Chapter XII: The Road to Zieghen Well

FROM this point I shall set down the days as they are recorded in my diary.

_Sunday, March 18._ Start at 9 A.M., halt at 8:30 P.M. Make 46 kilometers. Highest temperature 21°, lowest 3°. Cloudy all day, clear in evening. Just a few drops of rain in the afternoon. Strong northeast wind, which develops at 2:30 into a sand-storm. Wind drops at sunset and gets up again at eight in the evening. The sun not visible and the guide’s course not so straight as usual, as shown by the compass bearings which I take often during the day. At 5:30 the sun appears and he corrects his course; at 7:30 he is traveling by the North Star, which the Bedouins call El Jadi. The ground is generally the same as yesterday’s though slightly undulating. At intervals all day we come across patches of big dark-colored pebbles.

In the morning there was excitement when we sighted on the horizon the series of hazy dots that meant the approaching vanguard of a caravan. My binoculars were brought into play and passed around among the men. Rifles were unslung from their places on the camels’ backs, and the Tebus ran to get their spears. The men ranged themselves on the side of the caravan nearest the on-comers and held themselves alert until we should find out whether they were friendly or hostile. It did not take long to recognize them for friends. Then men from each party met and squatted down between the two caravans to exchange the news, while the two lines of camels plodded past. Tongues flew as they heard and told who had been married, who was dead, who had made money, what new feuds had arisen, or what old ones had been ended. Then the envoys sprang up, bade each other God-speed, and hastened after their respective caravans. (This is the desert wireless at work.)

_Monday, March 19._ Start at 8:15 A.M., halt at 8:30 P.M. Make 49 kilometers. Highest temperature 22°, lowest 5°. Weather fine and clear. Strong northeast wind which drops at midday. Few white clouds in the afternoon. Sun is very warm, making our progress slow, but evening is cool and the pace is quickened. Ground very flat, hard sand covered with fine gravel. At six in the evening cross a slight depression, with a patch of gray stone on the right and a white stone on our left about 2 kilometers distant.

All of us, men and camels, were getting into our stride. The Bedouins and Tebus indulged in foot-races and played practical jokes. The Tebus are simple, primitive fellows, with delightfully naïve habits of mind. Being poor, they take the best of care of what possessions they have. They dress in a simple cotton shirt and pair of drawers, and devote much attention to making these garments last as long as possible. When a Tebu rides a camel, for example, he takes off his drawers to save wear and tear, and hangs them on his camel’s back. When he sleeps also he removes his garments to protect them from friction against the sand and wraps himself in his fur cloak.

The water is salt and fed with salt springs. There are no fish and only a few water hens and ducks. The lake is about two or three square miles in area.]

While one of the Tebus was riding that day some of the Bedouins took his drawers and hid them. When he alighted and looked for his garment, he immediately feared that it had dropped off and lay somewhere in the desert along our track. Without a moment’s hesitation he set out on the back track, running briskly in search of his precious possession. He had become a tiny figure in the vast expanse of sand before we took pity on him and fired shots to call him to return. He turned reluctantly and soon rejoined us with downcast face. But the merriment of the jokers told him that something was up, and when his drawers were produced he was too pleased to get them back to resent the joke.

The previous night some of the camels paid a visit to my tent and threatened to have it down on top of me. They are clever beasts. They like to scratch their necks on the tent-ropes, and when all the camp is asleep they hobble in quest of this innocent form of diversion. First the camel sticks his head through the flap of my tent to see if I am awake. If he does not hear me resent his intrusion, he then knows I am asleep, and out he backs and sets to scratching vigorously. Soon he is joined by others, and I awake under the impression that my tent is being assailed by a violent storm.

Each day I was more impressed with Bu Helega as a traveling companion. He was a man of few words, with a big heart and generous spirit. His years and his white hair and beard gained him the respect of all of us, for in the desert the man of experience, who is possessed of the wisdom that comes with age, is the invaluable one. Zerwali and I, therefore, referred continually to Bu Helega’s judgment. He was tactful in offering his suggestions for my consideration, but I was wise enough not to disregard them.

