Chapter VIII: The People of the Veil

The outstanding inhabitants of the Great Desert are “The People of the Veil”; a term by which the Tuaregs are generally known, and one that is employed by themselves, collectively, in the designation _Kel-Tagilmus_, which in their language has exactly the same meaning. It is they who, in widely scattered tribes of small numbers, dominate the Sahara and the sedentary serfs, they who are pre-eminently a class unto themselves, and they who are responsible for much of the romance that has given to the Sahara a world-wide mystical fame.

To appreciate their remarkable character it should be borne in mind that the Tuaregs are a southern race of Berbers, whose military history goes back through many centuries. Indeed, Berber armies twice invaded Europe: in the time of Hannibal, and when the Moors invaded Spain in 710 A.D. Since those early days of history they have ever been a warlike people, and in the unrest of the Riffs to-day, more than half of whom are Berbers, we have an example of the psychology of recurrent forces of a dominant characteristic of the race.

This background is a great aid toward grasping and understanding the restless, drifting, veiled nomads of the Sahara to-day, who have to fend for themselves in an insecure wilderness that is sometimes aptly pronounced, “The Land of Dread,” and “The Land of the Sword.”

By the very fact of their ancestral inheritance, the Tuaregs are able clansmen in an appropriate sphere; and the wild fastnesses that make up their environment encourage every trait of feudal fitness to develop rather than recede. So that, when these circumstances are embraced and weighed in the scale of reasoning, it is not altogether surprising to find that they are, beyond all else, past-masters in cunning war-craft; and that there is no Tuareg, over the age of childhood, who is not fully versed in every detail of a subject that is their primary education. Consequently, whatever the conditions under which they are met, the Tuaregs are, in foremost characteristic, a people skilled and able in war, and every man a disciplined soldier when need arises. And though it is a fact that feuds and raids are on a whole growing less violent and numerous in the Sahara to-day, owing to the military activities of the French Administrations of Algiers and the Sudan, and the increasing poverty of the interior, the hereditary quality of the soldier in the Tuaregs is so ineradicable that one is always aware of their true character and inclinations, no matter in what circumstance or environment they are encountered.

Here is a pen-picture of a far-famed raider of the interior:

“He is a little old man; old in years, but young in activities and spirit. He has not the long, raking swing of the tireless footpad nor the graceful ease of bearing that belongs to the average man of his race. He walks with a short, perky step peculiarly his own.

“All his life has been spent in a camel-saddle, and only there can it be said that he is perfect and complete. Contrary to the standards of drama, his features are neither cruel nor repulsive. His Tuareg veil is worn low, and an open countenance and clear eyes of attractive largeness expand in a delightful smile when he greets you—if you are his friend.

“He is unpretentious; almost ridiculously shy. Yet you are aware that nothing escapes him. He has the eyes of an eagle. To anyone not aware of his calling, he gives the impression of being a fine old man with a kindly soul. Aware of his calling, you feel he has at heart the instinct of a sportsman, and that such instincts assuredly mitigated his wildest acts of lawlessness.

“Riding or walking, a double-edged sword hangs on his left side, and he carries a long shafted spear in his hand. He cannot count how many raids he has taken part in; the number is too great. His biggest success was the capture of three hundred camels and seventy women and children on one raid. His most memorable failure occurred when he had taken two hundred camels and fifty captives and was five days out on the desert on his homeward journey when counter-attacked in the night by the people he had plundered and completely routed. His band scattered and had terrible difficulty in reaching their mountain stronghold in Aïr. Seven of his comrades were lost and died of exhaustion or thirst—‘Bah! It was not good!’

“These were big raids from fifty to one hundred men. Ordinary raids were composed of from fifteen to twenty men, armed with flint-lock firearms, and each robber was capable of rounding up, and taking care of, three to four camels apiece, when they swooped upon their victims. Captives were taken, in addition, and were sold to buy fresh arms and ammunition. A good, able-bodied male captive realised one hundred silver pieces, of coin the size of a sixpence, and a comely woman four hundred silver pieces, in the markets of Ghat and elsewhere. His days of raiding are over. He wishes he could recall them, and declares the life of adventure was a grand game, where prizes were many, in camels and captives.

