this camel I shall take from thine herd when

I go forth, but this day I shall pay thee silver of the white men

of Kano in token of good faith. Anon, when thou hast feasted of the

evening meal, if it be well advised, I shall come to thy door with

bag of silver and gift of cloth.”

And Bezzou answered, with greed in his eyes: “It is well,

friend. Come, and thou shalt be welcomed.”

Wherefore, in due time, when the shades of night had fallen, Rali

limped to the door of the encampment of Bezzou, and was admitted.

The chief and two old councillors awaited him. They had been deep

in evil plans, for Bezzou had already made up his mind that the

harmless travellers, with their camels, and merchandise, and bags

of silver, should never leave the camp alive.

[Illustration: SPELLBOUND IN THE GRIP OF LIMITLESS SILENCE]

Rali made his generous gift of cloth to the chief, and, from a

bag concealed in the folds of his garment, counted out the dole

of silver which was the price of the camel he had purchased, the

while he discussed, in voice pitched more high than usual, the

small incidents of the journey and the hardships which he and Yofa

had experienced by the way. He was fencing to disarm suspicion,

fencing for time; hopeful that Kahena was near—even that she

might catch the sound of his voice. In vain, when unobserved,

his keen eyes roved over the hut in search of a clue.

Presently a woman entered from the rear bringing some wood for

the fire that smouldered between stones on the floor. She was an

Ehaggaran native, and, beyond one brief glance at her, Rali appeared

indifferent to her presence. Yet, if one could have guessed it, his

downcast eyes missed nothing. But vain was his covert inspection;

her person revealed no clue of Kahena’s immediate presence; and

his heart sank within him as she retired from the hut, for he had

hoped that it might be otherwise.

Conversation had lagged, and Rali had risen to depart to his rest,

when, with the curiosity of her sex, the woman re-entered on pretext

of mending the fire, in reality to hear the parting words that

passed between the stranger and her people. She was in the act of

adding fuel to the fire, when Rali suddenly stumbled and emitted

a smothered groan, as if from the pain of his wound.

“Brother! thou art unfit to travel further for the present,”

exclaimed Bezzou, supporting him, and inwardly intent on his evil

schemes. “Rest in this camp, where thou art welcome, until thou

hast recovered.”

And, as he limped off to join Yofa in rest, Rali answered: “I

thank thee, O great and generous Chief! Gladly will I stay here

for a few days until this sickness of the evil one has passed.”

Once outside in the darkness, Rali’s features relaxed in strange

grimace, half expressing satisfaction, yet shadowed with burning

hatred. For what had happened, at the moment when he had appeared

to be seized with pain, was that the woman, in the act of stretching

out a thin arm from under cover of the folds of her shawl to nourish

the fire, had exposed a metal bangle on her wrist that had once

been the property of Kahena.

He joined Yofa at the edge of the encampment, and together they

rolled themselves in their blankets and lay down side by side upon

the sand. But not to sleep—for long they discussed the exciting

incidents of the day and planned for the future in low whisperings.

Undoubtedly Kahena was in camp, or had been killed. If alive, how

were they to effect her rescue and wreak revenge? for vengeance

was almost as dear to them as the rescue of Kahena. There were

many men in this camp, and for the present they appeared to have

no occupation which took them far afield during day or night.

At last Rali, who shrewdly suspected that, if he did not act quickly,

Bezzou, in his greed, would frustrate him by some treachery,

proposed a daring plan, and, after much discussion of its inner

details, it was agreed upon.

So that it came to pass that in the night Yofa crept from his

sleeping-place and, with saddle and money-bags of Rali, set out

across the sand to trace the grazing camels, so that he should

mount and ride away in the direction of Ghat with all speed.

IV

The first faint light of dawn was in the sky when Rali, in accordance

with prearranged plans, sat up upon his couch upon the sand and

gave the alarm.

Groans and curses escaped from him; he grovelled on the ground and

cast sand upon his head; he cried aloud to Allah—and men came

running from their hut doors to look upon him in consternation.

Seizing a staff, he limped, as if in excessive pain from his wound,

to the huts of Bezzou, crying: “Infidel! Thief! Traitor! I am a

ruined man!”

Espying Bezzou, he fell upon the ground before him, exclaiming:

“O generous one! Canst thou assist me? Great evil has fallen. In

the night my trusted servant, thrice cursed son of the faithless,

has stolen from this camp, as jackal stealeth, bearing with him my

bags of silver. Traitor! infamous traitor! and how am I to follow

him, with this great sickness of limb upon me?”

Bezzou was alarmed, not on account of Rali’s distress, but

because the coveted bags of silver had escaped from his grasp in

a totally unexpected way. Sharply, without troubling to disguise

his contempt of the supposed cripple, he gave orders to his men,

and immediately shouts of haste and excitement stirred the camp to

thorough wakefulness ere the full light of day was in the sky.

In no time camels were hurried in from grazing and a band of

well-mounted men armed with rifles—which had appeared mysteriously

from cunning places of hiding—streamed out of camp on the clear,

fresh tracks of Yofa and urged their camels into a steady, ungainly

run, while Bezzou alone stood aside and watched them go.

Meanwhile Rali lay upon his couch on the sand, fitfully groaning

in pain and calling upon Allah to bring down curses on the head of

the faithless one.

But, in time, general peacefulness settled on the camp as the morning

advanced. One by one, the women departed in divers directions,

driving their herds of goats before them to place of grazing,

or set out to gather herbs or firewood.

In due course the hour had come for which Rali had planned and

waited; and thereupon he rose slowly from his couch and limped

painfully to the hutments of Bezzou.

Once there, he begged shelter from the sun of the old woman who

answered his summons. But no sooner had he set foot indoors than

his pitiful demeanour underwent startling change and he sprang with

agility upon the woman to seize her in powerful grasp and force

her to the ground, where he speedily gagged and bound her securely.

Sound of the scuffle disturbed Bezzou, who had been sleeping in

an inner chamber, and he was in the act of entering the room to

inquire the cause of it when Rali was upon him like a whirlwind

with naked knife in his hand. Whereupon ensued a terrible combat, as

the two strong men locked in grasp of deadly intent, and panted and

struggled and staggered with the excessive strength of bitter hatred.

But Rali had the advantage of having taken his enemy by surprise,

and gradually he improved his hold, until, suddenly, with one great

effort, he freed his hand from the grasp of his powerful opponent,

and buried his knife deep in Bezzou’s heart.

And, as he looked up from his exertions, Kahena stood in the doorway

of the inner chamber with eyes filled with tears yet sparkling

with gladness.

“Rali!” she cried softly, “last night I heard your voice;

to-day I knew you would come.”

Without time for words of affection, Rali exclaimed:

“Quick, child! retire, seek some clothes of Bezzou’s women and

change thy garb with all speed and cover thy fair face well; the

men of this camp, who have been enticed away in pursuit of Yofa, who

came hither with me to seek thee, may return at any moment. Follow

me outdoors when thou art disguised. I go to catch our camels.”

And, with parting glance of deep satisfaction upon the dead man

who had sinned so deeply against him, Rali went forth from the hut,

still calling, at intervals, his lamentations of misfortune so that

no woman or child remaining in camp should suspect him of deceit.

Soon he had caught his camels, for Yofa had driven them near to

camp before he had departed in the night. Slowly he brought them

in and caused them to kneel under cover of a ruined hut so that he

might saddle them unobserved. Then Kahena joined him, in strange

clothes and carrying a bundle of wood, the very simplicity of her

disguise making safe her passage through the camp.

But at last the services of disguise were unnecessary, and with

bounding heart Rali lifted Kahena to her camel. A moment more,

and they were speeding south.

About two hours later Rali halted the camels among some sand-dunes,

while saddles were adjusted and they rested to partake of some dried

dates which Rali produced from one of his leather saddlebags. He

carried also a single skin of water, upon which they must depend

for the next few days.

Before remounting Rali searched diligently in a sandy gully, then

commenced to excavate; and when he stood upright again he carried

two rifles in his hands. This was where Yofa and he had buried their

arms before entering the camp of the strangers. He then proceeded to

extract cartridges from a belt beneath his garment and fully loaded

the weapons ere he hung them by their slings to his saddle-head.

[Illustration: WHEN DAY DAWNED THEY WERE IN A STRANGE LAND OF ROUGH,

ROCKY HILLS]

Two days went past of anxious, constant travel across ungiving

desert. Then they reached the point where Rali had arranged that

Yofa should rejoin him. But Yofa was not there, and Rali was much

perturbed. “Faithful, courageous brother, who had deliberately

undertaken to draw the whole hornet’s nest of robbers in chase

of him; pray Allah no ill-merited fate had befallen him! Yet Yofa

was tireless and skilled in travel, and his camel fleet of foot:

why did he wait not here?”

Rali had grave misgivings that the worst had befallen his

comrade. More serious thought still, if Yofa had been captured the

robbers would have returned speedily to their camp, to discover

his deceit and the flight of Kahena, and, at the moment, in all

probability, they were following the incriminating tracks in

the sand.

That night Rali dared not camp, and wearily but surely he picked his

way in the dark, ever onward, ever nearer to the mountains of Aïr.

Another uneventful day passed, and then, terribly exhausted, in

particular Kahena, at risk of being overtaken, they lay down at

night to sleep, while the hungry camels were hobbled and turned

away to snatch what pickings they could find in plant-starved,

ungenerous surroundings.

Next morning, as they hurried on southward, the northern ranges of

Aïr loomed in sight, at first low and smoke-blue on the distant

horizon; thereafter ever growing in dimensions and solidity as the

interval lessened between the fugitives and the ancient land of

their race, which offered a measure of protection.

Alas! just when hope of successful escape appeared to be

materialising, Rali, who had always been casting anxious glance

behind, saw at last that which he dreaded to see—a cloud of

dust rising faintly on the horizon. But he said not a word of this

discovery to Kahena, and thereafter gave all his attention to urging

the camels onward.

