Chapter III: A Ship of the Desert (autobiographical)

“I am not riveted nor screwed together, neither am I steel plate nor seasoned timber: wherefore I am not like ship of the sea in physical construction.

“But I rock when under way, and am thin ‘keeled’ when gales blow, so that ungenerous men-people say that I am clumsy and gawky.

“However, we animal creatures think slowly but with wisdom, and we know that men-people are apt to hurry to opinions that have, sometimes, little solidity. Therefore, since _appearances do not matter at all in the land I travel_, I treat their gibes with silent scorn, for the great desert asks only one thing: Endurance—aye, endurance to the point of death.

“Wherefore my rivets and screws and tested ‘steel’ lie not on the surface, but in joints and sinews developed through stern adventurings that demand that a craft be strong-rigged, and stout of heart, and fearless of the uttermost seas of the desert.

“And from this you may have gathered that I am only a camel.

“Regarding my early history: I was born on the plains of Talak among the camps of the Tuaregs. I was soon taken from my mother, since her milk was wanted for food for the camp. I bellowed wildly in distress for some days, but to no purpose: I was staked beside a tent and thenceforth watched and hand-fed by women-people. I can remember that I was often very hungry, even in those days, and called lustily whenever it was anywhere near time for me to be brought my morning or evening milk. I was very young and very uninstructed then, and was not to know that _hunger_ is that which is of greatest import in the lives of all camels.

“For a long time I stayed beside the tents of my masters. Then there came a time when I had grown big enough to be allowed to graze near camp through the day, but I was never left out overnight, because of the ill-scented animals I feared.[2]

“While I was still little I was taught to follow the caravans on short journeys, running alongside my mother without rope or hindrance of any kind.

“Then came a time when I had to bear a grass-padded saddle and a small weight on my back. But I was growing big and strong by then, and, after the first fear had passed, I did not mind the task greatly, especially as I was allowed to join the other camels more often and keep close to my nice old mother.

“One day, when I was six years old, there arose much stir in camp. The men-people commenced to gather in all camels, and I knew there was something afoot. At first, we camels, putting our heads together, hoped it was only to be a movement to new grazing ground. But we soon decided otherwise, during the few days that followed, as we watched our masters busily working with saddles and roping bundles, while strangers came in to join them from other camps. Then, one morning, at dawn, after much noise of loading, and chatter of farewell, we were all tied in line and set out from the camp of Talak; leaving behind only the women-people and their children and a few old men-people.

“Although as yet inexperienced in great distances, like all my kind, I required no master to instruct me in sense of direction; and I soon knew that we were heading south, which is the direction of least dread in the teachings of camel lore.

“But I soon lost interest in everything about me under the weight of terrible fatigue; for, day after day, we had to travel perpetually over hot sand and beneath wearying, fiery sun, kept sternly to the trail by our travel-wise hard-riding masters. We had little rest, and not much time to eat. All grew fretful, and plaintive lowings pleaded with the men-people for consideration, but they knew their task better than we, and kept on unflinchingly, though no less tired than ourselves.

“We camped fifty nights on that journey, and I will never forget it. For the first time I learned what desert travel really meant.

“At last, after travelling out of the desert and through country with many trees, the like of which I had never seen at Talak, we reached a strange town, and the men-people camped. There our loads were undone and we were all turned free to eat our fill and rest to our heart’s content. Men-people called the town Katsina.

“Eventually I came to stay there for many moons, for, before my master went back to the Plains of Talak, in the course of his tradings he made a bargain whereby I was exchanged for six lengths of cotton clothing that he desired for the people of his tribe. And thus I came to pass into the herds of the Emir of Katsina, one of the greatest men in the land.

“For two years, thereafter, I had an easy life, being asked to make but few journeys to Kano, Zaria, and Sokoto, in country that was not of the poverty of my old home. Wherefore I had nearly always food to eat, and accordingly grew big and strong.

“But at the season when water fell from the clouds, in that country, I was not happy. It was cold and wet to sleep at nights, and flies tormented me that were not of the desert, so that at such times I longed for my old wind-swept home at Talak. That is the season when I, and all my comrades, pine to go north into the desert, like the addax and oryx of the bush-scattered plains.

“While I remained at Katsina the men-people who guarded me called me Zaki.[3] And on festival days I was bedecked with a bright-coloured saddle and head-rein, and made to run, with others, as fast as ever my legs could go. When I was in front, when we finished running, my master was very pleased; so I learned to be in front very often, for I was given nice things to eat afterwards—grains that the men-people grow that are passing sweet to taste.