“He stays a few days in our camp—then, of an evening, a little dark figure on a camel trails out alone into silent solitude until he is lost from view.

“No man knows the road he travels.”

Another raider, with the ugly scar of a sword-slash on his left side, that sometimes showed in raising the arm, when the loose robes blew aside, told me the following story of his most exciting adventure:

“It occurred about thirty years ago. We had no rifles; only swords and spears. There were a hundred men in our band, all mounted on camels. Some camels carried two men.

“Our camp was hungry, and we set out to plunder whatever chanced our way. We had no news of caravans when we started, and did not know what we might find.

“After crossing a wilderness of desert we came upon a small lot of camels, which we seized without fighting.

“But, by that time, some of the men were tired, discontented, and afraid, and tried to persuade all of us to give up and return to our own country. I would not agree; and, finally, we split; some going home while I led the others on.

“Later we crossed the tracks of a big caravan, and followed to spy on it. The caravan was a rich one. But we were afraid to attack it, for we could see that three of the men carried _flint-lock_ rifles, and some of them were mounted on horses. It was the rifles we feared, for we knew they could deal death before we could reach our enemy, while we knew the horses would enable them to outpace our camels, and stand off so long as they willed if we attacked in open fight.

“But the temptation was great: and at last I planned that I would creep into their camp on the fringe of dawn while the others lay close on the outskirts.

“Allah was with me. I got in among the horses, undetected, and freed them. Then I set about stampeding the camp while my comrades rushed in upon it to enter in hand-to-hand conflict.

“But one of the men with a rifle got away on a bare-backed horse, and he came near creating a panic among us. However, luckily, most of his ammunition was in his saddle-bag, and we soon discovered he could shoot no more.

“That was the end. It was an Arab caravan and we killed or captured all. There were 200 camels laden with cotton goods, tea, and sugar—a rich prize that long remained the topic of our camp-fires when we returned to our own country.”

Later I met one who knew some of the Arabs who were killed in that raid, which confirmed R———’s story.

Yet another of those strange men that I chanced across in my travels was Saidi Mousa—one of the leaders in the late Kaosen rebellion. He was a young man to be so noted, perhaps forty to forty-five years of age. But he had remarkably keen eyes, and a restless shiftiness that I did not altogether like.

I came on him in an oasis, under very curious guise, for he was trading as an ordinary native, and I induced him to find me some Arab cigarettes. I had little doubt that his presence in the town was with political intent, and that he was largely acting the part of a spy.

Throughout the years such raids have always gone on in the Sahara; while in quite recent times we have the remarkable rising of 1916, mustered and equipped in the Fezzan and led by Kaosen, which involved nearly all the Tuaregs of the Sahara, before their forces were turned on the fringes of the Western Sudan.

But there is one modern change: the rifle is surely replacing the sword in combat. Do not be deceived in this. The sword is a part of the Tuareg’s national dress, and accordingly is ever present. But, though they may deem it wise to conceal their knowledge, and bury any arms they may possess, the Tuaregs have learned the value of the rifle in attack. Yet, unless you happen to be a proved friend, it is odds against them revealing anything of that, for they are ever suspicious of any human presence outside their own camp, even to dreading traitors among their neighbours; while they fear the laws of the white man that endeavour to prevent strength of arms. This attitude of cunning concealment is aptly expressed in one of their proverbs:

“It is wise to kiss the hand that you cannot cut off.”

Although raids are fewer than in the past, it is nevertheless true of to-day that the danger of raids is a fear that everyone must experience in travelling the Sahara; and no one has that dread of unwarned attack more at heart than the Tuaregs themselves. Which is because they are experienced in the craft of their country, and well know the penalty if caught in the violence of an unexpected attack by forces stronger than themselves—_and, in my opinion, it is always a force that is overpowering, in numbers or arms, that strikes at quarry comparatively easy of conquest_, especially when caught off their guard, which is strategy they are skilled in.