He was constantly on the lookout for the well-being of the camels, and his splendid voice was heard at intervals through the day addressing the camels or the men.

“The white camel is weary. To-morrow, Ibrahim, we will shift its load to the old brown one,” he says to his slave.

“Talk to them, men, talk to them,” he commands, knowing how much better the camels travel under encouragement, and again, “Sing to them, Ibrahim.”

“Follow the guide, you beautiful beasts,” he exhorts the camels.

“Pray, Hamad, that saddle has shifted; it will irritate the camel’s back.”

When the twilight comes he gives the order, “Light the lantern; it pleases the camels.”

The qualities of the camel are seldom, if ever, appreciated on a slight acquaintance. The camel is as clever as a horse, if not more clever, and in some ways is more human. “Patient as a camel,” is an Arab saying and a very true one. If you ill-treat a camel he will never forget it, but he will not attack you on the spot. He will wait, and if you repeat the offense again and again, he makes up his mind to get his revenge. Not, however, when there are many people about. Here he behaves in a most human way. He watches his chance until you and he are alone, and then he goes for you, either by snatching at you with his mouth and throwing you to the ground, or by kicking you and then trampling upon you. There is a case known where a camel trampled on a man and then sat on him, refusing to move even after punishment from the men who ran up to the rescue, wanting to make sure that he had finished his man, as, indeed, he had.

People imagine that in the desert a camel has to be roped in and led. As a matter of fact, it is very hard in the desert to keep a camel away from the rest of the caravan, for instinctively he knows that to be left behind is death; so he keeps as near the bulk of the caravan as he can. It is a sad sight to see a camel straggling behind a caravan. It is like the soldier in retreat, unable to keep up with his comrades, knowing that nobody can carry him and that to fall behind means disaster.

The camel also displays his intelligence when he is taken from the oasis and pushed into the waterless trek. Instinctively he tries at night, even three or four days after the start, to go back to the oasis. There have been a few desert tragedies when all the camels have deserted the men at night, either on the outward or the home-coming journey, when the caravan was still a few days from its destination. Or, in the event of some accident befalling a caravan, camels which have traveled a certain road for ten or fifteen years will complete the journey alone.

As we were approaching Jalo and three days’ journey from the camp of the Bedouins from whom I had hired three camels, one of the latter fell desperately ill. They divided his load between the other two and left him in the desert, I all the time urging the Bedouins to kill him and save him the tortures of death. I even offered to pay them the price of the camel if they would allow me to put an end to him. But as the camel was a pedigreed beast, they refused. They said, “He is only feeling tired; he will go at his leisure back to the camp.” I learned afterward that the camel reached home safely and was feeling much better!

The Senussi headquarters at Kufra, which is built on the crest of the hill overlooking the valley]

It consists of the old Senussi brethren]

Instinctively, again, the camel knows that he has a guide, and if you halt in the middle of the desert to debate some point in regard to the route, the camels crowd round the guide; the moment he moves, they follow him, ignoring the presence of every other member of the caravan, but never overtaking the guide. Or if occasionally a camel ignores even the guide and goes right ahead of a caravan, then it is safe for the caravan to follow that camel, for he certainly knows the place that the caravan is coming to. The Bedouins say that a camel who has once grazed in an oasis would find his own way back to that oasis even if he were several days’ journey from it.

There is a famous Bedouin story of the sand-grouse and the camel who had a competition. The sand-grouse said, “I could lay my eggs in the desert, travel for days, and come back and hatch them.”

The camel retorted, “If my mother drinks from a well when I am still in her womb, I could travel days and come back and drink from the same well.”

