Chapter XIX: Entering the Sudan

I GOT up early in order to open the film-box and refill the cameras while it was still cool. At seven, with Mohammed and Hamad, I set out to visit the well. The valley of Erdi is what is known as a _karkur_, a long narrow depression in the hills which winds like a snake. It runs to the southward for seven or eight kilometers ending in a _cul-de-sac_ where the well lies in a shadowy hollow under the rocks. The pool is semicircular in shape, half a dozen meters long and half as broad. The well is like those at Ouenat, although I suspect that in addition to the rain-water it may possibly be fed by a spring. The approach to it is a rocky and somewhat dangerous climb. The night before one of the camels bringing water slipped and hurt itself rather badly.

We climbed up to the _ain_, had a rest and tea, and rode home under a hot sun. The valley is beautiful, with its sheer walls of red rock, and the green grass and trees scattered about below them. Mohammed told me that it is the most difficult valley in this region to enter and therefore the easiest to defend.

In the late afternoon I climbed the valley wall to watch the fine sunset and the play of the light on the red sand and the rose-colored rocks. The men shaved their heads, trimmed their beards, and washed and mended their clothes, which were becoming very tattered.

The grazing here just saved our camels, and it was wise to take this day for rest and recuperation. Mohammed and Herri told me that from now on it would not be practicable to travel at night. The country was too hilly to be safe to traverse in the darkness. All the Bedouins gave Mohammed credit for the way he led the camels over the steep rocks to the valley yesterday.

In the evening the dog had a fit of barking, and we suspected that some one was near. We quickly put out the fires, gathered the camels together, made ready the rifles, and put sentries out around the camp; but it was a false alarm.

These precautions, like those we take when approaching a well, seem absurd when it is all over and nothing has happened. But in unknown country like this the caravan that did not take them would be very foolish. An attack by hostile tribesmen or outlaws is far from an improbability.

_Thursday, May 17._ We were up at four and under way at 5:30. The climb out of the valley was as difficult as the descent, and one camel fell, but fortunately without serious results. As we reached the edge of the _wadi_ and looked back I realized the difference between the valleys in these hills and those at Arkenu and Ouenat. There the floor of a valley is on the same level as the plain outside, and one goes into it by a pass as through a gateway. In the region we were now in, the valleys are depressed below the general level of the country, and one drops down into them by winding, rocky paths.

In an hour we were out of the _wadi_ and turned to the southeast. We were in a mountainous country of black and red rocks, and it was clear that we could not travel over such _terrain_ in the dark. At 9:30 we descended into a large valley by a steep path, on which two camels stumbled and threw off their loads. One, carrying water, very nearly broke its neck; but the presence of mind of Abdullahi, who drew a knife and cut the girths, saved the situation. The wooden stopper of one of the _fantasses_ came out, and the water was three-quarters spilled. Fortunately the next well was only three days ahead, and we had an ample supply for even a longer trek. Such an occurrence as this would have been a disaster if we had been in a _daffa_, as a long waterless trek between wells is called.

On this morning a serious situation arose suddenly which might have had fatal results had it not been for two pieces of luck. Ahmed, the cook who came with me from Egypt, was riding a camel without a bridle. He had asked Hamid, the camelman of Bu Helega, to provide a bridle; but the other, being wise in the ways of camels, knew better than to do so. It is important that the camels be able to graze at will. They are more in need of food than of guidance.

Ahmed’s camel, spying a fine tuft of grass, went directly to it. On the way he passed under a tree set thickly with thorns. The rider could not escape the sharp projections, and his face was badly torn. Annoyed by the pain, Ahmed proceeded to curse the camel and the owner of the camels. Hamid instantly retaliated by cursing him and telling him not to curse the noble owner of the animals. I happened to be near, and in my heart I praised the camelman for his loyalty to Bu Helega, his master.

Ahmed came quickly off the camel, his face streaked with blood, and went hotly at Hamid. Senussi Bu Hassan, the other Hamid, and Sad, the Aujili, rushed to take the side of their brother Bedouin. Abdullahi ranged himself beside Ahmed, two Egyptians shoulder to shoulder.