But by noon he could deceive her no longer, for the small dust-cloud

had grown larger and unmistakable, and eyes might almost discern

the raiders that were overtaking them.

“Kahena! fair and delicate flower of the desert,” he said,

“thou art fashioned to flourish in sunny nooks where peace doth

reign and foul winds of strife pass by thee, but to-day thou art

a thing uprooted and shalt need be brave and worthy of thy name;

for look! the robbers are close upon us.” Whereupon Rali turned

in his saddle and pointed to the growing dust-cloud.

“Pray, child,” he cried, “that Allah hinder them until we

reach the mountains,” and he urged the camels onward, sparing

not the jaded animals in his need.

A race against time ensued—a tense, terrible race, nerve-trying,

beast-killing.

Hours slipped past, bringing nearer the goal of the fugitives,

and promise of nightfall, while the dust-cloud of the remorseless

robbers gained in volume behind them. Gradually, the chase became

so hot that hours gave place to precious minutes, and Kahena called

aloud to Allah and cried in fear to Rali under the extremity of

the wild, mad race to shelter.

But, at last, the harbouring hills were reached, and Allah be

praised, ere the robbers came in full view, the darkness of night

laid merciful cloak before the eyes of desperate men. For the moment

they were safe.

But Rali realised that safety would be short-lived. He now knew

that Yofa had failed before the prowess of the robbers, and was

either captive or killed; and he felt that the net of his own fate

was closely about him.

The words he had once spoken to Yofa came back to him with vivid

clearness, and under his breath he repeated them: “A curse has

fallen upon us. It is willed that the race shall die, until none

remain.”

Casting aside such sad thoughts, he turned gently to Kahena, and

brought her a small portion of water and dates and bade her eat

and rest while he unsaddled the camels and turned them free for ever.

Presently he gently woke Kahena, for the exhausted girl had quickly

fallen asleep, and bade her follow him while he commenced, carefully

and skilfully, to climb upward among the huge awkward boulders and

rocks of the bare slopes of Tamgak.

Thus they laboured through the night, and when day dawned they were

on the mountain summit in a strange land of rocky hills.

And there they hid in a cave among pitfalls of boulders, and Rali

bade the exhausted Kahena sleep while he set all the food and

water that remained to them by her side. Then he started back to

the mountain edge so that he might reach a point of vantage from

whence to spy upon the robbers by the light of day.

Presently he was in a position to look down upon the land beneath;

and he espied the camels of the robbers feeding in the valley

where his tracks in the sand had been lost among the rocks at

the mountain base. By and by, he heard voices half-way up the

mountain-side. Cautiously shifting his position, he made out five

of the robber band, scattered in different directions, searching

keenly for track of him. But the grave old mountain told not her

secrets as the tell-tale sands of the plains, and for some time Rali

watched the robbers search without success, and heard them exchange

curses of bitter disappointment. Whereupon he returned softly to the

cave that sheltered Kahena, and sat hidden in the black darkness

of it with rifle upon his knee, knowing that in time the baulked

desperadoes would climb to the summit and persevere in their search.

[Illustration: TOMBS ON THE DESERT]

Slowly the day passed, while Kahena slept heavily, and Rali

watched—and no grim figure darkened the entrance of their

hiding-place. Once footsteps had been heard to grate on the hard

rocks outside, as someone searched among the dark recesses of the

disordered maze of fallen boulders. But, after drawing perilously

near, the dreaded sound had slowly receded and died out.

Late in the evening Rali ventured from hiding and found the mountain

summit deserted, while in the valley beneath he saw the lights of the

camp-fires of the robbers. Whereupon, weak though he now was from

want of sleep and the prolonged strain of superhuman exertions,

he set out anxiously to search for water so that he and Kahena

might drink thereof and live.

Long into the night he searched, but in vain he went, with

ever-increasing sinking of heart, from one barren channel to another,

and found not that which he sought among those sun-parched hills

of terrible poverty. In the end he wearily retraced his steps to

the cave that sheltered Kahena.

But the wild wolves of Fate were now close upon him, inevitably

bearing him down as he had foretold, and he returned from his

fruitless search for water to find Kahena in the grip of raging

fever.

Poor child! the terrible strain of the race for freedom had been

too great: and ere the night was advanced she died in the arms of

Rali. While he, unaware of this final catastrophe, in merciful sleep

of utter exhaustion, crouched beside the still maid of his love,

from whence life had for ever flown.

And in the morning he woke not. For two tired spirits had sped on

the perpetual winds which sweep to the uttermost corners of the land

and catch up the fallen fragments of the universe to bear them hence.

Skeletons among the rocks, a few wasted fragments of clothing, a

riddled water-skin; and the reminiscent words of a Tuareg companion,

when I chanced upon the remains, set me to piece together the

threads of this story.—AUTHOR.

CHAPTER X

SERVITUDE

[Illustration]

[Illustration: A HAUSA SLAVE WOMAN OF A TUAREG FAMILY

GRINDING WHEAT BETWEEN STONES]

CHAPTER X

SERVITUDE

The Tuareg nomads of the Sahara consider themselves the superiors

of all who toil with their hands, and there is a wide distinction

between nobleman and serf.

The nomads are the overlords of the land. It is they who saw to it

in the past that the oases were kept supplied with labour to till

the soil and reap the harvest, promote bazaars and build towns,

on which they might draw heavily for dates and cereals and other

rare luxuries of their table; exacted as tribute for playing the

part of guardians, or bartered for in more creditable exchange. The

Tuaregs were ever cavaliers and soldiers of fortune, who scorned

manual labour as an indignity. Nevertheless, it was an economic

convenience for their country to grow food where the land could

give of it, and to this end they acquired their workmen.

Slave-raids to Hausaland, slave-caravans, slave-markets in the

heart of the Sahara, were the common custom of the land up till

quite recent times, and were the outcome of the need for labour in

the oases, and in the camps of the overlords.

The ideal society of the Tuareg is that which is without government

of any kind, to permit that they may freely execute their turbulent

authority unhindered, and exact homage at the point of the sword. But

the old regime is passing; though the stock of the slave class

remain, either as servants to their old masters or as sedentary

tribes within themselves.

The active practice of slavery has ceased, though the frame of

mind still persists. Boys and girls are still sold out of families,

quietly, but there is no cruelty in the transaction, for the slave

class of a Tuareg family are permitted the complete freedom of the

household so long as they observe the laws of their position. As a

rule, the serf has not a very brilliant mentality, and the lifelong

habit of toil is not easily disturbed. They are accustomed to serve,

and, indeed, so long as they are fed and have a place to sleep,

they appear as content as those in their natural homes in Hausaland

or elsewhere. Many of these serfs who are alive to-day, were in the

first instance bought and sold in the market-place, or were direct

captives of nomadic raids. Under the military regime of the French

they are more or less free to go their way to-day; but they make no

change. They remain in the families as before, assured of protection

and livelihood that might not be theirs if they cast adrift.

It is on this slave class that all the hard work falls, whether

in the Tuareg camps or in the centres of cultivation or commercial

enterprise; and all are accustomed to their nomad overlords.

[Illustration: A TEBU WOMAN]

[Illustration: A TEBU MAN

SEDENTARY IN OASES OF KOWAR]

The widely scattered places of sedentary occupation in the Sahara

may take two forms: they may be oases in the midst of sandy desert,

or they may be havens among the mountains.

The desert oasis has its planted belt of date palms and plentiful

supply of water, usually drawn from wells, sometimes from springs

in open ditches. Under the shade of the palms are the irrigated

gardens, where constant labour, at the seasons of cultivation,

is demanded to flood the soil and nurse the plants to maturity in

surroundings that would give no life without artificial aid.

The gardens are sandy and small: a network of closely crowded

allotments, each fenced with palm staves to hold in check the driving

sand. By means of a regular system of irrigation channels the soil

is fed with water at intervals each day; drawn to the surface

by oxen, or by hand, at the expense of a good deal of patient

labour. The consequent dampness and humidity breed malaria, which

is, perhaps, a further reason for the importation of the negroid

serf, who is, through hereditary environment, familiar with the

destructive malady. Indeed, in this respect, at the time of rain

it is common practice for many semi-nomadic masters to evacuate

the oases altogether and roam far out into the more healthy desert,

tending their flocks while leaving their serfs alone to look after

the cultivation.

The palms produce dates, which ripen in the autumn, and the

gardens principally wheat, millet, tomatoes, and onions in sparing

quantities. All the work of cultivation is done by hand.

The dwellings of the desert oases have the character of towns,

not villages. In a sense that designation may appear overdrawn,

insomuch that many oases are no larger than the tiniest of villages,

but against that should be set an environment that is so appallingly

blank that any society of dwellings takes on the glamour of urban

life. The market-places have their bazaars and their movement

of people, the sandy streets are tolerably well laid out, while

the clay-built buildings are compact and complete, and sometimes

ornamental.

But they are few and very widely scattered, and vary greatly in

standard. Some are mere hovels, others towns in the full sense of

the word; and these latter are chiefly in the Algerian Sahara near

to Arab civilisation, though Bilma, Fachi, and like outstanding

ports in the desert should on no account be overlooked.

The sedentary havens among mountains such as Ahaggar and parts of

Aïr are different from the desert oases. They are in character

villages, and the life is entirely rural, as a place is rural

that herds flocks about its doors and lives, for the most part,

in grass-covered hutments.

In Aïr in particular, and in some cases in Ahaggar, these permanent

villages are occupied by Tuaregs who, having fallen on evil days

and lost their camels and means of getting about, have taken to

semi-sedentary life with bitterness in their hearts. Those have

their slave-people, who, besides doing all the manual work in

camp, labour at cultivation, as in the oases, when water permits

of cultivation. But such harvest as they gather is meagre indeed,

and insufficient to serve the needs of the community, since there is

little scope for cultivation in the narrow, stony valleys between

the slopes of the mountains; and lack of water adds a further

drawback. On that account, also, only a few date-palms are planted

near such villages.