During my travels in the Sahara I happened to be intimately in touch with three raids. While between In-Azaoua and the Ahaggar Mountains, although blissfully ignorant until afterwards, when the tracks were discovered in the sand, my caravan was followed by raiders from the Fezzan, who sheered off without attacking when we reached the hills and the protection of the _Ehaggaran_ Tuaregs. It transpired that the robbers had picked up and followed our tracks from the well of In-Azaoua, where we had taken water.

Timia[16] and Tigguida n’Tisem were both attacked and plundered just before I entered them, while Aouderas, when I camped there, was the scene of great excitement and expectancy of attack, when a raid, of which warning was out, attacked and burned Anai.

It is of interest that Timia was attacked when _the pick of its able-bodied men were away_ south to Hausaland with their caravans, while Tigguida n’Tisem is _entirely a town of religious people who know nothing of fighting_, and made no defence whatever when the robbers attacked.

These raiders were fully armed with rifles. At Timia I picked up, on the day following the conflict, some lead-nosed Turkish ammunition and a full clasp of rimless ammunition, marked F.P.C.-08, such as is used in modern Italian rifles.

The most renowned robber chiefs in the Sahara during my travels were Chibikee, Fawna (the fugitive Chief of the _Kel-Wai_), Amud, and Alifa; and each was a significant name of outlawry that had power to strike dread in the hearts of the bravest. Of these, Chibikee has died (1920), and Alifa, in 1923, had come to be the most notorious character in the land.

I have dwelt, to commence with, on this intimate atmosphere in the life of the Tuaregs because it has a powerful influence on the people. Fear of raids, or the doings of raiders, among themselves or of invaders from afar, is the perpetual topic of conversation in camp or with the caravans. All Tuaregs, first and foremost, are consequently ever suspicious of their environment, and this has bred a restless uneasiness that appears to see danger in everything and constant need for stealth and preparedness. This uncertain and harassing state of affairs has had its effect on a war-wise people. The inherited instincts of their Berber forebears remain: there is no growth of cowardice; but the conditions have developed a soldier-native of surpassing cunning and wily intrigue.

It is curious, too, how the nature of environment affects them. They are not all the same. Like wild creatures under the blue sky, they reflect the influences about them. The Tuareg who lives under the cover of the remote mountains of Aïr is wild and comparatively timid. He is often like a hunted creature that dreads to venture forth—he is aware of the strength of the rugged glens and caves, and the protection they offer. On the other hand, the Tuareg of the _Ergs_, who of necessity lives in open seas of sand, is bold and daring, and, because of the lack of any place of refuge, takes the risk of raids every day of his adventurous life. As a consequence, he is a force to be reckoned with, and I have little doubt that from among such folk come the chief raiding bands of to-day.

Again, take the Tuaregs of the north; of Ahaggar, Ashgur, and the Fezzan, who are all much the same in character. The _Ehaggaran_, like the Tuaregs of Aïr, are largely a mountain-living people; yet they are decidedly bolder. In my opinion, this is explained in that peoples of the northern regions of the Sahara have ever been nearer to the civilisation of Europe, and the subsequent civilisation of the North African coastal regions. In journeys to the bazaars of such places as In-Salah, Ouargla, and Biskra, they have no doubt learned of the ways of a bold-living world, and have taken some of these teachings to heart. Moreover, they have known the moral support of the rifle longer; while they have the example of the Arabs behind them, not vastly distant, to encourage them in strength of a worldly character.

No doubt it is because of this very same influence of encroaching civilisation that I noted, in the passing, that the northern Tuaregs were not so alert in examining the tracks of strangers, nor yet so expert as camel-men as their neighbours farther in the interior.

Regarding their distribution, one may chance across Tuaregs known by such tribal names as _Ekaskazan_, _Efararen_, _Ehaggaran_, _Kel-Rada_, _Kel-Geras_, _Kel-Tedili_, _Kel-Wai_, and many others; but those are simply names that imply the locality they belong to. For instance, _Kel-Ferouan_ means “The people of Iferouan.”

