Chapter XIV: The North Star

_To succeed in crossing the Sahara_ was the one great purpose of the expedition that stood out before all others from the day of starting until the end.

Consequently anxious thoughts were ever pointed to the north throughout the whole period of travel, and in due time it followed that the North Star became my most significant and constant friend.

It is known to the Tuaregs by the name _Elkelzif_, and on many occasions I have, with something of pride, told my camel-men, or explained to strangers of the trail, “Under that star lies my house”; and so it seemed in its distant, steadfast position. It became, in fact, the definite symbol of home, the elusive “light” of a distant land that I must ever endeavour to reach, and when it showed in the sky it was welcomed almost with affection, and always as a friend. And these feelings may be understood when it is remembered that my caravan travelled or lay beneath its guiding light for over four hundred nights, which is a long time anywhere; mayhap, oppressively long in the monotony of great solitudes.

Always, through long weary nights, the North Star twinkled in its steadfast place, with the pointers of “The Plough,” out-stationed like signposts, seeming to direct the traveller to take notice and take heart from the countenance of their sovereign light, that clearly gleamed over the broad highway hung from the roof of heaven.

And, always facing that friendly star, the farther my camels travelled toward it the nearer I came to the goal; until at long last great hope arose that my caravan would get through.

It was then May of the second year. The caravan had reached the Algerian Sahara and was riding hard for rail-head.

But how altered from the start was my little band and its possessions! It had been composed of thirty-six camels and fifteen natives at the commencement, in the spring of the previous year; now all the camels had gone, except Feri n’Gashi, the camel I rode. Awena, the last of the others, had fallen out on the 16th. Of the original natives only two remained: Ali, an Arab of Ghat, and Sakari, a Hausa of Kano. Lack of stamina, sickness, and failure in courage had claimed the rest at various stages of the journey. Only two died as the result of the undertaking.

When to me came hope of reaching the goal Sakari’s impression at the same moment was that he had come so far that he would never see home again.

During those latter stages it is not too much to say that Glover (the cinema operator) and I were bubbling over with happy anticipations. The most discussed subject, next to the thoughts of those who waited our coming, was our conjectures of the enjoyment we should have in eating _real food_ again. That which appealed vastly to both of us was the prospect of _pure white bread and butter_—no doubt because we had lived so long in a state of constant sandy grittiness, and had almost forgotten the taste and the delicious purity of a fresh oven-loaf. Also, during this month, we had nothing left to eat other than rice and _couscous_.

Shortage of food, that had been a grave problem in the past, no longer worried us, however, and gaily we laughed over the joyous thought that all those trials would soon be over. We recalled how, four months ago, the last of luxuries was down to a half-bottle of whisky and two bars of soap.

And so we plodded steadily over the last lap with big hearts, forcing the pace toward home over the still unchanging sand, despite an overpowering desire to sleep in the saddle which now beset us fitfully, partly because vitality was exhausted and partly because of the low altitude, which was now almost down to sea-level.

At last only two days and a night of serious travel lay ahead to Ouargla; thence four days to the rail-head at Touggourt.

South of Ouargla the desert lies in all its bleakness. There is yet no hint of change, though we know we are creeping swiftly in upon civilisation, and that an important oasis is almost within a stone’s-throw, which contains the Headquarters of the Territoire des Oases.

On May 29th the caravan travelled seven hours before being interrupted by a sandstorm, which forced us to camp while the sand drove over us in seething clouds. Even to the end it would seem that the sands must fight my little band.

When the storm died down in the evening we travelled again for some hours.

On the following day the caravan journeyed till noon, and camped, while heavy wind again made conditions uncomfortable. We reloaded at dusk, and by the light of a lovely moon travelled in close to Ouargla: a ride full of remembrance for me, for thoughts were active, and dwelt on the long trail behind with some regrets and sadness, and on the short trail in front with gladness; and the night was fittingly still on the heels of the turmoil of a stormy day. But lonely thoughts were almost past, and the society of mankind at hand.

In the morning we journeyed into Ouargla, coming suddenly out of the desert within sight of the low, crouching oasis. It was not an auspicious arrival. From the distance there was a subdued stillness about the place. Great heat radiated from the sun, and the oasis seemed asleep beneath its influence. The houses discerned appeared deserted. Then a solitary figure in white crossed a glaring space of sand and passed out of sight; and all was still again.

While we were marvelling over this curious lack of movement, a small knot of people at last detached themselves from beneath the shade of a group of date-palms, and in time we made out that they were riding horses and coming towards us. It proved to be the Officer in Command at Ouargla and some Arab officials. We were offered a very warm welcome, and I learned that my host was Captain Belvalette.

We were duly ushered to the fort and allotted real houses to camp in: a foretaste of the change before us. But that the change would not always be acceptable, at first, I realised when night came, and I tossed and turned within the stuffy space of four walls. My wish was then for the untrammelled star-lit sky.