[Illustration: SEMI-SEDENTARY

A TUAREG OF THE EGUMMI TRIBE]

On the whole, there is poor encouragement to toil because of

the adverse conditions, and prolonged spells of idleness have no

doubt developed the spirit of laziness that is prevalent in all

these places.

Tuaregs are the authoritative owners of the villages, and have a

definite residence there; though every now and again a family or

two, with their herds, wander away on the open trail for a time,

giving expression to the restless spirit that hungers for the life

of the untrammelled wilderness.

Whether desert oasis or mountain village, all go to make up a

part of the social fabric of the Sahara, and the nomad camps the

other part. Each depends on the other. The nomads rely on the

sedentary people for markets for the goods transported by their

caravans—foreign, or products of their camps—and for such foods

as are the outcome of cultivation. On the other hand, the sedentary

people look to the nomad to keep up communication with the outer

world, and guard them against enemies in time of dispute or war. It

would be difficult for one to subsist without the other, so that

there is logically a certain intimate relation between the nomad and

“The Sons of Toil,” despite the proud bearing of the former,

which has behind it something of the instincts of aloofness that

are disposed to be characteristics of untamed creatures of the wild.

One fact emerges that is of more than ordinary interest in

consideration of the social restlessness in civilised countries

to-day. It is true, in effect, that any _solidity_ of human existence

that obtains in the Sahara, frail though it be, centres round

these permanent places of production. Moreover, I believe that the

whole future of the Sahara lies at their door, and that the entire

land will ultimately survive or go under according to the efforts

they put forth. The need to labour is clearly defined before the

mighty forces of unstifled Nature. There is no alternative, except

starvation and death, which is, after all, a primary, if primitive,

law of Nature, age-old and irrefutable, though often overlooked. The

object-lessons of this need industriously to struggle for existence

are about us in every country-side, down the lanes or out in the

fields, wherever living thing has dwelling and the ways of Nature

are closely observed. So much is barren in the Sahara that the

labour of man stands forth in all its merit; and, insignificant

though the Great Desert is among the peopled countries of the world,

the little society it contains owes gratitude to the hands of toil

that have made life to some extent possible.

[Illustration: DRAWING WATER TO IRRIGATE GARDEN CULTIVATION]

In most cases the sedentary cultivators are of negroid origin,

drawn largely, at one time or another, from the vast populations

of the Western Sudan. Hausa and Beri-Beri blood predominate. In the

Tuareg camps in the south they are known as _Belas’_ or _Buzus’_,

in Kowar they hold to the race names of _Beri-Beri_ and _Tebu_,

in Ahaggar they are _Imrads_, and thence, northward, _Haratin_. All

have the general features of the negro, and are dark-skinned.

They toil simply and live simply, and have a happier composure

than the Tuareg, aided by a somewhat dull mentality that does not

possess the activity that leads to fretfulness and brooding. About

their dwellings they appear to see no shame, or drawback, in living

in considerable squalor; and filthy hovels are not uncommon, with

unclean occupants in ragged clothing.

Between seasons of harvest many of the sedentary people know severe

poverty, sometimes famine, and at such times almost anything is

eaten: even the hides of camels or goats are boiled down to a

chewable substance, and the questionable soup consumed.

It is not generally realised that there are large stretches of

the Sahara without fuel for fires.[17] Many oases suffer great

inconvenience from dearth of the commodity, and fires to cook

even a single meal a day are sometimes not procurable. Pieces

of palm-stems often furnish the chief material, but are poor,

dense-smoking fuel. However, anything that burns will do, and I

have often known a dozen women and children hover about my caravan

encampment with baskets to collect the droppings of the camels.

Like all else in the Sahara, the oases suffer a perpetual onslaught

of sand, which fills their gardens, their streets, and their homes;

often banking up like drifts of snow against the dwellings, or

forming in eddies and pools where the sweep of the wind circles

a bend. Outside some oases sand is banked in huge dunes, which

have to be continually fought against by the inhabitants, or they

would engulf all. The predominance of sand everywhere does not add

to cleanliness.

One of the most pleasant experiences that one can have in the Sahara

is to come suddenly, without any forewarning from the character of

the country, upon a place of human habitation after long weeks in

barren wastes. The joy of the society of mankind is great, and the

chatter of people about their homes contains a quality of comfort

that is akin to home.

The scattered oases in the Sahara are as ports to those who roam the

highways of the ocean. And in that there is one startling revelation

in the fact that, like most big harbours of civilisation, the chief

oases have their underworld of vice and wickedness. And this is

entirely a custom of the Sahara; which, once again, points strongly

to its resemblance to the sea, for I have never known like habits

to prevail anywhere among the populated regions of the Sudan. Bilma,

which is a notable port in the land, might be taken as an instance,

since the reputation of the _Oulad Nails_, in the Northern Sahara,

is already widely known.

[Illustration: A DATE GROVE OF AN OASIS]

We find there a powerful and openly recognised guild, with a chief

woman at its head, known by the name _Diarabba_. It has been in

existence so long as the Beri-Beri and Tebu natives of the oasis can

remember. The cold-eyed, gaudily ornamented women of the Guild—and

most of the women of Bilma belong to it—perform an extraordinary

dance which is only crudely graceful, yet picturesque because of

the peculiarly shaped, coloured plume-like palm-fans, which each

dancer waves in rhythm with the tom-tom music. They dance in a

line before the musicians, moving their feet in accurate time and

swaying to right and to left. The dance waxes faster and faster,

while the men of the caravans look on.

At last one of the musicians drops his drum and runs forward to seize

one of the women, whom he lifts bodily in his arms, and carries

to place on a rug on the sand, the while the others continue to

dance. The “belle” that has been chosen remains still, crouched

upon the ground, while, one by one, men in the crowd who court her

favour go forward and place money or other gifts on her head.

One shudders and turns away; the barbarism of the East is not

dead—yet neither is religion nor quaint superstition. I walked

outside the north walls of the town, seeking the pure open air. A

solitary tomb loomed in my path. I inquired its history and was told:

“There a great Marabout died, and our fathers say that people

passing the dead man’s grave saw green lights at night, and said:

_‘There lies a man who is glad even in death’_; and so they

built a tomb over him.”

In the belief that the oases and the sedentary people are the

mainspring of the Sahara’s system, it may be worth while to

bear in mind the state of the people, in picturing any possibility

of resuscitating the land, of which we hear projects from time to

time. Prolonged immorality brings decadence in its wake, and extreme

poverty can do likewise. I see in the oases to-day human life at

a very low ebb; human life that has been allowed to go to rot,

because, through the ages, the Sahara has had no strong _friends_

to reach out a hand and lift it from “the Slough of Despond.”

If the oases could be rejuvenated it is possible to believe that,

despite the awe-inspiring forces of Nature, great things might yet

be accomplished in reviving the Sahara; for the oases were ever

the keystones of the land.

But that is a vast undertaking to attempt, and almost impossible

of accomplishment. The low ebb is running fast, and the back eddies

of the land are full of wreckage that slide toward oblivion in the

end. Which is a clear illustration that, _when the character of

the people of a country weakens, so must that country suffer_.

[Illustration: A WOMAN OF THE “DIARABBA”]

CHAPTER XI

STRANGE CAMP-FIRES

[Illustration]

CHAPTER XI

STRANGE CAMP-FIRES

When mankind pack up their goods and chattels in dunnage bags and

bits of boxes and take to the open road, the life that ensues is

that of the nomad, whether the wanderings are from place to place

within the bounds of civilisation or beyond recognised frontiers. In

either case the quality of adventure is there to quicken the pulses;

for the instinct to explore is in all of us, whether the field be

far-flung or near at hand. And while it is true that, in minor walks,

light-hearted travel may have little purpose in its conception beyond

that of pleasure, particularly at the onset, there is nevertheless

reason why the smallest of these nomadic propensities should be

thoughtfully considered since there is a very tangible utility

in them, insomuch that travel of any kind is disposed to enlarge

one’s notion of the world as a whole, while, at the same time,

it broadcasts the character of a race; which shall be judged of

repute or disrepute, abroad, according to the conduct of those who,

wittingly or unwittingly, carry the standard far afield.

These are small words, and may convey little or nothing of a mighty

subject that will, one day, surely be our tremendous concern. For

the kingdom of mankind is rapidly enlarging; and the time has

come when it is fast being realised that insular completeness is

over-narrow to withstand the rising flood alone. Wherefore it is

no longer sufficient for any individual or country to look upon

the prospect from comfortable doorstep and cry: “All is well.”

Rather should each of us desire to see beyond, and comprehend the

composition of the comradeship of the world as a whole, and build

therefrom the character that shall fit us to sit by the fireside

of any race, knowing, in the end, that we are welcomed, and have

laboured faithfully to play the part of broad-minded men.

And it is significant that, along the highways of the world, a vastly

important part of the history of Races and Empires has been written,

and not only may wise men build for strength within their abodes,

but also along all paths that lead to them.

Wherefore the Open Road may lead toward a goal, and nomadic

restlessness be more than mere inherent instinct.

However, to return to the subject of travel in the Sahara, we,

as islanders, can clearly comprehend the vastness of the oceans,

and the importance of the routes across them, and thereby understand

the conditions that confront the inhabitants of the shores and in the

“ports” of the Sahara who seek, at times, to find passage across

the grim, silent wastes of the desert. But ocean and desert to-day

present diverse phases of travel. The one has all that modern science

and civilisation can command to make travel easy, while the other

remains unchanged from the darkest ages, and is wholly primitive.