I myself have seen a camel head the caravan when we were four days from a well, the waters of which he had tasted four years before. There is a well-known case of one camel that saved a caravan which was going from Dakhla Oasis to the Oasis of Ouenat. The guide, who had never been to the place before, but was heading toward it going by the description of another Bedouin, had lost his bearings, and the caravan wandered for twelve days aimlessly. The water was exhausted, and they had lost hope. Suddenly one of the camels headed the caravan, and they followed him. That camel had been to Ouenat a few years before, and when he was two days’ journey from Ouenat he “smelled the place,” as the Bedouins say, and landed the caravan right at one of the wells.

In winter the well-trained camel can go for a fortnight without water, in summer up to twelve days. The Bedouins try to feed their camels always on grazing grass if they can, but when they take them to the _daffa_ or long waterless trek, they are fed on dried dates and, when the Bedouin can afford it, on barley. Most of the camels found in Cyrenaica are _hamla_ or pack-camels. The best trotting-camels are Tebus or Touaregs, beautiful white beasts with slim limbs and graceful lines. The average good day’s work of the pack-camel is a distance of twenty-five miles. The thoroughbred Touareg does up to forty, and has been known to do seventy miles at one stretch.

The camel can become a very affectionate beast and very devoted to his master. Well-trained trotting-camels or _hejins_ refuse to get up with anybody on their back but their own master.

As a rule the water is carried on the older and wiser camels, who go sedately with no attempt to frolic. They realize that they are carrying the most valuable asset of the whole caravan, and therefore, the moment the day’s trek is over and we are at the hour of unloading, these older and wiser camels stand apart from the rest for fear the sheepskins they are carrying be bumped. I have also seen camels walk round the camp and approach the sheepskins lying on the ground, arranged and covered for the night; the camels would take great care to walk round them. There was one camel that was trained for a long time to carry my tent and all my books and instruments. He was only chosen for that task because of his being a strong and an old camel. Every morning when the loading started he used to come of his own accord and _barrak_ near my tent and, in his usual supercilious way, wait for the load to be put on his back.

The camel is a jealous husband or a faithful wife as the case may be. The female camels will never leave their lord and master and always follow him, while woe betide any adventurous male camel who dares to attempt to “butt in.”

Each morning and evening Bu Helega and I rode together and talked about camels and the desert and Bedouin history. I was careful to ask no direct questions, for the Bedouins are suspicious people ready to mistrust your motives. But casual remarks easily bring out interesting comments and information.

“There was a time,” said the venerable old man, “when Kufra was unknown to our people. A Bedouin of the Chawazi tribe, from El Obayad, a small oasis near Buttafal Well, noticed a crow which kept flying away to the south and coming back again as regularly as the sun rises. He watched it for some time and then set out to follow its course southward. He finally reached Taiserbo and, after a day’s stop on the outskirts of the oasis, managed to get enough water to take him back. On his return he told his tribe of date-trees and water in the heart of the desert. They formed an expedition which set out for Taiserbo and conquered it, after which they went on to Buzeima, Ribiana, and eventually to Kufra itself. So the Bedouins came to Kufra.”

Men of the tribe rather than the women conceal their faces, and even when they eat they do not remove their veils. This is accomplished by the use of a specially constructed spoon.]

I had been casting covetous eyes on Bu Helega’s horse since first I saw it in Jalo. Abdullahi had inquired for me whether it could be bought, but the price was too high. So I affected indifference and bided my time. No one of Bu Helega’s family rode the horse but himself. The old man’s dignity would not permit. But he kindly allowed me to use the animal whenever I wanted to ride. In fact, on this journey it seemed more mine than his.

Three of the camels were tired and _barrakked_ (knelt down) without orders. They do not behave in this way unless there is good reason for it, and so we shifted their loads to let them have a rest. We lost time in the process but made it up when the cool of the evening came.