I had had experience of such quarrels before, and I quickly looked to see where the rifles were. It was with deep relief that I saw them safely fastened on the camels’ backs. The men had only sticks to fight with, but, even so, prompt action was necessary before the trouble became more acute.

I galloped my horse among the men and pushed him between the two groups of combatants, brusquely ordering Ahmed and Abdullahi to stand back. It was a most difficult moment, with one side my own men and the other the men of my caravan.

Senussi Bu Hassan and Hamid looked back, and for the flicker of a second I saw their eyes rest on the slung rifles. One word of encouragement from me to the other party would have meant disaster, for the Bedouins outnumbered us. On the other hand, it was not the time, even if my own men were in the wrong, to humiliate them before the Bedouins.

“What do you mean by behaving like children?” I demanded impartially of the men on both sides. “Men like you ought to be ashamed.”

Hamid started to speak. “He insulted me.”

Ahmed interrupted him. “He attacked me as I came off my camel.”

“I don’t care who insulted whom or who attacked whom,” I declared sharply. “You are all my men, and it is a shame to have you behave like a batch of children.”

Just then Zerwali came up. I turned to Abdullahi and then to Senussi Bu Hassan. “And you older men, instead of bringing peace, actually take part in this disgraceful quarrel,” I said severely. “Perhaps I have made a mistake. I should have chosen men for my caravan and not boys.”

By this time both parties had begun to cool down and to lose their tense look of men about to spring to the attack. Zerwali, who probably expected me to take the side of my compatriots, Abdullahi and Ahmed, was disarmed and did the unexpected thing.

“Put Hamid on the ground,” he ordered the slave Faraj. “I will beat him with my whip.”

In a flash the stalwart Faraj laid Hamid unceremoniously on the ground and pinned him there with his knee. Before I could interfere Zerwali’s whip descended twice. But by that time I had dismounted and caught Zerwali’s arm.

“This is no matter for punishment,” I asserted. “We don’t know who is to blame. I shall inquire into the matter and punish with my own hands the man who is proved guilty.”

Turning to the men I commanded, “Follow the camels.”

To Mohammed and Herri, who had kept tactfully out of the affair, I gave the order, “Lead the way,” pointing with my stick.

All moved off, and I walked alone, trying to preserve for their benefit my expression of stern disapproval. Zerwali gradually edged nearer to me and spoke deprecatingly.

“The bey is not angry over what has happened?” he questioned. “God knows when I got up this morning there was something weighing heavy on my heart. I felt sure that something unpleasant was going to happen. My feeling was reflected in your salutation to me.”

I realized that I also had had an uncanny feeling. There was no reason for it, for everything was going smoothly and well. But still something had oppressed me.

In a short while both parties felt like children who had been naughty. I observed furtive glances stealing toward me from both sides to see if my anger was abated. But I kept my stern countenance until luncheon.

Those who have traveled in the desert and know the Bedouins will realize what a serious possibility this incident contained. A single harsh word interpreted as an insult means shooting if guns are close at hand. If both men had had their rifles and if I had been some hundred yards away, as was generally the case, there would almost certainly have been bloodshed. The Bedouins would probably have killed Ahmed and Abdullahi out of hand. Then what could I have done, as an Egyptian, but avenge the killing of my countrymen at whatever cost to myself?

How lucky it was that the rifles were lashed to the camels and that I was close at hand!

“We are getting near the end of our journey,” said Zerwali. “The men are always quarrelsome then.”

By the time this dangerous incident was over, the sun was very hot, and we camped in the valley in the shade of some fine trees. The camels had good grazing while we ate and rested. Before we started in the afternoon Mohammed, Senussi Bu Hassan, Bukara, and Hamid, the camelman, came to ask me to forgive Hamid for having let his anger get the better of him with Ahmed. I pardoned him readily, and he went to Ahmed and kissed his head. Ahmed returned the compliment, and then the quarrel was ended in the best Bedouin tradition.