[Illustration: A HALT AT AN OLD WELL]

It is with the latter that this narrative has to deal in endeavour to

give a few impressions of camp-fires I have known in out-of-the-way

places while moving through the land, living as a nomad, carrying

trivial possessions by the aid of humble beasts of burden, and

camping wherever chance befell when the sun swung into the western

sky—a life where one experiences the rugged edge of existence

and comes to be vastly content with little pleasures, since these

occur but seldom.

I

One of the rarest occurrences in the Sahara is rain, and the

nomads tell that they have known seven years and even ten years

pass without any in some localities. Twice, on the trail, I have

witnessed the coming of the greatest boon that the Sahara can know;

on 3rd August 1920, and again on 13th July 1922. They were memorable

occurrences, and one is herein described as an incident of outdoor

life not readily forgotten.

We were camped for a few days on a small, rocky knoll on the bank

of a dry, deep-channelled river-bed. For months past the heat of

the desert had waxed greater and greater, until the weather had

become unbearably stifling and oppressive. There was no relief in

the surroundings; a wasteland of sad colourings, made up of pale

sand and occasional sun-bleached grass tufts. It was the kind of

environment that drives men to madness if the mind is not occupied.

There was a subdued tenseness abroad; and almost a gesture of mute

appeal, for in truth the whole land was overstrained and panting

for relief—and rains were due, if they were to come this year.

For an evening or two heat lightning lit the eastern horizon, and

a few distant clouds hung about. . . . And then the great gift of

the gods was delivered.

The big storm descended with astonishing suddenness, one early

afternoon, and in no time the clear blue sky and sun-flooded land

became transformed into a dark inferno of raging elements.

Our first warning of impending events came from a huge, ominous cloud

that rolled over the land from the south-west, like a low black

column of bush-fire smoke. It was the vanguard dust-churnings of

a mighty hurricane, and with something of consternation the frail

encampment prepared to crouch before the onslaught. But we had

barely time to bundle valued possessions under canvas, and run round

tent-ropes to test their security, before a fierce gale, filled with

stinging dust and sand, swooped hungrily upon camp. And then the

battle raged. All hands struggled to keep the tents intact, orders

were bawled that went unheard, for they were torn at the point of

utterance and ruthlessly tossed into the vortex of the storm. Lurid

lightning flashed and thunder roared above our heads; followed

by a hissing deluge of torrential rains. Still we battled with

unruly ropes and canvas that buffeted in the gale like ship-sails

fouled in a treacherous wind, while all were drenched to the skin,

and water literally streamed from our thin clothing. Matches, maps,

notes—everything that happened to be in my pockets—was drowned

to clammy pulp.

[Illustration: AN ANCIENT SAHARAN WELL

NOTE HOW BEAMS ARE CUT WITH FRICTION OF ROPES. BELOW-GROUND THE

SIDES ARE OF MASONRY]

Camp-fires hissed and spluttered, and were quickly quenched; and

in no time the tranquil camp of half an hour ago was no more than

a skeleton of bedraggled possessions and woebegone occupants.

Meanwhile the whole aspect of the country rapidly changed. Miniature

streams began to form and gurgle all about us, and grew at an

alarming pace. A low murmuring arose in the hills behind and drew

nearer and nearer until we witnessed the remarkable sight of a

foam-crested, rolling billow advancing down the hitherto empty

river-bed. Like a sea-wave on a long, sandy beach it rolled on

its way, except that there was no moment when it would break and

subside. Impelled by the weight of water behind, it passed our camp

hurrying southward, leaving a full river in its wake.

Soon the stream was breast-high; and already soaked beyond the

caring, some of the natives, in high glee at the wonderful sight

of flowing water, plunged into the stream for a frolic. In the

mêlée, Sakari, one of my followers, lost his fez and crossed to

the opposite bank to try to recover it. The water was rising so

rapidly that when he came to recross, about fifteen minutes later,

the stream was a tumbling torrent that nothing could live in; and

so he had to sit and shiver on the opposite bank, until the flood

subsided some hours later.

At the time of this incident rivers of water were flowing on three

sides of the knoll. Immediately to the west ran the true river; on

the east, parallel to the river, a waterfall tumbled off a small

plateau, and thereafter swung in a broad, shallow stream across

our south front over the completely swamped-out picketing ground

of our camels. And still the torrential rains kept on.

Then came a time when we grew actively alarmed for the safety of our

camp and baggage, and anxiously stood watching the river rise till

it threatened to overflow even the high, rocky banks. Slowly the

water crept up and up, till part of the bank actually overflowed,

and water flooded into the tent nearest the brink. With all haste

it was dismantled and removed. A rise of a foot, and everything we

possessed would be in the flood and swept away. Gravely we watched

the issue. The head camel-man, Elatu, advised trying to move

everything away at once along a narrow neck on the north side. It

seemed too late for that, and we held on.

And these were the critical moments that saw the tide turn in our

favour. For a tantalising period the water appeared, to our anxious

eyes, to pause and hold to the one mark—then slowly it was noticed

to recede, uncertainly, then decidedly, until we breathed thankfully

in relief. A memorable moment was past.

The sky cleared at sundown; and the storm ceased.

Whereupon there was a glorious uplifting of spirits, and sheer

delight in the exhilarating new-found freshness of earth and sky,

and wealth of bountiful rain.

Masters joked as they changed into dry clothing, camp-boys and

camel-men sang their native songs and laughed, while they ran from

place to place to marvel at the quantity of water.

“Great rain for our country,” declared the Tuaregs. “Soon

our lean camels shall have plenty to eat: Allah be praised!”

And to look upon the flooded land and think that only some hours

before we had dug in the river-bed, and dug in vain, in search of

good water; that was almost like a far-off dream.

In the dusk, when enough firewood had been salvaged, camp-fires

were kindled, and we sat around the golden glow of their friendly

warmth to still the shiverings of unaccustomed dampness. And in the

hearts of all there was a rich and unusual exuberance because of

the rare events of the day that had gifted succour for the present

to the Great Lone Land of Thirst.

II

At another time the scene shifts from the abnormal back to the

normal parched dryness, and I look out upon desert that is clothed

in the character by which it is best known and recognised: _an

awe-inspiring, sun-mastered immensity of sand and stone; secret as

eternity_, and filled with the stillness and brooding melancholy

of a place of the dead.

The moment happens to be one of uneasiness. There are shadows of

storm aslant the trail, and we hasten the caravan forward. But only

with temporary purpose, knowing full well that nothing can stay

the unleashing of the pent-up furies of the elements that already

whisper and cry in their eagerness to descend in one great avalanche

of whirling madness.

The black columns of a sandstorm are approaching. For our puny

caravan there is no escape. Distant at first, it draws within the

range of minutes and moments; and then, swift as the flight of

keen-winged birds, and swifter than the flames of a forest fire,

the terrifying storm overtakes us.

At once there is faltering and trembling before the shock. Vain

are shouts to urge the camels onward. One or two flop instantly to

the ground, while others struggle to keep their balance. . . . In

a moment more all have broken from the line to crowd in panic with

backs to the seething, stinging sand. We have completely halted—the

camels have mutinied; and no power on earth can induce them to move

while the storm continues.

[Illustration: A WELL SUNK THROUGH SOLID ROCK

NOTE HOW ROPES HAVE GROOVED THE ROCK FACE]

We are caught in the sandstorm with a vengeance. There is no shelter

whatever. Dazed, blinded men, working as in a shroud of dense smoke,

grope for knot-ends and relieve the camels of their loads. These,

banked as barricades, and the camels, are our only protection. But

little they avail, for soon the encampment is literally buried.

We huddle together, blinded, spluttering and choking, not daring

to speak or expose ourselves further to the awful blizzard. It is

trial enough to sit still, for, whatever the covering of protection,

fine dust penetrates to the inmost recesses to sting eyes and lips,

already smarting and swollen, and fill our throats and nostrils.

Effort is absolutely futile, and we turn dormant as stones that

wait the passing of time under unhappy exposure. Indeed, except for

agitations beneath our coverings when pain becomes unbearable, we

lie as in our graves. And all the while the sand-burdened blizzard

seethed and boiled and rushed ever onward; darkening the day almost

to night, and fogging the landscape so that eye could not see more

than a yard within the haze.

Hour succeeded hour . . . and the day passed. . . . and there was

no camp-fire, no food, and no happiness, for the wrath of Allah

continued through the land.

III

Again, with rude storms past, the elements lapse drearily to their

accustomed routine, governed, without heart, by the Power of the Sun.

And it is under those conditions that the traveller in the desert

must chiefly toil, or, failing to toil, sink beneath the weight of

undermining, brain-drugging heat and monotony.

Wherefore a commonplace day finds me toiling the sand in a

God-forgotten recess of the world. I have killed some meat for the

camp, but that hardly interests me. I am aware that I am “off

colour”—almost ill. But I am more disturbed still by the

knowledge that I am weary, and not so strong as I was; and that

slowly, insidiously, the sun is sapping my life-blood.

A Tuareg stranger is with my follower, who carries the gazelle. I

hear the man being told exaggerated stories of my shooting

capabilities:

“He kills whether they stand or run.”

And again:

“If a man walk for two days this white man still fit to reach

him with gun.”

I wanly smile; in no mood for laughter.

Slowly we trudge toward camp. It is about noon, and desperately

hot. But I am thinking neither of the remorseless sting of the

sun nor of the desolation of Africa: _I am wondering if I dare

break into one of our last bottles of whisky if I go under again

with fever_. It is the priceless medicine of the exhausted and

malaria-stricken, and the meagre store cannot last to the end.

On entering camp, however, my thoughts are turned into other

channels. The camels have just been watered, and recline on the

sand. About half of them have sores to be doctored, ugly, suppurating

saddle wounds and foot wounds, fly-ridden and ill healing; so bad

that every now and then they claim a victim in death. For an hour

I work with scissors and knife among filth and disinfectant: crude,

intimate surgery that might have turned me sick if it had not been

a daily task for a long time.