A remarkable fact is that the Tuaregs of the Sahara are in widely separated groups, who hold strangely aloof from one another, instead of associating, as might naturally be expected of people of one race and one country. Some of the main tribal centres are: Timbuktu, Kidal, Aïr, Ahaggar, Ashgur, and the Fezzan. All have the same customs and manners, but vary considerably in dialect. There the connection ends, for each group is a power unto itself, and neighbours are looked upon as feudal enemies. They may fight among themselves over intrigues for local power or favoured pastures, but it is with everyone outside that traditional hostility exists.

And it is this state of affairs that has always led to ferment along the highways and byways of the Sahara, and opens the door to brigandage.

The Tuaregs exact homage from their serfs, and from the sedentary peoples of the Saharan Oases, who seldom dream of opposing them. They resemble haughty cavaliers who drift, on occasions, into the society of towns where they are strangers, and conduct themselves as such. They do their business and keep their counsels to themselves, and depart as abruptly as they came. Consequently they have few friends, and are, at heart, hated by the townsfolk, who are well aware of their scornful demeanour toward all who work with their hands, which is, to some degree, expressed in a Tuareg proverb:

“Shame enters the family that tills the soil.”

But, to-day, this attitude sometimes recoils upon them. Many of the Tuareg slaves are captives from Hausaland. These are so addressed, and have to be respectful to their masters. But when the Tuareg journeys south, say, to Kano, where he covets cotton gowns and trade, he finds himself completely out of his own sphere, and often treated as so much dirt. His mortification is complete when, in the busy streets, some bold Hausa native openly addresses him as _slave_, while he is powerless to refute the term, owing to the prejudice of alien surroundings.

But their true province is far removed from towns. Anywhere, where there is scattered grazing and water, one may expect to find the Tuareg nomad of the Sahara, provided that place is remote enough. His home is under the blue sky, and the tiny grass or tent-covered huts of his family are secreted far from the society of other people. Occasionally he may voyage to a trade centre, like a ship seeking a foreign port, to obtain food and clothing and luxuries for his tribe, and glean news of the world beyond his narrow confines; but essentially he is a creature of the wilderness.

Their encampments are usually widely scattered: half a dozen huts where the head of the family is located, then a few other families, perhaps miles apart. It is the economic necessity to be within reach of grazing for their live-stock that causes this isolated method of camping. Sometimes food is so very scarce that a single family is the sole occupant of a wide area.

These nomadic camps are within reach of water, but, as a general rule, never beside it. That would be dangerous, for water is the calling point of strangers. Camped wide of water, the nomads have a chance to be warned if enemy should arrive in quest to slake their thirst. And this is a fine protective precaution, for the raiders must have water at some place or other during their secretive marches, and forewarning of their presence is often gained in this way; for, even if robbers get in at night to a well-head or water-hole, they cannot cover their tracks in the tell-tale sand.

Wherefore, enhancing the strategic position of people who desire to watch and yet not be seen, the dwarf hutments of the encampments are usually in some concealed place: a hollow, or valley, or hill cleft, under shelter of acacias, if such shade is available. Moreover, these places are chosen, if possible, with an eye to a line of retreat in event of an attack. Proximity to low, bouldered hills is favourite ground, or a string of dry river gullies, or, if nothing better offers, a low hollow among deep, billowed sand-dunes.

Grazing for their camels, and herds of goats, and short-haired, lop-eared sheep, never lasts long in any one place, hence the nomad constantly shifts from one quarter to another. On occasions, owing to scarcity of vegetation, it is necessary to camp far out from water: a day, or a day and a half’s journey from the nearest point of supply. This means long treks to water for the herds, and a journey with camels at least once a week to fetch supplies in goat-skins for the pressing needs of camp. It is not uncommon to come upon one man, and, perhaps, two naked, athletic-looking, boys at a remote well-head in the open, alone on bare, sand-swept desert, with about eight to ten camels, employed on the task of filling goat-skins. Without surprise, they tell that they have eight, twelve, or fifteen hours’ journey before they will get back to their camp. In all likelihood they carry no food, and will not eat till they get home, unless one of the camels should chance to be a female with milk.