During that day, and the next, we enjoyed the hospitality of Captain Belvalette and his wife, who left no stone unturned to make us thoroughly welcome and comfortable. We left those kind folks on June 2nd with gratitude and regret, and travelled constantly until we reached Touggourt in the forenoon of the 5th, which was the last day we mounted camels. And the record of the distance that my caravan had travelled from rail-head to rail-head was 3,556 miles; not including all the side-hunting that necessarily falls to the lot of the naturalist in the field.

Baggage was off-loaded for the last time, before a group of curious strangers that soon collected, recognising that we had come from afar. When they had ascertained that we had travelled all the way from the West Coast of Africa they gaped at us as if we were unreal.

About midday I parted from my camel, Feri n’Gashi, to whom I was tremendously attached, for he had faithfully carried me throughout the journey. He seemed to understand that the end had come, and it was a strange, sad-eyed farewell between master and dumb friend, with strong desire to remain together in my thoughts, and, I think, in his. I know I had a lump in my throat, and as for him—well, he could not tell me that which he wished to say.

He looked well, considering all he had gone through, and I sent him away to enjoy a well-earned rest, having arranged with Captain Belvalette that he should return to Ouargla and be cared for so long as he lived. I had no inkling of the rapid sequel. The rest he was to have was of another order, for in the afternoon Ali came running to me in consternation to tell that _Feri n’Gashi was dead_.[21] I could not believe it, and was deeply moved when I came to understand that it was only too true; Ali was almost as much concerned, for he was a good native, with a very active and sensitive mind. He held my camel in high esteem because of its splendid service throughout the journey, and he had watched and comprehended the intimacy that had grown up between master and camel.

In Ali’s view it was: “The will of Allah.”

“You see, Master, he has died while sitting as usual on the ground. He has passed in complete peace. He has neither struggled nor turned over, as is the way of camels; his head has simply fallen forward. . . . Is it not Kismet? He has always been ridden by the big white master, and it is not fit that black man go ride him after that—so he go die.”

Feri n’Gashi’s death cast a heavy cloud over our thoughts for the remainder of the day. Nevertheless, we had much to occupy us in other directions, for we proposed catching the train which left for the coast that night. All our strange assortment of outdoor baggage had to be relieved of their camel trappings and made to look as respectable as possible, then labelled and conveyed down the dusty track to the station. It was dark before the task was done.

Glover and I then enjoyed a square meal at the wood-framed “Hôtel Oases,” and laid in some supplies for the journey; particularly French cigarettes and drinks.

At 9 p.m. the train departed from Touggourt for Algiers, bearing the stock of weather-worn possessions of an expedition, and four tattered, but tolerably healthy-looking wanderers—Glover, myself, and the two natives, Ali and Sakari. The two latter were vastly intrigued with their new mode of travel, particularly with the idea of their sitting still while they flew over the country without the necessity of their doing a stroke of work or undergoing a moment’s physical fatigue.

During the journey one thing made us all as delighted and happy as children—the wonderful green landscape after leaving Biskra. We never tired of feasting our eyes on the uncommon beauty of the countryside, so green with cultivation, and even decked with flowers. To our sand-tired vision it was a marvellous sight, and we knew then, undoubtedly, that we had left the desert behind.

On June 7th we reached Algiers, and were met by the British Vice-Consul, Mr. Gallienne, who gave us a real welcome. He was a man of wonderful foresight, for we had just exchanged greetings when he put his hand in his pocket and produced some English tobacco, saying: “I thought you might be in need of this.” We were so much in need of it that we almost embraced the poor man in our joy. Tobacco had been our most difficult “want” to cope with for many months.

One thing tickled Gallienne’s imagination. I caught him looking at me; whereupon he explained: “You know, I had pictured you _lean, and about seven feet tall, and with a broad Scot’s accent_. You are certainly _lean_, but I’ll need to take quite a foot off that stature; as for your accent, it’s no’ verra hieland.”

He was indeed a real good soul, for, when we got into quarters, he set out on all sorts of strange errands, and seemed to enjoy the fun of dress rehearsal in preparing two tattered ragamuffins for the exacting stage of civilisation. Collars, ties, shirts, underclothing, hats: all are difficult articles to choose for other men at any time, but more than difficult when the persons they are intended for have forgotten the sizes of everything they used to wear.

Those were crowded hours of wonderful joy, such as only men may experience who come in at last from the long trail.

And when I lay down to sleep at night, _in a bed incredibly soft_, my thoughts were overflowing with gratitude that I had lived for this day.

And then I remembered my little friend in the sky, and rising, drew aside the window-blind to find the North Star in its steadfast place gleaming down on picturesque Algiers, and gleaming too, I knew, above a certain Highland village, now no longer remote, . . . and in my mind nestled the thought that the most beautiful place on earth, even to those who wander, is Home.

And, relating to this final period, my wife writes:

“Over thirteen months had passed since my husband had sailed, and the homecoming seemed near; and a very beautiful thought to dream about. The months that had passed had been anxious ones, but always full of hope. However, now I was growing troubled. Letters had always been irregular, but for three whole months I had received no mail or news of any kind. Although my husband had warned me this might happen when he was in the interior, I felt uneasy.