The animals were then turned loose to find what scrub they could

about the old well-head. But soon they lay down in the hot sun,

_for there was next to nothing to eat_.

Elatu, the head camel-man, had gravely told me, while we worked

together over the wounds, his fears and doubts of the land we

travelled, and his fears and doubts of the well-being of our beasts

of burden. We had camped that morning at _water_, but he advised

that we should not stay through the day, because there was no fit

pasturage for our weary, used-up camels.

Wherefore, after a meal that I barely touched, except to gulp down

cup after cup of tea, we reloaded the tired camels in the small

hours of the afternoon and continued slowly on our way.

Ten hours later we wearily camped, and men scarcely spoke while, in

the deep darkness, they unburdened the camels, and laid themselves

down to rest . . . and then the kindly hand of night was mercifully

laid upon the cares of an impoverished band.

IV

The caravan is in want of water, and desperately anxious to

find it. Having lately detected a frayed rope and some pellets of

wasted camel-dung, we are fairly certain that an old trail has been

picked up.

Some hours later we become sure of water ahead when we pass a

number of heaps of stones piled by human hands; the Token Stones

of grateful wayfarers who have slaked their thirst in the desert,

and surreptitiously left behind this expression of their thanks. The

Tuaregs say that most of these token heaps are the work of slaves,

who, in the past, in this way endeavoured to mark the places of

water over the route they were borne as captives, in case they

should ever escape. Nevertheless, few nomads of the land to-day,

having drunk their fill, will pass from place of water without

stooping to add further stones to the piles that sit, like symbols

of some weird religion, in their path.

Two camels shoot ahead of the line. Wild, saddle-perfect Tuaregs

ride them to water at a swinging trot. They mean to return, with

goatskins of water, to slake the pressing thirst of the men, long

before we camp.

The noon hours recede, but not the oven heat, and slowly under that

weight, the long span of the afternoon drags on.

Towards dusk the journey ends, and our column moves into a curious

narrow declivity that finishes in a quarry-like space. We descend,

and are lost from the landscape above. There is no sign of water

or living soul; but the cliffs and dishevelled rocks of the den

are literally covered with strange drawings and writings. With

whisperings of awe one of the men who had gone in front tells that we

are in a secret place of water that he has recognised. “Not many

know of it,” he assures me. “A few of my people, and robbers

from Ahaggar; but not the robbers from Tibesti. You are the first

white man who has seen it.”

[Illustration: A CAMP-FIRE

BENEATH THE SHADE OF ROCKS]

“But where is the water?” I exclaim, scanning the rocks and

the sand carpet beneath my feet.

He beckoned me to go with him, and we proceeded until we came to

the closed end, or _cul-de-sac_ of the defile. Picking the way

among giant boulders until the straight cliff base was reached,

my camel-man then halted and pointed with a smile to a dark hole

in the wall at the ground’s edge, no larger than the den of hyena

or jackal. “_Ama!_” he exclaimed.

I sat down and lit my pipe; the place was unusual and

uncanny. “Water in there, Mohammed? How the devil do you get it

out? Go back and bring Sili with a waterskin, and ask Sakari to

give you a candle: I want to have a look.”

When he got back we wormed our way into the hole. Past the entrance

there was a cavern where a man could stand stooping. Crossing it,

another long tunnel led to a further cave, lower than the first,

and there, in the bowels of the earth, gleaming in the candle-light,

lay a black pool of water, clean, clear, and deliciously cool.

In that mysterious haven of secrecy we camped beside water in

abundance . . . and thus it came to pass that the camp-fires of the

white man lit the eerie, strangely scrawled cliffs of Inzanenet

as the fires of those on many an escapade had often done before,

if tales of the land be true.

And owls and bats and ghoul-like shadows were companions through

the night, but the white vulture that points the places of water

and human dwelling, marked not the sky by day, since even from him

of the outer world the secret of the cave was hidden.

V

Strangers have drifted into camp.

The caravan, at the time, is settled among a sea of wonderful

sand-dunes; _Erg_ land of the Sahara. We have found, in lake-like

basins between the dunes, some good _Alwat_ for the camels, and

are inclined to delay so that the animals may benefit.

Hitherto no sign of human life had been seen—and now these men,

who have followed in on our tracks.

Their camels are splendid, and elaborately saddled. They dismount on

a dune crest overlooking the camp. There are four of them. The senior

is a small, sharp-eyed man dressed like a prosperous Arab, while

the others are tall, strangely gross-looking, and less dignified.

[Illustration: THE WAYFARER’S POSSESSIONS]

Ordinarily their presence would be accepted without question,

but my suspicions are aroused because they are curiously furtive,

and have suddenly appeared in a wild region where not expected.

Joining us, they profess to be traders, and have a few trivial

things about their persons to offer. Questioned as to where they

have come from, and whence proceeding, their answers are evasive

and contradictory. However, we elicit the information that the name

of the senior man is Myram, and that he is a native of Ghat.

They remained some hours; long enough to appraise all we possessed,

and our strength. In the evening they departed, heading north.

They were no sooner gone than my camel-men came forward to ask me

to be careful through the night. “Those men were robbers,” they

declared; “there will be others at hand.”

However, a wakeful watchful night passed uneventfully. It may have

been that the camp was too well armed, or too alert; in any case,

we saw no living soul again.[18]

And thereafter we spent some days among the dunes—perhaps the

most beautiful and most mystical environment that one may find in

the Sahara; and always the colours and shadows of morn and eve were

infinite and superb.

Nevertheless, the influence of these gigantic scenes of sand

sometimes affects the travel-stained imagination; particularly when

there is no escape from constant sameness over a prolonged period. A

good illustration of how it engrosses and depresses one’s thoughts,

even in sleep, is contained in a dream of Glover’s.

“I dreamt, last night, that you had received a message from the

French saying that your journey had all been a mistake, and that

you could not continue across the Sahara. The message went on to

say that they were very sorry about the disappointment to you,

but if you cared to wait you could continue north _next year_. You

answered, ‘All right, we will wait,’ and settled to camp among

the awful sand. Then I clearly saw both of us sitting there through

an eternity—waiting, always waiting. _And as we sat more and more

sand dust covered us!_—until I saw quite six inches piled upon

your shoulders and arms.

“And at last I seemed to rise up and scream—_‘This is

awful!’ We cannot wait here longer; the dust will rise and rise

for ever!’_”

So that in more ways than one, camp-fires in the _Ergs_ hold

mysterious dangers.

CHAPTER XII

FEATHERS, AND THE PLACES THEY FREQUENT

[Illustration]

CHAPTER XII

FEATHERS, AND THE PLACES THEY FREQUENT

From time to time I am asked a great many questions regarding

the Sahara, and nothing has pleased me more than to find that

an astonishing number of people are interested in Nature, and

want to know something of the wild life in the country of my

travels. Invariably the first questions put by my interrogators are:

_“What lives in the Great Desert?”_ and _“However do creatures

exist in such a land?”_

Queries of the kind bring home realisation of how firmly is planted

the popular conception that the whole of the Sahara is desert,

and how difficult it becomes, once a belief is firmly planted, to

convey, by a broad sweep of the hand, or pen, the complete aspect of

any land by proxy. In general, it can be said that awe of the Great

Desert is the main feature that has taken hold in the mind’s-eye

of the public up to the present time, while the manifold changes of

locality, that are common to the completed character of any country,

are, as secluded havens, almost entirely overlooked. The romance

of the Sahara has, as it were, swept us off our balance, and the

picture is out of perspective, in the rush of workaday lives that

permit of little time for deep contemplation of subjects other than

those that are of immediate concern.

On the other hand, when work of exploration is undertaken in a

foreign land, it is the traveller’s first purpose to seek into

every nook and corner, far from the beaten track; and, where the

land is richest in vegetation, water, and seclusion, he expects to

find the rarest prizes.

In country like the Sahara the collector is sure of his ground. The

blank ranges of sand hold nothing, or next to nothing; and the

desert is vast. Wherefore he ranges far and seeks for sheltered

places that give of some fertility; aware that, in a land where

the struggle for existence is intense, the creatures of the wild

will have sought out the havens before him.

It may be of interest to describe a few of the places where birds

are found.

The caravan has been travelling for a few days over absolute

desert. I have observed nothing except a single house-fly,

noticeable, in exaggerated relief, simply because of the utter

absence of other life. Ending this tract of desert, there are

pebbly edges with scattered tufts of grass; farther back, a series

of slight hollows with a few bushes; and, farther on still, a clump

of acacias that screen the old uninhabited well that the caravan

is heading for to refill sagging waterskins.

Approaching this welcome change of country, an Arab Bustard takes

to flight and clears right away; alert and very shy.

Along the stony margin the most likely birds are larks, and, as

it is deep desert beyond, I am not surprised to see, matching the

sand in paleness, a single large Curve-billed Desert Lark, and two

or three Buff Saharan Larks.

Farther on, among the low shrubs and grass, I disturb a family

of Brown Bush Babblers: birds about the size of a thrush that fly

very low, and in the formation of a covey of partridges. They emit

a fussy, piping call while in flight, but do not go far before they

pitch into cover again.

In the clump of acacias beside the well I find a pair of Rufous

Warblers and a Yellow Sunbird.

In the evening a few visitors come to the well to drink, having

flown, perhaps, long distances from outlying feeding grounds. There

are only three varieties: the Red-eyed Grey Dove, which I have

come to call “the dove of the sand wastes,” because they are

so often present in drear places, and a few tiny Red Waxbills and

Grey Serin Finches.

When there is not water spilled at the mouth of the well, the birds

have learned, in their need to drink, to descend the dark funnel

to the water-level; and it is not uncommon to find some unfortunate

ones floating on the surface that have fallen in and been drowned.