We made our way down the big valley for three hours and camped near its mouth at 7:15. Shortly before halting we saw ahead of us the distant hills of Agah, where the next well lay. The ground before us was flat _serira_, and it was a relief to see it. On this morning when we were going down into the valley it looked as if all our baggage would be in bits if there were more of these precipices. In places the descent was so rough that for safety we had to unload the camels. The men had to carry the baggage down the steep rocks, often a drop of three feet from boulder to boulder.

The new moon had risen as we camped. The next day was Bairam, the feast marking the end of Ramadan, and Zerwali came to say that the men would like to feast according to our Moslem custom. I willingly agreed, since the Agah Hills were in sight before us and the water-supply was ample. Besides, the excellent grazing in this valley would do the camels good.

We all rose early the next day (Friday, May 18) and put on clean clothes for the feast-day. We exchanged good wishes and followed them with the prayers appointed for Bairam. There was a look on every face as of men who are thinking of those left behind at home.

I produced a few Medjidies and Egyptian notes and distributed them. The coins went to Mohammed, Herri, Hassan, and Arami, who were to leave us before we reached territory where Egyptian notes are current. The rest got the notes, which they would be able to use at El Fasher. To Zerwali I gave twenty rounds of revolver ammunition and a bottle of scent. Another bottle of scent was divided among the men; Bukara received one of my pipes and tobacco to go with it, and he declared that he did not know what to do to return all the kindness I had shown him.

“I have only my camel and the clothes on my back,” he said. “He has given me the value of my camel in tobacco.”

It was a cheerful camp at breakfast; the men were pleased with their gifts, and I enjoyed their satisfaction. After breakfast we all lay down for a siesta, but got up again promptly, our bodies itching furiously from the assaults of white ants.

At 5:45 P.M. we made our start and half an hour later emerged from the valley upon the _serira_. In front of us lay a chain of hills running east and west, in the middle of which was Jebel Islingah, and to the right of it Jebel Agah, to which we were going. Herri said that there was a well also in Jebel Islingah, but that it was difficult to get at. The valley where we had camped was marked by trees on the east side of the entrance to it.

It was a hot day, and we moved slowly for six hours, when we reached a belt of sand-dunes, which stopped our progress for the night.

_Saturday, May 19._ We started at 5:15 A.M. and made our final halt at 8 P.M. There was a hot northeast wind from the hills, which dropped in the evening. We traveled over soft sand, very undulating, covered with dry grass. As we approached the hills the country became flatter with patches of small black stone.

The sun got hot quickly in the morning, and a hot wind was blowing, and so we camped at half-past nine in the shade of a _tumtum_ tree. Its protection was welcome, and its bunches of red berries made an attractive pattern over our heads.

We started again at 3:30 in spite of the heat, with the hope of reaching the hills of Agah before dark. The camels had to be beaten in order to get them away from the shade of the tree and into the hot sun. By 7:30 we were at the foot of the hills, with the slim moon just coming up. Mohammed suddenly raised the alarm. He had found the fresh tracks of two men leading toward Merdi. A stranger in the desert is an occasion for vigilance until he proves to be not unfriendly. Rifles were quickly unslung; the oil-rags were stripped from their breeches, and cartridges shoved in. The men collected the camels which were scattered out grazing, and Mohammed, Herri, and Senussi Bu Hassan went forward to the valley to reconnoiter. After a careful search they came back to report that there were no tracks leading into the valley but that there were fresh tracks leading out of it. We made camp at the entrance, keeping clear of trees and vegetation in case any one approached in the night. We ate dinner rapidly and extinguished our camp-fire. The camels and _girbas_ were put in the center of the camp, and the luggage arranged around its edge. Four sentries were posted for the night, and we went to bed. But sleep was difficult because of the oppressive heat and the suspense.