“But there came a time when this life of ease and pleasure was all abruptly changed. Like most drastic changes, it was utterly unexpected. I and my comrades were browsing peacefully in the bush, as usual, one morning, when men-people of the Emir appeared suddenly among us with ropes, and a certain gravity of expression. After considerable consultation, while doubtless appraising our condition, they began to pick out those of us that were the strongest; with the ultimate result that some twenty of us, including myself, were banded together and driven off into the town.

“By eventide we were marshalled in a caravan camp of strangers, and the Emir’s men-people awaited the pleasure of the chief of the gathering. When he came forward I saw that he was not like the people of Talak or Katsina, but _white_ as the sand or the midday sun. This stranger looked us over one by one, lifting feet, feeling joints, and prying into mouths, the while he asked questions of our guardians in their own tongue, but in an unusual voice. When he came to me he seemed highly pleased, and asked more questions than of the others. I thought, with out-bubbling pride of youth, that this was because I was of the uncommon white colour, that all chiefs prefer to any other, and clean limbed, and coming now to the years of my prime. But one of my comrades was also white-haired, and there again the stranger paused longer and asked more questions, so that I decided that my vanity had been premature.

“The upshot of the examination was that three camels were discarded and sent away with the Emir’s men-people, while all of us that stayed behind were taken over by the white stranger.

“Next day we were roped and trussed and hurt for a few moments by a stinging fire,[4] from which there was no escape; and thereby knew that we had irrevocably changed masters, for only at such times, when it is necessary to denote ownership, are we treated in this manner.

“This marked the beginning of my experience as a true traveller of the desert. My new master’s caravan left Katsina almost at once, and headed north—and I was to come to learn that we were ever to hold in that direction; even to the region of Talak, and leagues upon leagues beyond. It was, in fact, only the commencement of many, many moons of mighty travel of duration that few camels experience in a lifetime and but seldom survive.

“I was given a load to carry during the first few days; a strange box-load, that frightened me to begin with. But the men-people of my new master, who were the same as the people of Talak, knew their work and watched me, and soon they made my burden fit comfortably, so that I learned to travel without fear. Nearly all my comrades carried similar box-loads, which was a curious thing in our eyes, because they were so different from the bales of the men-people of our land.

“At that time my master was riding a brown camel, the one that had brought him to Katsina. But I had noticed that he watched me while we plodded along the trail, and, therefore, I was not altogether surprised when, before starting one morning, I was taken before him without any load. Perhaps the men-people of the Emir had told him I could run very fast and had been ridden; for, in a little, his riding-saddle was placed on my back, made to fit me, and strapped securely. I made no move in protest, for past experience had taught me that it is far better to be ridden by a master than to carry a load that is nearly twice the weight. While I was still seated on the ground he came and spoke to me in his strange voice, while, for the first time, I felt his hand caress my neck and knew, even in that momentary touch, that he was not cruel.

“My new master rode me all that day—and that was the beginning of a great friendship. He would go nowhere without me afterwards, and I cannot count the days I carried him over the unfrequented seas of the desert, either with the caravan, or on long hunting trips that he sometimes made alone.

“At first my master did not ride so easily as the camel-men of our land, being more stiff and ungiving of poise; but, as he became familiar with my gait, that alien insensibility passed and we travelled as one.

“I found I had one fault that annoyed my master. Through being badly frightened, when young, by an evil-smelling animal that pounced at me, I could not refrain from being startled whenever I saw any black object close to me on the sand. At such times I would suddenly plunge madly and retreat, while my master said quick words and bore hard on the rein. Then he would persevere until he had forced me to go nearer and nearer to the object I dreaded; until I could see that it was only a tree-stump or a rock and could not harm me. Nevertheless, it took me many months to overcome this impulse of fright, though, always, my master persevered to show me there was no actual danger.

“It was chiefly on account of this trait that I was given the name by which my master called me: _Feri n’Gashi_, which, I believe, meant ‘White Feather’ in native tongue, and this, in his language, was a term applied to anyone showing signs of cowardice. But the name also referred to my white coat of hair. My master often spoke in a curious tongue that was foreign to me, but, as time went on, I came to understand that he gradually lost all thought of associating my name with any insinuation of fear.