In country of this type birds live on the pickings of the sand or

of withered leaf-blade; tiny grass seeds and seeds of plant blooms,

grasshoppers, crickets, ants, spiders, flies, and all minute insects

that gather about the hearts of plant life in a hot climate. Through

the day they hide as best they can from the intense heat, huddled in

little places of shade with open, panting beaks; and in the evenings

and mornings feed when the sting of the sun is less formidable.

A couple of Dorcas gazelle are sighted at sundown, and one is shot;

and before the caravan departs next day, there is a Desert Raven

at the remains of offal not claimed by my followers.

That, with a few variations, is the sum total of bird life

seen over a number of weeks of travel in drear country. Seldom,

indeed, are they plentiful; and, should one chance upon flocks

in a very attractive quarter, they are likely to be of only one

or two species. Hence, collecting in the Sahara is a painstaking

business, entailing long trying journeys of nomadic character, from

one place of promise to another, much fruitless searching, and many

disappointments. But enthusiasm is the life of the collector. So

that rebuffs and blank days seldom evoke despair.

In country of _Tassili_, which is wilderness of another type, the

best places for birds are where the land is very rugged and cut up

by chasms that run below the surface of the ground. There is often

some shrub, weed-plants, and rough grass tufts in the gullies,

which furnish some food for bird life, but the spot the collector

particularly prizes is where a rare pool of permanent water lies

in a rocky cleft.

[Illustrations: A BIRD DISGUISE, USED FOR HUNTING GAME]

Such a place is Tamengouit, two days north-west of the end of the

Aïr Mountains. The approaches are very rough and full of rugged

rifts. The country is bleak beyond description, and of black rock;

with the frowning hills of Takaraft and Abarakam in the background.

It is difficult to find passage for the camels, over rough country

of this nature, and we descended at a snail’s-pace toward a sand

waste in the distance; while camel-men reconnoitred in front to

find a clear course unblocked by sudden chasm. After considerable

loss of time, owing to set-backs that necessitated awkward detours,

the caravan reached its destination, and camped.

Water was about a quarter of a mile away at the head of a sandy

inlet. A bird of good omen swung slowly in the air over it: the

White Vulture, that is known to the nomads as _Kargi Mulet_. Tuareg

folklore teaches that: “If a traveller is in country that he is

not familiar with and sees _Kargi Mulet_ planing slowly to and fro

in the sky, it is sure news that water, or people, or game will

be found beneath where it flies. Wherefore, if anyone is lost,

the sight of this bird is an omen of succour near at hand.”

To find permanent open water is very surprising in such surroundings,

consequently the conditions under which it exists are of the utmost

interest. A few such rock-pools and ancient wells, for the most part

separated about five, six, or seven days’ march, afford the only

means of obtaining water in the uttermost interior of the Sahara.

Tamengouit is on latitude 20°. A chasm, that carries heavy weight

of water during rare storms, leads from the distant hills out to

the level sand. Just above the mouth it narrows to a long, deep

gulch with high walls that completely shut out the sun. It is so

narrow that it can be leapt across overhead. Down in the bottom,

all along its length, lie deep black waters, inaccessible, because

of the cliff walls, except at the mouth and at the top end.

One or two specimens, shot while flying overhead, pitched into the

chasm and could not be gathered. There is no seepage through the

rocks, and the secret of the water’s permanent existence is surely

in the fact that the all-absorbing sun cannot reach it. Gloomy and

cool, the chasm interior is as a thick-walled tank that no influence

of the elements can penetrate.

Remarkable in itself, this rock basin is equally remarkable on

account of bird life. In camp on the first night I heard Sandgrouse

calling at dusk, and in the night; and knew they were flighting

out of the clear sky, from unknown feeding grounds, to slake their

thirst in the still chasm. Their presence was certain assurance of

water known to the wild, and I turned to sleep expectant of a busy

day on the morrow.

And I was not disappointed. Early morning found me at the pool,

where a few Coronated Sandgrouse and Barred Sandgrouse still remained

from the flocks of overnight. Otherwise all was yet quiet, but I

could foresee change whenever the morning feeding time was over, for

there were plenty of feathers and toe-prints at the water’s edge,

to tell that numerous birds were in the habit of drinking there.

[Illustration: TWO MALE OSTRICHES

COLLECTED ON THE SOUTHERN SHORES OF THE SAHARA]

I spent the time searching for Nightjars among the rocky flats

beyond the chasm. Those nocturnal birds are very difficult to find,

because of their perfect protective colouring among the rocks where

they hide during the day, and their habit of remaining still until

almost trodden upon. My search proved fruitless, and I returned to

the water.

About 9 a.m., roughly, four hours after dawn, some groups of

small birds, directing one another by fussy chatterings, arrived

at the pool to drink, obviously very thirsty and excited because

my presence was disturbing and unusual. The greatest number were

Trumpeter Bullfinches, next in quantity, Grey Serin Finches, a few

Striolated Buntings, and one or two little dark Saharan martins

that gracefully flitted up and down the pool feeding on insects,

and dipping to drink occasionally.

Concerning the latter, all Martins, Swifts, and Swallows are termed

“_Afurtitta_” by the Tuaregs, and in their quaint folklore they

are “Birds of Allah that live always in the sky with God. It is

for all eyes to see that they are so entirely independent of the

earth that they never descend to the ground for the food of life,

and when they would drink they merely swoop to touch the surface

of the water.”

About ten o’clock a few Blue Rock Pigeons shot swiftly from the

sky to whirl into the chasm and perch on the shady cliff ledges. I

knew of their presence in some regions of Aïr in small scattered

numbers, so that at first I was not altogether surprised. But

when these were followed by flock after flock, until _hundreds_

had arrived, I was astonished, for I had never before witnessed a

like occurrence; nor have I since. Up till noon pigeons continued

to arrive, swift-winged and desperately eager to drink; whence

they came I knew not, but I judged that the late birds, at least,

had come from a tremendous distance.

Pondering over the strange occurrence, which was a very extraordinary

one in the Sahara, I came to the conclusion that this water,

because of its permanent state, was probably long known to these

fleet-flying birds; and that the news of its existence has been

passed on, as birds have a way of doing, until most of the pigeons

of the region knew of Tamengouit as a place of water that could be

relied on in the darkest periods of drought.

One other species was seen during the morning: a Peregrine

Falcon. His sudden appearance struck terror into the hearts of the

pigeons, who dived to their cliff ledges, to crouch wild-eyed under

the protection of the chasm, while the raider swung wide, waiting

for the victim he would choose to kill. Well they knew him as the

master bird of flight, possessed of speed that none might elude in

a race through the air. But for once he was baulked, for he feared

my presence. Moreover, it was too hot for him to remain overlong at

a distance in the sky. Hence, after a time, he turned definitely

east and sped away to some shady ledge in ravine or mountain to

await the cool of evening.

[Illustration: CATTLE EGRETS]

Tamengouit was but a halt by the wayside, and next day it recovered

its wonted solitude as the caravan trailed slowly away.

Out in the dreariest desert there is one strange bird that

the traveller may see; not commonly, but only rarely when a

camel dies. On such occasions one may watch the clear blue sky,

where it reaches its uttermost height, and, in time, discern the

tiniest speck, at a tremendous distance, poised there for a seeming

indefinite period. By and by, in like inexplicable manner, other

specks foregather from unseen source beyond the sight of men. And

there they may remain for hours, perhaps coming a little nearer;

but on the morning following one awakes to find huge Griffon

Vultures sitting ghoul-like round the carcase, waiting the time

that it shall be torn asunder while one, perched on the head,

endeavours to start an opening round the soft parts of the eye.

Of different character to such wilderness places of bird life are

the oases of the Sahara, where a few species which I term sedentary

birds are to be found; and migrants, on their way across Africa.

Date palms, garden cultivation, and open irrigation ditches, are

the chief attractions to bird life in such places; but, since these

are in close proximity to dwellings and the disturbance of mankind,

only a few species settle permanently in these localities. Birds

that are fairly sure to be seen in oases are: Desert Ravens, on the

look out to pillage scraps, Black Wheatears, living on the ants

and flies that molest habitations, Yellow Sparrows, frequenting

the palms, and Striolated Buntings that are prone to be very tame

and sparrow-like about the dusty hut-doors.

The unexpected in oases is very often some migrant, if the season

be March-April in the spring, or October-November in the autumn. At

these times birds flight on their long, instinct-prompted voyage,

across Africa, and, should one be out on the desert, strange calls

may be heard overhead at night from flocks that wing their way

through the sky. Some of these migrants lose their way, or lose

their strength, and falter, for crossing the Great Desert is akin

to crossing the sea. I have known Swallows and Wagtails and Shrikes

to come flying in toward my caravan, when it was the only object in

an immensity of space, and seek a resting-place on the loads of the

camels. On one occasion I caught a Yellow Wagtail by putting out a

hand from my seat in the saddle to seize it as a cricketer clutches

a ball. It was in great distress, and I tipped my water-bottle

until the bird could see the water at the mouth. Immediately it

drank hungrily, though clasped in my hand. I carried it thereafter

until an oasis was reached, when I set it free.

[Illustration: YOUNG ARAB BUSTARDS]

In cruel, ungiving desert the traveller, at times, comes across

the pitiful skeletons of birds that have perished from thirst and

want on ill-fated pilgrimage. And mortal mind pauses in sympathy

with the wild in the appalling poverty of such a lingering death;

for all who know the desert are aware of the grim price that is

paid by any living creature unfortunate enough to become involved

in the folds of a land that expresses neither mercy nor hate,

yet slowly kills with terrifying intent.

On the other hand, distressed migrants sometimes find succour in

landing at oases. And the numbers of wayfarers that drift into such

harbours in this way are astonishing because they are so out of

place in their temporary sandy surroundings. For instance, I have

shot our Common Snipe in the Sahara, and collected Tern, Stilt,

Sandpiper, Shoveller, Pintail, Teal, Heron, and others that have

nothing whatever in common with the country.