Early on the Sunday morning we got up and approached the valley cautiously. We came across fresh tracks of sheep and men and were convinced that some one had a camp in the valley. Mohammed and Herri went ahead, as the inhabitants of this district were Goran and no one else spoke their language. They soon returned with three Gorans. I met them, and we solemnly went through the ceremony of giving and receiving the _aman_. We advanced toward each other and lay whatever weapons we might be carrying, sword or rifle, on the ground. I addressed them in the time-honored phrases: “I swear by God that we are peaceful men, that we wish you no harm, and that we have no intention of robbing you.” One of them did the same in his turn, and we indulged in brief questions and answers on each side. Who are you? Whence do you come? Whither are you going? On what business? Then we shook hands formally, each took up his weapons, and both sides retired.

We tried to buy sheep from them, but they refused to sell. In a short time they went away and returned with three sheep which they offered as _diafa_, refusing to accept any money for them. I gave them _etkias_ of blue cloth as a return courtesy, with which they were delighted. The camels were sent off to the well to drink and to bring back water for the camp, while the men busied themselves with preparations for the great feast of meat. In the afternoon I took photographs and in the evening made observations. The electric torch which I used in reading the theodolite first frightened the Goran boys and then delighted them.

The valley of Agah is very picturesque, a long narrow defile between high cliffs, with more vegetation and trees than we had seen thus far. Half-way down its length it divides, one branch leading southwestward to the well and the other southward toward the open desert. The well is similar to that at Erdi, but its water is badly fouled by sheep and camels. The valley is full of birds whose pleasant songs make one think one is at the aviary in the Zoo.

We were up while it was dark and the stars were still shining in the clear sky. The Goran came to say good-by. Arami and Hassan had declined to go further south and left us to return to Ouenat, with Arami’s camel. We wound our way down the eastern fork of the valley, its steep sides protecting us from the sun. On the way we sighted three gazelles, and some of the men gave chase, but the nimble animals climbed the hills and escaped. Hamid, the Zwayi, fired at one and missed, to the scornful delight of the others. Hamid, however, refused to admit complete failure.

“By God,” he stoutly maintained, “I hit it. I saw the blood spurt.”

It did not matter so much, however, as we still had meat left from the _diafa_ of the Goran.

It quickly got too hot for comfort, and the camels, fresh from drinking, refused to go on. We camped in the shade of a tree, but soon discovered that better protection from the sun was to be had in crevices in the rocks. The camels were allowed to graze, and the men settled down to prepare the midday meal. Two sheep were slaughtered, and their flesh, impaled on sticks, was slowly revolved before the fire to roast in the Bedouin fashion. It was delicious. While the meat was being prepared, Sad cut his hand. I saw the blood and asked where it came from.

“From Hamid’s gazelle!” said Bukara, and once more shouts of laughter went up over the unsuccessful hunter.

After lunch I wound my watches, recorded the readings of the aneroid and the maximum and minimum thermometers, and wrote up my diaries, when Hamid the camelman came running to say that a herd of ostriches was near-by. We all grasped our rifles and stood ready. Soon the ostriches appeared, thirty or forty in number. The Bedouins were impatient and opened fire while the distance was too great. The ostriches dashed off into another valley with the men in hot pursuit. Many shots were fired, but Zerwali soon came back to say that nothing had been killed.

In a little while Hamid appeared carrying a small ostrich and followed by Senussi Bu Hassan. Both men claimed to have shot the creature, and since there were two bullet-wounds in it, either of which might have been fatal, they appealed to me for judgment; I asked the opinion of the men who saw the shooting, and all agreed that Hamid’s shot felled the bird. I decided in his favor.

Later Hamid, the camelman, small and sharp of features and afraid of no animals, not even of snakes, came upon an ostrich in a closed part of the valley and, after attacking it unsuccessfully with stones, rushed at it and caught it round the neck. He wrestled with it manfully, but it landed a kick on his side from one of its powerful legs and ran away. I was watching the contest through my binoculars and nearly split my sides with laughter. The ostrich mounted a ridge, looked back scornfully at Hamid, who stood cursing it, arranged its feathers, and trotted off with the gait of a gay dowager, leaving him with his hand pressed to his maltreated side.

“Has the ostrich hurt you?” I asked solicitously when he returned.

“Oh, no,” he replied, quickly taking his hand from his side.