I made it a point to talk with each man in the caravan every day. It kept things running smoothly, and incidentally I picked up some interesting information. I learned on this day that the Bedouins not only knew the tracks of their own camels but can often tell whether camels which have passed belong to men of the same tribe or not. Tebu camels they know at once because of the peculiar shape of their hoofs and the long strides they take. The Tebu camels are hardier than the Bedouin animals and can be used both in the northern desert of Cyrenaica and to the south in the Sudan. The Bedouins change camels at Kufra, when going north or south.

I walked with Senussi Bu Hassan, the guide, and he told me of a trick used by the Bedouins when they are herding camels or sheep. They milk the beasts in the morning and bury the milk in a _girba_ to keep it cool. But desert marauders are clever and can easily find where a _girba_ has been buried. So the wily Bedouin buries two _girbas_ one beneath the other. The bottom one is full of fresh milk and the top one of stale. The thief discovers the upper _girba_ and looks no further, while the owner of the _girbas_ finds his fresh milk safe when he returns at night.

We met flocks of small birds winging their way north. Some of them were tired and eagerly accepted the water we offered them. One perched on my hand to drink.

Sometimes near a well, one of those that is better described as a water-hole, one sees a few wings, feathers, bones of birds that tell their sad tale. They were probably immigrants who came across the well and stayed for a few days to recuperate. The well had just been dug by a passing caravan, water was easily available, and the birds grew accustomed to the spot. Little by little the sand drifted up and filled the well, and one day there was no more water, just a damp patch of sand. Or perhaps the birds arrived there too exhausted to fly another hundred or two hundred miles in search of water, so they remained and died.

In the morning at 10:30 we passed sand-dunes, called El Khweimat, eight or ten kilometers to our left, like small white tents on the desert as their name indicates. At 4:30 we sighted on our left at thirty kilometers the landmark called El Ferayeg, four sand-hills in a row. The name means “the little band” of men. At 6:15 we sighted the top of another landmark known as Mazoul, “the solitary one,” hazy in the distance to the southeast.

We were all cheered by the sight of these landmarks, which indicated our progress. We were confident that we had a skilful guide, but, as the Bedouins say, “the good guide is known only at the well.” It is only when one has reached the end of the journey that there is certainty that the right track has been taken. Senussi Bu Hassan demonstrated his remarkably keen eyesight. Very early in the morning before breaking camp he announced that he saw El Khweimat landmark in spite of the morning mist. It was several hours before other eyes in the caravan could make it out.

In the afternoon we passed camel skeletons lying white on the sands. Strangely enough this is a cheering sign in the desert, for two reasons: first, because in the trackless monotony any sign that others have passed that way is encouraging, and, second, because the camel-bones are more frequent near the wells. Camels are more likely to die near the end of a trek, when, if water is scarce, they have been pushed too hard by their masters. The Bedouins do not like to use the word “skeleton” when they find such a reminder that death has come this way. So they euphemistically call it _ghazal_, which means gazelle.

_Thursday, March 22._ Up at 5:30 A.M. I watched the sun rise at 6:27 A.M. and recorded its time. We started at 8 A.M. and made forty-eight kilometers over very flat country, hard sand and gravel. All the morning the Mazoul sand-dunes were on our left twenty-five kilometers distant, but by the afternoon we had passed them.

In the morning I heard Zerwali and Abdullahi discussing this land of astounding flatness through which we were passing.

“Yes, our country is a blessed one,” said Zerwali.

“Yes, indeed, it has a wonderful future,” answered the man from Egypt. “It is here, I believe, that the day of reckoning will be held. It is the only place God could find that would be big enough and so empty.”

The Tebus were running far and wide, ahead and each side of the caravan, in search of camel-dung for fuel. They lived their life a little apart from the others in the caravan, and so they liked to have their own camp-fire at night a short distance from the main camp. Camel-dung was the only available fuel. The Tebus, who are sturdy runners, would go as much as five miles out of their way to find the precious material. But the Bedouins objected to the Tebus’ habit of running ahead and seizing all the dung. It is an inflexible rule of the desert that anything found on the way belongs to him who first touches it, and the Tebus appealed to that rule for justification. The Bedouins, however, had a telling retort.