It would be irksome to go into all the details that surround the

bird life of the Sahara, but a few further notes on the Tuareg

folklore that relates to certain species may be of interest before

concluding. In each case I give the native name of the Tuaregs.

The Black Wheatear is known to the nomad as _Seni Seni_. “It

is the bird that brings news of strangers; particularly news of

robbers. If anyone strange is approaching, _Seni Seni_ flies at once

into a prominent position and perches perfectly still, attentively

watching. Whenever the little bird becomes satisfied that the figures

are strangers it commences to bob its head rapidly up and down; and

so one may take warning. If they are not strangers assuredly the bird

will hop down to pick about the ground and take no further notice.”

Another bird, according to their folklore, warns the nomad of the

presence of snakes. This is _Tagishit Aschiel_, the Lesser Rufous

Warbler, which spends most of its time about the kind of tangled

undergrowth that snakes are given to frequent.

“Whenever _Tagishit Aschiel_ detects a snake he will cry out

vigorously and constantly, so that from our hut doors we may hear

him, and run out and find the vile reptile; which we are glad to

kill, for we fear them about our encampments.”

Yet another bird of warning is: _Agishit n’Ugur_: the large Yellow

Barbet, which is: “The Jackal Bird; because whenever it sees a

Jackal it gives out a loud rilling call, and makes a great to-do

until the enemy of our flocks is driven away.”

_Ashara_, the Rufous-breasted Starling, is: “The bird of omen of

death, because when it is heard in the evening or at night making

a noise resembling the tearing of robes for a shroud, it is likely

that on the morrow we shall hear that one of our people has died.”

_Zunkusharat_, the great Curve-billed Desert Lark: “An evil

bird of which all nomads teach their children to beware, because

of its alluring habit of flying only a short distance before

resettling. Unwary boys think they can catch it easily and are thus

led away into the desert without watching where they go; until they

are lost.”

_Ebakorian-Mallam_ is a name sometimes applied to the Buff Saharan

Lark, the latter part of the name being Hausa, meaning scholar or

teacher or priest. “For it is a saintly bird that is always at

peace, and robs no one. It is content with the seeds by the wayside,

and disturbs neither cultivation nor place of dwelling.”

_Bi-Allah_. The tiny Red Senegal Waxbill, is “The bird of

perpetual content. All day it picks about the doorstep and roosts

in the lintel; and all our people know it as emblematic of peace

and unconcern, and so have termed it ‘the tiny priest of God.’”

_Tedabear Takleet_, the Palm Dove, is smaller than the Grey Dove,

and, when both happen to be feeding or drinking together, the larger

dove domineers the smaller. _Takleet_ means slave, and therefore, in

Tuareg folklore, “the Palm Dove is the slave of the Grey Dove.”

_Tilel_, the Guinea Fowl, has a curious legend concerning it which

has arisen because of the blood-red wattles on the head. “See,

he is marked by the blow where man hit him, because he would not

show people place of water. And ever since that time he has been a

dazed fool bird, so that anyone is able to catch him in the trees.”

The outcome of prolonged research in the Sahara during 1919 and

1920, and again in 1922 and 1923, was that altogether 134 different

species and subspecies of birds were collected for Lord Rothschild

from the Sahara, and seventy-three additional varieties from the

Western Sudan.

The Sahara specimens comprised the following birds[19]:

1. Guinea Fowl.

2. Common Quail (M).

3. Coot (M).

4. Large and small Long-tailed Senegal Sandgrouse.

5. Coronated Sandgrouse.

6. Lichtenstein’s Barred Sandgrouse.

7. Nubian Bustard.

8. Arab Bustard.

9. Tern (M).

10. Stilt (M).

11. Wood Sandpiper (M).

12. Common Sandpiper (M).

13. Ruff and Reeve (M).

14. Snipe (M).

15. Stone Curlew.

16. Green Sandpiper (M).

17. Spurwing Plover.

18. Cream-coloured Cursor.

19. Palm Dove.

20. Red-eyed Grey Dove.

21. Turtle Dove.

22. Cape Dove.

23. Blue Rock Pigeon.

24. Shoveller (M).

25. Pintail (M).

26. Common Teal (M).

27. Garganey Teal (M).

28. Tree Duck (M).

29. Great Billed Goose (M).

30. Egyptian Goose (M).

31. Night Heron (M).

32. Purple Heron (M).

33. Bittern.

34. Black and White Stork.

35. Glossy Ibis.

36. Carrion Vulture.

37. White Vulture.

38. Griffon Vulture.

39. White-breasted Eagle.

40. Egyptian Kite.

41. Pallid Hen Harrier (M).

42. Singing Hawk.

43. Peregrine Falcon.

44. Kestrel.

45. Barn Owl

46. African Long-eared Owl.

47. Eagle Owl.

48. Scops Owl (M).

49. Long-eared Grey Owl.

50. Asben Little Owl (B).

51. Black and White Crested Cuckoo.

52. Golden Cuckoo.

53. Red-billed Hornbill.

54. Greater Saharan Woodpecker.

55. Lesser Saharan Woodpecker.

56. African Roller.

57. African Hoopoe.

58. European Hoopoe (M).

59. Wood Hoopoe (B).

60. Black-capped Blue Bee Eater.

61. Green Bee-Eater.

62. Blue Naped Crested Coly.

63. Goldcrest Barbet.

64. Yellow-breasted Barbet.

65. Red-headed Barbet (B).

66. Golden Nightjar (B).

67. European Nightjar (M).

68. Brown Nightjar and Pennant Winged Nightjar.

69. White-rumped Swift.

70. European Swift (M).

71. Pallid Swift.

72. Red-rumped African Swallow.

73. European Swallow (N).

74. Saharan Rock Martin (B).

75. Redstart (M).

76. Common Wheatear (M).

77. Desert Wheatear.

78. Black Wheatear.

79. Saharan Rock Chat (B).

80. Whinchat (M).

81. Rock Thrush (M).

82. Black Thicket Babbler.

83. Brown Bush Babbler (B).

84. Rufous Warbler.

85. Reiser’s Pallid Warbler.

86. Icterine Warbler (M).

87. Chestnut-breasted Grey Warbler.

88. Common Whitethroat (M).

89. Orphean Warbler (M).

90. Chiff-chaff (M).

91. Willow Wren (M).

92. Crowned Grass Warbler.

93. Alexander’s Scrub Warbler.

94. Short-tailed Buff-breasted Warbler.

95. Yellow-breasted Sunbird.

96. Dark Green Sunbird (B).

97. Sudanese Penduline Tit.

98. Puff-backed Flycatcher.

99. Spotted Flycatcher (M).

100. Pied Flycatcher (M).

101. Collared Flycatcher (M).

102. Grey Shrike.

103. Red-headed Shrike (M).

104. Small Chestnut Striped Shrike.

105. Yellow Wagtail (M).

106. White Wagtail (M).

107. Asben Brown Pipit (B).

108. European Tawny Pipit (M).

109. European Tree Pipit (M).

110. Red-throated Pipit (M).

111. Great Curve-billed Desert Lark.

112. Mirafra Short-toed Lark.

113. Buff Saharan Lark (B one group).

114. Crested Lark.

115. Bar-tailed Desert Lark.

116. Small Thick-billed Lark.

117. Eastern Short-toed Lark(M).

118. Chestnut Black-breasted Lark.

119. Grey Black-breasted Lark.

120. Striolated Bunting.

121. Desert Sparrow.

122. Chestnut-backed Yellow Sparrow.

123. Grey Serin Finch.

124. Trumpeter Bullfinch.

125. Pencil-crowned Weaver (B).

126. Lesser Yellow Weaver.

127. Greater Yellow Weaver.

128. Singing Finch.

129. Senegal Waxbill.

130. Rufous-breasted Starling.

131. Wing-spotted Glossy Starling.

132. Pied Crow.

133. Desert Raven.

134. Short-tailed Raven.

[Illustration: CARRION VULTURES]

The following are the additional seventy-three species and subspecies

that were found in the Western Sudan on the southern margins of

the Sahara between latitudes 12° and 16°:

135. Ostrich.

136. Rock Partridge.

137. Francolin (two species).

138. Barred Sandgrouse.

139. Pigmy Golden Quail.

140. Senegal Bustard.

141. Wattled Plover.

142. Cream-coloured Cursor.

143. Blue-spotted Ground Dove.

144. Greater Grey Dove.

145. Dark-eyed Grey Dove.

146. Blue-spotted Pigeon.

147. Green Pigeon.

148. Cattle Egret.

149. Large Grey Heron.

150. Sacred Ibis.

151. Snake Eagle.

152. Swallow-tailed Hawk.

153. Red-winged Hawk.

154. Sparrow Hawk.

155. Banded Gymmogene.

156. Red-headed Falcon.

157. Pigmy Falcon.

158. Lanner Falcon.

159. Senegal Little-eared Owl.

160. Little Owl

161. Lark-heeled Cuckoo.

162. Great Spotted Cuckoo.

163. Black-billed Hornbill.

164. Large Grey Plantain Eater.

165. Small Green Parrot.

166. Spotted-capped Woodpecker.

167. Square-tailed African Roller.

168. Little Short-tailed Roller.

169. Grey Kingfisher (B).

170. Black and Scarlet Barbet.

171. Greater Wood Hoopoe.

172. Long-tailed Nightjar.

173. Palm Swift.

174. African Swallow.

175. Red-browed Swallow.

176. Black and White Wheatear (M).

177. Sudanese Rock-Chat (B).

178. Brown Bush Babbler (B).

179. Common Reed Warbler (M).

180. Bonelli’s Warbler (M).

181. Long-tailed Scrub Warbler.

182. Little Scrub Warbler.

183. Golden-thighed Warbler.

184. Striped Grass Warbler.

185. Senegal Sunbird.

186. White Eye.

187. Paradise Flycatcher.

188. Red-winged Bush Shrike.

189. Crimson Shrike.

190. Black and White Crested Shrike (B).

191. Long-tailed Shrike.

192. Painted Yellow-breasted Bunting.

193. Greater Bush Sparrow.

194. Lesser Bush Sparrow (B).

195. Yellow Serin Finch.

196. Large Black Weaver.

197. Whydah Finch.

198. Little Black Weaver.

199. Red Bishop.

200. Banded Amadevat.

201. Melba Finch.

202. Grey Scarlet-marked Waxbill.

203. Bengalee Waxbill.

204. Long-tailed Glossy Starling.

205. Purple Starling.

206. Tick Bird.

207. Little Long-tailed Crow.

CHAPTER XIII

MAMMALS OF THE SAHARA

[Illustration]

CHAPTER XIII

MAMMALS OF THE SAHARA

Lacking the wings of the feathered world, the animal life of the

Sahara has not the same highly convenient means of passing from

place to place, when the necessity arises to evacuate exhausted

feeding ground and find more favourable country. Therefore, if hard

pressed, they move carefully, and only at certain seasons, and are

apt to cling closely to favoured regions, where such are found.