The frail, gipsy-like huts of the Tuaregs are usually domed to shape like exaggerated mole-heaps. A dozen slim poles and lighter laths cut from acacias or palm-leaf stems, bent over and laced to form a framework, some grass matting and tanned skins indiscriminately thrown over them, and tied down in rude patchwork disorder, compose their low-crouched, diminutive dwellings wherever they select to pitch them near a chosen patch of grazing. Furnishing consists of a branch-built couch, about 15 inches off the ground. It occupies nearly all the floor space, and upon this the whole family are accustomed to sit or sleep, closely wedged together. In addition, there are a few equally primitive utensils, such as a couple of wooden mortar bowls and pestle-poles for crushing grains and herbs, some broken-edged calabash bowls and earthen jars and goat-skins, for holding food, milk, and water. But there end the main possessions of any nomad’s dwelling. The arms that defend them go abroad with the menfolk, or remain concealed. By their very humbleness these belongings have two qualifications that are commendable: they are easily moved from place to place; they are little to lose if abandoned in the panic of a raid.

In their desert environment the nomads live in a constant atmosphere of sand, and surely there is nothing with greater discomfiting qualities. The clearings before the doors are sand, loose and trodden by the tread of live-stock and playful children. Wind and feet send it ever moving, outdoors and indoors; and clothes, food, and liquids, no matter how carefully guarded, are contaminated with an in-seeking, almost invisible dustiness. It is sometimes said of a creature that it “lived close to the earth”—_the Tuareg lives “close to the sand,”_ and knows no escape from it.

It is not always realised that strong winds are prevalent in the wide, unsheltered ranges of the Sahara, and that consequently sand-dust is ever in the air. This is particularly so in September in the Southern Sahara, when a steady season of winds, that rise almost to gales every night, sets in, known in the Sudan as: _Eskar Kaka_, “The winds that dry the harvest.”

Considering the conditions under which they live, and the difficulties of toilet, the Tuaregs are wonderfully clean, far more clean than any gipsies in civilisation, though one must not turn aghast at infant children with fly-covered faces, pestered by house-flies that have an impudence beyond the common in their hungry search for any moisture. Flies are a pestilence in all Tuareg camps, attracted by the live-stock, and by the milk that is gathered from the herds; while, if there should be a ripening date-grove anywhere at hand, they simply swarm in dreadful millions to the sweetening fruit.

In dress, both men and women are accustomed to garb themselves neatly and ornamentally, and vanity is a very pronounced trait in their character. The loose, flowing gowns of the men are particularly appropriate to their easy, swinging, graceful carriage.

The Tuareg women take great care over the arranging of their soft black silken hair, which is set in place in various forms of design. No doubt this is because their hair is considered a feature of beauty by the men; and it is interesting to find primitive people holding to the refined belief that “A woman’s hair is her crowning glory,” while civilised countries go shingled and bobbed. A woman with long hair is looked upon as one who is richly endowed with the good things of nature, and is usually a _belle_ among the men.

As a whole they are a healthy race, aided by their constant life in the open air. But they are caught at a disadvantage when any year chances to send them rare bursts of heavy rain, for their frail shelters and belongings are poor protection then. In thin clothing, they are drenched through the day, whether in their huts or out of them, and shiver with cold and damp at night. As a consequence much _Tenadee_ (malaria) follows; which causes a lot of mortality, particularly among the little children, and it is chiefly on this account that large families are seldom seen. It is a great pity that they have no white doctors, and know nothing of quinine. In fighting the fell malady they commonly use only one imperfect herb.

Regarding their food, milk is to the Tuareg what wheat is to civilised countries—the mainstay of the people. Goats’ milk, sheep’s milk, camels’ milk: all are consumed in large quantities. Without milk they would be unable to live in their poverty-ridden surroundings.

But, in addition, though more as luxuries, they eat meat, grain, dates, and herbs, when they can obtain them. If nothing better offers they will search the country-side, and eat such things as the grass seeds of _Afasa_, and the flowers and leaves of the tree they call _Agar_. They are not above eating a camel, if one should happen to die of sickness, provided they have been able to cut its throat as it expired, in accordance with the demands of their religion.