“You have no guide ahead, nor do you let your camels go first, where they will not go without the stick,” they said. “You want us to lead the way for your camels, while you run ahead and seize the dung. That dung belongs to us who would come upon it first if you were back with your camels where you belong.”

The controversy grew spirited and was finally brought to me for judgment. I decreed that the Bedouins were right, and the Tebus should have no fire of their own. They should, however, be given a hot meal from the general commissariat every night. The Tebus are quite different in many of their habits and customs from the Bedouins. They often do not use fire in the preparation of their food, though, as I have shown, they do not reject it for comfort and cheer. They dry the inside of the bark from the top of the date-tree over a fire and powder it, to use as material for a kind of pudding. They mix it with dates and locusts, also powdered. They invite no one to share their meals as the Bedouins invariably do, nor are they resentful if others do not ask them to share their food. The Bedouins criticize vigorously this failure in hospitality, as they consider it. The Tebus leave nothing behind them on the track, having a superstitious fear that whoever picks up what they have dropped will get hold of them too. They are fine physical specimens and good workers, but extremely simple in their habits of life and mind. They are mixing more and more with the Bedouins, however, and learning the Bedouin ways.

On this day one of the camels became ill. Bu Helega got down and walked behind it and then bled it from the tail. We hoped it would be better after a night’s rest.

As we were sure of our water-supply, we decided to have a glass of tea. Bu Helega, Zerwali, Abdullahi, and I went on ahead of the caravan, taking the guide with us to set our course right. When we were far enough ahead, we quickly made a fire and brewed tea. As the caravan came up, we handed a glass of tea to each man as he passed. The caravan did not stop. When the last camel was past us, we packed up our paraphernalia and hastened to catch up with the plodding caravan, Bu Helega on his camel, Zerwali and Abdullahi riding double on a trotting camel, and I on the horse. I must own Baraka was useful to me for several purposes. With him the camels could be easily brought back from the grazing-ground, which they are reluctant to leave to enter the _zerira_ again. I could ride him to visit places of interest when we halted at oases, allowing the camels to rest or graze. I could go ahead of the caravan with him or remain behind to make observations or secure specimens unwatched by the men. On his back I could make a properly dignified appearance at the head of my caravan when entering or leaving an oasis.

_Friday, March 23._ We made 36 kilometers. There was a strong northeast wind the previous night, starting an hour after midnight. This wind continued all day, increasing from 1 to 3, and dropped in the evening. It was fair and clear, but cloudy in the late afternoon. At five in the afternoon we sighted the sand-dunes called El Mazeel, 25 kilometers toward the southeast.

The men had become interested in making a full day’s trek, and exerted every effort to be under way at eight, intending to walk for twelve hours. But the sick camel interfered with our plans. When the time came to start, it had to be lifted to its feet. Bu Helega shook his head and said, “This camel will be flesh to eat before the day is over.” Two hours later the camel knelt and refused to rise. In a few minutes it had to be slaughtered. Three men and two camels were left to bring the flesh after us. Before we had gone far Bu Helega came trotting up on his horse and said: “It is a fat camel. Let us stop for a while.”

Knowing the Bedouin’s love of meat, I halted the caravan while a fire was made and a feast prepared. Every one ate the meat but myself and my two Egyptian servants. Bu Helega asked why I did not join the feast, and I told him that I did not care to eat the flesh of a sick camel.

“It is better than the little fish,” he said, referring to some tins of sardines which we had with us. “We have seen the camel slaughtered, but who knows what has happened to the little fish since they were in the sea?”

The camel’s flesh which was not eaten at once the Bedouins dried, and cut into thin shreds for flavoring their rice and _asida_ later on. When we started again in the afternoon Senussi Bu Hassan said to me, “We will walk until we knock off the young moon, and then we will be able to lunch at the well to-morrow.” But when evening came clouds hid El Jadi before the young moon had set, and we had to stop and make camp at 10:30 for fear of losing our way.