Any real migratory instinct is, with a few exceptions, not pronounced

in the animals of the Sahara, and by far the greater number remain

closely confined within their natural types of country, even though

these are impoverished and struggle for an existence is keen.

If, on a map of the western portion of Africa, we glance along a

line from south to north, starting from Kano in Northern Nigeria,

which is about latitude 12°, it is possible to get a rapid idea

from the creatures of the country of the change from tropical

regions to Saharan regions.

At Kano may be found that loathsome reptile, the Crocodile, and, in

the same latitude, Lion; west of Katsina, Elephants, and scattered

groups of Giraffe right to the shores of the Sahara in the bush

country of Damergou.

The northern boundary of Damergou, which runs along the outer edge

of the bush belt, may be taken to be about latitude 16°; and it is

there, at the junction between bush and desert, that one finds the

line of decided change. Curiously enough, as if to incite one to

remember, before entering the desert, the good things that go with

a bush-land, it is close to, and on, that very line that four of the

most handsome Gazelle and Antelope of Africa are to be found at their

best: the White Oryx, Addax, Red-fronted Gazelle, and Damas Gazelle.

All through the dry season—long, weary months among sun-withered

vegetation—these animals frequent the margins of bush and

desert; but when the rains of the Sudan set in they move out

from the sheltered, fly-infested scrub on to the open plains, to

enjoy a far-reaching freedom and the fresh winds of the boundless

spaces. The Red-fronted Gazelle and Damas Gazelle are content with

wandering at no great range beyond their permanent locality, but

the White Oryx and Addax, which have strong nomadic instincts and

ever move restlessly from place to place, wander right away north

when driven from the bush. I have seen them in latitude 18°, and

the footprints of Addax in the sand as far north as latitude 22°,

while Tuaregs of Ahaggar report the same animal to be west of the

mountains on latitude 25°. This is not altogether surprising in

respect to the Addax, as a few are found south of Tunis and Algeria,

but it may not always be realised that the main stock of the species

originates in the bush-belt that pertains along latitude 16°,

which forms the shores of the Sahara in the Western Sudan and,

doubtless, it is the same line, away eastward, that is the chief

habitat of the Addax in Kordofan in the Egyptian Sudan.

[Illustration: A MORNING’S BAG

DORCAS GAZELLE AND GUINEA-FOWL]

Once clear of the bush, the species of big game that live in the

Sahara throughout the year are very limited. Dorcas Gazelle is the

principal animal, and may be found throughout the interior in small

numbers; sometimes approachable, if the country is broken; sometimes

excessively wild in the open wastes. Its protective sand-colour is

remarkable, and, standing still, it is often passed over in scanning

a landscape, though perhaps broadside on, in full view, and at no

great distance. On occasions of the kind I have suddenly realised

that I stood face to face with one of these beautiful creatures,

and have ejaculated under my breath: “Good heavens, I must have

been asleep not to have seen you before!”

In addition to the above, one or two Damas Gazelle were seen in

Aïr and in Ahaggar, feeding on the vegetation of sandy wadis,

and a few rare Wart Hog in the former mountains. But there end the

ungulate animals of the Sahara, excepting the king of them all,

the Arui, or Barbary Sheep, which I will return to later.

Of the lesser animals the chief of interest are: Jackals, Lynx,

Wild Cats, Hyenas, Foxes, Fennecs, Ratel, Ground Squirrels, Gerbils,

Spiny Mice, Jerboas, Porcupines, Gundis, Dassies, and Hares.

Like the bird life, but even more so, these animals are nowhere

plentiful, and the species collected were obtained over a

prolonged period, and through traversing a tremendous extent of

country. Sixty-four different species and subspecies were collected

altogether, representing examples of almost every animal that

lives on the shores of the Sahara and in its interior, and these

have proved of the greatest scientific value to the authorities

of the British Museum in linking up the mammalogy across a vast

tract of Africa. The mammals of my first expedition were collected

for Lord Rothschild, who generously presented a set of all species

obtained to the British Museum, and I was glad to add the results

of the second expedition to our national museum to make the whole

as complete as possible.

The collections contained no fewer than fifteen new species

and eleven new subspecies, which Messrs. Oldfield Thomas and

M. A. C. Hinton, of the British Museum, have declared to be one of

the most remarkable collections of novelties ever secured in the

history of mammalogy.

I feel that, to give some impressions of the animal life of the land,

they should be dealt with under one or two aspects. The first place

of interest is the southern shore of the Sahara, particularly at

the time of rains—August-September, or thereabouts.

[Illustration: BIG GAME FROM THE SHORES OF THE SAHARA

FINE HEADS OF WHITE ORYX AND ADDAX]

To any caravan out on the trail rains are a tremendous discomfort,

and with camels, in wet weather the drawbacks are increased. Yet

it often falls to the lot of the traveller to journey through the

worst of weather, and on my second expedition it happened to be my

wish to reach the neighbourhood of the bush edge at the season in

question because of the movement of game.

In accomplishing this my caravan experienced outdoor conditions

at their worst. Everyone knows the intensity of tropical storms

in their wild, spasmodic outbursts. When the weather broke the

caravan was beset with periods of low-flung thunder and lightning,

hurricane winds, and torrential rains that swooped across the land

with alarming rapidity and malignant fierceness. Enforced camps had

to be hurriedly pitched to protect valued specimens and perishable

baggage, while the work of skinning, which was always my concern,

was impossible, even under canvas, owing to the fierceness of wind

and driving rain.

Each day, at one time or another while _en route_—sometimes

at an extremely awkward hour, when only a short distance had been

travelled from the last camp—great black clouds would race up from

the skyline, to be watched anxiously until the first deep rumblings

of thunder gave warning to hasten to take cover. Whereat the camels

had to be halted at once on any piece of raised ground near at hand

that gave promise of not being under water when the torrent should

fall. It was always a mad race against the elements. So soon as the

brutes were on their knees camel-men hurriedly released the loads

from the saddles, then piled them in a heap, and covered all with a

large ship’s tarpaulin carried for the purpose. At the same time

a tent would be hurriedly pitched.

Sometimes we were ready for the onslaught of the storm just in the

nick of time, or got drenched to the skin battling to hold down the

last few tent-ropes and drive home secure pegs as the first wave

of the gale hurled in upon us. Then, packed into the small space of

the tent, masters and men crouched, sheltering from the storm, and

waited impotently its passing. No meal could be cooked—not even

a comforting cup of tea. If it happened to be evening, or night,

camp-beds and blankets had perforce to remain unpacked among

the baggage. Sometimes the operator and I slept on the ground,

under cover of the tent, in the clothes we stood in, and went to

bed foodless. On other occasions we risked the rain and sought such

rest as could be found in wet bedding, soaked either by actual rain

or the heavy dew that always followed.

This did not end discomfort. Mosquitoes and sand-flies followed

these storms, and were terrible pests. I have never known them

more persistent and venomous, and everyone suffered from poisonous

scars, as if we had been attacked by swarms of bees. So bad were

they that some of the natives slept on platforms in the branches

of thorn-trees, gaining some little relief from their tormentors

in these elevated but body-racking “crows’ nests.”

But my camels suffered most of all. The poor brutes appeared to get

no rest whatever, even round the smoke of huge log fires that were

built, when it was possible, to keep away the pests. All night they

could be heard tossing and rolling in the sand to throw off their

tormentors: vain efforts that brought barely a moment’s relief,

for the air hummed with armies of the terrible insects.

These were our troubles in camp. When it was fine enough to travel

we found a fairyland of damp, fragrant sand from which fresh green

shoots were already springing, while insects hummed and birds

twittered with all the gladness of a wonderful dawn. The magic

touch of abundant rain was upon the land, though swift would be

its passing.

It was the season for wild life to be abroad. Game, and tracks of

game, were abundant. Damas Gazelle were seen in picturesque herds,

their white sides and rumps showing in the bush like silver on

a cloth of green, while the more sedately coloured Red-fronted

Gazelle and Dorcas Gazelle, in small parties or pairs, were passed

at almost every turning on the trail.

Ostriches, great birds that never seem to rest, were sometimes

sighted far off, passing on their journey of the day, picking a

morsel here and there, but never ceasing in their onward march.

Giraffe was seen only once, but on a number of occasions their fresh

tracks were crossed. These were left unfollowed, as a specimen of

the species was not wanted.

After those brief days of torrential rain-bursts all tracks in

the tell-tale sand told that the game were moving out northward

as the growth of fresh vegetation advanced. My caravan followed

the same course. On the outer bush-edge those beautiful antelope,

the White Oryx, were encountered, and small bands of cattle-like

Addax: animals that appear almost equally white at a distance,

until the black forehead and dark-marked limbs of the latter can

be discerned. Both are adorned with magnificent heads of horns,

three feet to three feet six inches in length, or thereabouts.