But wheat, guinea corn and _Gero_, a smaller green-coloured millet, are the chief solids of their table. Those they obtain, when they can afford it, by barter, from the sedentary people of oases, or from the granaries of the Western Sudan.

_Gero_ is alone carried on long journeys when water is scarce, since the nomad can eat it without cooking. It is often crushed and mixed in a goat-skin of water and consumed as a sort of mealy drink; which is nourishing, and an antidote to thirst. Guinea corn must be cooked, and is preferred when milk can be added. Wheat is usually rolled, and steamed, and, afterwards, left to simmer in dubious fats that are added. Wheat—_Erid_ in Tamascheq—is grown solely in the oases of the Sahara. I obtained some of the grain, which, as an experiment, was planted in Lincolnshire, England. The result was negative, but curious. Its nature in the Sahara is to grow at an astonishing speed whenever it is planted, provided the soil is kept supplied with water. The moment it felt the heat of the sun in England it leapt up in the same manner as in Africa—far too rapidly; and it browned and died, with unfilled heads, while the English wheat that grew beside it was still undeveloped and green.

A curious antidote to constant diet of milk is tobacco, and most Tuaregs of the wilderness crave it for the purpose of chewing along with natron; particularly the womenfolk, and often have the fair sex, old and young, pestered the life out of me for some of my precious pipe store, to be mightily pleased with even the smallest of portions.

They are a lean and hungry people in their remote camps, far removed from markets, and not above begging from a stranger, though there is often a pleasant courtesy of exchange in an unexpected rustic present, after a gift has been delivered. It is the loafer, or “ne’er-do-weel”—and the Tuareg tribes harbour these burdens to the community as well as all other countries—who is the shameless rascal in begging alms, particularly if he be somewhat aged. These are the individuals who make a purposeful visit to camp, soon to tell of a dire ailment and ask for medicine; then for sugar; then for tea to go with the sugar; then for millet to eat with the tea—until one has lost all good-nature and patience, and bids him go with disgust.

The White Stranger is, more or less, looked upon as fair game for the beggar, and for the artful salesman. I once had reason to inquire, when near Ideles, if any native remembered Geyr von Schweppenburg, who had made a zoological expedition to Ahaggar in 1914, and one individual recalled the event owing solely to the fact that “_The white man gave a woman some needles, and paid 10 francs for a goat_.”

As a race, the Tuaregs are grave and haughty, and stand aloof from everyone. Their bearing suggests the inheritance that is claimed for them, for it is fairly well established that they are a white race akin to some of the oldest European stocks. Some can trace their descent back about 500 years, in the district they reside in to-day; but they have no written records, and all declare that they came originally from Mecca or Medina, which, as they are Moslems, is their general way of expressing that they came from the north, from a land beyond Africa.

I consider them to be of varying castes, when divided by widely separated regions, and am more attracted to the fine physiognomy of the Tuareg of the south, than to the heavier features of many of the Tuaregs of the north. Through mating with captive women or serfs, the blood is not always pure. All true Tuaregs should be fair-skinned; and many of them are almost white. Small feet, delicate hands, refined wrists and ankles, clean-cut facial features further betray their Semitic origin. All have splendid carriage, and they are born athletes. They are superb camel-men, and wonderful travellers, rich in instincts of direction, born to endurance, and used to eating and drinking as little as possible on the trail, when food and water mean life or death. They are seen at their best on the open road. In the camps they have little to do and grow lazy.

In spirit, when by themselves, they are care-free and moderately contented; nevertheless, there is a curious underlying sadness in their character, caught partly, perhaps, from the religion of the Koran, and partly from drear environment where existence, of necessity, is eked out to the lowest ebb of fortune in a land that holds no kindness, and ever threatens the destruction of their race.

They know much of poverty, and the herds of camels, goats, and sheep are their sole possessions of value, outside their freedom—which is precious beyond all else.

I conclude with an extract from my diary:

“The Tuareg encampment is situated in a fork of the Tesselaman Wadi, among low, wintry-looking acacias. Monotonous ranges of pale sand, and odd tufts of bleached grass, is all else in view. A hot, sand-filled wind sweeps across the land, and the sting of the glowing sun sickens all that lives.