“On April 11th I had a strange presentiment. I was sitting by the fire, sewing, in the evening, when something impelled me to look up at my husband’s photograph which hangs over the fireplace. He seemed to cry ‘Olga!’ three times distinctly, and I felt sure he was ill, and calling me. I went to bed that night very sad and miserable. Sleep was impossible, and always his vision appeared before me. When morning came I put on a brave face and tried to forget the uneasy feelings I had had all night. Just as I started my breakfast I received a cable from Fort Tamanrasset, via Algiers, which threw some light on my strange presentiment. It stated that my husband was badly injured, and would have to abandon further travel.

“Never, never shall I forget that day; everything seemed black and all my hopes shattered. I had been brave for long, but now my heart seemed to fail me, and I was foolish enough to think the worst would happen and he would never return.

“My wee daughter Sheila was my great consoler. With her wee arms tightly round my neck, she would always whisper: ‘It’s all right, Mummie. Daddy will come home to us soon, soon.’

“However, in spite of these fears I afterwards received another message which was much more assuring, for it told that my husband was proceeding, and even continuing to hunt. (Which I learned from his servant, afterwards, he did on crutches and by shooting from his camel.)

“Time seemed to fly on then; and the Consul-General of Algiers, Sir Basil Cave, very kindly advised me when he got news that my husband was safely through to the north.

“On June 7th I received a most exciting cable from my husband at Algiers, telling me of his safe arrival, and that he would land on the following Monday at Dover. It is quite impossible for me to express just what my feelings were when I read the glorious news. All the weary months of waiting were swept aside with the joy of homecoming.

“The following night I went south to London, hardly knowing how to wait for Monday to come. On Perth station I was very proud and happy when I saw on the placards:

“‘SCOTTISH EXPLORER CROSSES THE SAHARA’

The porters and inspectors were full of excitement, for most of them knew my husband, and more than one eagerly helped me with my luggage and packed me off happy to meet the man they had sent on his journey sixteen months before.

“June 11th arrived at last, a glorious hot June day. I travelled from Charing Cross to Dover, and, while going down in the train, I read a paragraph in _The Times_ which made me wonder if I was a day too soon. It stated that my husband had arrived in Paris and was due in London the following Tuesday evening. This was Monday, and I kept wondering, all the way down, if I was to be disappointed when the Channel steamer came in.

“Arriving at Dover, in company with Mrs. Glover, the cinema operator’s wife, we discovered it was impossible to get on the quay without a permit, which, in my excitement, I had omitted to obtain in London. I was told I must see the Marine Superintendent and get a pass from him. Entering a small office, I stood and waited anxiously. Presently a big, burly, seafaring man entered from an inner room. Scrutinising me with stern eyes he gruffly demanded my business. In a very nervous and anxious manner I explained I had come to meet my husband. That information seemed to produce not the slightest effect, and I had a dreadful feeling that my request would be refused point-blank. Realising this, I made another attempt, and told how my husband had been away sixteen months, and that I did so wish to meet the incoming boat. I was answered by silence, while I could feel those eyes trying to read me through. At last, turning sharply, he said ‘Humph! We have lots of people like you here’; and then, to a man at his elbow, ‘Write out a pass.’

“At 5 p.m. the boat came slowly in alongside the quay.

“What a moment! I shall never forget it! There seemed hundreds of faces on board, but only one that counted for me. Leaning over the rail, with eyes keenly searching among the waiting crowd, stood my husband, burnt almost black with the scorching sun of the Sahara. It was a wonderful moment, and meeting, full of suppressed emotion, each feeling that at last the great trek was done, and now we could look to home and comforts that had for so long been impossible.

“After the first joy of our meeting was over, I was amazed and somewhat bewildered to see two natives in their strange and picturesque native dress following as close to my husband as space would allow. They beamed broadly when they saw me and realised I was their master’s wife, and at once proceeded to salaam to me with deep bows to the ground. They followed my husband all through the Customs, so closely that they gave one the impression that if they missed him for a single minute they would be lost for ever.

“I asked one if he felt cold. He replied: ‘Yes, Miss—plenty cold.’ (Which may tell of the heat of the Sahara, for it was a lovely June day.) He then explained that: ‘Master be plenty strong, and in Sahara go walk, walk, walk all the time; and after that plenty work—he never go for sleep.’ These thoughts seemed to be uppermost in his mind.

“At this point the Marine Superintendent came up to me and, with an ingratiating smile, remarked that I was all right now. Then he told me that he had read in the morning’s paper of my husband’s trip, and that it had been well worth while to watch our happy meeting, and to realise what the pass meant to me. He then shook my husband warmly by the hand, and we all stood chatting together.

“Afterwards we proceeded to London and, following a brief stay, which seemed to be full of interviews with the Press, and in every way a whirl of excitement, we came at last home to Scotland and the restfulness of a Highland village.

“Our wee girl Sheila ran to the gate to meet us, and the faithful old Labrador, Niger, who was overjoyed at sight of his long-lost master. . . . And all the long, weary months of waiting were forgotten, and the lovely thought stood out that the object of the expedition had been achieved, and we were once again to be together.”

CHAPTER XV

CIVILISATION