“Moon followed moon in the wilderness, and time, and close association, brought thorough understanding. And I came to love my master, as I am sure he loved me. He was often kind in the hardest hours of stress, when I was grievously hungry and leg-weary, and apt to lose heart altogether in the interior of the terrible desert. He would dismount for an hour or more, sometimes, and search in the surroundings for a few handfuls of vegetation which he would bring to me to eat, while I kept on along with the others of the caravan. And at nights, if he could manage it, he brought me tit-bits that I saw the others did not get.

“And so it came about that I always watched my master wherever he happened to be; and that was in many places, for he was ever restless, and never idle. When we were turned loose at an encampment, to find what grazing we could pick up, I would raise my head whenever I saw him afar off, returning on foot from hunting for meat, or the curious things that he gathered—all of which had different and alarming scents to my inquiring nostrils—and when he reached the encampment I would leave my comrades and go to see him, for he would surely pat me kindly, while, sometimes, when there was sufficient water, he allowed me to drink from the basin he had washed in; and that was sweet in the desert, although the portion was ever so little.

“As the long, long journey progressed, through distance of time too great to count, many of my comrades weakened and fell out, and some died; and there came a time when only a few were left. Like all my comrades, I had vastly changed by then, being lean, and tired out by constant strain of travel, lack of sufficient food, and worry through fear of the unknown country we traversed. And, at nights, in my anxiety, I sometimes sought my master when he slept, and, after sniffing him to be assured of his presence, would lie down to rest near at hand, gaining thereby confidence and some comfort.

“It was during this period of ever-increasing strain that my master met with a distressing accident. To carry the loads of my dead or exhausted comrades, some fresh camels were collected from men-people of a rocky land of name I did not comprehend. They were animals of a wild region, and had been long free on the ranges, so that they greatly feared the hand of men-people. When they first felt the weight of my master’s boxes on their backs they plunged wildly in all directions, and everything was scattered to the ground. Yet patiently the men-people worked with them, coaxing and replacing the fallen loads; until, finally, we were all led into line ready to start. But just at that moment there was further disaster and a wild stampede, and my master, holding hard to the head of the maddest brute of all, was suddenly kicked to the ground as the animal plunged free. And there he lay, while others rushed blindly over him in their consternation, trampling him underfoot, until a quick-witted camel-man rushed in and dragged him clear; which, mayhap, saved his life. Then it was seen that he was bleeding profusely, and could no longer walk.

“For some days afterwards he lay and could not move, and I wondered what would become of my master.

“When next I saw him he had long sticks below his arms and walked strangely and slowly. On recommencing travel he could no longer ride in the saddle, because of a helpless leg, and was placed, with soft clothing, on the top of the boxes carried by one of my old comrades. For the first time since the start I was without my master. But he did not give me a load to carry, nor let another take his place, and I was allowed to walk behind him with the empty saddle.

“So soon as he could manage, he came to ride me again, and I was glad. I knew he was not strong then, for I could feel a strangeness in his seat, and was therefore gentle on the trail, so that I might not jar or hurt him.

“But he jumped from the saddle no more, not even to hunt, as had been his constant custom up till then. Yet, so far as lay in his power, he was restless as always, and still tried to search in strange nooks and corners, when they chanced by the trail. He accomplished his purpose, to some extent, by riding me where he wanted to go, and making his noise-piece go off when he sighted that which he sought. I know I was clumsy on such occasions, and that my master was not altogether happy in this makeshift way of hunting, but he made the best of it.

“It was about two months after this time that the desert ended, and the remnants of my master’s caravan crawled into a strange town where the people were foreign to me, as was the scent in the air. I was alone, except for my master, for none of my comrades of Katsina were left; and I had a heavy heart. I could see my master was happy, yet strangely sad. He stroked me often while the loads were being taken away and stacked in a pile, and I felt he would have liked to break down the barriers of dumbness and articulated words in my own language. And I understood, and rubbed my soft nose against him.

“After a time the men-people gathered us all together and led us away down the street of the strange town. We had gone but half-way when my master’s servant came running after us, and I was taken back to him.

“He stood beside me and stroked me ever so gently, and I knew, then, that his heart was heavy as mine. And then I was led away down the strange, unfriendly street again.

“I was terribly tired: I knew, somehow, that I would never see my master again—and that is all I remembered.”

Feri n’Gashi died, without the slightest sign of illness or pain, about one hour after our parting, marking one of the saddest experiences in my life and the passing of one of the noblest animals that ever lived.

CHAPTER IV

THE GREAT SOUTH ROAD

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