“The camp is not large; about ten families in all. Entering it, no one is in view. The stock are being tended far afield, and those who remain in camp are watching my movements in hiding. The sole occupant of the first hut is an old woman. I salute her in her own tongue and seek out the next, about half a mile away. Here a pie-dog is barking viciously, and two men turn up to await my approach.

“We meet and scrutinise one another, as men on their guard. Then we commence to talk, and soon my business is explained: I wish to find the nearest well to take water in the evening.

“Very shortly other Tuaregs arrive surreptitiously, with inquiry in the dark eyes that peer from behind mask-like veils. The news of a stranger has flown round the encampment, and that is summons enough.

“We move under the shade of an acacia, and sit on the loose sand and chat. My camel-men do most of the talking, and I am aware that they progress toward friendship.

“In the hut, near by, there is a woman and two children. We have awakened them from their sleep in the heat of the day, and the children are inclined to hide and draw back like frightened animals. A panting goat, that is sick, is tied to the bed within. The rounded dome of the hut, and the society of human beings is a picture that is pleasant to wilderness-weary eyes, and we stay beside the camp for a while. A lad departs to find the herds, and bring in some fresh milk. I enjoy a deep draught, while my henchmen join the nomads in devouring a meal—all eating from the one dish with curious wooden spoons.

“In the evening I set out to the well, about three miles away. I hear the bleat of goats and sheep, and the strident cries of herdsfolk, and know the flocks are coming in from pasture.

“Great dependence is placed upon the ability of the animals to follow familiar sound, and each flock-shepherd, usually a woman and two or three naked or scanty-ragged boys and girls, repeat a strung-out, modulating call, peculiar to themselves alone, and answered and obeyed only by the animals of that particular family—which is a great aid in keeping them together, and from mixing with others, in fenceless pastures.

“The region is appallingly vast, and I am conscious of admiration for the strange people who roam abroad over those boundless sands that hold only occasional grazings that neighbour the ground in wasted paleness.

“Approaching the well, I see that flocks are being watered; gathered in from fenceless wastes to slake their pressing thirst. They rest on the sand, waiting their turn to drink, while the slow process of drawing a bucketful of water at a time is laboured at by their owners. And all the while the insistent cries of weary, thirsty animals ring in the air.

“A few camels stand about, but the greatest number of animals are goats and short-haired sheep—perhaps 100 to 150 in all, with an ass or two on the flanks, dejectedly aloof.

“The well has a place-name, and water, and, for the time being, a handful of nomads who keep to no permanent place of dwelling—that is all that it, and like places in the desert, hold to-day to justify a name on the map of Africa. Which is little indeed, until visualised against the blank, overpowering background of wilderness.

“My last look round is upon dead sand that holds no drop of moisture, and upon bleached grass and leafless tree, unfed from living roots; while lean-ribbed herds voice their plea for water, and nomad families gather to sleep under the blue sky with no more home than that offered by the shelter of their frail, wind-swept hutments.

“To the nomadic Tuaregs the environment is natural, and they know no better. Above all else they love their freedom, and hate the roof of permanent dwelling.”

And they are tolerably happy, if left to themselves, notwithstanding the suppressed melancholy that is an inherent characteristic of the race. One must know them well before they will express their moods of infinite sadness that lead toward brooding over their harassed life and the decadence of race and power.

If we, in Europe, with thoughts turned towards Africa, ever happen to view the new moon in May we can know that the people of Islam, in the remotest corners of the Sahara, have entered on the Thirty Days’ Fast of _Rhamadan_, when no one may eat before sunset; while on the first sight of the new moon of June it ends in the Feast of _Bairam_. That religious observation, strangely enough, is typical of the life of “The People of the Veil,” who throughout their walks of life have long associations with sadness and want, and intensified joy when they have the good fortune to reach a brief spell of plenty and peace of mind.

Be they soldiers of fortune, steel-girt travellers, or peacefully pastoral, the Sahara still remains theirs, despite the ravages of poverty and their dread of the encroachings of civilisation; and they share its mystery.

CHAPTER IX

THE HAND OF DOOM