The _sheikh_ was one of the kindliest and most hospitable natives encountered by Hassanein Bey south of Kufra]

In this part of the desert there was little to discover externally, but a great deal to discover in oneself that could only be brought to light in the silence and calm. It makes all the difference in the world whether one goes through the journey with the intention of getting back as quickly as possible to civilization again, or whether one lives and enjoys every moment of it.

Just as the sun was going down, I saw Zerwali sitting by himself, drawing lines on the sand with a meditative finger. He was doing the _yazerga_, or the “science of the sands,” with which the Bedouin tells his own fortune. At intervals his eyes lifted from the pattern before him and brooded dreamily on the vivid colors of the sunset. The Bedouin has an appreciation of beauty and a reverence for nature. How could he help it?

Day after day it is exactly the same. The photographs I took in those seven days might be pictures of the same camp from different angles, so persistently the same was the immense desolate expanse of sand unmarked except for a camel’s skeleton or a few pebbles the size of a walnut. There was nothing to distract one’s mind or interrupt one’s contemplation.

What a peculiar charm this desolate desert has! What a cleansing effect on one’s mind and body! How this constant touch with infinity, day by day and night by night, affects the mind and the spirit, and alters one’s conception of life!

How small and petty one’s efforts in the round of ordinary civilization seem! How insignificant one’s efforts in this desert actually are!

_Saturday, March 24._ We were up at 5:30 A.M. tired, for we went to bed at 2. It was fine and clear all day; a northeast breeze in the morning dropped at midday, leaving it very warm. A strong northeast wind got up again at 10 P.M.

At 9:30 A.M. the country began to change slightly; the sand was softer and the ground a little undulating. At 10 we came across patches of black broken stone, which continued all day. At noon we sighted on our right the first _hatab_—dried brushwood—of Zieghen Valley. At 1:45 we halted for a hot meal and a rest near the first _hatab_ we reached.

Our fuel-supply was exhausted the previous day, and we had had nothing hot to eat or drink since the morning of the _day before_. At 5:13 we sighted sand-dunes to the southeast, about 40 kilometers distant. The dunes ran southward in a line toward Zieghen Valley. At 8:30 the hillocks of _hatab_ increased in number and extent.

When we started in the morning we hoped to get to Zieghen that day. Later there was disagreement as to why we had not reached it. Bu Helega remarked that the guide must have gone too far to the west or we should have arrived at the well before this. Zerwali, who had selected Bu Hassan for our guide, came to his defense; it was because we lost time slaughtering the camel and feasting the day before that we did not arrive, he said. Hamad had another explanation. “The camels are not being driven at all,” he said. “One sleeps long and gets up at his leisure, and the camels are still in sight.” (It was the custom of the men to drop out of line for a nap of a half an hour or so, the slow pace of the camels and their track in the sand making it possible for them to catch the caravan easily on wakening.)

When we halted to make a fire and have the first hot meal in thirty hours, I remembered that this was just where we had lost our way on the previous trip to Kufra in 1921. After our meal, Dawood, Zerwali’s uncle, left us with his single camel to go to Taiserbo, which lay a day’s journey west of Zieghen. He proposed to get his wife and daughter and take them to Cyrenaica, where there were better prospects for business. Zerwali had agreed to help him in his affairs in the new region. It must have taken a lot of pluck for the old man to undertake the long journey to the north with the two women and but a single camel. I asked him how he would manage it. He told me that the first day they would all walk. The next day, as the weight of water on the camel grew less, his daughter would ride, and the third day his wife.

“But suppose something happens to your camel?” I asked.

“Protection comes from God,” was his quiet answer. I gave him rice, macaroni, tea, and sugar, and when we had said the “Fat-ha” he departed very happy.