“Why didn’t you bring it back, then?” I asked again.

“I had to let it go,” he explained with great plausibility. “She was only a female.”

One of my great regrets on this trek was that I was unable to follow game as I would have liked to. The night marches between Ouenat and Erdi left me too exhausted in the morning to do anything but record the readings of my scientific instruments and try to snatch two or three hours of sleep before it was too hot. Then our food-supply began to get less and less. I could not stay at Agah where there were plenty of gazelles, ostriches, and wild sheep. Besides, the scarcity of water made me lose no time there, where the well had been so fouled by animals.

An old Egyptian army Martini and an Italian cavalry carbine which I was given at Kufra, handy as they would have been for self-defense, were of little use for long-range work on game, especially gazelle. Hunting, therefore, was a diversion which I had to deny myself.

They are singing in welcome to the explorer’s party]

It was very hot, and we could not start until 5 P.M. We followed the lovely valley for an hour and then began to climb the hills. As we got to the top we had a fine view of its beauties, all the various shades of green of the trees and shrubs making picturesque patterns with the rosy sand and the redder rocks of the hills guarding the valley. The soft notes of innumerable doves floated up on the cool evening breeze. A gorgeous red and gold sunset completed an _ensemble_ not easy to forget. I stopped my horse and spent a pleasant half-hour lying on a patch of soft sand drinking in the delights of this little bit of paradise. It soon grew dark. The crescent moon showed herself, and far away I heard the Bedouins of my caravan singing. Reluctantly I rose and took the track again.

We were soon in different country, broken and very undulating, with distant jagged hills surrounding us. The camels were suffering from the foul water of Agah, and so were the men. We camped early, both on this account and because it is dangerous country to travel by the weak moonlight.

We dropped into a soft sand valley about two hundred meters from our route and camped.

We got up with the stars still in the sky on Tuesday, May 23, and made our start with a gorgeous sunrise on our left hand. We moved slowly because of the thick shrubs and scattered stones and also because Mohammed and Herri had not been in this country for ten years and were picking their way cautiously.

“Mohammed is riding, I suppose,” I said to Hamid, the camelman, as I walked in my favorite place behind the caravan, “or we would not be moving so slowly.”

“The gray-haired man is walking, O bey,” said the shrewd fellow quickly. “His track is on the ground.”

Once more I was impressed with the keen observation of the Bedouins, especially the camelman. Hamid had already learned the characteristic footprints that each man of the caravan leaves. Of course he knew the track of each camel also.

On Wednesday we were up much earlier than usual in our anxiety to reach the well of Enebah. The water of Agah was the worst we had yet tasted, and it was having its effect on both men and camels. A three hours’ trek brought us to the edge of the valley in which the well lay. We dropped down into it and discovered from tracks of sheep, donkeys, and men that the place was inhabited. Mohammed went forward to meet the men who live there, and gave and received the _aman_; and soon we were camped by the well. The water was excellent; animals and men both enjoyed the change.

There was quite a large Bidiyat camp here, with hundreds of sheep and a few horses for the _sheikhs_. Presently the whole population, led by the _sheikhs_, came to greet us. I shook hands with them and distributed scent, putting a little on the hand of each one.

In the afternoon they brought sheep as _diafa_, and the women (who have a keen business sense) produced _samn_—butter—and leather to sell to us. We gave them Medjidies and cloth in exchange. In the evening I took observations. The Bidiyats were frightened at the theodolite and the electric torch, and their suspicions were aroused.

One of the _sheikhs_ entered my tent and caught me opening the instrument-case. I shut the case quickly and instantly realized my mistake. I could see in his dark cruel face, with yellow eyes like those of a fox set close together, that he believed I had gold in the box. As he left my tent I ostentatiously ordered Senussi Bu Hassan and Hamid to stand as sentries in the camp. I pointed to them and told the _sheikh_ not to allow the women and children to approach the camp at night lest my men might make a mistake and shoot at them. It was just a hint that we were wide-awake and that there was no hope of catching us off our guard. I could see that the hint went home.