The Bedouins were delighted with a great feast of rice and camel-flesh and went to bed in vast contentment. It was a beautiful night, and I left my tent and spent a few tranquil moments under the golden moon and the stars paled by her brighter light. Their serene cheerfulness and encouraging company sent me back to my bed, as always, with new hope and confidence.

This is the entry in my diary for the following day:

_Sunday, March 25._ Start at 7:45 A.M., halt at 1:45 P.M. Make 24 kilometers. Highest temperature 32°, lowest 14°. Strong northeast wind all last night and until 4:30 to-day. Cloudy all the morning, no sun; a few drops of rain at midday. It clears in the afternoon. We walk all the way among little hillocks of dry _hatab_ gradually increasing from a few inches to eight feet in height as we near the well. The hillocks are interspersed with patches of sand strewn with bits of black broken stone. The sand gets gradually softer until it is moist a few inches under the surface.

At 9:15 we sighted to the southwest about 3 kilometers away the sand-dunes of El Washka, a small well of the Zieghen group. At 9:30 we passed on our left Matan Bu Houh, the old well of Zieghen. We camped near the few date-trees that stand by the best well of the group, El Harrash.

The explorer’s caravan nearing the first oasis that he discovered seven days’ journey south of Kufra. The photograph was taken in the morning, and in the foreground is seen a ray of sunshine coming from beyond the hills.]

In the desert a well does not mean a nicely excavated and stoned-up arrangement such as one finds in other parts of the world, with a bucket and windlass or a pump. In this part of the desert a well is a spot where the water is close to the surface and can be easily obtained by digging. It is just a damp patch of sand which the Bedouins scrape open with their hands, getting water at three or four feet down. Between the visits of caravans the sands drift over the place and choke the water-hole, so that each newcomer must clean it out for himself. But the joy of an ample supply of fresh water after days of having just enough for making tea, with no chance of a bath or even a shave, is sufficient reward for all the labor of digging out the well. If it has been a long journey the first thing to think of is the camels. After they have been watered and a good meal digested, washing is the most important item in the program. If the water is scarce, clothes have to wait until the next well, because the question of water for the trek has to be considered.

As soon as the men have rested, sheepskins are filled and left for the night. Early next morning two or three men go to see which of the sheepskins has leaked and, if possible, detect the cause of the leakage. They also make a point of separating the bad sheepskins from the good ones, so that on the journey water should be taken on the first day or two from those which leak or are unreliable.

The first night at a well, however tired the caravan may be, is always made the opportunity for great rejoicing, singing, and dancing. Before arriving at the well one’s idea of a rest has been at least four or five days’ stay and plenty of water to make up for past privation. Thoughts dwell on the pleasing idea of really having water to splash about with. Curiously enough, after a single day’s rest, a fever of restlessness gets hold of one again, and the luxury of abundance is left most eagerly for the privations of the road. No matter if it be a big well surrounded by a fertile oasis, full of the comforts of life, yet one returns with a sigh of contentment to the twelve hours’ trek and the lunch of dried dates.

The well, when scraped out, is probably about the size of a tea-table for two. The moist sand holds the walls together. Usually one leaves it alone a little for the sand to settle, but the water is always sandy, and it is too much bother to strain it. Not on one single occasion did I drink a glass of water that was not cloudy, and never did I see the bottom of my zinc cup while drinking. The filter which kind friends said I must take with me I never used at all until we got to the Sudan, and there the water was really bad; in an inhabited area you do not know what may have happened to it. And then when we tried to get this famous filter working, we found there were no washers for it, so that was the end of the story of the filter.

Dirt in the desert, it may be necessary to remark, is quite different from dirt anywhere else. It is not unwholesome, for the sand is a clean thing, and the clothes of the Bedouins let in the air. Vermin is there, but it is inevitable, and the Bedouin pays no heed to it. I might have just had my bath, and then I would go and sit down for a glass of tea with my men and—well, you are bound to collect these things!